Homecoming Homicides Read online

  “Wait with me,” Donny wailed, touching his face over and over as tears puddled on his puffy cheeks. His nostrils flared and dripped and his pupils dilated. And he continued to rock, while remaining bolted to the ground.

  “You a friend of Donny’s or Rodney’s?” asked the driver.

  “I don’t know any Rodney. He looked lost and I just wanted to help.”

  “Look, miss, sometimes he gets like this. And he won’t stop. I hate to leave him here alone like this. No telling when that smart-ass brother of his will come back for him. But I have to keep to my schedule. Don’t want to lose my job, do I? And you can’t wait here. It’s not safe for a pretty girl like you, what with everything that’s going on around campus. You can ride along with us and I’ll drop you where you need to go after I finish my route.”

  Traci shook her head hesitantly. Her every instinct told her it was definitely not a good idea.

  “Please,” Donny sniffled, sensing victory.

  Mentally challenged or not, he was nothing but a big manipulative mama’s boy, Traci realized as she started to ease away from the bus. But if Donny left, she’d be alone. That’s what it came down to. She didn’t want to get on the bus. Neither did she want to be alone.

  “I might be able to stay for a few more minutes, just until his brother comes,” Traci relented, although everything in her argued against it.

  “Thanks, miss. Now be careful out here. Why don’t you call the campus police to come pick you up, walk you home?”

  Flippy worked for the campus police. Traci wouldn’t be calling anybody in that place.

  Donny wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve and looked back at her with that hundred-watt smile, like everything was all right again in his world.

  “You’re pretty,” Donny repeated. “Just like my mama.”

  The double doors closed with a loud whoosh, and the bus pulled away just as a green Thunderbird came roaring out of nowhere and pulled up in front of the bus stop.

  “You’re late,” the boy accused, pointing his finger at the car, his fat face red and splotchy from crying.

  “Sorry, bro. Hey, who’s your pretty little girlfriend?”

  Donny blushed and stammered. “Sh-she’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Did the bus driver happen to get a look at your new girlfriend?” Donny’s brother asked.

  “I told you, she’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Too bad.”

  Traci leaned into the car, trying to get a look at the man inside, but it was dark and the man turned his face away as he switched off his headlights. “I was afraid to leave your brother alone. He was really upset.”

  “She’s beautiful and she’s a Good Samaritan,” said the driver. “We hit the jackpot this time, big bro. Get in the car, Donny. Say thank you to your pretty little girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Donny insisted as he opened the car door and lumbered into the front seat.

  “Donny doesn’t exactly have a way with words, does he?” mocked the faceless voice that floated from the car. “But I appreciate you waiting with my brother. I’d like to show my gratitude. Can I give you a lift anywhere?”

  “N-no,” Traci stammered. “Th-thank you. Goodbye, Donny.” Traci edged away from the bus stop, gave a half-hearted wave, and started walking in the opposite direction of the car. The Thunderbird swerved, spun around in a cloud of dust and pulled up alongside her. A frisson of fear climbed up her spine and lodged in her brain. The car windows opened and the vehicle tracked Traci as she began to run.

  The car kept rolling. Traci kept running. But she could still hear the man’s voice.

  “I offered you a ride home. Are you always this rude? Don’t you know it’s not safe to be out alone at night?”

  Traci kept up her pace.

  “Grab her, Donny. Your girlfriend needs a lesson in manners.”

  “But why?” the boy asked.

  “Don’t ask questions. Don’t I always know what’s best for you? We’re just taking her home for a short visit. Wouldn’t you like a little company? It gets pretty lonely with just us guys around the house way out at the end of the world.”

  “Don’t hurt her.”

  “Now where would you get an idea like that? You watch too many movies, bro. Go ahead and get her, and be quick about it before someone else sees you.”

  Traci risked a peek back as Donny stepped out of the car. He was as big as a giant, but he moved quickly and he was gaining on her.

  “No, please.” Traci tried to shout, but the words came out as a strangled whisper. A sick knot of fear twisted in her throat, festered in the pit of her stomach, choking her as it rose into her mouth. A slick band of sweat glistened on her chest, pooled under her arms and froze there. Her knees buckled. Each breath tore out of her with the force of a jagged knife. But still she ran. She ran like her life depended on it.

  Chapter Two

  “Flippy, I mean Philippa, uh, Miss Tannenbaum, there’s an Officer Luke Slaughter from the Graysville Police Department here to see you.”

  Despite her practiced calm, carefully cultivated from her beauty queen days, Flippy’s stomach shuddered as a tremor rumbled through her body. The seismic shift seized her fragile heart. She had never expected to see Luke Slaughter again, much less this soon, fully clothed, and certainly not under these circumstances.

  “Send him in, Misty.”

  Had she managed to keep the vibrating waves of tension from her voice? Just barely. She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the last time she’d seen Luke Slaughter, bare and naked, sleeping beside her in her dump of an apartment. Actually, he’d had her in an unconscious octopus hold, hands everywhere, possessively clutching her body like so many tentacles, cutting off her circulation so she could barely breathe. At least it felt like she was suffocating. Had it only been a week ago? Could she face him here after what they’d done (what hadn’t they done?), and after how shabbily she’d treated him when the night was over? Despite the nauseated feeling in her stomach, the answer was “yes,” but it wouldn’t be fun.

  It was only her first day on the job as part of the newly-created Campus-City Homecoming Homicides Task Force, and she wanted to make a good impression. So she couldn’t hide under her desk, although that was her first inclination when she heard Misty announce Luke’s arrival. But there was too much at stake for personal feelings to get in the way. They’d even called in Crystal & Hale, that new husband and wife team from the psychic detective agency in Atlanta. He was a former cop who had the misfortune of being named Jack, and she was that famous psychic, Crystal Ball Kate, who had accurately predicted the crash of Vince Rivers’ private jet and helped solve the Midtown Atlanta and Sydney Strangler cases.

  Her big opportunity was about to walk through the door, and she didn’t intend to blow it. No matter how much it cost her personally. She’d just have to suck it up and remember who she was now—a professional, with her own office and her own receptionist.

  She’d hired Misty Waters away from DaVinci’s, the local pizza hangout next door to the nondescript, but affordable, campus police department annex. Hired her for her personality and her multitasking ability. She’d seen the girl juggle six tables of rowdy college kids without breaking a sweat or dropping a plate. She certainly hadn’t hired her for her fashion sense, which seemed to be based on the concept that “less is more.” Flippy’s next order of business would be to persuade the ex-pizza tosser to upgrade her wardrobe and perhaps put on something more respectable and less receptive.

  True, Misty might be a little rough around the edges, but Flippy could spot potential, and the girl had it with a capital “P.” Misty would be okay as long as she focused on answering the phone and not giving visitors “The Works”—a bird’s-eye view of her considerable toppings. Either way, she sincerely hoped hiring Misty Waters turned out to be a smart decision, because this case of murder and mayhem seemed to be spiraling out of control, and Flippy’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

 
As she looked up, Luke Slaughter backed into her office, magnificent butt first—his muscles straining under the weight of a large cardboard box. He turned to face her, while craning his neck back shamelessly in Misty’s direction. There was something vaguely familiar about the shape of the man’s butt. Or maybe it was that Dirty Harry-sized piece bulging out of his hip holster. Flippy tried to block out all thoughts about the night she’d just spent with Luke Slaughter. It wasn’t difficult to do, since she had been so hammered and intent on revenge against her serial cheating ex-fiancé, Jack Armstrong.

  No doubt about it, the man looked good in a uniform. And out of it. And he was a warm body. Sufficient qualifications at the time for a revenge fuck. Flippy suppressed rogue thoughts of that night. A night that refused to stop flashing before her eyes. The only thing clear about that night was that it had been a big mistake. A mistake she’d never make again.

  “Damn, Flippy, I like the way you’ve decorated the place.” Luke dropped the box on the floor, where it landed with an ungainly thud.

  He wasn’t even pretending to look at her office furniture, a ragtag cast of characters that shouted yard sale.

  “If you’re referring to Misty Waters, my receptionist, you can just stop drooling.”

  “Misty Waters? You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not. She’s intelligent and she works for me. Keep that in mind and stop entertaining your pathetic fantasies.”

  “Whoa, how about stowing the attitude, sweetheart.” Luke’s smile had vanished. “I didn’t ask to work this case with you, but I’m ready to play nice.”

  “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

  Flippy rose to her feet. “In fact, I know you bad-mouthed me to Chief Bradley, doing everything you could to keep me off the task force. I believe your exact words were, ‘Chief, she may be easy on the eyes, but she’s a bubble-headed beauty queen you can’t count on in a crunch. She’s not a particular fan of handguns. I wouldn’t want to stake my life on her. She couldn’t even last six days in law school.’ Am I getting warm?”

  Luke’s cheeks paled, taking on the color of the New Dawn roses that wound around the trellis outside her office window. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed before he let loose with that lethal baby-face smile of his, which had a habit of appearing at the most inappropriate times. She still had dreams about those dangerous dimples.

  “Don’t even bother to deny it, you slimy little serpent,” Flippy hissed. “When one of my friends filled in for your chief’s secretary, she listened on the other side of the door when you tried to torpedo me.”

  “I was just blowing off steam.”

  “What you almost blew was my chance to do something meaningful with my life. To prove myself to my new director.”

  Luke’s lips curled. “Old Iron Balls?”

  “You think undermining me for what could possibly be the biggest assignment of my career is funny? And is it really necessary to insult my director? Elizabeth Beckham is a law enforcement legend.”

  “She’s also a royal pain in the ass. Maybe I should call her Queen Elizabeth. No, I don’t think it’s funny, and yes, I think it’s necessary to insult your director, because she’s the scary bitch who fired me from the campus police department. But do you really think you’re cut out for this kind of work?”

  “I need this job and I can do this job, if you would just step out of my way.”

  “What’s the worst crime you’ve ever dealt with?” Luke challenged. “Bicycle and backpack theft? That’s a long way from serial killers.”

  “Try date rape and sexual assault,” Flippy countered. “I’m the Department’s Victim Services Advocate. It’s my job to ensure that all victims of crime on campus receive fair treatment in accordance with the provisions of Florida State Statute 960.”

  “I know the statute, sweetheart, but you don’t know Jack-shit about dealing with a serial killer.”

  Flippy fumed at what she knew was the intentional mention of her ex-fiancé’s name.

  “Why don’t we leave Jack out of this?” She shot Luke a hostile glare.

  “Gladly. But bottom line, you don’t belong on this task force. This isn’t some stupid beauty contest. You are not qualified to serve.”

  “I’m the new crisis manager on the task force,” Flippy informed Luke. “You people have a major crisis on your hands. I’m definitely cut out for this kind of work, and I do belong here because my director wants me on the team. And what’s so great about you, anyway? You’re a part-time cop at a two-bit metro police department in a one-horse town. Don’t you have any loftier aspirations?”

  “I’m going to law school at night,” Luke said, raising his chin defensively.

  “Been there. Done that.”

  “That’s right. Chief Bradley figured that since you and I went to law school together, before you flunked out after a whopping six days, we could team up on this case.”

  “Dropped out,” she corrected. “Because we’re such good buds, is that what you told him?”

  “Look, Flippy...”

  “And don’t call me Flippy. My professional name is Philippa.”

  “What kind of name is Flippy anyway?” Luke challenged, plopping his lanky frame down on her only guest chair, which made annoying creaking noises every time he moved. “Wasn’t that the name of a dolphin or something?”

  “That was Flipper, and what business could that possibly be of yours?”

  “Whoa, don’t flip out on me,” Luke protested, his eyes sparkling as he signaled time-out with his hands. “I’m just curious.”

  Trying to exercise a modicum of restraint in the spirit of cooperation, Flippy graciously answered, “It’s a nickname. My baby sister couldn’t pronounce Philippa.”

  Flippy. How many times had she been teased about her nickname? A name that had stuck throughout high school and college. Flippy Longstocking. My Friend Flippy. Dippy Flippy. She didn’t know any other Philippas, but how could her mother ever have thought that name was distinctive?

  And how many times had Jack abused her name? His standard Valentine’s Day card read, “I’ve flipped over you.” And how could she ever forget his all-time favorite—“I’m hungry. Why don’t you flip me some pancakes?” When he knew perfectly well that she couldn’t even cook.

  She had let Jack call her Flippy, but Jack was out of her life now, and no one was ever going to call her Flippy again.

  “Bastard,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Jesus, Flippy.”

  “Luke, you obviously can’t follow instructions, so get your tight ass out of my chair.”

  Luke’s eyebrows rose in amusement, but he didn’t budge.

  “I could return the compliment, but I’m a gentleman, so I won’t. Luke eased the chair back on two legs and folded his hands in a leisurely manner behind his head.

  Flippy wanted to grind his balls, one at a time, under the heel of her shoe until she forced that smug look off his face. But he was just winding up.

  “How do you rate an office anyway?” said Luke, who’d already moved on to the next insult. “You just got this job.”

  “In the type of work I do, I need a separate space from the rest of the department. When I counsel victims, we sometimes discuss sensitive matters. They’re traumatized enough without having the whole department listening in on our private conversations.”

  “And the way I see it, you need me. The city has jurisdiction in this case, and my chief backs me up on that.”

  “Well, according to my director, we have jurisdiction here. The bodies of the five victims were found on landmark sites around the campus, so you’re on our turf. We were responsible for forensic examination of the crime scenes before the city started sticking its nose into our business. You’re overstepping, Slaughter.”

  “You’re the one who’s overstepping,” Luke argued. “The girls weren’t necessarily murdered on campus, so it looks like jurisdiction is a muddy issue. Why don’t you stop acting like a
girl and stop trying to turn this into a tug-of-war over jurisdiction. We’re supposed to be working together. That’s why it’s called a joint task force.”

  “You people couldn’t solve a crime if the killer walked through this door and turned himself in.”

  “You act like it’s your job to solve the crime. The way I understand it, your role is to manage the media and handle the families, help calm fears. Leave the investigation to the professionals.”

  “And you consider yourself one of the professionals?”

  “I’m a police officer. Which is a damn sight better than calling in some psychics from Atlanta. Why the hell they did that, I’ll never know. And isn’t that former Atlanta cop named Jack something or other? What is it about you and guys named Jack? You seem to attract them like flies.”

  Flippy went after Luke with both barrels blazing. “Jack Hale and his psychic wife just solved the Sydney Strangler case. What case have you solved lately? In fact, where were you last year when the homecoming queen you were supposed to be protecting was found stabbed to death in her dressing room at the stadium?”

  Luke blanched, then bounced back with his best defensive move.

  “You mean when I found you, the first runner-up, standing over her body? Way to kill the competition, Flip.”

  Flippy gnawed on her bottom lip. That was a scene she’d spent the last year and a half trying to forget. A scene that replayed over and over on a continuous feed in her head. A scene that apparently no one in this city would ever let her forget.

  “They were calling for us to get in the car to circle the field,” Flippy explained. “Everyone was there but Melinda. I was the one who went back to get her when you pulled your disappearing act. And sh-she was just lying there, curled up in a ball, in a pool of blood. And she wasn’t moving. Sh-she was—”

  “Is ‘dead’ the word you’re looking for?”

  “Yes. You were there. And history seems to be repeating itself.”

  “Maybe I ought to be asking you where you were the night Traci Farris went missing?” Luke said.