Illusion of Luck (8 page)

“
I see. Well, Mr. Luzor,
would mind coming in to the station so we can talk about
this?”

“
Can’t we just do it over
the phone?”

The detective waited four seconds before he
responded. “Sir, you don’t seem to be all that concerned about what
happened to your wife.”

“
Should
I be concerned? You think
something happened to her?”

“
I’ve said all I can say
over the phone.”

“
Look, Detective, my wife
probably parked the car and went off with some guy. And I couldn’t
care less. Our marriage is over. I planned to file for divorce next
week.”

“
So, when can I expect to
see you here at the station?”

“
I’m feeling ill right now.
Some kind of virus, I guess. I’ll take some medicine and rest a
while and then hopefully I can make the trip up there—probably late
afternoon.”

“
Okay. I’ll be expecting you
this afternoon. Thank you. Goodbye.”

Larry hung up the phone.

He had no intention of going back to
Sherman. And by the time the police became suspicious, he would be
long gone.

**********

“
I appreciate you coming in
on a Saturday morning. I know it’s an inconvenience,” said the
detective.

“
No problem at all,” said
Rebecca. “I want to help in any way I can.”

“
When I took your statement
yesterday at the motel, you said Melanie was not a
hooker.”

“
Of course not. She was a
divorce lawyer—and a good one.”

“
So, what made you think to
look for her in that fleabag motel?”

“
There was a scrap of paper
on her desk with the name of the motel on it. She was late coming
in to the office and we couldn’t reach her by phone, so I checked
her desk for clues.”

“
I’m going to need that
scrap of paper.”

“
Sure. I’ll see if I can
find it.”

The detective glared at her. “You think she
went there in her capacity as a divorce lawyer?”

“
Sure. We go wherever we
need to for our clients.”

“
The manager said you came
into the office asking about her.”

“
Yes, that’s
correct.”

“
And you mentioned to him
that Melanie sometimes goes by the name ‘Candy.’”

“
Uh, yes.”

“
Why would a lawyer have a
nickname like
Candy
?”

“
I don’t know exactly. It
was from elementary school. She never told me why the kids started
calling her that. But it’s a cute nickname for an 8
year-old.”

“
Yeah, but at 28, it sounds
an awful lot like a hooker—especially when you dress like
one.”

“
My partner was no hooker,
lieutenant. She was a hard-working lawyer who really cared about
her clients.”

“
And when you found her, did
you touch or move anything in the room?”

“
No, of course not. I’m a
lawyer—I know better.” Rebecca knew she had gone way over the line
this time. There was no scrap of paper with the motel name on it.
And she had gone through Melanie’s purse, taken the bottom off and
swapped out the video camera’s memory card.

She might end up in prison,
or at the very least, be disbarred. But she knew who the killer
was, and
she
would dispose of him. No need to waste a prison cell on the
stinking degenerate.

**********

The jerk in the dark green Jaguar nearly
sideswiped Rebecca as she was entering the subdivision. She looked
to see if the driver was smirking at her, but the windows were too
dark. Just because they’re rich, they think they own the road, she
thought.

It had taken until 1:30 PM to drive to Plano
after being interrogated in Sherman.

She stuffed a handful of greasy fries into
her mouth and sucked down the rest of her warm strawberry
shake.

The yard sloped dramatically upward to the
house, making her feel like a peasant looking up at a castle. She
drove up into the semi-circle driveway, set her parking brake, and
killed the engine.

She hoped he would pull a gun on her. She
could whip hers out as fast as any gunslinger in an old Western. As
a kid, she had worked at perfecting her skills with a toy pistol
and holster. And when she was a little older, she and her dad spent
a lot of time at the shooting range. At fifty feet, she could shoot
a man’s dangler off before he could even go for his gun.

She rang the doorbell and got no answer.

She knocked and waited, and knocked
again.

Then it struck her. What about the guy in
the dark green Jaguar that nearly hit her car? What if that was
Larry Luzor? Too late to chase him.

She opened the wooden gate at the side of
the house and went through. The bedroom door near the hot tub was
locked. So was the utility room door and the sliding glass door to
the den.

Rebecca peeked in the small door window of
the detached garage and saw no cars. She would break a window if
necessary to get into the house and look for evidence.

But first, she would search
for
open
windows. She found one. It was a high and small, in the
utility room, opened just a crack.

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!”

Chapter
11

“
I’ll have the French toast
with bacon—extra crispy. And coffee.
Lots
of 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.
So
ready. Even if I
am
a 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
married
before.”

“
Well, we’re virgins to each
other. At least that’s the way
we
look 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
combustion
right 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.”