Greg Tenorly Suspense Series Boxed Set

by Robert Burton Robinson

  “—like this?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Thanks.”

  He would always explain in great detail what he was doing and why. That time he rebuilt the carburetor on the old Buick and ended up with parts left over, she thought he’d go nuts trying to figure it out. But he finally got it all back together and working.

  She was 95% certain she was hearing the rear universal joint break down. And she knew if it completely fell apart, the back end of the drive shaft could hit the road and that might pull it out of the transmission. Then the drive shaft might roll across the highway and cause other cars to wreck.

  She pulled over to the side of the highway and watched the taillights of the red convertible get smaller and fade away. Now she would have to call for a tow truck. She was disgusted with herself. The noise had started weeks ago. Why hadn’t she taken the time to get it fixed then?

  No sooner than she had called for a tow, she saw headlights coming up behind her. Maybe it was state trooper. But she couldn’t see any lights on top. A man got out of the car and walked to her door.

  “Hey, Lady, got trouble?”

  He leaned down to look in the driver’s window and saw a pistol pointed at his face.

  “Whoa, take it easy, Rebecca. It’s me—Sandy.”

  She lowered the gun. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was driving home—like you. And I saw what I thought was your car on the side of the road and figured you were in trouble. I just wanted to help. But I nearly got my head blown off. You’re dangerous, Woman.”

  “I’m sorry, Sandy. Have you been following me all the way from Coreyville?”

  “No, like I said, I wasn’t even sure this was your car. I drove through McDonalds on the way out of town, so you had some lead time.”

  “You were hungry again? After all those sandwiches you ate at the reception?”

  “Yep. So, what’s wrong with your car?”

  “Rear U-joint.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re not a car guy, are you?”

  “I just drive ‘em. Can I give you a lift?”

  “No, thanks. I can ride in on the tow truck. I just called them.”

  “Well, then I’ll just hang around until they get here.”

  “Oh, I hate for you to have to wait. I’m sure you’d like to get on home.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Well, okay. Thanks.”

  **********

  Chaucey checked the site for the fourth time in five minutes. What was taking him so long? She needed to read the next chapter.

  She searched for another online book to read. Most were not as good as his, but she needed something to occupy her time while she waited. She was a voracious reader. And she had plenty of time to read. At 27, she lived alone in her apartment in Katy, Texas, just west of Houston.

  Chaucey Reed was the product of an English literature professor and a psychiatrist. They had agreed to have but one child, which would be a boy. But, she had disappointed them by being a girl. It had been her mother’s plan to name her son Geoffrey Chaucer, after her idol, the English author, poet, philosopher, and diplomat.

  After a brief disagreement, the Drs. Reed decided to use the name anyway. Geoffrey Chaucer Reed. They would call her Chaucey. Yes, that was perfectly acceptable. To them. She hated her name. But she did, begrudgingly, admire Chaucer. And she had read his works numerous times.

  She was a strikingly beautiful woman with long, dark brown hair. Upon entering a room, men would flock to her. But one by one they would walk away disappointed—not because they were rejected, but because of her snobbishness. She was always the smartest person in the room—and she’d let you know it. Not that she’d been in many rooms with other people recently.

  She made a good living as a free-lance graphic artist. And her work rarely required her to leave her apartment. She had become a hermit—only venturing out when absolutely necessary. She didn’t even go out to shop. She had groceries and other items delivered to her door. Anything she needed could be ordered online.

  There was not one television in her home. She didn’t care for the medium. Why let actors attempt to tell her a story that would play out much more vividly in her own imagination. The only way to get the full impact of a story was to read it. She didn’t understand why everybody didn’t feel that way. Ignorant peasants were they.

  Few of the walls in her apartment could still be seen. She had neatly stacked her thousands of books from floor to ceiling along nearly every wall.

  She couldn’t bear to part with any of her precious tomes, yet there was no room to add more. Her solution was to begin reading electronic books. She scoured the internet for books she could read online or download. Some were free, others were not. It didn’t matter. Money was not an issue. She just needed a constant supply of new reading material.

  She found a huge volume of older literature, which she did enjoy. But she preferred modern mysteries and thrillers. And, at a rate of two books per day, it soon became clear she would eventually run out.

  Some unpublished authors were posting their novels online. She liked perusing their books, but found most lacking in quality.

  Then she came across a new mystery being written by Barry Undermine. She had never heard of him, but thought his style sounded familiar. She found herself strangely fascinated by his writing. Unlike the work of many would-be novelists, his characters and story rang true. And she had become hooked.

  But the problem was that she couldn’t zip through this book in her usual manner. He was posting each chapter as he wrote it. It was driving her crazy having to wait.

  And the more she read, the more enthralled she became with the writer. To her, the man was powerful and dangerous and sexy. She wished she could meet him. And it took a lot to make her want to venture out of her apartment.

  And in his tyme swich a conqueror,

  That gretter was ther noon under the sonne.

  She would throw off her cloak of fearfulness and plunge headlong through the dreaded maze of ignorant masses—if her journey would lead her into the presence of this intriguing, mysterious man. But she wondered…was she drawn to the writer…or to his murderous main character? Or were they one and the same?

  She was frightened, yet invigorated by her wild, impetuous thoughts.

  Barry’s story was taking place in East and North Texas. And he seemed to know that part of the country so well that she suspected he lived there. Perhaps she would write to him and propose a meeting.

  She had a picture she could send him. It was four years old, but her looks had changed very little in that time. It was one of those glamour shots taken in a studio. She was lying across a white furry blanket in a bikini. The photographer begged her to go out with him. She refused.

  The picture was for a doctor ex-boyfriend she was trying to win back. Her plan failed.

  What if she sent Barry Undermine that picture, along with an offer to satisfy the darkest desires of his heart?

  Could he resist such an offer?

  She trembled at the thought.

  15 - HONEYMOON HOTEL

  As Larry made notes on his laptop, he kept one eye on the front desk. Hours earlier he had stopped at a flower shop a few miles from the hotel and paid $50 for a lovely bouquet of red roses in a red vase. Hopefully they had already been delivered to Greg and Cynthia’s room.

  He had slipped the clerk an extra $50 and made it very clear that it must be delivered that evening. The clerk had assured him it would be done as he requested.

  A couple walked through the entrance toward the front desk.

  She hasn’t changed at all, thought Larry. She is so beautiful. And she’s finally going to be mine.

  He closed his laptop, put it in the leather bag, and picked up the newspaper he had purchased earlier. Then he got up and walked toward the elevators. When Greg and Cynthia passed, he was standing there with his laptop bag hanging at his side, reading the Dallas Morning News. As soon as they ente
red the elevator, he followed them in, never lowering the newspaper from his face.

  Greg pushed the fourth floor button and turned to Larry. “What floor would you like?”

  Larry peeked around the side of the paper and saw the fourth floor button glowing. “The same—fourth. Thanks.”

  Cynthia was totally oblivious of Larry. All she could think about was Greg and what she was about to do with him. They had waited until they were married to have sex. All those months of pent-up desire were about to be released in a single night. She looked into his eyes and thought, how could he possibly want me as bad as I want him?

  Larry was glad he had the laptop bag to hold in front of himself. He thought of a nice simile: just being in her presence had shot him up, like an elevator, to the top floor. He knew he would go through the roof the first time he touched her.

  When the doors opened, Larry nodded for Greg and Cynthia to go first. He followed them at a distance to their room, and then casually glanced at the room number as he passed by.

  Greg slid in the key card and opened the door. Cynthia was about to walk in.

  “Wait. Let’s get it right,” said Greg.

  “You want to carry me over the threshold?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He grinned.

  She spoke more softly. “You sure it won’t hurt your back? ‘Cause you’re going to need a strong back.” She smiled seductively.

  “Oh, really? So, you’re gonna work me hard, huh?”

  “You bet I am, Mister.”

  “Don’t worry. Nothing can slow me down tonight.”

  He scooped her up and carried her into the room. “I love you, Mrs. Tenorly.”

  “Not as much as I love you, Mr. Tenorly.”

  He kissed her set her down and went back out to the hallway to get their two overnight bags. Their Disney World luggage was in the truck of the car. They wouldn’t need it until tomorrow. He dropped the bags and rushed back to her arms.

  “Nice room,” she said.

  He rubbed up against her. “What room?”

  “Oh, my.” She reached down felt it. “That’s quite a handful, Mr. Tenorly.”

  “Let’s get out of these clothes.” He began to unbutton her blouse.

  “Hang on there, Buddy.”

  “No, please don’t make me wait any longer.”

  “I want to take a shower first.”

  “Okay. And then I’ll take mine. But please hurry.”

  She snatched up her bag and hurried into the bathroom. Then she stuck her head out the door and said in a singsong voice, “Don’t start without me.”

  I’ll try not to, he thought. Maybe he would jump in the shower with her. But she might not like that. At least not before their first time. And he sure didn’t want to do anything to spoil it.

  He imagined for the thousandth time being in bed with her…against her naked body…her arms wrapped around him…her legs. But tonight he didn’t need imagination. This was the real thing. Settle down, Greg! You’ve got to hold on just a little longer…

  The phone on the nightstand rang and startled him. He felt embarrassed—as though the caller could see the big lump in his pants.

  But who would be calling at this hour? It was after midnight. What was the caller thinking? It’s probably Sandy, he thought. That turkey. He decided not to answer it.

  But what if it was Beverly? She might be checking to make sure her daughter and new son-in-law arrived safely.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, is this Mr. Tenorly?” The man had a very strong Texas accent. He sounded like an older gentleman.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Mr. Tenorly, I am so sorry to bother tonight, but I’m afraid I have bumped into your car in the parking lot.”

  “Are you sure it’s mine?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m pretty sure. I gave the license number to the front desk clerk and she looked it up on her computer. It’s a big red Pontiac convertible.”

  “Yeah, that’s mine.”

  “So, like I said, I’m really sorry. But I thought you would want to come down and take a look at the damage. And let me give you my insurance information.”

  Greg looked at the bathroom door, and pictured Cynthia in the shower. Why did this have to happen tonight?

  “So, do you want to come down and meet me in the lobby?”

  “Sure. I’ll be down in a second. What’s your name?”

  “Merle Steeler.”

  Greg hung up and went to the bathroom door.

  “Sweetie?”

  “I’m hurrying—I promise.”

  “That’s okay, Honey. Take your time. I’ve got to go down to the lobby.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Some old guy ran into my car.”

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

  “Okay, Baby.”

  **********

  After Larry had hung up the phone, he walked across the lobby and took the door to the stairs. In his earpiece, he had heard Greg talking to Cynthia through the bathroom door. And he had heard the door close when Greg walked out of the room.

  The money he had spent on the flowers and the bribe had been well worth it. And the little bug he had attached just inside the vase was working as advertised. If he strained, he could even hear the shower. What a brilliant man he was.

  The only weakness in his plan was the possibility he might not have enough time to get away with Cynthia before Greg returned.

  He walked out of the stairwell into the fourth floor hallway. He could still hear the shower.

  A young couple came out their door.

  Larry walked to the nearby vending machines and pretended to be checking out the beverages options.

  The couple stepped into the elevator.

  Come on, thought Larry. Hurry up, Cynthia.

  Then he heard the TV come on. He rushed to the door and knocked. He heard Cynthia hook the privacy latch.

  She opened the door just a crack.

  “Yes?”

  “Cynthia? Cynthia Blockerman?”

  “Yes?”

  “I knew it was you when I saw you walk through the lobby. I heard you were getting married.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Larry. Larry Luzor from high school. Remember me?”

  “Uh…”

  “You know—‘Lucky Larry.’”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, Larry it’s great to see you, but it’s very late, and I am on my honeymoon, so—“

  “I understand. And I hated to bother you, but I have a wedding present for you.”

  “A wedding present?”

  “Yeah. It’s just something I bought downstairs in the gift shop.”

  Cynthia closed the door, unhooked the latch, and opened the door.

  Larry handed her a small gift box.

  “You shouldn’t have. But thank you so much.” She started to close the door.

  “Would you mind opening it? I want to make sure you like it.”

  “Uh, okay.” She removed the lid. “Oh, it’s a watch.” A very ugly, bulky watch, she thought.

  “It’s kinda big—but it’s got tons of cool features.”

  “I see. Yes, it’s very nice. Thank you.”

  “Would you mind trying it on?”

  “Well, I—“

  “—let me hold the box for you.”

  Cynthia was losing her patience. “Okay, but then—“

  “—then I’ll go. I’m sorry for being a pest. I just want to make sure it fits.”

  She fastened the metal band and held out her wrist. “It fits just fine.”

  Larry reached into his pocket and took out a small black plastic object. He pushed the button on the side of it.

  A tiny red LED on the face of the watch lit up.

  “What’s that? What did you just do?”

  Larry whispered, “Don’t take off the watch.”

  “What?” Cynthia was frightened and confused.

  La
rry pushed her back, stepped inside, and closed the door.

  “The watch is now armed. There’s a small amount of plastic explosive in it.” He flipped open the lid of the remote, exposing a red button, “And if I push this button—“

  “—don’t!”

  He flipped the cover back to closed position. “It’s not enough to kill you, but it would probably blow your hand off.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “No time for talk right now. We’re leaving. Throw on some clothes, grab your things and let’s go. If we can get out of here before Greg comes back I won’t have to kill him. And, by the way, if you try to take the watch off, it will automatically detonate.”

  Cynthia put on shorts, a shirt, and running shoes.

  “Take all of your stuff.”

  She put everything in her bag, and he rushed her out the door and down the hallway to the stairs. Just as they were entering the stairwell, they heard the elevator ding.

  “Hurry,” said Larry.

  16 - UNFUNNY JOKE

  Greg stepped out of the elevator. He had waited in the lobby until his patience ran out. Then he had gone out to the parking lot to look at the Bonneville. It didn’t have a scratch on it.

  He was relieved that his car was okay, but irritated that somebody would pick this night, of all nights, to pull such a prank. He took out his key card.

  His cell rang. It was Sandy.

  “That was not cool, Man.”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you call our room 10 or 15 minutes ago, disguising your voice?”

  “No. That wasn’t me.”

  “Well, that’s weird. Some guy told me he bumped into my car, and asked me to meet him in the lobby. But he never showed. So, I figured it was you, playing a trick on me. I couldn’t think of anybody else who would do it.”

  “I’m serious, Man—it was not me. Are y’all okay?”

  “Yeah, we will be. If people will just leave us alone.”

  “So, Cynthia’s okay?”

  Greg opened the door. “Sure. Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “Okay. I just wanted to make sure.”

  “What made you think something was wrong?” He walked to the open bathroom door looking for Cynthia. She was not there.