Greg Tenorly Suspense Series Boxed Set

by Robert Burton Robinson

He heard splashing nearby. Another one, coming to the feast!

  As he lay there in horrible agony while the alligators ripped him apart, Larry’s final thought was that his luck had finally run out.

  He had lived his life as though he was special—thinking he had been blessed by the god of luck. And that he could do anything he wanted—without consequence.

  But luck is not real. It only exists in the mind.

  And Larry was not special. He was just a murderer and a fool—seduced by the ILLUSION of LUCK.

  THE END

  BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

  Greg Tenorly Suspense Series

  Bicycle Shop Murder

  Hideaway Hospital Murders

  Illusion of Luck

  Fly the Rain

  Ginger Lightley Short-Novel Mystery Series

  Sweet Ginger Poison

  Ginger Dead House

  Rebecca Ranghorn Short-Novel Mystery Series

  Naked Frame

  Stand-alone books

  22 Short Stories

  Amateur Investigator (and nine other short stories)

  Visit the author’s website

  http://www.robertburtonrobinson.com

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  Special thanks to

  Don Neuman & Lynda Robinson

  The story in this book is a work of fiction. The characters and events described in this story are imaginary and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ILLUSION OF LUCK

  SECOND EBOOK EDITION

  July 2012

  Copyright © 2007 Robert Burton Robinson

  Cover art:

  http://www.flickr.com/photos/ravenelle/

  Fly the Rain

  1 - BAD DATE

  Jason had been sitting alone at his table, staring at the tall, platinum blonde for an hour. His imagination ran wild with thoughts of kissing her full lips while his hands explored her lean, muscled body. Tonight he didn’t need the whiskey to warm him up. But he kept drinking it anyway.

  She stepped away from the mike, sat her acoustic guitar on its stand, and walked down from the small stage.

  Jason beat all the other losers to the bar and sat down beside her.

  “You must be pretty thirsty after all that beautiful singing.”

  How many times had she heard that line? But at age 33, she’d probably heard every pickup line known to man. “Yeah,” she said, giving him a quick glance. He wasn’t a bad looking guy. Probably a couple of inches shorter than her. At six-foot-two, she was accustomed to that. But a lot of men couldn’t deal with her height. They liked to be the tall one in the relationship. Not that she’d had many relationships. Mostly one-nighters.

  Without her saying a word, the bartender sat a glass of ice down in front of her, and poured her a can of Diet Coke.

  “Thanks, Joe.” She took a sip as he walked away.

  “I’m Jason.”

  “Sondra,” she said, looking straight ahead as she took another sip.

  “I really enjoyed your music—especially that last song. Did you write it yourself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. It was sad, but moving. You’ve got talent.”

  Here we go, she thought. And I suppose you’re a talent agent or a record producer, or you’ve got a friend in the business. And you’d be more than happy to get me a record deal—assuming I’d be willing to go with you right now to some sleazy motel.

  “I’m sick of this business. In fact, you just heard my last performance. First thing Monday morning I’m going out to find me a real job. One that will pay the bills.”

  “Really? Hey, I might have a job for you.”

  She did a quick scan. The expensive suit screamed corporate. So, if this guy worked for some big company, maybe he really could get her a job. There were lots of big companies in Houston. And she was good with a computer—sort of. Didn’t know much about Microsoft Office, but she was a wiz on the web. “What kind of job?”

  “As my secretary.”

  “Is this where you normally find your secretaries—in a bar?”

  “Well, no. But there’s something about you. I think you’d be perfect.”

  She knew she was probably getting her hopes up for nothing. But when you’re lost in the darkness of depression you tend to walk toward the light.

  **********

  Judging by the neighborhood and the size of his house, Sondra figured Jason to be near the bottom of his company’s organizational chart. But as long as he could hook her up with a decent job, she’d be happy.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, offering his black leather couch. “What can I get you—a Budweiser? Wine cooler?” He opened the refrigerator door, waiting to fill her order.

  “Diet Coke.”

  “Is that all you drink? No booze?”

  “I like to stay clear-headed.”

  “I don’t. The only diet drink I have is water.”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  He grabbed a bottled water and a beer. “So, how do you like my place?”

  “It’s nice. Now, tell me more about this job.”

  Jason walked around the large glass-topped coffee table to the other end of the couch, and reached out and handed her the water. Then he tipped his beer bottle back and gulped down a third of it. “Well, of course, you’d have to apply for the job.”

  “And then you’d hire me?”

  He sat the beer bottle down on the coffee table. “Look, you’re not really serious about changing careers, are you? I mean, you’re just too good at your music.”

  “You got a job for me or not?”

  “Well, sure, if that’s what you really want.”

  “You’re lying.”

  He was half-drunk, and couldn’t keep himself from smiling. “Okay—you got me.”

  “I should have known better.” She slammed the water bottle down on the coffee table.

  “Aw, come on, Baby. I just couldn’t resist. You can’t blame a guy for going after your hot bod.”

  She felt so foolish. Here she was—way out in the suburbs with this creep. And her car was downtown at the bar.

  He slid over closer to her. “I’m sure guys are always wanting to get into your pants. Hey, I don’t mind paying.”

  Before she could back away, he clamped his arms around her and tried to kiss her.

  She turned her head, and tried to wrestle free.

  But he was a strong drunk.

  Then she felt her bra unhook. One of his hands was playfully working its way around to the chest.

  She slammed her forehead downward into his nose.

  He screamed, and released her.

  She jumped up and ran for the front door. Then she remembered her purse. It was on the couch beside him. She would need money for a bus or a taxi. Besides, the purse had information she didn’t want him to get his hands on.

  She ran back to the couch. He was still moaning and holding his bloody nose with both hands. She snatched up the purse and turned to go. But suddenly his hands were grabbing her from behind.

  “You’re not going anywhere. You broke my nose! You owe me,” he seethed.

  “Let go of me. I don’t owe you anything. You owe me an apology. Get your nasty hands off me!”

  Sondra tried with all her strength to pull away, but only managed to pull him along with her.

  He spun her around. “You can’t get away from me.” He laughed at her.

  She spit in his face.

  He became enraged and slapped her hard. “So, you like it rough, huh?”

  She fired her knee up in between his legs, fully intending to launch his groin to the moon.

  He cringed, and loosened his grip, but not fully, as she had expected. Must be numb from all that alcohol, she thought.

  “This will be a lot better for both of us if you’ll just settle down and cooperate,” he said. “You’re not gonna get away without giving me what I want. So, you might as well give in now
. Just relax and enjoy.”

  “Well…okay. Whatever. I’ve done worse guys than you, I guess,” she said calmly.

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “Let’s just get it over with.” She reached down and began to unbuckle his belt.

  “There you go,” he said, easing his grip on her.

  “I want to go down where the action is,” she said, slowly dropping to her knees as she unzipped his pants.

  “Oh, Baby.” He let his arms fall to his sides.

  She pulled his pants and his boxers down to his ankles.

  “I knew you were gonna be good,” he said under his breath. He closed his eyes in anticipation.

  She jumped to her feet.

  He opened his eyes just as she shoved him in the chest with both hands. He tried to catch himself by stepping backwards, but his feet were tangled in his pants. He now realized that she had tied his belt snugly around his ankles. In the split-second that passed as he fell, he remembered the glass-topped coffee table behind him. He wasn’t sure how close he was. But if he landed on top of it and the glass broke, his body could be cut in half. He reached back with both hands to try to break his fall.

  Then he realized that his butt was getting close to the floor and had not touched the table. His back had missed the table too. Maybe he would be okay. Then he would untie his feet, catch her and beat her face to a bloody pulp.

  But then his head hit the table—like a watermelon that fell out of a shopping cart onto the concrete grocery store floor. Cleanup needed on Aisle Thirteen.

  His body lay flat on the plush carpet, except for his head, which was tilted up at a ninety-degree angle, oozing blood down the side of the coffee table.

  “Please. Help me,” he gasped. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs.

  She said nothing.

  “Call 911. Hurry,” he begged, choking.

  Sondra’s eyes were cold as steel. “I’m not calling anybody. I’m not your secretary.”

  She picked her purse up from the floor and casually walked out. She knew he would be dead before anybody found him. Oh, well, she thought. People get drunk and then they get clumsy. And sometimes they fall down and kill themselves.

  **********

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Greg Tenorly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Greg, this is Norma. Sorry for calling so late.”

  “Oh, that’s okay.” But it really wasn’t okay. He was just being polite. The sexy redhead lying next to him in bed was his new wife, Cynthia. And she looked more tempting than a chocolate-dipped ice cream cone—his favorite dessert. And who was this Norma anyway? Then he remembered. His parents’ long-time best friends were Vic and Norma Valleydale.

  “It’s about your father.”

  Greg felt pangs of guilt. He and his father had been estranged for years. Now the old man must have died. Greg should have tried harder to somehow make amends. “What about him?”

  “I’m throwing him a big birthday party. Your dad’s about to turn 75, you know. I already sent you an invitation with the details, but I thought I’d better give you a call too.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Greg, I know you don’t want to come, but I wish you’d at least think about it.”

  “Uh, sure. I’ll think about it. Well, thanks for letting me know, Norma.”

  “And one other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Your dad and I got married.”

  “What? To each other?”

  “Yes. Last month.”

  “But…what about Vic?”

  “Greg…Vic died two years ago.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Norma.”

  “So, now I’m your stepmother.”

  “Well…congratulations.” Greg wasn’t sure how he felt about it. But, what did it matter? He never saw his father. He’d never see his new stepmother either. No big deal.

  “Greg, you really need to come home every once in a while.”

  Great, he thought. Now that she’s my stepmother she thinks she has the right to boss me around. “Yeah. I haven’t been back in years.” But Orange was no longer home to him.

  “Anyway…I hope you’ll come.”

  When he hung up, he was ready to put the call out of his mind, and make love to his wife. But Cynthia wanted to know all about Norma and Vic and Orange and Greg’s dad.

  Greg just hated bedtime phone calls.

  2 - JOB SEARCH

  Sondra Crench kicked a roach out of her way as she walked into her tiny apartment and sat down at her old laptop. It was after midnight. So, she figured her new friend, Jason, was already dead. And so were her hopes of landing a secretarial job in time to keep her apartment. Rent was due on Tuesday, and she had just enough money to pay it. But then she’d have no money for food or gas or anything else.

  Maybe it was time to go home for a while. Surely she could put up with her mother for a few weeks while looking for work.

  She opened her Favorites list and clicked on the link for The Orange Leader. Sondra had not been back to her home town in a long time, but she liked to keep up with what was going on there. Occasionally, she’d see one of her old classmates in a wedding announcement. Those people led real lives, and held real jobs. As a working musician, she lived in a completely different world. She had more in common with actresses than a secretaries.

  She checked the Classifieds. Nurses wanted. Nope. Part-time receptionist. Not enough pay.

  Then she saw a full-page ad announcing the upcoming Grand Opening of Billy-Eye’s Arcade and Dance Barn. Open Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, 6:00 PM to Midnight. For ages 12-20. Free soft drinks and popcorn. Live band. Five bucks to get in. Only twenty-five cents for arcade games. Sounded pretty cool for kids. She wished there had been such a place when she was growing up there.

  But what really caught her eye was the note about auditions for a house band. It would play two hours a night, and earn $2,000 per week. Divided by four band members…Sondra could actually live on that! Not very well—but she could get by. And besides, her band could do other gigs during the week to supplement it.

  Only problem: the auditions were beginning next Friday night—and she didn’t have a band. Her all-girl group, Red Hot Curling Iron, had split up months ago. And there was no possibility of a reunion. Not after she broke the middle finger of her lead guitarist. But that thing would never point at her again.

  The day for audition registration was Monday. She would go to Orange, sign up, and then put a band together. She was so excited that she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Maybe she’d write a song or two. Her dream of making a living as a musician was not dead after all.

  First thing in the morning, she would go by Goldie’s Pawn Shop and get her Stratocaster and Fender amp out of hock. Then she’d make the two-and-a-half hour drive to Orange.

  **********

  “Judy, I need a another plate of biscuits.” He scarfed down two more bacon strips, followed by a large chunk of scrambled eggs. Billy-Eye Buttard didn’t weight 330 pounds from eating granola and yogurt. For him, it was bacon, eggs, hash browns, grits and biscuits seven days a week.

  He blamed his father for his enormous size. If Billy Bob Buttard had gone into construction or the hardware business, maybe his son wouldn’t have learned such bad eating habits.

  But who could resist his father’s special recipe biscuits? Everybody in Orange loved them. Folks would come to the restaurant and stuff themselves with them for breakfast, and then buy a couple dozen to take home. The Buttard Biscuit, better known as simply The Biscuit, was the most popular breakfast spot in town.

  “You’re late.” Billy-Eye glared at his two grown sons as they approached his booth. Because of a ‘lazy eye’ condition that was never properly treated, he appeared to be looking out the window with his left eye while watching his sons with the right. It was the inspiration for a cruel childhood nickname that stuck. His real name was William I. Buttard. Nobody seemed to know what t
he ‘I’ stood for. But it must have been something even worse than being called ‘Billy-Eye.’ “You were supposed to be here at 6:00.”

  “Don’t blame me,” said Lenny. “I was ready to go. But Craig wouldn’t get out of bed.”

  “I had a date last night,” said Craig.

  “You have a date every Friday night,” said Lenny.

  “Yeah, but this one was special.” Craig grinned proudly and winked at Lenny.

  “I don’t care,” said Billy-Eye. “If you two are serious about being partners with me on The Barn then you’ve got to get your act together—in a hurry. Otherwise, I’ll just hire somebody else—somebody I can depend on.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” said Craig. “You’re right. It won’t happen again.”

  Billy Bob had died three months ago, leaving his son The Biscuit and a nice pile of cash to start his own venture. The restaurant brought in a good profit every year. But that was his dad’s success. Billy-Eye wanted to build a business of his own—from the ground up.

  Judy delivered a fresh plate of biscuits. “What will you boys be having this morning? The usual?”

  Before either of them could speak, Billy-Eye said, “They’re too late for a regular breakfast, Judy. They’ll just be having biscuits and coffee. Thanks.”

  “Look, Boys, we’re opening next Friday night, and we’re nowhere near ready. Craig, I need you to take the truck over to Beaumont and pick up the popcorn machines and those other three arcade games.”

  “I doubt either one of them are open on Saturday.”

  “Well, if not, you can help Lenny with the plumbing. We’ve still got three new toilets to install in the men’s bathroom.”

  Craig frowned. “Can’t you just hire a plumber to do that?”

  “No.”

  “I know you can afford it,” said Craig.

  “That’s not the point, Boy. You need to get your hands dirty. So far, you don’t have a durn thing invested in this project. And yet you expect me to make you a partner.”