Homecoming Homicides (13 page)

“No. Cruz is my dog. Cruz Bustamante.”

“Cruz, as in the former lieutenant governor of California?”

“Yes, but she answers to almost any name.”

“He sounds like a Great Dane.”

“Actually
she
thinks she’s a German Shepherd, but in fact she is a very tiny but feisty Bichon Frise.”

“What’s she barking at?”

“The vacuum cleaner.”

“Why?”

“She’s afraid of the vacuum cleaner.”

“Sounds like we have a lot in common. What is your vacuum cleaner doing in the bathroom?”

“I knew you were coming and I wanted the place to look decent. I didn’t have time to put it away.”

“It looks a lot more than decent,” Flippy said, following Luke back into his bedroom. As he opened his bathroom door, a fluffy white ball tumbled out, yipping loudly in a demand to be lifted. Luke scooped her up into his arms and raised her over his head.

“Oh, you’re precious,” Flippy said, reaching for the dog as Luke transferred the warm, wiggly bundle into her arms. Flippy cozied up to Cruz and was rewarded by a series of face licks. Cruz was exactly what she needed now. The dog seemed to sense her distress. Flippy squeezed Cruz and drank in her smell.

“Don’t let her hear you say that. She thinks she’s an attack dog.”

“Cruzy, woozy, you’re awful cute. But she’s such a girly dog. I didn’t picture you with such a frou-frou pet.”

“I love my dog,” Luke said simply.

“Where does she sleep?”

“With me,” Luke said, staring at the bed and daring her to reply.
In that big cozy-looking king-sized bed.

Flippy laughed nervously and backed away from the elephant in the room.

“You should see my dining room table,” Luke drawled.

Flippy’s face flushed when she remembered what they’d done on her kitchen table a week earlier.

“Okay, enough talk about sex. I’m going into the living room to study,” Luke announced. “I suggest you get some sleep while you can. You’re obviously wiped out.”

“I want to do some research on serial killers. See if I can get a fix on the guy.”

“You don’t have to stay up just because I’m up, but you can set up your computer on the kitchen table, if you’d like.”

“Thanks. I think I will.”

“Our man doesn’t quite fit the pattern. He’s a creative bastard,” Luke said. “Let me know if you find anything interesting.”

The last thing Flippy felt like doing was bathing in the stinking morass of serial-killer-dom. She’d rather be bathing in Luke’s luxurious Jacuzzi tub,
with Luke
. But he was right. She was wrung out from the day. She ached for Traci’s parents. She missed her best friend. She wanted to wash off the grit and memory of the crime scene, the agony of watching Traci’s parents grieve, of seeing Traci laid out on the table before she was cut open, but she was too tired to shower and at the same time too wound up to sleep. She had a lot of ground to cover, so she kicked off her heels, stretched her toes, and eased into a pair of well-worn slippers retrieved from her overnight bag. She set her laptop on the kitchen table and turned it on.

The pitter-patter of Cruz’s dainty footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor as she went to lap up water and then munch on the food in her stainless steel bowls. Once her tummy was happy, she nestled her doggy chin against Flippy’s fuzzy slippers.

Flippy peeked into the living room, where Luke was stretched out on the couch reading a Godzilla-sized legal book and outlining notes on index cards. He looked tempting, sitting there. He really was a decent guy. Definitely not her usual type. Apparently she had always favored the big, brawny jock type for whom cheating came as easily as breathing. Almost married a guy just like dear old dad.

She gave herself a mental slap and dragged her eyes away from Luke and back to her computer. Any thoughts of Jack brought back thoughts of Traci, and she didn’t want to go there right now.

After an hour at the computer, Flippy’s neck bobbed and her eyelids drooped. She was falling asleep with her head in the baked beans, as her sister Natalie used to say. Cruz had fallen asleep on her instep and Flippy was afraid to move for fear of waking her, but her foot was growing numb.

Flippy couldn’t concentrate, so she closed her computer and gently nudged Cruz off her foot. The dog rolled onto her back with her feet straight up in the air, and Flippy smiled.

Luke was still hard at work, so she tiptoed into the guest room. Too tired to even wash her face, she changed into Jack’s old football jersey, her uniform as much as it had been his, and snuggled under the comforter. The pillow was soft and comfy and the satin sheets were cool against her skin. She didn’t miss her rattrap of a room one bit. And, for the first time in a week, she was ready to slip out of consciousness with her last thoughts not of Jack and how much she missed him.

Flippy felt something pounce on her bed and a warm tongue lick her face. Her nose twitched. Jack? Luke?

“Cruz,” she whispered. “Come here, girl. You can bunk with me tonight. I need you more than Luke does.” Flippy grabbed the adorable fuzzball and snuck her under the covers where Luke couldn’t find her. She was taking possession of the family pet.

“Who do you like best?”

Cruz answered with more face licking. She had always wanted a dog, but dear old mom didn’t want dog hairs or worse on her valuable Aubussons. Now she had one, sort of, at least temporarily, for as long as she wanted to stay at Luke’s condo.

She and Cruz settled in for the night and prepared to dream. What do dogs dream about? Flippy wondered.

A sliver of light shone in from the hall. Luke was checking up on her. Flippy pretended to be asleep. She pressed her face against the pillow.

“Cruz, are you in there? Cruz?” Luke stepped to the bed and pulled back the comforter.

“Cruz, you traitor. You just met her and you’re already sleeping with her? What a horn dog!”

Flippy struggled not to smile and tried to mash her face further into the pillow.

“Number 10, Big Jack Armstrong.” Luke was obviously looking at her jersey, her threadbare jersey. He’d better not be looking at anything else, bare as she was under that jersey. She knew the jersey was riding up her butt. Damn. Luke had a perfect view.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Luke pet Cruz under the covers. He dominated the room. His hand hovered over Flippy’s head for what seemed like the longest minute of her life. Then he tucked back a lock of her hair behind her ears, and his fingers lingered there and traced a path lightly down her neck, causing her to shiver.

“You awake?” he whispered.

Flippy lay as still as a statue.

The back of his fingers skimmed her neck and traveled down the well-worn fabric, lifting it until his hand made a soft imprint on her back, pausing before he administered a gentle massage that slowly inched toward her side, at which point her body betrayed her and her nipples hardened.

“What did I tell you about those wandering hands?” Flippy whispered, in a voice raspy with sleep, trying not to jostle Cruz.

“Couldn’t resist. You said you had a headache. I’m just giving you a massage.”

Flippy shifted up in the bed and smoothed down her jersey. His hand fell away as she turned to face him.

“I said a headache, not a backache.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t help remembering.”

“That was a one-time thing,” Flippy said, glad Luke couldn’t see her blush in the darkness.

“Not technically,” Luke answered, his voice rising.

“Shush. You’ll wake Cruz.”

“Cruz can sleep through an explosion.”

She looked at Luke’s face, bathed in the moonlight.

“My life is a train wreck, Luke. I’m not ready for any more complications.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Luke said.

“My best friend is dead.”

“That’s why I’m here. I knew you needed me.”

Flippy’s mind might not be ready, but her body was drowsy and vulnerable, her nipples taut and her breasts suddenly hungering to be stroked. She needed to feel alive. Her tongue was dying to taste Luke’s lips again. And there were other parts of her body she wanted Luke to taste again, as well. A pool of liquid formed in her lower parts, parts that weren’t wearing panties. If he didn’t touch her again, and soon, she was going to disintegrate. She stretched her arms, dying to reach for him, wanting to lose herself in him.

“Flippy,” Luke pleaded, his eyes going dark.

But somebody had to be the adult here. After all, this wasn’t an X-rated slumber party. It was a murder investigation. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped herself in the bedsheet.

“I’m sorry, Luke. It’s just not right, the right time, I mean.”

Luke finally looked away from her. “Goodnight, girls,” he sighed regretfully and slipped silently out of the room. He really was a Boy Scout.

Chapter Nine

“What are you doing here?” Flippy snarled as she walked into her reception area and found Luke sitting in her receptionist’s chair.

“I’m relieving Misty,” Luke replied innocently.

“More importantly, what are
you
doing here?” Luke bristled. I left you in bed. I mean sleeping. You were so exhausted I thought I’d let you sleep in. And how did you get here anyway? I was going to come back and pick you up after my test.”

“I hitched a ride.”

“You hitched? Are you crazy? There’s a serial killer out there, and you hitched?”

“Don’t lecture me. You were the one who suggested I leave my car here, Mr. Brilliant. You left to take your test, so how was I supposed to get to work?”

“I told you I was planning to pick you up. And I had you covered, don’t worry.”

“You had me covered? I didn’t see anyone lurking about.”

“That’s why they call it
under
cover. You’re not supposed to see them.”

“Admit it, you don’t have anyone watching me. Which is fine. I told you I don’t need your protection.”

“Calm down.”

“And where’s Misty?”

“She’s working at DaVinci’s.”

“DaVinci’s? But she works for me. What is she doing back there?”

“Apparently she and the owner are tight and he was short-handed, so she offered to work for a few hours.”

Flippy sighed. Her talk with Misty was long overdue. The girl had a lot to learn about responsibility. This wasn’t some part-time job. Maybe she was being too bitchy. Probably because she had a ton of things to attend to, and she had gotten a late start. And she was hungry. She hadn’t eaten breakfast, and worse, she’d had no transportation to the doughnut shop, so the men living in front of her office were going to go hungry too.

“Did you take your exam?”

“I did. I’m just glad it’s over.”

“How do you think you did?”

“Hard to say. I didn’t get enough studying time in, but you never know.”

“You didn’t have to do this. You’re just babysitting me, and it’s not necessary.”

“I told you. You’re stuck with me unless I have class, and then you get my replacement.”

“How am I supposed to recognize your replacement?”

“You’re not, if he’s doing his job correctly. You got some messages,” Luke said. “More than a dozen media calls.”

“That was nice of you. But you shouldn’t be spending time answering my phone and taking messages. I have an office to run and we have a case to solve.”

“As I keep telling you,
you
don’t have a case to solve. I do. And someone else called.”

“Who?”

“Number 10, Big Jack.”

“Not again. What did he want?”

“Has he been harassing you?” Laid Back Luke uncoiled, baring his fangs, and almost sprang out of Misty’s seat.

“His prior messages say he wants me back. He apparently hasn’t received the memo yet that I don’t tolerate cheaters. He’s confusing me with my mother.”

Luke was not touching that subject with a ten-foot pole.

“I told him to stop calling you, and then I told him about Traci. He was going to hear it on the news anyway.”

“How did he react?”

“He was genuinely upset. I told him I knew what he’d done, how he’d cheated on the best thing he ever had with his girl’s best friend.”

“Luke, you had no right to get into that with him. That’s a private matter.”

“The guy is eaten up with guilt, I’ll give him that.”

“What else did you tell him?”

“I told him to leave you alone and stop calling.”

“And?”

“And that you were with me now.”

Flippy sagged. “Luke, that’s a lie.”

“I know that, but he doesn’t. You want him to stop harassing you, don’t you? So I told him you’d moved on, with me.”

“He’s going to need someone. I’m sure he’s torn up about Traci. First he lost Major, then me, and now he feels responsible somehow for Traci’s death.”

“He’s not your problem now,” Luke said. “Did you find out anything in your research last night?”

Flippy sat on the end of Misty’s desk.

“Just the basic run-of-the-mill stuff on serial killers. The first one I came across was Danny Rolling.”

“The Gainesville Ripper.”

“Yes, the guy who mutilated five students in Gainesville, Florida, in August 1990. And then there was Ted Bundy, who raped and murdered several young girls at a sorority house in Tallahassee. There was also a lot of information about the Virginia Tech shootings and the fatal shootings of the UNC and Auburn coeds in March 2008. But other than that, no leads. Then I fell asleep. But reading all that research about serial killers must have given me nightmares. Because when I woke up I had this sickening thought. What if it’s not a he? What if the killer we’re looking for is a she? Did you ever think of that, Luke?”

“It’s probably not a woman,” Luke said. “Female serial killers are rare. More often than not, they kill for money, and nothing major was stolen from these victims.”

“Except their lives,” she felt obliged to point out.

“But poison is a woman’s typical weapon of choice,” Luke said.

“Didn’t we learn in criminology class that female serial killers may be more common than we know because they’re pretty good at what they do? They’re just harder to catch and they leave fewer clues.”

“That’s true, so we can’t rule out that possibility,” Luke agreed.