Homecoming Homicides (22 page)

He didn’t even bother to wrap her body. He instructed Donny to pick her up, and they drove down to the chapel. Donny helped him place the bride. It was lovely, really.

“Now, not a word to anyone about this, big brother.”

Donny sniffled. “It’s our secret. Just like you told me.”

“That’s right. Now let’s go back and develop the film. I think we got some great shots for my workroom. But first, I have a stop to make.”

Rodney was restless. The Kitty Bailey incident had been totally unsatisfying. His lust for blood had been denied. He and Donny drove around the campus. Not many women out and about. Not when there was a serial killer on the loose. Chancing a visit to any of the sorority houses was out of the question, but some of the contestants had refused protection and insisted on staying off-campus.

He checked the homecoming program. Who was next? Dana something or other. There were almost too many to keep track of. Let them think he was the greatest serial killer of all time. The serial-killing prize goes to Rodney Willis with a total of thirty kills—no, make that thirty-one, if you include Melinda Crawford, thirty-two if you count Philippa Tannenbaum. Obfuscate. Throw them off the trail of his real target, the only girl who mattered.

Rodney flipped on the left-turn signal. “Here it is, Donny. I believe this is the address. Yes, the light’s on, so she must be home. Now, remember how we practiced. You walk up to her door and tell her your car broke down and ask if you can use her phone to call your brother.”

He watched Donny lumber out of the passenger seat, walk up to the house, and knock on the door. In a moment the lovely Dana appeared, and she handed over her phone to Donny. Donny turned around and looked back at the car.

“The handkerchief,” Rodney called out.

Donny turned back to Dana, who was showing signs she was getting suspicious.

“I thought you said you had to call your brother.”

This was almost too easy.

Rodney flew up the steps and took the handkerchief from his brother’s pocket.

“Miss, I’m so sorry about this. My brother is, well, he’s a little slow. Our car did break down, but I’m fixing it. All I need is a jack. You don’t happen to have one of those, do you?”

Dana looked up and down the dark, deserted street.

“Well, no matter,” Rodney said smoothly. I’ll try another house. Sorry to have troubled you, miss.”

Dana breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Then she turned her back on Rodney to go back inside. That moment of hesitation was all Rodney needed. He grabbed her from behind and held the handkerchief up to her face. She sagged against him.

“Rodney, your girlfriend fell asleep,” Donny asked. “Is she okay?”

“Sure, Donny. She just passed out. We need to get her home and take care of her, so help me get her into the back seat.”

Donny picked her up as easily as if she were a ragdoll and placed her gingerly in the back seat of the car.

“You can sleep now,” Donny said.

“Good job, bro. Now, shut her door, and let’s get back home and prepare for our next contestant. She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”

Donny smiled. “She is real pretty.”

Rodney drove along. He needed a new challenge. Not that it wasn’t fun carving them up and tossing them in campus drop zones, but it was so predictable, and the cops couldn’t figure it out. He could have called and invited them to the party himself and they’d still be stymied. They deserved the hassle, just for being such bunglers.

For years he’d been looked over, scorned, cast off, rebuffed by girls just like Dana. And payback was sweet. So, maybe these particular girls hadn’t offended him, but they were all the same type. A type that needed to be taught a lesson.
Beauty’s only skin deep, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Take Traci Farris, for example. A first-class slut if there ever was one. And Traci’s recklessness had gotten the bus driver killed, too. Rodney had nothing against the city worker. The man was just collateral damage.

Anyone who would snake her best friend’s man got what was coming to her. If
he’d
been in Philippa’s shoes, he’d have killed her right there in bed, along with her worthless fiancé.

When Philippa found out what he had done for her, she would thank him. And he’d give her a chance to thank him for killing off the competition in the person of one super-bitch Melinda Crawford, who so didn’t deserve the title of Homecoming Queen. But thanks to him, justice was served.

And then, sweet, pure, heartbroken Philippa Tannenbaum made her first mistake. Getting drunk and picking up a guy in a bar—not just any guy, either. The cop who’d been “protecting” Melinda Crawford. He’d been so disappointed in her, he wanted to wring her little neck. All women were tarts. She’d have to be taught a lesson, but he wouldn’t make her suffer too much. She could be saved. He would grant her a last-minute reprieve, and she’d be so grateful to him she would be willing to do anything. He was sure of it.

After all, he was saving himself for her. He hadn’t been with any of the women. He’d been tempted with the others, but he’d held back because she was worth the wait. That Boy Scout Luke Skywalker was another matter. He’d have to be dealt with severely. No mercy. First Philippa would wander into his trap, and then the hero would come riding to her rescue, and
boom
, end of story. He hadn’t decided exactly how it would play out yet. But he had a schedule to keep. Couldn’t keep Contestant Number Nine waiting. Or was it Number Ten?

Chapter Nineteen

“Luke, it’s Misty. I think you’d better get over here.”

“Misty, thank God. I’ve been trying to call Philippa forever, and all I get is her voice mail message. She must have turned her cell phone off. Or she’s not answering for some reason. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you, too. Is everything all right?”

“I’m not sure. I uh, went out for a few minutes—next door to talk to Riley at DaVinci’s. Because Flippy said I had to be honest about my feelings, so I confronted Riley and told him how I feel, and he told me he felt the same about me and, guess what, we’re together now.”

“I’m happy for you, really happy, but where’s Flippy? I have an important message for her. Write it down and give this information to Flippy and to Director Beckham. We got a call from a bus driver in training who’s been riding the routes, shadowing the regular drivers. When he saw Traci Farris’ picture in the news, he recognized her as a girl he’d seen at the bus stop that Monday night. A week later she turns up dead, and the regular bus driver was missing, so he figures he should call us. He’s down at the station now, giving his statement. Crystal Ball Kate says she’s seen a house in a vision that fits the description of the one at the end of that route. She said Flippy faxed some information over to her about a man named Rodney Willis. Did she say anything to you about it?

“No, I never heard that name.”

“Will you put Flippy on the line?”

“Well, I would, if she were here, but I can’t find her.”

“What do you mean you can’t find her? She’s missing?”

“Well she went out for a slice of pizza, but Riley said she never came in to DaVinci’s.”

“Jesus, Misty. It was your job to keep an eye on her. I told you to call me if—”

“I am calling you, NOW.”

“All right. Okay. Now where do you think she could have gone?”

“I have no idea. Her purse is still here. Her keys are still here. And she left her cell phone. Her car is still parked in the lot.”

“Don’t leave the phone. She might call you. I’m on my way.”

Chapter Twenty

Was that the new homeless man at the back of the bus? No, Flippy’s eyes were playing tricks on her. She’d only seen him once. When she stared at him, he looked the other way. It had to be someone else. Steadily, people got on and off the bus. It was a busy route, but as the bus veered out of town, there were only three people left on the bus, besides the driver. The homeless man, or the man who looked like the homeless man. And another man, a boy, really. He looked like a boy. Why, he was the boy who had asked for her autograph at the pageant. She had worked with the police forensic artist, and he’d done a composite sketch. It was the same face. His hair wisped out from under a baseball cap, and he had on the same outfit he wore the night of the pageant. He even had the same camera around his neck. As she studied him, he flashed a killer smile, a smile that would knock your socks off. And he was coming over to sit next to her.

This wasn’t Rodney Willis. But it was the man at the pageant who had asked for her autograph. This boy was no killer. She was sure of it.

“I’m Donny. I live at 5555 Skyline Road.” He pointed to a crumpled piece of paper pinned to his shirt, then pressed his hand to his heart. His coat was blocking the note so she couldn’t read it.

“Hello, Donny.”

“You’re pretty. My mama was real pretty.”

“Thank you.” What was happening here? Who was this person?

“I saw your picture.”

“You saw my picture, where?”

“Don’t you remember me? You signed your picture.”

“At the pageant? Do you mean I autographed my picture for you in the pageant program?”

“You signed your picture.” Donny smiled again.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Donny. Donny Willis.”

Flippy’s heart raced.

“Do you have a brother?”

“My brother was supposed to pick me up, but he’s at work. He cleans the buildings.”

My God! This is the mentally-challenged brother of Rodney Willis. That’s the connection.
She needed to tell Luke right away, but in her haste, she’d left her cell phone in the office.
Stupid.

“You said your mother was real pretty. Tell me about her.”

“She was a beauty queen,” Donny said. “I loved my mother. She took real good care of me. But then she got burned up. So now my brother takes care of me. Would you like to see my house?”

“Well, uh, I don’t know.”

“I want you to see my house. It’s at the End of the World.”

“The end of the world?”

“That’s where I live. The End of the World.”

If she could get into the house, she could tell for sure if a serial killer lived there. She wished she had told the director she had gone to check out the Willis house. But if anything happened, the director had Rodney’s name and she’d know where to look.

“Is your brother home?”

“My brother cleans buildings at the university. He’s at work now.”

She raised her voice to get the bus driver’s attention.

“How often does this bus run?”

“We run this route every thirty minutes.”

A plan was beginning to form in Flippy’s head. She could get off with Donny for just a few minutes, look around the house before the brother got home, then ride the bus back to the office and call Luke and the director.

“We got lots of nice things in the house. Things you would like to see.”

“Well, Donny, I think I might like that. I can only stay for a few minutes, though.”

Donny’s smile shone.

She and Donny got off the bus, but the house wasn’t close to the bus stop. It was a long walk. Trees covered the walkway like a canopy, dark and dense. By the time they got to the series of wooden structures at the end of the road, Flippy was winded. This was beginning to turn out to be a bad idea. By the time she saw the house and walked back to the stop, the thirty minutes would be gone. She’d have to catch the next bus. But it would be worth it if she could gather some evidence.

“This is the last stop—The End of the World,” Donny said.

Flippy hoped it wasn’t
her
last stop.

The house was a ramshackle series of wooden buildings, some single story, some two stories. None of them matched architecturally. The back portion looked older and was a burned-out jumble. The front part of the house was more modern. One of the structures was circular and seemed out of place. Donny walked through the door in front of her.

“Would you like a pop?”

“A pop?”

Donny led her to the refrigerator and held up a bottle of orange soda. “A pop.”

“Oh, a soda pop. Okay.”

Donny smiled. It was definitely not the smile of a serial killer. He handed her the bottle.

“Do you have an opener?”

He produced a bottle opener, and she opened the bottle and placed the opener back on the table. She took a drink. The long walk through the woods had made her thirsty.

“Can I see the rest of the house?”

“I’ll take you on a tour. Usually Rodney does the tour. But he’s at work. He cleans buildings for the university. He was supposed to pick me up, but he was late.”

Donny led the way through a threadbare living room, undecorated except for a lace doily and, on the doily, a picture of a beautiful woman.

“Is this your mother?”

“My mother was real pretty, just like you. That’s my mother.”

Flippy picked up the picture to get a better look. Gracie Willis was beyond pretty. She was beautiful. Or had been.

“You look just like my mother,” Donny said, smiling.

And, Flippy had to admit, the woman in the picture did look strangely familiar. According to the papers, Gracie had been burned badly in the fire. Flippy had not learned if she had died in the fire or not. Perhaps she was home.

Donny led her into a small room with bunk beds.

“This is Donny’s room. I have bunk beds. I can sleep on the bottom or on the top. One night I sleep on the bottom. One night I sleep on the top.” There was another picture of Gracie Willis with her two boys.

Then they walked into Rodney’s room.

“This is Rodney’s room. Rodney takes care of me.”

Flippy could sense the dark energy as soon as she crossed the threshold. The bed was made neatly. There was a Bible on the nightstand, and several other things displayed like trophies on a table. Ponytail holders, eyeglasses, a bracelet. Not just any bracelet. It was Traci’s bracelet. Flippy had given it to her last year. Flippy picked up the bracelet.

“Who does this belong to?”

“That belongs to my girlfriend. Rodney has a lot of girlfriends.”

Flippy put the bracelet in her pants pocket.