Homecoming Homicides (11 page)

“You don’t have many clothes, do you? I thought beauty queens had an outfit for every occasion.”

“I gave most of my clothes away to the women’s work release program. Those women needed the clothes more than I did.”

The next thing she knew, Luke was stroking her shoulder.

“Soft touch,” he whispered.

Luke was breathing heavily and his lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Maybe he was whispering her name. He looked like he was going to kiss her. She held her breath, closed her eyes and waited, wanting him to.

“We’d better get out of here,” he scowled, before making a final inspection of the place. “Hey, what about this box here? Does this go too?”

Flippy swiped the shoebox out of his hands.

“What’s in there?” Luke asked.

“Nothing.”

Flippy turned away and cradled the box, wiping away a stream of tears with the corner of her sleeve.

“Flip? What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. You’re crying. Now tell me. What the hell is in that box?”

After a heavy sigh she whispered, “It’s my Jack-in-a-box.”

“Your what?”

“Jack-in-a-box. My memories of Jack. First corsage, Valentine’s Day cards, anniversary cards, photos, his fraternity pin, engagement ring I haven’t returned yet...stuff like that.”

“I thought you were through with that jerk.”

“I am, but it’s hard to let go of some of it. We spent four years together. I thought we were—oh, never mind. You hate him.”

“You should too. Leave the box here. There’s no room for that jerk-in-a-box in our new place.”

“It’s not
our
place.”

Flippy turned away, but she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, and she clung to the box like it was a life raft.

Luke pried the box out of her hands and placed it on the small living room end table before he gathered her into his arms.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “It’s okay to cry.”

“I feel like such an idiot. I thought I had cried myself out.”

Flippy leaned into Luke and turned her face into his shoulder. He smelled as good as he felt.

“It’s not okay,” she said. “I hated her. I wanted to kill her, both of them, but I didn’t want her to die.”

“Hated who? What are you talking about?”

“Traci Farris.”

“The missing girl?”

“She was my Little Sister in the sorority. She’s the one I caught Jack cheating with.”

Luke had been rubbing her back and kissing the top of her head, but he pulled away.

“Jesus Christ, Flip. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I feel responsible. Maybe if I hadn’t gone over there that night, she would still be alive. I feel so guilty.”

“You saw Traci Farris? When?”

“The n-night she went missing.”

“What the fuck, Flippy? What are you saying? That you were the last person to see Traci Farris before she disappeared?”

“Stop swearing at me.”

“I’ll be doing more than that if you don’t come clean. This is a homicide case. And you’re withholding material information. First I find you standing over Melinda Crawford’s dead body, and now I find out you were the last person to see a missing girl alive. What am I supposed to think? You’ve been playing me all along. Is that why you slept with me?”

“You’re way off base. And I wasn’t playing you,” Flippy said faintly.

“You lied to me. You lied to a police officer. You hindered an investigation. What else aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing. I swear. Jack was—”

“I don’t give a shit about Jack,” Luke said, shaking her by her shoulders. “I want to hear about you. I want you to give me one good reason why I shouldn’t haul your tight ass down to jail.”

“Let go of me,” Flippy said, shaking him off. “I’ll tell you, all right?” Flippy looked up into Luke’s eyes and began to tell the story of the last night she had seen Traci Farris alive.

When she finished, he exhaled and pointed a finger accusingly in her face. “You had motive and opportunity. If anyone else finds out about this, you’re toast.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you. I know I didn’t do anything, and Jack couldn’t have done anything. But I know how this looks. And I know it’s my fault.”

Luke shook his head and blew out a breath.

“It’s not your fault, okay? She was the one who betrayed you, not the other way around. But Jesus, if you had told us where she was sooner, we might have been able to find her, might still be able to find her.”

“Are you going to turn me in?”

“I’d love to, believe me. The first thing I’m going to do is question your jackass of a boyfriend and find out what he’s hiding.”

“I loved both of them. I’ll never understand. But I didn’t want this.”

“I know you didn’t,” Luke said quietly. He put his hands on her shoulders, and then he released her.

“Did you ever think the guy might have been after
you
? And that Traci just got in the way? That maybe he expected
you
to be at Jack’s?”

Flippy bit her lip. “That never occurred to me.”

“Look, we’re going to get you home...um, to my condo, okay?” We can leave the rest of this stuff, pick it up later. You feeling better now?”

“I’ll be fine. But what about Traci? We’ve got to find her, Luke, before—”

“I know. I’m going to call Jack and find out if he knows anything, saw anything, remembers anything from that night. He was probably too out of it to be any help to us. Have you talked to Jack since that night?”

“No, he’s called, and one of his fraternity brothers brought him by. I didn’t answer the door and I haven’t returned his calls. He’s probably sick with worry over Traci and guilty as hell about what he did to me.”

“Well don’t call him. I’ll deal with Jack from now on. This whole situation stinks for everyone. We can take the box, Flip, if it will make you feel better.”

“I don’t want it,” she sniffled stubbornly, turning her back on it.

Flippy picked up her overnight bag, grabbed her laptop and a worn herringbone wool coat, slid past Luke, and turned off the lights.

Luke picked up the shoebox anyway, rushed to catch up, and ushered her out the door, down the steps, and into his car.

While Flippy got settled and slipped on her seatbelt, Luke turned on his ignition and reached for his ringing cell phone.

“Slaughter. When? Where? We’ll be right there.”

“Look, Luke, I’m a big girl. I can call Jack myself to get information.”

“Jack can wait.” Luke’s face was pale. “They just found Traci Farris.”

Chapter Seven

Luke was quiet on the drive to Major Peyton Stadium. Flippy didn’t have much to say either. So many thoughts swirled around her head. Luke said they’d found Traci’s body. Traci was really dead, although Flippy wouldn’t accept that until she could see Traci’s body for herself.

“Someone has to tell Jack,” Flippy said, trying to make conversation.

“Would you leave that bastard out of this? Hasn’t he done enough damage?”

Flippy sat back uncomfortably in the car. Luke was right. She needed to push Jack out of her mind and her life, and the sooner the better.

“It’s all still too fresh,” she said. “The wounds.” And she knew she was talking about more than just Jack. She dreaded seeing Traci again.

Floodlights and lights from police cruisers surrounding the stadium saturated the darkness. Police radios punctuated the silence with their static-filled chatter, leaving no doubt this was a crime scene. Luke flashed his badge and led Flippy through the police barrier.

“Hey, no civilians allowed,” one cop said, stepping into Flippy’s path.

“She’s with me,” Luke said. “Let her through.”

Flippy wanted to straighten out that cop, tell him she was part of the official investigation task force and had every right to be there. She didn’t need to trail in Luke’s shadow. But she docilely followed Luke down the cement walkway and through the Gate 11 entrance. She was numb. When was the last time she had been there? It was the homecoming game. She had ushered the three homecoming court finalists through this same gate and down the elevator on their way out onto the field. She’d removed her sash and placed it around the new homecoming queen and handed over her crown. A crown Flippy hadn’t deserved. Everyone watching in the stadium knew it, too. She hadn’t earned the crown. She’d been the runner-up in the competition, but when Meredith had been murdered, Flippy received the crown simply because she was next in line, the last one standing. It was humiliating. The headlines, the snickering glances, the whispers. But she’d held her head high and somehow survived the year wearing that stupid crown anyway, just to please her mother.

After Jack was injured, she’d stopped attending the games. She hadn’t been back to the stadium since. Well, once, for the rededication in Major Peyton’s honor. She had wheeled Jack down the same runway and out onto the field, where he uttered a few words about his best friend and got so choked up he couldn’t continue. Then she took him home, and he got so drunk he passed out. That was the routine of their life together after his accident.

She and Jack watched the games on TV for the remainder of the season. Mostly she watched and he muttered, eaten up with regret about not being able to play. And since Jack had been sidelined and Major Peyton had been killed, the team lost every one of their games and never made it to the SEC championship. She had loved Major too. She could understand why Jack felt so empty without his best friend. And now she’d lost
her
best friend. Not in a pileup on the interstate but to a brutal serial killer in a senseless death.

However she tried to ignore it, the stadium was home to her. For four years Flippy had watched Jack play, cheering him on from the stands. But she wasn’t prepared for what she saw there today. The medical examiner had not yet reached the scene. Traci—Traci’s body—it wasn’t really Traci anymore—was lying there, face-up, smack in the middle of the field, right on the 50-yard line, where the killer had dumped it.

“Bastard,” Luke breathed. “Thinks he’s clever. Trying to send us some kind of message. Not very subtle.”

Flippy drew in a breath and stopped while Luke circled the body. She felt as if she had been gut-punched. Her legs wouldn’t carry her. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

“Flip, I don’t think you should see this. You can wait in one of the patrol cars.”

Too late. She gathered her strength and moved forward. Traci’s body was splayed on the Astro Turf, decorated by a logo with the school colors.

Traci was wearing a yellow bloodstained dress with a white sash. The dress was out of style. It definitely didn’t belong to Traci. It wasn’t the last thing Traci had been wearing. Well, to be honest, Traci hadn’t been wearing much of anything when Flippy had last seen her friend. But she knew Traci’s wardrobe. She’d helped her friend shop for clothes.

Traci, beautiful Traci, white as a ghost, the left side of her face burned, her eyes frozen in a frightened, vacant stare.

“H-how did she die, Luke?”

“We won’t know till the ME arrives, but she looks pretty battered. She was beaten, bludgeoned, tortured for sure, from the looks of it. Bled out.”

Flippy approached the body, then staggered back.

“Oh, my God.”

“Look, you don’t need to be here. I can handle this.”

“I do have to be here. She was my friend.” Flippy knelt down and reached for Traci’s limp hand.

“Don’t touch the body!” Luke shouted.

“I know that,” Flippy said, but she’d wanted to. She wanted to tell Traci to wake up, that the nightmare was over, to hold Traci in her arms and rock her and tell her everything was all right. That she forgave her for everything. Traci wouldn’t have deliberately sabotaged her relationship with Jack. She was sure Jack had initiated it, and who could resist the package that was Jack Armstrong. He had everything—looks, personality, money, but he didn’t think with his brain. He had turned Traci’s head.

She had probably tried to fight him off, but in the end maybe she fell in love with him. Everyone did. Even Flippy’s father thought Jack was a great guy, probably because he recognized a kindred spirit in his future son-in-law. He definitely had her mother snowed. Jack was the Golden Boy. Whoever said cheaters never prosper didn’t know her father. And they didn’t know Jack.

“Flip, come look at this,” Luke motioned. “It’s the killer’s signature. She has a note pinned right over her heart. It’s a Xerox copy of what looks like her signature from the homecoming pageant booklet. He got her to sign her name over her picture and they pinned the copy to her chest. Can you tell if it’s really in her handwriting?”

Flippy bent down. It was Traci’s signature. No doubt about that. In fact, she had been with Traci when she signed the homecoming pageant booklet.

“It’s legitimate,” Flippy announced.

“We’ll have to wait for the ME to autopsy the body and determine time of death, but it looks to me like the body is fresh.”

“She’s not a body, she’s a person. Does there have to be an autopsy?”

“Sorry, but yes. That’s the law. We can learn a lot from that.”

The thought of what Traci had already been through, and then the indignity of being cut open more than she already was, and studied like a specimen, sickened Flippy.

Flippy stared into Traci’s swollen face, then turned around and retched all over the field.

“Come on, I’m taking you home,” Luke said, trying to pull her away from the body.

“It was that greasy hamburger and fries you made me eat,” Flippy accused.

Luke looked into her eyes.

“Flip. It wasn’t the burger or the fries.”

“Who’s going to tell Traci’s parents?” Flippy asked, allowing Luke to help her up.

“You’re in no condition to—”

“I’m the one who needs to tell them,” Flippy said. She strode over to the bleachers and sat down in mid-field, directly across from where Traci rested. Luke followed her.

“When can they see her? They’ll want to know.”

“I see the ME pulling up. They’ll transport the body to the morgue. This case will take top priority. Let me get you a time, and then you can call and have them come down and officially identify the b—, er, I mean, Traci. You can be there with them if you want.”