Greg Tenorly Suspense Series Boxed Set

by Robert Burton Robinson

“Yeah, meaning not warm.”

  “No, really, they did.”

  “Well, I know jazz musicians used it that way in the 40s. Not sure about nine year olds.”

  Cynthia slapped Greg lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up and drive.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  It would take less than twenty minutes to drive to Beverly Sonora’s house in Marshall.

  “Do you really think your Mom will want to sell her house and move in with you?”

  “I hope so. She’s still pretty shaken up by the murders.”

  “How long has she lived there?”

  “I grew up in that house. She’s been there since the early 70s. But she doesn’t need a big house anymore.”

  “So, you want her to move in with you permanently?”

  “Actually, I hope she’ll consider Coreyville Community House at some point. That would be great, I think. They have plenty of fun activities for the residents. And she could make new friends. But I don’t want to mention it right now. She’s definitely not ready for that. Maybe in a year or two.”

  Marshall is one of those towns that reminds you of its history everywhere you look. It was founded in 1841—four years before Texas became a state. By 1860, it had become the fourth largest city in Texas. That was in the day when the riverboat was the king of transportation. Before the U.S. Corps of Engineers dropped the water level in Big Cypress Bayou. Before the railroad came.

  The current population of Marshall is about 25,000. The city has two outstanding small colleges: Wiley College, primarily a black school, affiliated with the United Methodist Church, and East Texas Baptist University. One of Greg’s church choir members had attended ETBU.

  “You think your mom will like me?”

  “Sure. I’ve told her so many good things about you, she already does.”

  “Like what?”

  “Sorry. Mom-daughter confidentiality.”

  “Well, I just hope she’s not disappointed.”

  “Quit worrying. Believe me—she’ll fall in love with you.”

  Just like you did? Greg wondered.

  Before they even stepped onto the front porch, Beverly Sonora had walked out the door to greet them.

  Greg could see where Cynthia got her red hair and her good looks.

  “So, you must be Greg. I’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about you.”

  Greg offered to shake her hand, but she hugged him instead.

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Mrs. Sonora.”

  “Oh, please—call me Beverly. That way I don’t feel quite so old.”

  “Okay, Beverly.”

  Cynthia hugged and kissed her mother.

  “Hey, I love your car, Greg.”

  “Thanks. So do I.”

  “You want to go for a ride in it, Mom? Are you getting hungry? We thought we’d take you out for lunch.”

  “No need. I’ve already cooked us some lunch. Come on in.”

  “Oh, Mom, you shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, Dear.”

  As they entered the house, Greg was overwhelmed by the aroma of roast beef with carrots and potatoes, green-bean casserole and apple cobbler.

  Greg turned to Cynthia. “Wow. Suddenly I’m starving.”

  “Yeah. I forgot to tell you Mom’s a great cook.”

  Beverly had set a beautiful table for the three of them. And Greg wanted to display his best manners. But everything was so delicious he could have easily pigged-out. The conversation saved him from embarrassing himself. Every other bite had to be postponed briefly to answer a question.

  “So, I understand you teach music lessons?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Piano, voice, guitar, and music theory. And I also direct the music at First Baptist Church on a part-time basis.”

  “Sounds like you stay pretty busy.”

  “Sometimes not busy enough. I could use a few more students.”

  “Mom, we’ll have to get Greg to bring his guitar sometime so he can play and sing for us.”

  “That would be nice. I love music.”

  “I’m not sure you would enjoy my music. Most of the songs I play on guitar are from when I was a teenager. Hits of the 80s.”

  “That’s okay. I like some of those too,” said Beverly. “Are y’all ready for some apple cobbler?”

  “I’m ready,” said Greg.

  “I’ll get the ice cream,” said Cynthia.

  Greg wondered how he would ever lose weight now. If he ate this way every day for a year he would double in size.

  “Mom, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Sounds serious,” said Beverly.

  “I think you should move in with me.”

  Greg was surprised at how Cynthia got right to the point.

  “Honey, I’m fine right here.”

  “No, you’re not. There’s a killer on the loose.”

  “He won’t come back to our neighborhood. I’m not worried about it.”

  “Well, I am, Mom. Besides—you could keep me company.”

  “Looks like you have some very good company right here.” Beverly smiled and winked at Greg.

  “Come on, Mom, really. You don’t need this big house. And it would be fun seeing you every day. We could have coffee together every morning. Watch some TV at night. We like a lot of the same shows.”

  “That might get old for you. And then what if you wanted to get married again?” She glanced at Greg.

  “Mom!”

  “I don’t know, Cynthia.”

  “Just think about it.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Mrs. Sonora—I mean, Beverly, this is fantastic. Everything was delicious. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  “See, Mom—you could cook for me. That would be great. I know you love to cook. And you know I love to eat.”

  “I said I’ll think about it.”

  **********

  The Marshall police were looking for the killer, but they had no evidence or witnesses. The case would go cold in a hurry.

  Carnie was ready to check out of her room—not because of any fear of getting caught—just from boredom. She hadn’t sold the old lady’s jewelry, but had plenty of cash anyway.

  Carnie flipped open her cell phone and dialed.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Sis, how are you doing?”

  “Fine. What’s going on?”

  “How about if I come stay with you guys for a few days before the wedding?”

  “You mean now?”

  “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

  “Uh…sure, that’ll be fine.”

  “Great. It’ll be like old times.”

  “No, no. I can’t party all night and get drunk.” Carsie laughed.

  “Okay. Maybe not exactly like old times. But we’ll have fun. See you in thirty minutes.”

  “Thirty minutes? Where are you?”

  But Carnie had already hung up.

  It was hard to believe that her sister, Carsie, had wormed her way into the heart of the wealthy doctor. Sis had a lot more patience than she did. She would have just slit his throat and skipped town with his fortune. Surely Carsie hadn’t actually fallen in love with the nerd. Maybe her biological clock had started ticking too loud to ignore.

  Carsie was about to turn 31, and Carnie was only a year behind her. But unlike her sister, Carnie didn’t need a man to support her and give her babies. Anything she needed she would get for herself, thank you very much.

  But it would be hysterical to watch Carsie go through the whole ‘until death do we part’ shtick. Would she actually have the balls to wear a white dress? If the color of the dress indicates the purity of the bride, maybe she should go with midnight black.

  The two sisters had been quite a handful for their grandmother. She had taken them in after their parents died. Grandma felt so sorry about the girls losing their parents that she let them get away with murder—l
iterally.

  Carsie had cried herself to sleep one night after discovering that her boyfriend was cheating on her. The next morning the boy’s father found him dead on the sidewalk in front of his house. He had been stabbed in the chest and his genitals had been amputated.

  The doctor would treat Carsie right, or little sis would make him sorry. She wouldn’t necessarily have to kill him. She could just cut something off. Something not vital. Maybe an ear or two. She knew she shouldn’t think about it doing those kinds of things though. The more she thought about it, the more she’d want to do it. And eventually she would not be able to restrain herself.

  But Carsie shouldn’t even marry the guy if he’s unworthy, she thought. Would be a bachelor party for the fine doctor? If so, she should be there to observe his behavior. Maybe she could pay off the jump-out-of-the-cake girl, and do it herself. She could pull it off with a good disguise. If the Doc got fresh with her she could just take care of him right there. One quick twist of the head, lay him down like he’s passed out from the booze, and walk away.

  Yes, she would protect her sister. And have fun doing it.

  3 - THE SISTERS

  Carnie was on her way to Carsie’s new home at the Mobley estate. Of course, it wouldn’t become her sister’s permanent residence until after she married Dr. Mobley. But the wedding was only a week away. Carnie knew very little about the doctor. But she knew all she needed to know—he was rich.

  She drove into Coreyville on FM-2208 and then went south on Highway 450. The Mobley property was three miles outside of town. The Georgian style home sat in the center of a 1,200-acre plot that was inhabited mostly by pine trees.

  There was a security gate near the front end of the long, winding driveway that led to the house. The gate was hidden by a couple of strategically placed hairpin turns. It was almost impossible to make the 120-degree turn onto the driveway from the north.

  Carnie was five miles out of Coreyville when she realized she must have missed the entrance. She made a U-turn and headed back north. This time it was easy to spot the driveway. However, it seemed to dead-end into the tall trees. But she turned onto it anyway. When she reached the end of the road, she saw that it was not really the end. The road actually turned sharp to the left. Then sharp to the right. The gate was closed, but she saw the intercom on the left side of the road.

  Fancy, she thought.

  She drove up close and pushed the button. After about thirty seconds, she heard a man’s voice.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes. I’m here to visit Carsie Slitherstone.”

  “And may I please have your name, Ma’am?”

  “Yes. My name is Carnie Slitherstone. I am Carsie’s sister.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am. I will connect you.”

  Very fancy. After a few seconds, she heard her sister’s voice.

  “Carnie?”

  “Yeah. I’m here.”

  “Okay. I’ll open the gate for you. And I’ll be waiting out in front of the house.”

  “See you in a minute.”

  The half-mile drive from the gate to the house had many curves, hills and valleys. Carnie could only imagine that whoever put in the driveway had taken the path of least resistance through the trees. Finally the road straightened out, and she could see the house. The ground sloped upward as she approached her sister, who was standing out front.

  It was a two-story house, with a walk-out basement. It had been built by the doctor’s grandfather, Milstead Mobley, in 1923 and had been renovated in 1976. With its huge pillars, it reminded Carnie of a courthouse.

  “Sure didn’t take you long to get here. Where were you?”

  “Oh, just down the road a ways.”

  “Why is everything always a secret with you?”

  “It’s just the way I am, Sis. What difference does it make—I’m here. Now let’s have some fun.”

  Carsie got into her sister’s car and directed her to the left side of the house. They drove past the three-car garage, and then took another left, around to a little parking lot concealed behind the trees. The two walked across the parking lot and along the walkway between the trees to the house. Carsie led her sister across the terrace and into the recreation room. There was a billiard table in the center of the room.

  “Nice. How about a game of pool, Sis?” said Carnie.

  “How about a beer?”

  Carnie grinned. “Even better.”

  Carsie led her into the adjoining room.

  “You’ve got your own bar?”

  “Yep. Take a seat, Young Lady.”

  “Alright.”

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Let’s see, Barkeep. I think I’ll have a Bud Light.”

  “Coming up, Ma’am.”

  Carsie grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge.

  “Come on. I want to show you my favorite room.”

  “Let me guess—the bedroom?”

  “Not yet. We’re waiting until the honeymoon.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  Carsie led her through a short hallway into the Media Room. There were two levels of theater seats facing a wall at the far end that acted as a screen for the projector mounted on the ceiling. Carsie pick up a remote and turned it on. The picture was huge and incredibly clear.

  “Wow. No need to go out to the movies.”

  “That’s right. Elmo and I watch a lot of TV and movies down here.”

  “Elmo?”

  “Yeah. That’s his nickname.”

  “A doctor named Elmo? That’s pretty lame, Sis.”

  “No, not really. His real name is Lilman Raster Mobley.”

  “Ouch. His parents must have been cruel.”

  “Lilman and Raster were old family names. But Elmo hated them, so he always went by L. Mobley—even in first grade. For the first couple of years, schoolteachers called him Mr. Mobley. The kids didn’t know what to call him. They kind of avoided him—thought he was weird.”

  “I can understand why.”

  “But then in high school he got real tall—six-foot-seven. The coach begged him to play basketball. And he got pretty good at it. So the kids started to like him. But they still didn’t know what to call him. Then one of the players came up with ‘Elmo’—from L. Mobley and from the Sesame Street character. And it stuck. That’s what everybody calls him now—except his mother. She still calls him Lilman. But it worked out great since he became a pediatrician. Kids usually hate going to the doctor. But not if it’s Dr. Elmo.”

  “Dr. Elmo. That’s hilarious.”

  “Okay, let me show you your room.”

  Carsie took Carnie to the bedroom that was just off the Pub Room.

  “This is handy,” said Carnie.

  “Please go easy on the booze while you’re here.”

  “What do you mean—‘while I’m here?’ I don’t plan to ever leave.”

  Carsie laughed. “Funny.”

  But Carnie was not joking.

  **********

  Macy peeked in, expecting to see Mallie Mae in her favorite chair. Instead, she was standing at a front window, staring at the sky. The matriarch spent most of her time in her bedroom these days. She had everything she needed right there. The room was spacious and beautifully furnished. And Macy was ready to jump at her command.

  “Did you finish your lunch, Mallie Mae?”

  The 75-year-old Mallie Mae Mobley loved Macy like the daughter she never had.

  “Yes, I’m finished. But tell Hadley the ham was dry.”

  “You know that will hurt his feelings.”

  “I don’t care. I won’t eat dry ham. I’ve told him over and over, but he keeps sending me dry ham.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll tell him.

  Macy walked over to pick up the tray.

  “What do you think about Lilman’s fiancé?

  “She a nice young lady, I suppose.”

  “Macy—tell me what you really think.”

  Macy studied Malli
e Mae’s face to make sure she really wanted to hear her opinion. “I’m not crazy about her.”

  “I think she’s awful—a crude money-hungry tramp.”

  Macy tried not to smile.

  Mallie Mae went on. “If there was any way I could stop this wedding without alienated my son, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

  “Just tell him how you feel.”

  “No, no, no. Then he’ll be determined to marry her—and he’ll be mad at me. I wanted him to be a surgeon, you know. I had planned it since he was a little boy. He could have been a world-class surgeon.”

  Macy had heard this story nearly every day since she took the job as a personal aide fifteen years earlier, after Mallie Mae had taken a fall and broken her leg.

  Macy had grown up in Kilgore, graduated from the two-year nursing program at Kilgore College, and joined the staff at Coreyville General Hospital as a Licensed Vocational Nurse. Two years later, she had doubled her salary by going to work for the Mobleys.

  She fell in love with Elmo early on, and dreamed that her life would turn out just like the lives of the women in her favorite romance novels. Eventually he would fall for her, and they would get married and live happily ever after. But it was taking much longer than she had expected. Then Carsie Slitherstone came into the picture.

  Macy started listening to Mallie Mae again.

  “…so he decided to become a pediatrician. And there was nothing I could do about it. Maybe if I hadn’t pushed him so hard to be a surgeon, things would have turned out differently. He despised me all the way through medical school. I’m not sure he ever completely forgave me. And I don’t want to do anything to make him hate me like that again. I don’t think I could survive it.”

  “So, what can you do to change his mind?”

  “Nothing. It’s hopeless. Unless that woman does something to rub him the wrong way. Maybe this sister of hers will accidentally tip him off to what he’s getting himself into. From what I understand she’s even worse than Carsie.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard. We’ll see. He stayed single for all these years. At first I thought he was just being very picky. And I thought that was good. But now he’s 56 years old. It’s no wonder a lot of people started thinking he was gay.”

  Macy had heard this speech many times. But it didn’t bother her before, since she always thought Elmo would marry her some day.