Homecoming Homicides

by Marilyn Baron

  “Not technically. I was a first runner-up last year.”

  “You know what I mean. You’re beautiful. Their daughters were beautiful. They will relate to you.”

  “I don’t think it works that way.”

  “Those girls are a different breed,” Luke explained.

  “They’re just people,” Flippy said. Luke wasn’t the only person who harbored that misconception about beauty pageant contestants.

  “Beautiful people,” Luke said stubbornly. “Like you.”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” She knew it wasn’t an appropriate time to fish for compliments, in the middle of a murder investigation, but her bruised ego needed reassurance.

  “Well, hell, you know you are,” Luke said angrily. Then he closed up tighter than a clam. A second later he blurted out, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

  “Do I look like I’m having fun? Luke, we’ve got to find this guy. We have to do whatever it takes. I don’t want one more girl to be sacrificed because maybe I missed something. What are we missing?”

  “If we don’t leave now, we’re going to miss the meeting at the station. By the way, Crystal Ball Kate and her husband are going to be there.”

  Flippy’s face lit up. “I can’t wait to meet them. You know, you could learn something from them.”

  Luke sneered. “This case needs more than hocus pocus. We don’t have time to play psychic games. They’re just the flavor of the month. But hey, we don’t have much else to go on. So maybe a little help from the cosmos isn’t such a bad thing. It can’t hurt.” Luke gathered up the photos scattered around Flippy’s desk and replaced them in the manila files before he grabbed Flippy’s hand and led her out of her office.

  “Misty, your boss will be down at the Graysville police station for the rest of the afternoon,” Luke instructed. “You have a file drawer around here with a lock on it? I need you to lock up these photos and the files on Flippy’s desk until we get back.”

  “You can’t order my receptionist around,” Flippy said, frowning.

  “You can order me around anytime, Officer Slaughter,” Misty remarked, tossing her blonde curls and gazing into Luke’s eyes as she angled her body to give him the best view of what she had to offer.

  “In fact, you can take me into custody any time you’d like,” she continued, holding out her hands submissively in front of her and slipping a note into Luke’s back hip pocket.

  “Call me,” she mouthed.

  Flippy twisted her face in exasperation. How her receptionist managed to stuff that shapely body of hers into so little clothing was a mystery. And the blatant flirting? Totally inappropriate in the office. She was going to have to have a serious talk with Misty.

  Luke straightened and made his best effort not to stare at Misty, but he couldn’t help strutting out of the office like a peacock.

  Men. They’re all alike. They are all cheaters. Just like my father.

  When she and Luke left the office, the homeless guys were fast asleep in the bushes, the blankets she had brought them wrapped around their frail bodies, empty beer bottles lined up around them, propped up like a protective glass army. They had been careful to avoid crushing the rosebushes.

  “Jesus, Philippa. You’ve got to get rid of them.”

  “Ssh, they’ll hear you,” she cautioned.

  “They’re passed out,” Luke said. “Dead to the world. Don’t you know anything? Your bleeding heart is going to get you into trouble one day.”

  Chapter Five

  Flippy knew she was in trouble when, earlier that day, she was summoned by her boss, Elizabeth Beckham, director of campus security, to her office at Tanner Hall. Waiting outside the director’s office reminded Flippy of the day she had been tapped for the Homecoming Homicides Task Force.

  Then, too, students were milling around, huddled in corners, holding on to each other. Talking in whispers. Talking about the missing girl. Flippy took a deep cleansing breath. This couldn’t be good. She had never been summoned to the director’s office before. Had she screwed up somehow? Was she going to get fired? She’d tried to operate under the radar, to keep her head down, but when she applied for a job with the Homecoming Homicides Task Force, she knew she was opening herself up for scrutiny. Defeated, Flippy had visions of going back home to Atlanta a failure. And having to listen to her parents tell her “I told you so” again. She knocked on the director’s door.

  “Come in.” The director’s gruff voice.

  The director was an imposing, but attractive, African-American woman, her hair more salt than pepper, who didn’t tolerate nonsense from anyone. Born in England, she had the most beautiful British accent. When she spoke you felt you were being addressed—or dressed down—by the Queen herself, and she was rumored to have balls like Patton and the sterling credentials of Sherlock Holmes Meets Scotland Yard.

  What she was doing in this backwater college town was a great mystery. The university had probably paid boatloads of money to get her here, and now their investment was paying off, because she was someone you’d definitely want on your side in a crisis.

  The director had picked up Flippy’s resume, riffled through it, then looked straight at her.

  “You have excellent grades, impeccable references, impressive internships. Tell me, Philippa, why do you want this job?”

  “I’m a Public Relations major but I minored in Criminology. This job would allow me to utilize my skills in both areas.”

  “That’s a pretty answer, an answer I’d expect from a beauty queen, but why do you really want this job?”

  Flippy hesitated and stiffened her spine.

  “I need this job,” she blurted. “My rent is due at the end of the month, and I don’t have the money to pay it.”

  “Can’t your parents help you out?”

  “I pay my own way. I paid for my education myself.”

  “I see,” said the director.

  But she didn’t see. Not really.

  “It says here you’re from Atlanta. Why don’t you go back there? Why are you staying in a small town like Graysville?”

  Flippy could ask the director the same question, but it was hardly appropriate. The director was not on trial here.

  That’s a question her parents had asked her dozens of times. Graysville was a great college town, but why would anyone consciously choose to stay there after they graduated?

  “I don’t, that is, I can’t go back,” Flippy said.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Flippy thought about telling the director her story. Her pathetic story. But she didn’t want to air her family’s dirty laundry in her boss’s office. That wouldn’t elicit much sympathy. No one felt sorry for a beauty queen who not only had the looks but all the other advantages in life. No one could see what was wrong with that idyllic scenario. In Flippy’s mind, going home was tantamount to giving up.

  “I didn’t want to take any money from my parents,” Flippy said.

  The director’s doubtful look indicated a realization there was more to the story, that it wasn’t just about the money, but she had the grace to let it go as she ruffled through her papers again.

  “It says here you were the university’s homecoming queen last year.”

  “Well, I wasn’t really the homecoming queen. I was the first runner-up, and when—” Flippy tried to swallow the big lump forming in her throat and hold back the Niagara Falls of tears threatening to spill over.

  “As I recall, the homecoming queen was killed,” the director said. “That was before I got here. It was actually the reason I was recruited. That case was never solved.”

  “No.”

  “But there was talk, there were rumors, that you might have been involved, since you were in line for the crown, is that right?”

  Flippy was suddenly tired. Her shoulders sagged and the bluster seeped right out of her, like from a defective balloon. She should have known she would never get away from the cruel accusations, the snide rem
arks, the speculation, the headlines casting doubt on her innocence. The jokes about Philippa Tannenbaum, the Susan Lucci of beauty pageants, who’d finally found a way to win the crown.

  Of course, she hadn’t killed Melinda Crawford. Anyone who knew her knew that was utter nonsense. Melinda Crawford had been a first-class bitch who’d connived her way to the crown, spreading lies and stabbing the competition in the back on her way to the top, but Flippy hadn’t hated her enough to kill her. She hadn’t even wanted the crown. Her mother wanted the crown, and Flippy had suffered the indignity of every beauty pageant since grade school to please her mother.

  It was ridiculous for anyone to even think she was capable of murder. She had the opportunity and the motive, but that’s as far as it got. Luke Slaughter had been there, too, supposedly shepherding them through the homecoming parade and the crowning ceremony on the field at halftime during the homecoming game. Melinda had died on his watch. If anyone should be blamed, it should be him. She supposed he’d paid for his mistakes. He’d been busted down to giving out traffic tickets to students who parked illegally on campus, and after a couple of months his application with the city police department had come through and he’d taken the job as a city cop. Then somehow he’d wangled his way onto the Homecoming Homicides Task Force. He had been given another chance. Didn’t she deserve one?

  Okay, this director could take her job and shove it. Flippy rose to go. She had tried to make things right. She’d spent a year wearing a crown that didn’t rightfully belong to her. She had even taken the job as homecoming pageant director in the next pageant to try to set things straight. To give back. She should have known people had long memories. Now this serial killer was on the loose, and all the rumors were swirling around in the universe. She’d wanted to remain in the background and now she was the story—again. Not the place for a PR person to be.

  “Where are you going, Miss Tannenbaum?” Flippy hadn’t realized she’d left her seat and was halfway to the door.

  She turned to face the director, red-faced.

  “If you think I had anything to do with—”

  “Of course I don’t. I know you didn’t. The former director of the campus police was looking for a scapegoat because he couldn’t do his job, and that’s why they brought me in. I deal in facts, Miss Tannenbaum, not fiction.”

  Not exactly a glowing endorsement, but the director’s support offered a glimmer of hope.

  “All I want is a chance, a chance to do this job I know I can do, to...make things right.”

  “And I want to give you that chance, so take a seat and let’s get on with the interview.”

  Flippy slipped back into her chair across from the director, submitting once again to her iron gaze. This woman could give Maggie Thatcher a run for her money.

  They skirted over the train wreck of her paltry six days in law school while she was trying to find her way. But from then on, the director gave Flippy every opportunity. She’d started out as the campus police Victim’s Advocate, where she learned a lot about being the victim. And once the pageant contestants started turning up dead, she wanted on the high profile Homecoming Homicides Task Force being formed by the campus police, the city police, and the FBI.

  It was her chance to redeem herself, to prove she could do the job, that she wasn’t just some brainless beauty queen trading off her looks, that she had something more valuable than a pretty face to contribute. If the man who had killed Melinda was killing again, she wanted to be front and center in the effort to find him and put him away so he could never hurt anyone again.

  “If I place you on the task force, you’re going to get thrown right back into the fire. You know that, don’t you?” the director had warned. “Another dead homecoming queen turns up and you are thrown into the mix—again. People will talk.”

  “I can handle that,” Flippy assured her. And she would handle it. She’d have to face her demons, survive the glare of the spotlight on her own time, but if she could live through that trial by fire, if she could come out unblemished, she could finally live with herself. So far, so good, until she had received a second summons today.

  A secretary ushered Flippy into Director Beckham’s office.

  “Sit down, Miss Tannenbaum, and stop looking so worried. Despite what you might have heard, I am not a vampire. I don’t bite.”

  “No ma’am,” said Flippy, digging into the skin underneath her fingernails.

  The director may not bite, but she was not about to let Flippy off the hook on task force business.

  “What are people saying about the investigation and how it’s going?”

  Flippy hesitated. She could hardly tell the director the truth, that the media and people all over the country were wondering why the campus police department was in charge, and how they felt the police were impeding the investigation.

  “Um, that we’re making progress.” Flippy could hardly meet the director’s gaze.

  The director raised her eyebrows in doubt.

  “That’s a PR answer if I ever heard one. How’s that campus-turned-city cop Luke Slaughter doing?” It made Flippy think of the Country Mouse/City Mouse story she’d read as a child.

  “What did he say about me?” Flippy demanded. She knew she sounded defensive, but she didn’t trust Luke Slaughter, especially not now.

  “This isn’t kindergarten, Philippa. We’re not playing He Said, She Said. We all have to play nice in the Serial Killer Sandbox. I want to know what the city is saying about the way we’re handling the investigation. I know you and Luke Slaughter are close.”

  Flippy’s eyes widened. What didn’t this woman know about her personal life? Was their one-night stand documented in her personnel file?

  “We’re friends,” Flippy objected. “Were friends.” Flippy decided to tell the truth. She didn’t have anything to lose at this point.

  “Chief Bradley says the campus police department is overstepping, that while the girls were dumped on campus, they were killed in the city, so it’s their case.”

  “We have no proof of that.”

  “He wants us to step down. The FBI wants to take complete control of the case, and the City of Graysville says they want the lead in working with the FBI.”

  “And?”

  “And Luke Slaughter says that a beauty queen has no business being on this case.”

  “I want my seat at the table,” the director said. “You are my representative. You absolutely do belong on this task force. You were tailor-made for this task force for any number of reasons. I fought to get you on there and I’ll fight to see that you stay. But you have to do your part. My ass is on the line and so is the university’s reputation. No parent is ever going to send their daughter to this school again if we can’t catch this killer. We’ve already had dozens of girls drop out this semester. I want to make sure you can handle this new assignment, Philippa, or do I need to bring in someone more seasoned? The FBI is making noises about bringing in some of their people to handle press relations.”

  “No!” Flippy protested. “I can handle it. I will handle it. No matter what that snake Luke Slaughter says.”

  “I’m not interested in what Luke Slaughter has to say. I am interested in solving this case before the university president has my job. If that happens, then your job will be in jeopardy. I don’t intend to be his or anyone’s sacrificial lamb. You need to get this clusterfuck under control. I’m going to give you one more week—one week to set things straight, to get this investigation back on track, to reign in the media vultures. If that means working with Luke Slaughter to get that accomplished, well, suck it up and do it.”

  “One week. Director, ma’am, I can do that.”

  “Talk to your friend Officer Slaughter and tell him to stop sabotaging our case. We’re supposed to be working together. Do whatever you have to do to get through to him. Neutralize him. Sweet talk him. Sleep with him if you have to.”

  Flippy looked at the director and her mouth flew open. Th
e woman had eyes in the back of her head, but maybe she was psychic, too. Or maybe she’d been having her employees followed, to bars and back to their bedrooms.

  “You know I was kidding about that last part,” the director said, eyebrows raised, offering a hint of a smile. “Just don’t let Luke Slaughter know I think Chief Bradley is a conceited SOB who doesn’t have the experience to run a case of this magnitude. He’s out of his league. Cowboy thinks he can skate by on his good looks and pseudo country-boy charm. Sucker tried to pick me up when I first got to town. I set him straight. He says he was just a lonely widower in need of companionship. I think he’s just horny. But we’re stuck with him, with both of them. So make it work.”

  “I have Luke Slaughter under control,” Flippy assured her boss with a confidence she didn’t really feel.

  “See that you do. I know I’m throwing you in at the deep end, but I am taking a chance on you. Don’t let me down. That’s all. Now about this parents’ meeting. Are you up to that? Or do you want me to handle it?”

  “I assure you, I’ll be up to speed and ready to handle it.”

  “I don’t like this idea of dueling press conferences. Everyone’s releasing conflicting statements, the FBI, the city, us, the families. And meanwhile, no one is solving this case. And that bozo Bradley just hired a psychic detective agency from Atlanta to consult on our case. I’ve never heard of anything so idiotic. He’s obviously desperate if he has to resort to woo-woo tactics. I want you to find out what they’re up to and report back to me.”

  “Of course,” Flippy said.

  For the past week, Flippy had boned up on the case. She was as ready as she’d ever be. If Luke Slaughter didn’t get in her way.

  Chapter Six

  Flippy felt their pain before she even entered the room. It was a palpable sorrow, pulsing like an irregular heartbeat, coating the room like an eerie mist from the underworld.

  She ventured a look inside. Relatives of the dead, missing, and living pageant contestants were gathered in the break room of the Graysville police station. It was standing room only. Just thinking about those girls made her already queasy stomach clench.