Greg Tenorly Suspense Series Boxed Set

by Robert Burton Robinson

  Larry had never seen such perky breasts. But then, he hadn’t seen very many breasts of any kind. At least not up close and personal. Her luscious lips and her hot tongue were taking his breath away. Erin had never kissed him like this. At the same time, she was stroking him through his underwear with her talented fingers.

  “Oops.” She looked down.

  “It’s okay. I can come again. Believe me.”

  “No problem.” She stepped back and sat on the bed.

  As she raised each leg to take off a boot, he could see all the way up between her legs. She was not wearing underwear. And she was clearly showing herself to him on purpose.

  He clumsily pulled off his shoes, pants, and sticky underwear. His jacket and shirt were off in a flash.

  Candy removed her final article of clothing—the tight-fitting, leather mini-skirt.

  The sight before him was breathtaking. And he wondered why he had never done this before.

  “Come on, Baby. Let’s have some fun.” She grinned and motioned for him as she slowly spread her legs.

  He quickly took a condom out of the package and rolled it on. But as soon as he slid between her legs he came again. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, no problem. Is this your first time, Honey?”

  “Oh, no. Not at all. But I’ve never—”

  “—been with a hooker?”

  “Right.”

  “So, is that all? Or can you go again?”

  “With you I think I could go all night.”

  “Now, that’s gonna be pretty expensive, I’m afraid.” She grinned.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well, okay then.” She began to kiss him.

  Within seconds, he was ready for action again.

  **********

  Cynthia had been sleeping for about an hour when something woke her. It seemed the curtains were billowing slightly. But she knew she hadn’t opened the window. It was February. She tried to determine whether it was colder in the room. Was there a breeze? But her senses were dull.

  “Hello, Baby.” The strange voice was behind her.

  She twisted in the covers and saw a dark figure standing over her. She squinted to make out his face, but the dim nightlight at his back provided only a silhouette of his overcoat and head.

  “You had to know I’d come eventually. I shouldn’t have let you marry that first husband. But I really didn’t think you’d go through with it. I thought you would come to your senses and dump him.”

  Cynthia hated guns, but right now she wished she had a big one in her hands.

  “And now you’re about to do it again—you’re gonna marry this loser, Greg Tenorly, who doesn’t deserve you.”

  She tried to speak, but nothing came out.

  “But don’t worry. I’ll take care of him. You won’t have to do a thing. And then I’ll have you all to myself.”

  She struggled with all her might to break out of her grogginess. The word began to rumble deep with her belly, causing her whole body to shake violently until it erupted from her mouth. “No!”

  He was gone.

  Her heart was racing. She turned on the table lamp and ran to the window. It was closed and locked.

  After taking a couple of slow, deep breaths, she got back into bed.

  It was the emails—they were giving her nightmares. But it was silly. She’d already determined they were coming from a horny teenage boy. They were meant for some high school girl—not for her.

  She rolled over and went back to sleep.

  **********

  “So, are we done?” said Candy.

  Larry was lying beside her on the bed. “One more time. How about doggy-style?”

  “It’s your money.” Candy sounded tired.

  She turned around and got up on all fours.

  Larry hopped off the bed.

  She waited while he put on another condom. The cheap bed frame wobbled as he crawled toward her from the rear.

  “Okay, big guy. Give me your best shot.”

  She felt something brush across the top of her head and down past her face. Then it tightened around her neck.

  “What are you do—?” She couldn’t breathe, much less talk.

  He had looped his belt through the buckle and thrown the noose over her head. He jumped on her back and rode her like a bronco—pulling back on the reins as hard as he could. He wasn’t too concerned that the people next door would hear the ruckus. It sounded like the couple in that room was too busy getting their rocks off to notice.

  Finally, her limbs gave way and her body lurched forward, crashing her head into the headboard with a sickening thud. She lie still, and Larry loosened his grip, thinking she might be dead. He leaned down to see if she was still breathing.

  She jerked her head back, directly into his nose, dazing him. Then she tried with all her might to push him off.

  He rolled off the bed and landed hard—flat on his back. He feared the thinly-carpeted concrete floor had done major damage to his tailbone. But the end of the belt was still in his hand. And Candy’s body was falling toward him. Before he could react, one of her fists hit him like a hockey puck—right in the balls.

  The back of her head flew toward his nose. Just in time, he turned slightly—only to feel the crunch of her skull hitting his cheekbone.

  For a moment, he lost the will to fight.

  Candy sensed it and tried to jump up.

  But he grabbed the belt with both hands and gave it a violent yank.

  She collapsed to the floor next to him.

  He checked her pulse.

  Nothing.

  Finally, he thought. Her neck was probably broken.

  He surveyed the room. What a mess he had made. He gathered the four used condoms, and put them in one of his jacket pockets. Then he used soap and hot water and a hand towel to clean her up.

  He put her on the bed and stared at her naked body. She had been a lot of fun. But she had to die. He couldn’t afford to have her talking to the police.

  He had concocted a perfect plan to murder Erin and get away with it. And he could not allow this woman to ruin his plans—no matter how sexy and likable she was.

  Yes, Lucky Larry was lucky indeed—as always. He got to have the best sex of his life. Then he got to do another murder. He wasn’t sure which he enjoyed more—committing murder or writing about it afterwards. His readers were going to love this chapter, he thought.

  He knew he would be leaving traces of his DNA in the room. But he doubted that police would make much of an effort to find the killer. Just another dead hooker. So, what did it matter?

  He started to leave.

  “Wow, that was close. Almost forgot,” he whispered to himself.

  He unlatched the top of her purse and flipped it open. Then he dumped the contents on the dresser and began to search.

  “There you are.” He smiled. It was the card with his license plate number on it. He had seen her writing it down when he was parking the car at the convenience store.

  He flipped the card over and read it.

  Melanie Maylin – Attorney at Law

  Yeah, he wasn’t surprised a hooker would have an attorney to bail her out of jail whenever necessary.

  The card was all he needed. But he was curious. He opened her wallet and looked at her driver’s license.

  “No! It can’t be.”

  He felt ill. Candy looked different in her driver’s license photo. Her hair was brown instead of black. And, of course, she was wearing more clothes.

  And her name was not Candy.

  It was Melanie Maylin – Attorney at Law!

  7 - REBECCA RANGHORN

  “That’ll be $9.87.”

  Rebecca Ranghorn flipped up the top of the box, pulled out a glazed donut, and took bite.

  The young secretary behind her looked on in disbelief. She was so ready for the weekend. But first she had to get to the office and put in her lousy eight hours. Why couldn’t this woman just pay and get out
of the way?

  Rebecca tossed the box at the clerk. A couple of donuts flew out and fell on the floor behind the counter.

  “Those are yesterday’s donuts. I told you to give me the fresh ones.”

  “But, ma’am, these are the fresh—.” The look in her eyes stopped him cold. He dumped the box in the trash and picked out a fresher dozen.

  “Now, that’ll be $9.87, please.”

  “Keep your drawers on, Jack.” She sampled the new batch. “That’s more like it.” She threw a ten dollar bill on the counter and walked out with her donuts and large bottle of orange juice.

  Her enormous black 1979 Lincoln Continental Town Car was four feet longer and twice the weight of the young secretary’s Toyota Corolla parked next to it. It was costing her a fortune to drive her dad’s old car. But it made her feel close to him—even though he had been dead for eleven years. She rarely had an occasion to drive out of town—and it was not a big town. Sherman, Texas has about 36,000 residents.

  She pulled into the old strip mall parking lot. Most of the stores and other businesses were barely hanging on. The place hadn’t seen decent shopping traffic since the 1980s. But it was the perfect location for Rebecca and her partner. They didn’t need shoppers. All they needed was cheap office space. Theirs was narrow, but deep, with a reception area, two offices and a bathroom.

  Wendy saw her coming with the donuts and orange juice. So, she got up and unlocked the glass door and let her in. The 19 year-old worked her butt off for the ten bucks an hour they were paying her. She wished she made more, but right now she was just happy to have a steady job so she could support her baby, and help her mom with the bills.

  “Have some breakfast.” Rebecca put the donuts and orange juice on Wendy’s desk, and headed for the coffee pot. “Any messages?”

  “Not for you. But Mrs. Davis called for Melanie. She had an appointment this morning at 10:00, and wanted to know whether she could reschedule for 9:00. I checked Melanie’s calendar and told her that would be fine.”

  “Good.” Rebecca picked up a donut, took a huge bite and gulped it down.

  “But the problem is: I can’t get Melanie on the phone and it’s 8:40.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Yeah—because she always answers unless she’s in court.”

  Rebecca took a sip from her coffee cup. “Better call Mrs. Davis back and cancel.”

  “What do you think happened to Melanie?”

  “Uh…maybe her phone died.”

  Rebecca went to Melanie’s office. She was afraid she knew exactly what had happened to her partner. She hoped she was wrong.

  She found an extra memory card in Melanie’s desk and put it in her pocket. Then she walked back into the reception area and refilled her cup. “Wendy, cancel my appointments for this morning.” She was out the door before Wendy could ask her where she was going and when to expect her back.

  Rebecca drove to the motel Melanie had told her about. As she walked into the office, she smelled forty years’ worth of stink, oozing from a dozen layers of tobacco-stained wall paint.

  “Can I help you?”

  The leather-faced old man didn’t look like he had spent even one day indoors his entire life. Maybe this was his first one, she thought. “Yes. I believe my friend is staying here and I wanted to surprise her. It’s her birthday. So, I was hoping you could tell me which room she’s in. Her name is Melanie, but she goes by a different name sometimes. She might have registered as ‘Candy.’”

  “Oh, yeah. Candy.”

  She was glad the man knew her partner, but also a little sickened. She didn’t want to have any friends in common with this carnie-looking greaser. “Good. So, can you tell me if she stayed here last night?”

  He flipped through the register and started coughing. Then he stepped back a couple feet, pressed a finger on the side of his nose, and blew a wad of snot into the trash can. “Yeah. Room 97. But I can’t give you a key. Only got one per room.”

  “That’s okay. Thanks.” She bolted out the door.

  She located the room on the back side and knocked.

  No answer.

  The old motel had not upgraded to a key card entry system, so she was about to reach into her purse for her lock picking tool. Then she remembered what her dad had taught her: Always try the easy way first. So, she tried the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked.

  She opened the door and saw Melanie naked on the bed. She stepped in, closed the door and rushed to her friend’s side.

  “Oh, Sweetie, you told me you weren’t going to do this anymore.” It was easy to see that Melanie had been dead for hours.

  She reached into her purse for the latex gloves and put them on. Then she took out her little screwdriver, turned Melanie’s purse on its back to remove the four screws, and detached the bottom section. She removed the memory card from the thin video camera that was mounted inside, and replaced it with the blank card she had taken from Melanie’s desk. She was careful not to exert too much strain on the small wire that ran from the camera to the lens, which was located in the center of the flower on the front of the purse.

  Rebecca reassembled it, picked up the used memory card, and studied her friend’s body. So beautiful. Such a sweet girl. She shouldn’t have come here. But she didn’t deserve to die for it.

  “I know—I’m tampering with the crime scene,” she said to her friend. “But I can’t stand the thought of the police seeing this video. They’d be laughing and getting their jollies watching the creep abuse you and murder you. And I’m just not gonna allow that.

  “But don’t you worry about your case falling through the cracks, Honey. ‘Cause I’m all over it. He’s a dead man. I promise you—I don’t care where I have to go, I’m gonna track down the slimy snake and chop his ugly head off.

  “Wait. Correction: I’m gonna chop off both of his heads. The little one first.”

  She tried to imagine a smile on Melanie’s face.

  **********

  Larry awoke to birds chirping outside his cabin windows. He had slept like a baby after pulling off the perfect murder, followed up by a near-perfect murder.

  After leaving the motel he had walked to a pay phone and called a taxi. He had told the driver to drop him off at a certain apartment complex in Denison to make it look like he lived there. Then he had walked nearly two miles to his cabin.

  It had taken longer than he thought it would, because he had to hide every time a car drove by. The last thing he wanted was to hitch a ride or to later be remembered as the guy out walking the roads in a trench coat at 12:30 AM.

  Surely he would have some reader feedback by now, he thought. It was 11:30 AM. He had stayed up until 2:30 writing the next chapter.

  He went to his laptop and logged into his author account. Wow! He already had thirteen comments.

  Very exciting—can’t wait for the next chapter.

  Cool, he thought.

  I stayed up late reading this chapter and IT WAS WORTH EVERY MINUTE!

  Yes, it was.

  Your murder scenes are so real and detailed that I nearly vomited.

  Excellent, he thought. After all these years with no recognition of his considerable talent, finally the public had come to its senses. Soon he would be laughing at those idiot agents who had rejected him.

  With his first six books, he couldn’t even give them away.

  Now, he was writing a masterpiece—a best-seller!

  You’re my new favorite author.

  That’s right—I’m the best.

  Your characters and your scenes sound so real, it made me wonder… Is this fiction, or did some lunatic really kill these women?

  What if somebody in Denison or Sherman were to discover his online book? His story was being inspired by his real crimes. And even though he was using the pseudonym, Barry Undermine, for this book, he knew it could be traced back to him.

  He was living a very dangerous life, especially after killing that lady lawye
r. But he could not stop—he had quickly become a fame junkie. The reader raves were his heroin.

  And nothing would stand between him and his next fix.

  8 - BACHELOR PARTY

  “Hey, Man, we’d better get going soon. Our reservation is for 7:00,” said Sandy.

  He and Greg had slept late, ordered pizza, and spent the afternoon talking shop and reminiscing about their college days.

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t know if trust your kind of surprise.”

  Sandy laughed. “What? You’re afraid of having too much fun? It’s your last night of freedom.”

  “But that’s just the point—I don’t want to be free anymore.”

  “Look—after tomorrow night you’re gonna be wearing the old husband handcuffs. All I’m asking you to do is forget that for a while and just have some fun with the old Sandman.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. As long as you don’t get too crazy.”

  “Me, get crazy?”

  “Shut up. Just let me check my email real quick.” Greg got up from the couch and walked to his bedroom.

  Sandy yelled from Greg’s comfy recliner. “Why? You think you might have something from your wife-to-be? That’s cheating. You two said you wouldn’t talk or see each other until the wedding. And emails count as talking. And so do text messages and instant messages. You can’t do any of that, Man.”

  Sandy got up and walked into Greg’s bedroom to see for himself.

  “I knew you couldn’t hold out.”

  “No. It’s from one of my students. He’s telling me he might have to miss his piano lesson on Tuesday. Apparently, he didn’t read the email I sent out to everybody announcing that I would be on my honeymoon next week. I even posted it on my web page.”

  “I couldn’t do what you do, Greg.”

  “What?”

  “Your students can cancel their lessons at the last minute. And then you don’t get paid. You have no control over it. I get paid whether my students show up or not.”

  “That would be nice. But on the other hand, all your students are the same age—late teens to early twenties.”