Homecoming Homicides (18 page)

Flippy sat up. “We’ve only been together for a week.”

“We’ve known each other for years. I’ve been in love with you for years. I’ve dreamed about this—us—forever.”

Flippy sighed.

“I don’t expect you to say it back. I just wanted you to hear it.”

“It’s nice to hear, if you mean it.”

“Of course I mean it. I want to be with you in every way. You’re all I think about. Was it okay?”

“It was more than okay. Couldn’t you tell?”

“I mean…” Luke began.

“You want to know how you compare to Number Ten?”

“Yes.”

“Very favorably,” Flippy murmured.

“I mean, Jack Armstrong is practically a legend.”

“In his own mind, maybe. It felt great, Luke. I mean that. You don’t need to compare yourself with Jack. Jack was a very selfish lover. He only cared about satisfying himself. I hope you’re nothing like him.”

They lay there contentedly on the couch, kissing, snuggling, until Cruz demanded to be let out of the bedroom.

“I hate to break this up, but I guess I’d better get Cruz,” Luke said. “She’s getting jealous. And she might just have an accident on my carpet to prove her point.”

Luke jumped up and strutted over to his bedroom door to let Cruz out. Flippy covered herself with an afghan draped across the couch. She was comfortable in this place with this man. Maybe too comfortable.

“I guess we’d better start poring over these files,” Flippy called out.

“Okay, I’ve got some more studying to do first. Do you mind getting a head start?”

“I want to do some Internet research first, anyway,” Flippy said.

She put her pajamas and robe back on and opened her computer in the kitchen with Cruz nipping at her feet.

She typed in “fires in Graysville, Florida, mysterious, deaths,” and then hit Search.

A lot of entries appeared, so she clicked on the most promising links. There had been a rash of mysterious fires in Graysville over the last few years, and she went back farther, up to ten years ago and then fifteen years and bookmarked the articles she wanted to study. Then she honed the search by entering beauty queens. Probably nothing would come up, but you never knew. She wouldn’t tell Luke about this right away. She would check out the stories herself to see if they panned out before she got his hopes up. But his idea of cross-checking the names of personnel at the university, or even ex-university personnel, would be a good plan once they got that list.

Of all the prospects, one stood out, making the hairs on the back of Flippy’s neck rise. Was she having a sixth sense moment, like Crystal Ball Kate?

There was a story in the
Graysville Reporter
about a former beauty queen, Gracie Willis, who was raising two small boys after her husband had deserted her. One night, the younger boy, Rodney, accidentally set the curtains of his mother’s bedroom on fire. He rescued his mother, but not before the left side of her face was burned and her good looks lost forever. She placed that article on favorites. Her computer wasn’t hooked up to a printer, but she would print it out on Luke’s printer later.

The boy, Rodney, would be about thirty now. She needed to do a search on him, see what else she could find. See if he was still in Graysville around the time that Melinda Crawford was killed.

Rodney Willis. Could he be the one? Unlikely. But in cases like this you had to take the breaks where you found them.

You’re smart, Rodney Willis, aren’t you. Top of your class at Graysville High. Where did you go to college, or did you? And if you did, and my hunch is correct, where did you go wrong, so horribly wrong?

Flippy made a note to check if Rodney had applied to NFU and if he had been accepted or rejected. If rejected, he could be bitter toward the university. And the fact that his mother was a beauty queen was a nice tie-in.

There was a picture of fifteen-year old Rodney. Looked like he could have been good-looking at one time, but he had extensive burns across his face, so probably he had been an awkward teenager. She’d need to consult with Katherine to see if she got any warning signs when she looked at his picture.

It says he has an older brother who is mildly retarded and attended the Graysville Community Day School for special needs children.
Was he working? No picture of the brother that she could find. The mother…what ever happened to the mother? It didn’t say she was killed in the fire. If she was disfigured, then she couldn’t work, she couldn’t enter beauty contests, or model.
Then, Rodney, it would be up to you to support your mother and older brother.
Caring for a brother with special needs would have been very expensive.

Flippy’s fingers raced across the keyboard.
What kind of job do you have now? Nothing that would require meeting the public, not with that face scarred the way it is. And the girls would steer clear of you. Is that why you hated beauty queens, or did it have something to do with your mother? What set you off? Maybe you read about the NFU homecoming pageant or went there yourself and it was the trigger that dredged up your hostile feelings. Did you see an opportunity for retribution against beautiful girls, or the university, or both? Or am I just grasping at straws, practicing amateur psychology? I may need Katherine’s help to analyze Rodney as a potential candidate.

Why can’t I find out more about you, Rodney Willis?
There was a lot about Gracie. She was a beautiful woman. Won a slew of beauty contests in and around Graysville over the years.

Flippy copied down the last known address for Rodney Willis. Did he still live there? She was going to pay a visit to Mr. Rodney Willis and find out what he knew. She definitely wasn’t going to tell Luke. He’d never let her go alone. But he’d certainly thank her if she came up with anything they could use. It was a long shot, but worth a try.

And what do you do with the girls once you get them? We know you hold them for a week. Do you kill them in the privacy of your own home? Where do you do it? In a workshop? A basement? Or do you bring them to an off-site warehouse?

You’d have to be a strong man to lift the bodies, drag one up the steps of Centennial Tower, drop it over the side—unless you had help.

Look at her. She was silly to think that she had it right on the first try. It wasn’t even worth mentioning to Luke.

“Luke,” Flippy called. “Do you have a printer I can send something to?

“Did you get a hit?” Luke asked.

“It’s probably nothing. I just want to print something out for future reference, maybe fax it to Katherine for her take.” Luke came into the kitchen in his pajama bottoms and nothing else and hooked up his printer. She stared at his broad shoulders and his naked chest. She needed to stop thinking about sex and start focusing on serial killers.

While Luke went back to studying, she printed out the articles, folded them, and tucked them into her purse. Then she faxed them to Katherine and texted her to take a look.

She did some more research about fires in the city of Graysville and in the unincorporated areas, including the one where Rodney lived, and got several hits.

When she was exhausted, she tiptoed past Luke, who was asleep on the couch. She brushed her teeth and slipped into bed and then into slumber. Luke would probably wake up disappointed that they weren’t sharing a bed, but it was better that way. This relationship, if that’s what you called it, was moving a little too quickly.

At least now she wouldn’t be lying to her mother when Barbara asked about her involvement with Luke. They really were together, or had been. But right now her primary focus had to be on finding the killer. Was it Rodney Willis?
I wonder where you are, right now, and just what you’re doing.

Chapter Thirteen

“Mary Louise Crabtree, what a beautiful name,” Rodney said, adjusting the patch he’d taken to wearing to hide the bulk of his burn scars. “It’s Southern, isn’t it?” A safe bet, since she was enrolled in a Southern university. But more than a lucky guess.

“Yes, we’re originally from Savannah, but my parents moved us down to Kissimmee, Florida, after I was in high school.” Miss Mary Louise Crabtree was just a veritable fount of information.

He had cornered pretty little Mary Louise in the campus bookstore when he brushed up against her and caused her books to tumble to the floor. Of course, being the gentleman he was, he naturally helped her pick them up.

She’d winced at his disfigured face, but only for a second, and she had the good breeding and grace to hide her disgust. Too late. He’d seen it and she would pay for that dearly when he got her alone. She was no different from the rest of them. Looks were paramount to women like that. Beauty queens were the worst offenders. All those platitudes about beauty being skin deep was just hype. Beauty was everything.

He was handsome, or had been before the fire. His mother had always told him so. “My handsome little man” this, and “my handsome little man” that. She’d said it enough times he’d come to believe it. But now that he had to live with his flaws, as he called them, pretty little things like Mary Louise Crabtree didn’t want to have much, if anything, to do with him. He’d been on a few dates with some mousy girls, but they weren’t his type. His type was the Mary Louise Crabtrees of this world. That was his birthright, his destiny. He just had to find the right one. The one who would appreciate him for who he really was.

“Thank you,” Mary Louise said, as Rodney handed her the textbooks. She glanced around the store nervously, like she was expecting someone. But he could read her body language. The little bitch couldn’t wait to get away from him.

“Go ahead, you can ask,” Rodney prompted in a near whisper. “You’re dying to know where I got these scars, aren’t you?”

“No, I wasn’t thinking that,” she denied.

“It’s okay. I’ll tell you. I’m not ashamed. I got these scars serving my country, in a firefight over Iraq.”

Mary Louise Crabtree turned to look at him. Not look past him. Not look away from him. But actually look right at him. She probably thought he was a flying ace. An officer. She never would have guessed he was just an enlisted grunt who’d served as a mechanic for the past year and received a dishonorable discharge for a little misunderstanding about a fire they accused him of starting but were never able to prove. He’d enlisted the day after the Melinda Crawford murder. It was a close call, but he had to get away. He’d shipped his brother off to an aunt in Jacksonville, and then he was home free.

“You poor thing. My brother is in Afghanistan. We’re all terribly proud of him.”

Gotcha, Rodney thought, looking back at the girl who had to be one of the stupidest, most pathetic of the homecoming contestants. She probably ranked just below his brother on the IQ scale. He was nothing if not prepared. He’d studied her, studied all of them, knew everything about them—where they were at night, what kind of naughty things they were doing and with whom, what their secrets were and their weaknesses, what lines would work on them and what lines wouldn’t. Mary Louise would be a cakewalk. He wouldn’t even need his brother to draw her out.

People warmed to Donny. They felt sorry for him. They genuinely liked him. They weren’t afraid of him. But back to unspoiled little Mary Louise Crabtree.

“Yes, well, you know I don’t regret what I did for my country, but I have to wear this patch because it covers up most of the scars. And these scars, they scare off most of the women I meet. Most of the women I meet wouldn’t even be seen with me, let alone be caught dead drinking a cup of coffee with me, or having dinner with me. But I have a feeling you’re different, Miss Mary Louise Crabtree. I have a feeling you’re braver than most people. That you see beyond the surface, that you can gaze at a person and see straight into their hearts.”

Mary Louise tipped her head in acknowledgement, offering that innocent, wide-mouthed smile that probably melted the hearts of the pageant judges.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Rodney prodded. “Have coffee with a veteran?”

May Louise hesitated for only the briefest moment before her benevolent compassion and good Southern breeding got the better of her.

“Of course.”

“I’ll walk you to the checkout, and then—my chariot awaits.”

Maybe he
was
laying it on a bit thick. Probably he was a little above her capacity to appreciate his wit and charm, but this was his game and he’d play it the way he wanted to. It had worked so far. And Mary Louise was Lucky Number Seven, one of thirty tantalizing distractions until he could find a way to hit the jackpot.

Chapter Fourteen

When Luke got the call on his cell phone about the seventh victim, he was heading out of the law school parking lot. This last test had been brutal. He hadn’t put in the time to study, but he had struggled through. Sometimes he wondered if going to law school was worth it. He enjoyed being a cop. He felt if he could just make detective, that might be the challenge he needed. But he had always seen the police department as a means to an end. Being a cop added a new dimension to, and a real life understanding of, the study of law. It would make him a better lawyer.

Of course, being a cop in Graysville was small potatoes. But as it turned out, Graysville was in the big leagues now that a serial killer was on the loose in his town. His law school buddies were more than curious about the case. It was a close-knit community. Many of them knew one or more of the dead girls personally. A couple of them were even dating girls who had competed in the homecoming pageant. The other students in the class were book smart, but they had no idea what went on in the underbelly of the city. He, on the other hand, was living the law every day he was out on the streets.

His mother wasn’t too keen on him working as a cop. She thought his law school schedule was rigorous enough without his being burdened with a job. She’d also been pretty upset that his name had been dragged through the mud when Melinda Crawford was killed on his watch. She didn’t understand that he would do whatever it took to make it right.

The memory of Flippy standing there over Melinda’s body, in shock, kept coming back to him. What if it had been her lying there? What if the killer had murdered Flippy instead of Melinda? What if he hadn’t gotten back just at that moment? Flippy might not be alive today, and Luke couldn’t have lived with that.