Homecoming Homicides

by Marilyn Baron

  Flippy slumped against her seat, sucked in short breaths, and went silent. If anyone even suspected that she had been the last person to see Traci Farris before she disappeared, she would be pulled off the task force, maybe even arrested.

  She had the unfortunate knack of always managing to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Timing never was one of her strong suits. She knew she was innocent, but it wouldn’t look that way to the FBI, who’d just been called in on the Homecoming Homicides case. She’d be the first person they would suspect. Again, she had motive. She’d walked in on Traci and her fiancé in flagrante delicto. And she had opportunity. But short of scalding them to death with a steaming pot of hot chicken soup, they wouldn’t find a murder weapon. Because there was none.

  If the authorities knew what had happened, they might go after Jack. But even though Jack was a cheating bastard, he hadn’t killed Traci. He could hardly get out of bed. Which was the crux of the problem in the first place. But it wouldn’t look good for either of them. That was one little secret she intended to keep to herself.

  “Are you accusing me of something?” she managed.

  Luke gave her a satisfied look.

  “Should I be?”

  “What you should be doing is trying not to veer off topic. We’ve got a crisis on our hands.”

  “I’ll agree that this sadistic son-of-a-bitch has Graysville by the balls.”

  “Do you think the same guy who killed Melinda is killing the new crop of homecoming contestants?” That’s something Flippy had long suspected. The Melinda Crawford murder was now a cold case. A serious blight on the record of the University police force. And a serious blight on her own reputation and Luke’s.

  “The FBI says no. Our guy is a serial killer. He wouldn’t have killed that one time and then waited another whole year to kill again.”

  “But maybe he was locked up in prison, or maybe he has been killing in another state. Maybe he’s tied to other unrelated murders we’re not even investigating.”

  “You think we haven’t thought of that? The FBI is looking into all those possibilities. They’ve considered all the angles. They don’t need any advice from a novice.”

  “You’re nothing but a rookie city cop.”

  “If I solve this case, I could make detective.”

  “That’s disgusting, Luke. Climbing over dead bodies to get to the top.”

  Luke blinked, flexed his fingers, and gave Flippy a menacing and meaningful look.

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” he said. “And what about you? You’re interested in solving this case to restore your damaged reputation.”

  Flippy wanted to slap him, partially because it was true.

  “I am trying to take back control of this situation,” Flippy said, emphasizing each word, “which is what I do best.”

  “Situation” was a misnomer. It had quickly mushroomed into a full-blown crisis.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Luke admitted. “This case is spinning out of control. We can use all the help we can get, even from a psychic, although I don’t know what she’s going to do—hold a séance and connect with the spirits of the dead girls to find out who killed them?”

  “That’s not even funny. We’ll find out soon, won’t we? They’re driving down this afternoon for the press conference. The city is crawling with media. I need to know everything you know now, so I can be prepared when the reporters start shooting questions at me. Unfortunately, they’ll want all the gory details. Director Beckham has been handling the press so far, but she wants me up to speed. So hit me with those files. I want to start with the crime scene photos, then the police reports and the ME reports and photos. I assume that’s what you’ve got in that box.”

  “Didn’t know you were into blood and guts. You want photos? Fine.”

  Luke bent over, lifted a stack of files from the box on the floor, and stood up, deliberately pounding the manila folders on her desk, removing some graphic shots and displaying the gruesome photos for maximum effect, practically rubbing Flippy’s nose in them.

  Flippy felt the remains of the greasy doughnut she had downed for breakfast churning in her stomach and threatening to rise to the surface. She closed her eyes and fought to retain what was left of her dignity and the doughnut.

  Dammit, Luke was expecting a reaction. It was just what she didn’t want to happen. She was not going to lose her cool, she promised herself, or her breakfast.

  But the message never made it to her brain. Like it or not, the doughnut, and whatever else she had in her stomach, was coming up. Barely managing an “Excuse me,” she made a beeline for the bathroom in the outer office.

  After that embarrassing episode, Flippy rinsed out her mouth with water. Then she splashed more water on her face until the room stopped spinning and she could catch her breath. Just as she had regained her composure, Misty walked into the bathroom.

  “Hey, Flippy, are you okay? You don’t look so hot. Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m fine, Misty. It must have been that greasy doughnut I ate this morning.”

  “And talk about looking hot, can I just say Officer Luke Slaughter is one great-looking guy?”

  “No, you may not.”

  “And it’s not just that he’s packing heat,” Misty added. “But he does have quite a package, if you know what I mean.”

  “For Pete’s sake, this is a place of business. Could you please get that phone? I’ll be fine.”

  Misty sashayed out of the bathroom.

  When Flippy returned to her office, Luke had strategically spread out the rest of the photos in glorious, gory detail across her desk.

  “Flip, you look a little peaked. Why don’t you go and lie down on that bad excuse for a couch over there while I finish arranging these photos. I’m available if you need some company.”

  Flippy tried a breathing exercise to calm herself down, but it was too late for that.

  “All right, you immature rat bastard, listen up. I am going to pick up the phone and have you reassigned. It’s obvious we can’t work together if you can’t get over yourself. Okay, we had sex. Let’s just get that out on the table.”

  “Great sex,” Luke corrected, “on the table, under the table.”

  Okay, great sex, Flippy had to admit, hazy as that night had been, trying hard not to picture Luke’s first-class ass naked on her kitchen table, her fingernails digging into his flesh. Had it only been one week ago that Luke had rocked her world? That much she did remember.

  She also remembered the humiliation of the morning after. She’d been hurting, but all she’d accomplished was to end up looking like an easy lay and embarrassing herself with Luke. Luke was a great guy and a good friend, and she’d blown it by jumping in the sack with him when things had gone wrong with Jack. He had to think she was the lamest woman in the world. And he’d be right.

  “I was mad at Jack and I got back at him. I was drunk.”

  “You were wasted and I was handy.”

  “I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Yeah, I got the message loud and clear the next morning when you told me what we did was a big mistake and not to ever tell anyone it happened.”

  “Get it together and man up, Luke,” said Flippy, trying to hide her discomfort behind a trail of laughter.

  “You think what we did together was funny? That’s not how I remember it. But hey, okay, if that’s the way you want to play it. It was only a one-night bang.”

  Luke fixed Flippy like a laser with his dangerously frosty green eyes, while she blinked stupidly. He looked more like a fierce warrior. He could be gentle, she remembered, but there was no sign of that Luke here.

  “As far as I’m concerned, it never happened,” Luke added. “And, just so you know, I was lying to spare your feelings. That night was completely forgettable. You beauty queen types are highly overrated.”

  Flippy’s shoulders slumped forward.

  “It was a mistake for both of us, then,” she mumbled.


  “You made that pretty clear when you wouldn’t return my phone calls. How was I supposed to know you were still ‘All Jacked Up.’ ”

  “I’m over Jack,” Flippy insisted, averting her glance, doing her best to avoid looking at Luke or the photos.

  Okay, even if Luke was a weasel, Flippy was still ashamed of her behavior. Jack had been unfaithful and she had desperately wanted to prove she could play the same game. She’d picked Luke, played Luke, because he had been available and—Misty was right—he was hot. And she knew he wanted her. And had for a long time. He could try to play it cool, but he wasn’t very good at hiding his feelings.

  And it worked both ways. She’d actually daydreamed about Luke in criminology class as an undergraduate, and those six days in law school, anticipating what it might be like to be with him. She’d been stunned to the core that the reality was so much better than anything she’d ever imagined.

  But even if she could forgive Luke for badmouthing her to his chief, and to her director, after their little interlude, it was never a good idea to mix business with pleasure. Even mind-blowing, earth-shattering pleasure. Apparently, he hadn’t felt the same way.

  Flippy raised her gaze to Luke’s thunderous face.

  “How many times do I have to apologize, Lucas? You have every right to be mad at me. But can you work with me or not? This isn’t about us, okay? Those aren’t just some anonymous faces in these pictures. I know—knew—these girls. They’ve been butchered by some madman who is still out there and who probably won’t quit until all thirty girls who were in the pageant are dead. And nobody seems to have a clue as to who he is and how to stop him. I want this case solved as much as you do. Now can you work with me?”

  Luke leveled his eyes at hers again, and what she saw there was undetectable. Nothing, zilch, nada. She didn’t have the slightest idea in hell what the man was thinking. Did he want to skewer her or screw her? “Take your pick” was what she was reading. Maybe a little of both.

  “Like I said, no big deal. It’s already forgotten,” Luke said coolly as he headed to his car to bring in another box of files. His voice was steady, but there was plenty of venom there. He was never going to get over what had happened between them. And she could understand just where he was coming from. Because the same thing had happened to her with Jack.

  Jack Armstrong had always been the one with the life plan. He had his priorities straight. Star running back for the North Florida University football team, his strategy was to win the Heisman trophy, enter the NFL, make a boatload of bucks, and probably sleep with every cheerleader on both coasts and everywhere in between, if he could manage it. Some of those were actually worthy goals.

  But when he’d torn his ACL at the homecoming game, that was the end of Jack’s life plan, his confidence, and their relationship. Because two people who don’t know where they’re going aren’t going to get very far.

  Flippy was supposed to be the expert in crisis management. But right now, her entire life was one big crisis she could barely manage.

  She’d run headlong into a brick wall last week when Jack went into self-destruct mode, cheated on her, and ripped out her heart. She was still not over him. For four years she’d thought he was her future, but that promise was all shot to hell.

  Luke had been right about one thing. She’d only lasted six days in law school, probably some kind of collegiate record. But that was par for the course for her. One thing she understood now was that she had never come first with Jack. And she never came first in anything.

  So how did she manage to get involved with the biggest murder case in Graysville, Florida, certainly in the South, maybe even in the entire country? The case the tabloids were calling The Homecoming Homicides.

  When Director Beckham mentioned to Chief Bradley that a girl on her staff had been first runner-up on last year’s NFU homecoming court and was director of this year’s homecoming pageant, where she’d worked with all the dead and missing girls, bingo—Flippy was recruited.

  Why?

  One, because Luke Slaughter thought he’d throw her a bone by offering to work with her, and probably hoped to jump her bones again, which was never going to happen. Two, because she was a former contestant herself, the chief and her director reasoned that she fit the profile of the victims. Apparently, it was important to profile the victims as well as the perp because knowing the victims might help the police determine who might have access to them. And three, they were obviously out of options if they were looking in her direction.

  The thing was, the murder investigation had stalled. The campus and city police forces had hit a roadblock in the Homecoming Homicides case after three months of fruitless and frustrating investigation, and the death toll of beauty pageant contestants continued to rise. The FBI had been salivating to gain access, and now that they were involved on the task force, the university and the city police departments were forced to beef up their efforts or lose total control of their case.

  They needed a spokesperson to bring down the curtain on the media circus—a sexy body to put a pretty face on a terrible tragedy, someone to take attention off the half-assed job they were doing and make them look good, since they seemed incapable of actually catching the bad guy. If they chose to put their faith in an ex-homecoming queen runner-up with questionable crime-solving credentials, who was she to argue?

  She may not be a winner, but she was going to make something of her runner-up life and succeed in solving this case because she had to. And not just because time was running out but because she was the last person to see the missing girl, Traci Farris, alive. And because, more than anything, she’d wanted her dead.

  Chapter Three

  Luke had worked up a full head of steam by the time he’d hoisted the second box of files out of the trunk of his car. Who did that bubble-headed blonde think she was? And what was she thinking? Rubbing his nose in the fact that she’d only slept with him to get back at that frat-boy all-star jack-off boyfriend of hers. Drowning her sorrows by crawling into bed with the first guy who came along, now, in Graysville, when the killer could have been watching her, hunting her? Waiting for his next opportunity? Was she even thinking at all? Obviously not. Did she even have a brain in that ditzy little head of hers?

  What if he hadn’t been there? What if it had been someone else she’d taken home with her? He’d had a thing for her forever. She didn’t have a clue. He’d known from the first time he set eyes on her that they could be good together. But with Jack in the picture, he didn’t stand a chance. He watched out for her that night in the bar. He kept her from leaving with another guy. He thought it could be the start of something new, something great. He’d been waiting for his opportunity forever. He knew she wasn’t the kind of girl who slept around, but she was acting crazy that night. She was buzzed, that’s for sure. High on hatred for Jack, maybe. But she wasn’t herself. And, of course, he took advantage. But he did it for her own good. Better him than someone else. At least that’s how he rationalized his behavior.

  He felt guilty about taking her back to her apartment, but hey, she was on the hunt that night, he reminded himself. Luke simply decided to make sure he was the one she snagged.

  He told her the night had been forgettable, but for him it was anything but. He’d played that night over and over in his mind this past week. Would he have done anything different? He tried to satisfy her, thought he had. But it was doubtful she even remembered what happened.

  It was hardly a magical night for her. How could it be, when she was so drunk he had to carry her out to the car over his shoulder, in a fireman’s hold, like a sack of potatoes. And he wanted her so much they didn’t even get as far as the bedroom. They stripped each other naked and had at it on top of her kitchen table. Hardly memorable.

  He wanted a do-over, a chance to rock the room. And he’d been patient, considerate. He let her sleep it off. Stayed up all night watching her sleep, hardly believing his luck, hardly believing she had actually let him tak
e her home. She was as fragile as glass. He touched her hair and her beautiful face while she slept, softly brushing his lips against hers, wanting her to feel him even though she was practically comatose.

  He knew he wasn’t even in her league. All those times in criminology class, he couldn’t stop looking at her. But she couldn’t see him. She was too in love with the big football hero. Jack Armstrong—Jack of all trades, master of everything.

  And then when Luke ended up on protective duty for the homecoming court at the big game, he couldn’t keep his mind off her, which inflamed another part of his body, which is why he’d had to take that quick bathroom break to relieve himself before escorting the homecoming court’s vehicle around the field at halftime.

  He’d been gone no more than ten minutes, and by the time he came back all hell had broken loose. The homecoming queen had gone missing, and Flippy, the first runner-up, was nowhere to be found. Until he hunted her down and found her standing over Melinda Crawford’s dead body. Which is when his police training kicked in, his feelings flew out the window, and he started questioning her—accusing her, really.

  And since no one else in the stadium knew what was going on, the game started back up and Jack Armstrong got injured. Flippy heard the play-by-play and sailed past Luke to run out onto the field to be with Jack, which made her look guilty as hell for leaving the scene of the crime before the police had a chance to question her. And things had gone downhill from there. She was cleared, but the papers had done a nice smear job on her and, just like that, she was out of his life forever. Until he’d spent six days sitting next to her in law school. And spent their first time in bed together last week.

  She had definitely lost her way. He’d kept track of her. She’d tried everything, but nothing stuck. She only lasted six days in law school and no sooner had they reconnected than he lost her all over again. Not that he ever had her in the first place.

  When she came up to him at the bar last week, he couldn’t believe she had even noticed him, not in that way. And when she came on to him—