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get you into trouble one day.”

Chapter Five
    Flippy knew she was in trouble when, earlier that day, she was summoned by her boss, Elizabeth Beckham, director of campus security, to her office at Tanner Hall. Waiting outside the director’s office reminded Flippy of the day she had been tapped for the Homecoming Homicides Task Force.
    Then, too, students were milling around, huddled in corners, holding on to each other. Talking in whispers. Talking about the missing girl. Flippy took a deep cleansing breath. This couldn’t be good. She had never been summoned to the director’s office before. Had she screwed up somehow? Was she going to get fired? She’d tried to operate under the radar, to keep her head down, but when she applied for a job with the Homecoming Homicides Task Force, she knew she was opening herself up for scrutiny. Defeated, Flippy had visions of going back home to Atlanta a failure. And having to listen to her parents tell her “I told you so” again. She knocked on the director’s door.
    “Come in.” The director’s gruff voice.
    The director was an imposing, but attractive, African-American woman, her hair more salt than pepper, who didn’t tolerate nonsense from anyone. Born in England, she had the most beautiful British accent. When she spoke you felt you were being addressed—or dressed down—by the Queen herself, and she was rumored to have balls like Patton and the sterling credentials of Sherlock Holmes Meets Scotland Yard.
    What she was doing in this backwater college town was a great mystery. The university had probably paid boatloads of money to get her here, and now their investment was paying off, because she was someone you’d definitely want on your side in a crisis.
    The director had picked up Flippy’s resume, riffled through it, then looked straight at her.
    “You have excellent grades, impeccable references, impressive internships. Tell me, Philippa, why do you want this job?”
    “I’m a Public Relations major but I minored in Criminology. This job would allow me to utilize my skills in both areas.”
    “That’s a pretty answer, an answer I’d expect from a beauty queen, but why do you really want this job?”
    Flippy hesitated and stiffened her spine.
    “I need this job,” she blurted. “My rent is due at the end of the month, and I don’t have the money to pay it.”
    “Can’t your parents help you out?”
    “I pay my own way. I paid for my education myself.”
    “I see,” said the director.
    But she didn’t see. Not really.
    “It says here you’re from Atlanta. Why don’t you go back there? Why are you staying in a small town like Graysville?”
    Flippy could ask the director the same question, but it was hardly appropriate. The director was not on trial here.
    That’s a question her parents had asked her dozens of times. Graysville was a great college town, but why would anyone consciously choose to stay there after they graduated?
    “I don’t, that is, I can’t go back,” Flippy said.
    “Can’t or won’t?”
    Flippy thought about telling the director her story. Her pathetic story. But she didn’t want to air her family’s dirty laundry in her boss’s office. That wouldn’t elicit much sympathy. No one felt sorry for a beauty queen who not only had the looks but all the other advantages in life. No one could see what was wrong with that idyllic scenario. In Flippy’s mind, going home was tantamount to giving up.
    “I didn’t want to take any money from my parents,” Flippy said.
    The director’s doubtful look indicated a realization there was more to the story, that it wasn’t just about the money, but she had the grace to let it go as she ruffled through her papers again.
    “It says here you were the university’s homecoming queen last year.”
    “Well, I wasn’t really the homecoming queen. I was the first runner-up, and when—” Flippy tried to swallow the big lump forming in her throat and hold back the Niagara Falls of