Illusion of Luck

by Robert Burton Robinson

  Illusion of Luck

  Robert Burton Robinson

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2007 Robert Burton Robinson.

  Cover background: www.flickr.com/photos/ravenelle

  Greg Tenorly Suspense Series

  Bicycle Shop Murder

  Hideaway Hospital Murders

  Illusion of Luck

  Fly the Rain

  Discover other titles by Robert Burton Robinson at:

  Smashwords

  or

  RobertBurtonRobinson.com

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Synopsis

  As Greg Tenorly was about to marry the woman of his dreams, he figured he was the luckiest man in the world. Until he got an anonymous phone call warning him about his bride’s shady past.

  Larry had been lucky all his life. He had everything he could possibly want. Except a publishing contract. So, the fact that his first six mystery novels had been rejected did not dissuade him from starting on book seven. Ironically, he finally found success when he began to publish an online account of his own downward spiral into depravity and murder.

  Is luck real? Or is it just an illusion? Some people have to find out the hard way.

  Chapter1

  Greg Tenorly was the luckiest man in the world. The woman of his wildest dreams was standing beside him—at their wedding rehearsal. He knew he didn’t deserve her. Anybody could see that. He saw himself as a balding, average-looking 35-year-old. Cynthia was a strikingly beautiful 30-year-old redhead. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Cupid himself had flown in to break up the crazy mismatch.

  But Cynthia saw something in Greg she couldn’t resist. Something she should have looked for in the eyes of her firstgroom. Troy was a rugged, handsome man. Nothing wrong with that. But he was also an abuser. And all the love he’d ever given her meant nothing after that first brutal slap across the face. Then came the boozing and hitting and steady barrage of obscenities.

  So, this time around Cynthia was looking for something different. Greg was kind and thoughtful and funny. And regardless of what Greg thought, she did find him attractive—even on their first meeting. And the more she got to know him, the more attractive he became. She wasn’t marrying him just because he was a nice guy. She truly had the hots for him.

  It was Thursday night, 6:20 PM. Greg and Cynthia were finishing up a run-through of the ceremony at First Baptist Church, Coreyville, where Greg was part-time music director. They were well on their way to happily ever after. Everything was perfect.

  Until the phone call.

  Cynthia’s mother, Beverly, was serving as her Maid of Honor. She had girlfriends her age at First State Bank where she was a vice president. But her mom was her closest friend. It might have seemed a little odd to some people—no mother sitting on the second pew, crying. No father to walk her down the aisle and give her away. She wished so much he was still alive to share in the joy.

  “And then, Greg, I will invite you to kiss your bride,” said Dr. Huff, pastor of the church.

  “What if she doesn’t wantto be kissed?” said Sandy Vockelman, Greg’s Best Man. Sandy had a habit of cracking jokes at inappropriate times.

  Dr. Huff shot him a stern, over the top of the glasses, stare that said, Sir, this is a holy place of worship—not a comedy club.

  Cynthia turned to Greg and smiled. “Oh, I’ll definitelywant to be kissed.”

  Dr. Huff went on. “And then I will present you to the congregation as Mr. and Mrs. Greg Tenorly and the organist will play the Wedding March as you make your grand departure.”

  “Great job, Greg,” said Sandy as he slapped him on the back.

  “Now we’ll take a ten minute break and then do a second run-through,” said Dr. Huff.

  Sandy leaned in to Greg and whispered, “He’s kidding, right? I’m starving.”

  Dr. Huff checked his watch. “So, let’s all be back in our places at 6:34.”

  Sandy decided to make a point of being back in his place at exactly 6:35. Even as a college music professor he was still somewhat rebellious. He put his arm around Greg as they walked down from the platform. “I hope this Italian restaurant you’ve been bragging about is worth the wait.”

  “It’s fantastic. Believe me—you’ve got nothing in Dallas that can beat it.”

  “Well, that’s a little hard to believe.”

  “I’m telling you, Man. Their bread is better than Lugio’s.”

  “Whoa. Now you’re getting sacrilegious. Nobody’s bread is better than Lugio’s.”

  “We ate a ton of that stuff.”

  “We hadto. I couldn’t make it through my music theory homework without that bread.”

  “Yeah, me either. And my music history, music literature…even math,” said Greg.

  “It was a wonder I didn’t gain all my weight back, eating like that.”

  “Youwere pumping iron every day. I’mthe one who gained weight.”

  “That’s true. But it looks like you’ve managed to trim down since the last time I saw you.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been jogging with Cynthia.”

  “That woman’s good for you, Buddy. Seriously—she’s amazing. Congratulations.”

  Cynthia and her mom had gone to the ladies room, and were checking their hair and makeup.

  “Sweetie, I’ve got to say that I’ve never seen you more happy,” said Beverly.

  “He’s wonderful, Mom. He’s everything I need and want in a life-long partner. And I know he feels the same way.”

  “Greg’s a very lucky man.”

  “Yes. I’d agree with that.” She smiled at herself in the mirror. “And I am a very lucky woman.”

  “Y’all are like a couple of teenagers when you’re together. So you should have a ball at Disney World.”

  “You really couldhave come with us, Mom.”

  “Nope. Three’s definitely a crowd when it comes to honeymoons. And besides, I’m gonna have a great time on the cruise with my church group.”

  “But it’s going to be hard to stay in touch with you while we’re in Orlando and you’re out at sea.”

  “You don’t needto stay in touch with me. It’s your honeymoon. I don’t want to hear from you until you get back. And that’s an order, Young Lady.”

  “Okay, okay. So, I guess I shouldn’t worry about you.”

  “Of course not. Just enjoy yourself. We can share our stories when we all get back home.”

  Beverly had moved into her daughter’s house a few months earlier. There was some concern, especially on Greg’s part, that she would interfere with their lives. But Cynthia had reassured him that her mother would respect their privacy. And so far, she had. Except for a couple of times when she accidentally caught them making out on the couch.

  When Sandy went into the men’s room, Greg walked down to his office to get the gift for his Best Man. It was a music engraving pen, stamped with the letters ‘SUV.’ Sandy was a composer who still preferred writing manuscripts the old fashioned way rather than using music software and a printer. He said he felt more connected to Bach, Beethoven and Verdi when he wrote out the music notation by hand.

  Greg had used one of those pens a few times. And he wondered how many shirts his buddy had ruined over the years. If you got a single drop of that b
lack Indian ink on your clothes, you could forget about the washing machine or the dry cleaners. That pair of pants or shirt was going straight to the trash can.

  ‘SUV’ was a nickname Sandy had picked it up as a ninth grader, at six-foot-two, 285 pounds. It was just too hard to resist when some kid realized Sandy’s middle name was Uriah. Sandy Uriah Vockelman—‘SUV.’

  Sandy quickly corrected the boy. His first name was Alexander—Sandy was just a nickname. So, his initials were really ‘AUV.’ And you can’t create a nickname from another nickname. But it was too late. ‘SUV’ stuck. And he hated it. Maybe he would have liked it if he had been a offensive lineman. But he was no football player. His thing was choir and piano and music theory.

  So, he began to work out with weights and trim down. By his senior year, he didn’t mind being called ‘SUV’ anymore because he was a slim, buffed-up guy. All of the choir girls wanted to go out with him—even some of those with boyfriends.

  Greg sat down at his desk and pulled open a drawer and took out Sandy’s gift. His cell phone rang. He checked the caller id. It was anonymous.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Greg. How’s it going?”

  Greg didn’t recognize the man’s voice. “Uh…fine.”

  “Cynthia’s going to look stunning in her wedding dress.”

  “That’s for sure.” Greg still didn’t know who the caller was, but it seemed like he was supposedto know.

  “There’s something I need to tell you about, though.”

  “What’s that?” Greg waited for the punch line.

  “Are you sure you can trust her?”

  “What do mean? Who is this?”

  “I’m afraid there are some things she hasn’t told you.”

  “This is a joke, right? Who is this?”

  “She’ll rip your heart out, Man.”

  “This is not funny. Now, stop it. Who is this? Sandy?”

  Greg heard a click. “Hello?”

  The caller was gone.

  If that was Sandy, Greg thought, I’m gonna kill him. He put the gift box in his jacket pocket and walked down the hallway. Sandy was standing outside the restroom, drinking from the water fountain.

  “That wasn’t funny, Sandy.”

  “Huh? Oh, you mean that wisecrack about Cynthia not wanting to kiss you?” He chuckled. “Yeah, sorry about that. Couldn’t resist.”

  “No. I’m talking about you calling me and pretending to be somebody else.”

  “What? When?”

  “Just now, while I was in my office.”

  “Well, that wasn’t me, Man. Must have been some otherweird friend of yours.”

  “Are you serious? You didn’t just call me?”

  “No. I really didn’t. Why? What did the guy say to you? Whatever it was, it sure got you upset.”

  “No, it was nothing. Just somebody clowning around, I guess.”

  “Then I’m sure he’ll take credit for it later. Probably at the rehearsal dinner. Hey—maybe it was the pastor. He seems like a real jokester.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Sandy laughed.

  Greg looked around to make sure Dr. Huff wasn’t within earshot. Then he laughed along with his old buddy.

  But as he and Sandy walked back toward the auditorium for the second run-through, Greg couldn’t shake off the uneasiness. The man on the phone didn’t sound like he was joking. But who would call him two days before the wedding and malign Cynthia’s character? Even though they had been together for less than a year, he felt he knew her well. And he wasn’t about to let some stranger or prankster rattle his faith in her.

  Chapter2

  It took Erin an hour and forty-five minutes to drive from their half-million dollar home in Plano to the small rented cabin at Lake Texoma, near the Oklahoma state line. It was Thursday night, and she could have been in their backyard, sitting by the pool in an ultra-skimpy bikini, drinking and laughing with her friends. Like every other night.

  She walked in and slammed the door. “Okay, I’m here. Now, will you please tell me why it was so important for me to drive all the way up here tonight? You know I hate this place. And I had to cancel my party.”

  Larry glanced over at his super-hot 25-year-old girlfriend. Her body could still blow away most of the competition at a Miss America Pageant. “I’ll explain. Just sit down and chill.”

  He looked back at his laptop. Larry wasn’t a bad-looking 30-year old, if you could see past the scruffy beard and the long stringy hair.

  She walked up behind him. “Who’s that?”

  “It’s a girl I went to high school with.”

  “What about the guy?”

  Larry didn’t answer. He just puffed on his pipe.

  Erin backed away. She hated his smoking, but he didn’t care. “Why am I here, Larry? This place stinks like dead fish.”

  Larry kept his eyes on his laptop screen. “Well, this isa fish camp. But I do my best writing up here.”

  “Fine. But I don’t need to be here. And let’s face it, Honey—your best writing is just not good enough. When are you going to give it up? You’ve written six books—and you still don’t have a publishing contract. You’ve got hundreds of rejection letters, and—“

  “—thousands, actually. And each rejection brings me closer to a contract. You know that’s what I always say. Each failure brings me closer to success.”

  “Yeah. I know that’s what you say. But what’s the lucky number? One million? Do you have to get a million rejections before you get a contract?”

  “Hey, there’s a reason they call me ‘Lucky Larry.’”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know the story. You got the big inheritance right when you dropped out of college. Then you won $3 million in the Texas Lottery. And then you got me. It’s true—you area lucky guy. You’re lucky at everything—except writing.”

  “Publishing. I don’t needluck with my writing. I’m an gifted novelist.” He held his pipe with dignity as he puffed. “I just need a lucky break with a publisher.” He began typing at full speed.

  Erin sat down at the small table and poured herself a glass of Merlot. At least he brought along my favorite, she thought. She just hoped he had more than one bottle.

  “For book seven, I’m taking a totally different approach. I signed up for a free account on this new website, DirectFromTheAuthor.com, using the name ‘Barry Undermine.’”

  “Okay…that’s a strange name. But it’s about time you started using a pseudonym. It’s no wonder you get rejected, with a name like Larry Luzor.”

  He had always been proud of the Luzor family name. His grandfather was a successful industrialist, Joseph Alfred Luzor, who named his son Philip Karl Luzor, who named hisson Lawrence Igby Luzor.

  But he had finally decided Erin was right. Besides, after six books, agents were probably rejecting his work before they even read it. They probably saw the name of the author and immediately stamp the manuscript REJECTED.

  “I’m publishing each chapter on that site, as I write it. And I’m already getting some great comments from my readers. So, maybe an agent or a publisher will take notice and offer me a contract.”

  “What’s the name of this one?”

  “Illusion of Luck. It’s about this guy who’s been very lucky in life. But when his luck finally runs out, he decides to impose his will and makehis own luck, so to speak. And everybody thinks he’s still lucky. But in truth, he’s doing whatever it takes to get his way. So, it’s not luck anymore—it’s the illusionof luck.”

  “Gee, that character sounds a lot like you, Larry—except the part about him having the balls to make his own luck. The only luck youhave is whatever drops in your lap.” She poured herself another glass of wine. She thought it tasted a little funny, but she continued to drink it anyway. “Now, I would appreciate it if you’d stop typing for a minute and tell me why I’m here!”

  Larry completed the paragraph, and then turned his chair around to face her. He knew Erin wouldn’t be able t
o resist the wine. She was a border-line alcoholic. “It’s about money, Erin.”

  “Look, I really needed the new BMW. Surely you didn’t expect me to keep driving the old one. I’d had it for nearly two years.”

  “We’re broke.”

  “Funny.” She sneered at him.

  “I’m serious. In the five years we’ve been together, you’ve been spending money like there’s no tomorrow. Well, guess what, Baby? You’re right—there really isno tomorrow. Cause there’s no more money.”

  “Oh—I see what you’re trying to do. Now that you’ve used up my best years you want to trade me in for a younger model. Well, you’re not gonna get away with it, Larry. I’ll take you for all you’re worth. You’re gonna be sorry you tried to dump me.”

  Larry wondered why he had put up with her. He had long suspected she was doing the pool boy. Or one of the neighbors. Or allthe neighbors. Because he knew she was notgoing without. Yet he was paying for everything. The spoiled brat had never worked a day in her life.

  Meanwhile, Larry had cranked out six top-notch mystery novels. Sure—they hadn’t been published. But he had worked hard to make them great pieces of literature. “You’re not hearing me. There’s nothing left. The bank is about to foreclose on the house.”

  “Liar! When my lawyer gets finished with you…”

  “Yes? Go on.”

  “I’m feeling kinda weird.”

  “Really? Are you dizzy and nauseated?”

  “Yeah. And my heart’s beating like crazy.”

  “And your throat feels sore?”

  “My mouth too. Larry, what have you done to me? Did you put something in the wine? I thought it smelled funny.”

  “Ever heard of potassium cyanide?”

  “You poisoned me?” Erin threw her glass at him.

  He deflected it to the wooden floor. “Yeah. I pretty much knew how you would react when I told you I was broke. I figured you’d threaten to sue me and take me for all I’m worth.”

  “But I was already drinking the wine before you told me about the money. What if I had been kind and understanding?”