Illusion of Luck

by Robert Burton Robinson

  She put on her latex gloves, reached up to the screen, and pulled it off. Then she raised the window, grabbed onto the brick ledge, and pulled herself up. Her arms scraped across the sharp edges of the bricks as she stuck her head through the window. She hoped a neighbor wasn’t seeing her bottom half flailing around in the air.

  Her head was nearly touching the washing machine when her legs and feet cleared the window. She fell hard on the washer and dryer and rolled off to the tile floor. Her head was spinning as she looked up at the dryer. She felt as if she had just spent a few minutes tumbling in it.

  One lonely tennis shoe lay upside down on the grass outside.

  She got up and began to search the house. There was a portrait of the formerly happy couple on the mantle. Yeah, it was the creep from the video, she thought. “You are so dead,” she said to the picture. Then she removed it from its frame and slipped it into her pocket.

  In the study, she saw his six murder mystery books displayed prominently on the bookshelf behind his high-backed leather chair. In one corner were several boxes of those same books.

  There wasn’t much on the desk, other than the computer and a 7 oz. bag of Black Night pipe tobacco.

  She turned on the computer. The keyboard and mouse had been pushed to the side. She put them in place and began to search his files. But after a few minutes she realized something. None of the files had been recently created or updated. The computer had apparently not been used for weeks. But how could that be? The guy was an author. Surely he used his computer to write his books.

  You dummy, she thought. He had moved the keyboard and mouse out of the way to make room for his laptop.

  She checked each of the desk drawers, but found nothing helpful. So, she pulled the trash can out from under his desk and began to search it. There were various scribblings and what appeared to be notes about possible characters for a book.

  Or, maybe some of the names are real people, she thought.

  She typed one of the names into the Google search box. Then she tried another. After several failures, she got an interesting hit on ‘Barry Undermine.’ It was the name of an author on a website called DirectFromTheAuthor.com. Mr. Undermine was posting each chapter of his mystery novel as he wrote it. She decided to read a few excerpts.

  But when the hooker tried to escape, he yanked the belt as hard as he could. She collapsed to the floor, dead. Her neck was broken.

  As he lay alongside her lifeless naked body, a warm rush of satisfaction washed over him. He would tell the world exactly what he had done.

  And he would, once again, get away with it.

  Rebecca screamed at the monitor. “No, he won’t!”

  Chapter11

  “I’ll have the French toast with bacon—extra crispy. And coffee. Lotsof coffee.”

  Larry loved having a mid-afternoon breakfast at IHop. And he particularly liked this location because of its free wireless internet access. This time of the day there were plenty of empty tables. No need to rush.

  He had to make some major decisions about his plot. What would his readers enjoy the most? One thing he knew for sure: the honeymoon night would end in disaster. He began to type.

  The newlyweds would feel safe in their hotel room—their passions raging exponentially higher with each touch, each kiss. So lost in their own world, they would never notice the intruder.

  Unlike many couples who had already spent many nights groaning and sweating in each other’s arms, this pure man and this unblemished woman had called upon every ounce of human willpower to save themselves for the wedding night. And they knew in their hearts it would be well worth it.

  But just as they were about to enter the promised land, a single bullet to the temple of the husband would spoil their holy journey. And the wife would have just enough time to understand the horror of the situation before dying beneath her husband’s body. The killer’s face, not her husband’s, would be the final image in her terrified eyes.

  Not bad, he thought. Only one problem—the story would end too soon. He needed a lot more chapters. It was a novel—not a short story. Besides, so far his storyline had followed his real-life adventures. And he certainly had no intention of killing the bride. The husband could be knocked off—but not the wife. Larry wanted the wife alive, for himself. She shouldn’t be marrying that man anyway, he thought. She belongs to me.

  Always has.

  **********

  Greg walked into the living room and sat down with Sandy, who was watching NBA highlights.

  “How do you think the Mavs will do tonight?” said Greg.

  “Well, Utah beat the Nuggets last night. So, I’m sure we can do the same tonight.”

  “Sorry you have to miss the game.”

  “No problem—I’m recording it.” Sandy checked his watch. “Only three hours until the wedding. But it’s still not too late to back out.” He whipped out his cell phone. “Want me to call Cynthia? I’ll let her down easy, Man—don’t worry.”

  “You want me to grab that phone out of your hand and flush it down the toilet? I’m ready. Soready. Even if I ama little nervous.”

  “About the honeymoon? Why? It’s not like y’all have never done it before.”

  Greg watched the TV in silence.

  “You’re kidding? Come on, Dude, you’re a musician. You mean to tell me you’ve never fingered Cynthia’s sousaphone?”

  “Sandy!”

  “Never stroked her viola with your bow? Never—“

  “Stop! We’re virgins.”

  “What? You’ve both been marriedbefore.”

  “Well, we’re virgins to each other. At least that’s the way welook at it.”

  “How sweet.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t. But I respect you for it. Good for you.”

  “Thanks.” Greg smiled.

  “I just hope you can hold it until you get to the hotel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’d hate to see you have a spontaneous combustionright in the middle of the ceremony.”

  The scene flashed into Greg’s mind. “Oh, Man—I wish you hadn’t said that.”

  Sandy grinned. “Your picturing it, aren’t you?” He started laughing. “I wish you could see the look on your face.”

  “Great. You’ve just given me another thing to worry about. Thanks a lot, Sandy.”

  “Well, I still don’t get why you’re worried about the honeymoon. Are you afraid you won’t live up to her expectations?”

  “No…”

  “Yeah—that’s it. You’re thinking: what if I’m not as good as the ex-husband?”

  Greg didn’t speak.

  “He was a big lineman-type guy, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you’ve got it all wrong. There’s no way she’s gonna be disappointed.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Wasn’t her ex an abuser?”

  “Well, not at first, but yeah.”

  “Then I guarantee you that’s what she remembers when she thinks about him. Any good lovemaking memories have been tainted by his abuse. But she knows you’ll never hit her or be mean to her. And after what she went through with him, there’s nothing sexier than knowing she’s with a man who’s gentle, kind and committed. When a woman truly feels safe with you, and she’s truly in love with you— that’s the ultimate turn-on, Buddy. I’m telling you.”

  “Yeah, I guess. But since when are you an authority on this stuff?”

  “What can I say? I watch a lot of Oprah.”

  They both laughed.

  “Okay,” said Greg. “Thanks.”

  “So, just concentrate tonight. I’m sure you can keep little Greg in check while you kiss that gorgeous, sexy redhead in front of God and man.”

  Greg punched him in the arm. “Stop.”

  “Fine. How about a snack?”

  **********

  Rebecca always thought of her dad when she d
rank coffee. The two had downed gallons of the black stuff while she did P.I. work with him. She liked Starbucks because it was a handy place for her to use her laptop. But it was notthe kind of coffee shop her dad frequented that had only regular or decaf. With no frilly options or foreign-sounding sizes.

  She could just imagine what would have happened if he’d ever walked into a Starbucks.

  “Give me a large coffee.”

  “Grande or Venti?”

  “What?”

  “Which size did you want, Sir? Grande or Venti?”

  “I want a large.”

  “Medium or dark roast?”

  “Son, I just want you to pour some coffee into a large cup. What’s so hard about that?”

  No, her dad wouldn’t have liked this at all. But she sure wished he was here. She missed him every day. And right now she could use his help catching Melanie’s killer.

  She wondered if Larry the Loser had killed his wife the way his alter ego did in the book. Probably, she thought. The scene in which the hooker was killed sounded exactly like what had really happened to her partner. If he had known Melanie was an attorney instead of a hooker, he might not have killed her. But even after he knew, he still bragged about the murder in his book.

  She wanted to nail his balls to the wall. If he pulled a gun, she’d blow him away. But if she got the chance she would prolong her enjoyment by torturing him first. She could lasso his neck and let him see what it feels like. She imagined sitting on his back, tightening the leather choker until he passed out. Then she would let him regain consciousness and do it again. He would plead for mercy as she took him to the brink of death over and over again. She would show mercy—to the same degree he had shown it to Melanie.

  But she also wondered about the redhead. Larry seemed obsessed with her. And now his attempts, or his character’s attempts, to get her to call off the wedding had failed. What would be his next move?

  His book said the wedding was on Saturday and Rebecca assumed it was in Texas. So, she googled the phrase, ‘wedding announcements February 24 texas.’ If she could find a wedding scheduled for that day andthere was a picture andthe bride-to-be was a redhead…

  She looked through several pages of wedding announcements, mostly listed in the online versions of local newspapers. Some of the pictures were in black and white. She began to wonder if it was just waste of time.

  Finally she came across the wedding announcement page of the Coreyville Courier and spotted a beautiful redhead posing with her fiancé. Rebecca remembered that the woman in Larry’s novel had been a cheerleader in high school. Yeah, she thought, this woman definitely looks like the cheerleader type.

  The ceremony was set for 7:00 PM. She checked her watch. Could she get there before it was too late?

  She closed her laptop and rushed out to her car.

  Chapter12

  Cynthia and her mom were at the church getting dressed and putting on their makeup for the wedding when Beverly heard a beep. “What was that?”

  “My cell phone. I got a text message. Could you hand it to me?”

  “Sure.”

  It was a message from Greg.

  “r u sure u want 2 go thru with this?”

  Cynthia typed in, “of course - hope ur not getting cold feet”

  “not me - im worried about u. that ul be sorry”

  “no way - ur the best thing that ever happened 2 me”

  “but what about sex?”

  “can’t wait”

  “but i may not be as good as u think”

  “don’t b silly - gotta get ready – c u soon”

  “ok”

  “What was that about?” said Beverly.

  “Greg’s worried he’ll disappoint me in bed. But he won’t.”

  “Of course not. Y’all are the perfect for each other.”

  **********

  The ceremony was going by so fast. Soon she would be his wife.

  “I, Greg, take you, Cynthia…” From the moment she walked in his door he wanted nothing more than to hold her, to care for her, to make love to her, to never let her go. In the blink of an eye she had gone from stranger to the most important person in his life. At first, he wasn’t even sure it was love. He only knew that suddenly she was all he could think about.

  He had loved other women, and had even been married before. But this was different. Looking at her, touching her, just being near this amazing woman did magical things to his body chemistry. Why couldn’t they have met sooner—before either of them got married the first time?

  He looked deep into her glistening blue eyes, and thought, oh, Cynthia, do you realize you’re making my whole body buzz? He hoped he had said his vows correctly…and that he hadn’t said the word ‘buzz.’

  “I, Cynthia, take you, Greg…” Oh, Greg, I love you so much, she thought. You still don’t even know how much I love you. You are so kind and caring. And I’ve never felt so loved. You think I’m too beautiful for you. But all I know is that I’ve never enjoyed being with any other man the way I love being with you. I’ve never respected and cared as much for any other man. And I’ve never felt my body heat up like this for any other man. Baby, you just turn me on like crazy!

  She wondered if he was reading her mind.

  **********

  The uninvited guest went quietly up the stairs, two at a time. The .38 was hidden under the right pant leg in the ankle holster, ready when needed.

  The balcony was empty. The perfect spot for a sniper. The groom could be taken out with one shot to the temple. The suppressor would muffle the shot enough to confuse the congregation for a few seconds while Larry escaped. Then, after a few months, Cynthia would be open to a new lover — the man she shouldhave been marrying.

  But Larry was not in the balcony.

  Rebecca took a seat to watch the rest of the ceremony. Where was that slimy would-be novelist? She had driven like a maniac to get there in time. She desperately wanted to save Cynthia Blockerman from Larry the Loser. But what if Cynthia was the wrong redhead? She couldn’t be sure. The rightredhead or her groom might already be on the floor of some church, bleeding all over the carpet.

  No. Her gut told her this was theredhead. Perhaps Larry was waiting until the reception. Or the honeymoon. And did he plan to kill Cynthia or abduct her? It was difficult to tell from his latest chapter. But she would do everything in her power to stop the filthy creep.

  And terminate him—with extreme prejudice.

  **********

  When Rebecca entered the Fellowship Hall of First Baptist Church, she tried to fit in. She hoped she wasn’t the only woman wearing pants. She would try to avoid talking to anyone.

  There was a nice spread of finger sandwiches, nuts and mints, and the two wedding cakes. A young teenage girl was ladling out the fruit punch for the attendees who were already forming a line at the end of the first table.

  A young boy, probably the brother, Rebecca thought, picked up one of the fancy glass cups. The sister tried to stop him, but he pulled away and guzzled the yellow liquid in two seconds. Then he put the cup back on the table and stuck his tongue out at her. She threatened him with the ladle, and then looked around to see if anyone had just witnessed her unladylike behavior.

  The boy started coughing and grabbed his throat. Then he fell on the floor. The sister started to panic.

  Not poison, Rebecca thought. Larry would have no way of predicting who would be the first to drink it.

  Then the little boy started laughing. The sister grabbed a tuna sandwich and threw it at him. The sandwich opened in flight and landed in two parts on his chest. He snatched it up, smearing it across the pocket of his white sports jacket, and shoved it all into his mouth at once and mumbled, “Thanks, Sis.” Then he started laughing again. Bits of bread and tuna spewed from his mouth.

  A woman appeared out of nowhere and pulled the boy up by one ear. “What did I tell you?”

  “Ow, ow, ow—that hurts, Mama.”

  “I don
’t believe we’ve met.”

  Rebecca had been so caught up in the drama at the punch bowl that she hadn’t seen the Best Man walking up to her side. “Uh, no, I guess not.”

  “Well, I’m Sandy. What’s your name?”

  “Rebecca.” If he asked for her last name she would use one of her old standbys. She often had to lie when doing private investigations. It was just part of the job.

  “I’m surprised nobody told me about you. I know most of Greg’s old friends. You must be a friend of Cynthia’s.”

  “Actually I’m working security for the wedding. Keeping an eye on things. You never know—somebody might be out to get Greg and Cynthia.”

  “To walk right into their wedding reception and shoot them.”

  “Or poison the wedding cake.”

  “Or go after them with a slingshot.”

  They laughed.

  Sandy slapped her across the shoulder. “I like you, Honey.”

  “Good.” Rebecca punched him in the stomach. “But I’m not your honey. Look—I went to high school with Cynthia, but she won’t remember me. I saw in the paper that she was getting married, and I didn’t have anything better to do tonight, so—“

  “—so you thought you’d crash the wedding—get some free food and booze.”

  “Sure, why not. It seems like fun when they do it in the movies.”

  “Well, if you were looking for alcohol I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. These people don’t drink.” Sandy noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “I’d be happy to be your date for tonight—so you won’t feel funny standing around all by yourself.”

  “Okay. Sure. As long as you don’t touch me. ‘Cause if you do, then be prepared to losewhatever you touch me with.”

  “No problem. I’ll get us some punch.” As Sandy walked away, he imagined the stocky, but sexy woman ripping off his lips…or his hands…or his… He couldn’t understand why he was so attracted to her. Not that she wasn’t pretty. But she was definitely rough around the edges. She might even be dangerous.