Video Kill by Joanne Fluke

social function.
    Damn, but he missed his ex-wife Katy! His description of Donovan putting on social manners would have driven her into absolute hysterics. A glum expression settled over Sam’s face, but it had little to do with the Video Killer. It was missing Katy, not the way she’d been at the end, a desperately unhappy woman who’d wounded him with her sarcasm, but the earlier Katy, the Katy he’d married.
    He’d met Katy Brannigan in college. He was there on a scholarship, but he still had to work part-time to earn the money for books and supplies. The student job center had assigned him to the college cafeteria. The day he’d met Katy the menu was a familiar one, rolled turkey roast, mashed potatoes with gravy, grayish-green canned peas, a scoop of stuffing, and ice cream with chocolate sauce and a cherry. Four students helped on the assembly line. Sam had nicknamed them according to function. Knife, Scoop, Ladle, and Plunk. The trays had three compartments, a large one on the bottom for the meat and potatoes and two smaller ones on top for vegetables and dessert.
    Sam smiled a little as he relived that day. Everything had gone along like clockwork as the trays were passed from hand to hand. Knife carved the turkey, flopping two slices on each tray. He also added the peas. Scoop put a mound of stuffing on top of the turkey, a ball of mashed potatoes next to it, and a scoop of vanilla ice cream in the dessert compartment. Ladle poured gravy on the potatoes and fudge sauce on the ice cream. Plunk placed a cherry on top of the ice cream, a paper cup of cranberry sauce next to the turkey, and finished off by plunking a roll on the tray.
    Sam was serving as Scoop, and he was preoccupied, thinking about an upcoming test. As a result he inadvertently mixed up the routine. He got the dressing on top of the turkey and the ball of potatoes beside it, but instead of reaching for the vanilla ice cream, he dipped the scoop into the potatoes again and put a big mound in the dessert compartment.
    Ladle, who stood next to him, noticed the mix-up and laughed. For the first time Sam looked, really looked, at Ladle. Short. Red hair. Freckles. Cute! She gave him a devilish grin, and as he watched with horrified fascination, she deliberately ladled chocolate sauce on the potatoes in the dessert compartment.
    Visions of losing his job and not being able to buy his books for next semester flashed through Sam’s head. But, just as he was about to open his mouth to call back the tray, Ladle leaned close to whisper, “Don’t say anything. I’ll bet you a beer that no one’ll notice.”
    Sam’s mind worked double time. They probably wouldn’t fire him over one little mistake. He’d never made one before, and the risk was definitely worth it because suddenly the thing he wanted most in the world was to sit in a booth at the campus pub with the incredibly blue-eyed Ladle. So he nodded. And Ladle grinned as she passed the tray to Plunk, who topped the mashed potato sundae with a bright red maraschino cherry and a sprinkle of nuts and sent it down the conveyor belt to the cashier.
    A lush California blonde, the sorority type, who was wearing a swirling skirt topped off by a skintight pink sweater, showed her student I.D. and took possession of the tray. Then she tottered off in incredibly high heels to join her boyfriend, a handsome, clean-cut fraternity type.
    â€œI’ve seen her before,” Ladle whispered, “and she’s always wearing a brand-new sweater. He’s just her type except, with him, it’s a cashmere sweater. I figure there’s an entire flock of goats running around naked because of them.”
    â€œNot flock . . . herd.”
    Sam corrected her without thinking, and then he wished he could take back the words. But she didn’t seem upset as she stared up at him.
    â€œHerd? Are you sure?”
    â€œI’m sure.” Sam nodded. “I’m