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Bicycle Shop Murder

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

Published by Robert Burton Robinson

SECOND EDITION

August 2007

RBRbooks.com http://www.robertburtonrobinson.com

Copyright © 2006 Robert Burton Robinson.

Some rights reserved. For details, follow this link:

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/

To order the paperback version use this number:

ISBN: 978-0-9798402-0-3

To Lynda

I love you, Baby!

Books by

ROBERT BURTON ROBINSON

Greg Tenorly Mystery Series:

Bicycle Shop Murder

Hideaway Hospital Murders

Illusion of Luck

Hi,

I hope you like Bicycle Shop Murder, and will send it to your friends. You have permission to make copies of the eBook, print it for your own use, and send it to anyone and everyone.

You can even add the book to your website as long as you give me credit for writing the book, include the link to my site, and include the copyright information. This book is protected under U.S. Copyright Law and the Creative Commons license. For details, go to:

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/.

Thanks for reading!

Robert Burton Robinson

*

SYNOPSIS

Greg Tenorly lives a quiet and lonely life in a small East Texas town, until he is selected as a juror for a murder trial. A beautiful, mysterious redhead befriends him, and seems to have a romantic interest. But is she merely using him to influence the outcome of the trial?

By the end of the first week, three people connected with the case are dead, and Greg is beginning to fear for his own life. He is now convinced that a powerful Dallas attorney is directing the murder spree in his little town. But why? He is determined to find out.

But his investigation just might earn him a spot at the top of the hit list.

*

Bicycle Shop Murder

by Robert Burton Robinson

Chapter 1

A beautiful, sexy redhead sat across from Greg Tenorly. He was nervous about the closed door, but she had insisted. The slightest hint of impropriety would spark a blaze of rumors.

Greg tried to concentrate on her story. But his mind wandered to his 34-year-old receding hairline and bulging stomach. The part-time music minister had been feeling good about himself ten minutes ago. Time to start exercising again.

“I grew up in Marshall. Graduated from East Texas State, and got a job at a bank in Greenville. Three years ago, I moved here so I could be closer to Mom. She still lives in Marshall. I met Troy at a high school football game. He was fun, down-to-earth. We’ve been married for two years.”

Cynthia Blockerman was a vice president at First State Bank, yet only in her late 20’s. She certainly looked the part, dressed in an expensive brown business suit, matching shoes and tasteful jewelry. And her shoulder-length hair was the kind you only see in shampoo commercials. Greg felt underdressed in his faded golf shirt, baggy slacks, and generic running shoes.

“Everything was fine for the first six months or so. But I guess he was just playing the part of a good husband. Then I started to see his real personality. As soon as he gets home from work, he goes straight for the beer. By nine, there’s a pile of cans next to his recliner, and he’s calling me names, and throwing things.

“Sometimes he hits me. He did it one time before we got married, but he said he was so sorry. And even broke down and cried. He promised he’d never do it again.”

“Is there anything in particular you say or do that seems to set him off?” It was a dumb question, but the only one he could think of.

“No. It doesn’t matter. I can be extra sweet, or mean, or just ignore him. He still gets mad and crazy. I don’t know what to do. I want to leave him, but I’m afraid he’ll come after me.”

Greg could already hear the voice of Daniel Duretsky, Channel 7 Eyewitness News.

A friend says that the husband had threatened to kill her if she called the police. So, she moved out of the house while he was at work. But he found her apartment, kicked down the door and brutally stabbed her 57 times. His family says he’s a hard worker and a good husband. They can’t believe he would do something like this.

Greg had no business acting as a marriage counselor. His own marriage had failed five years ago. And he shouldn’t have even been at the church—it was Monday, his day off. But he couldn’t just turn her away.

“Could you give me a couple of days to think about this, and try to come up with some ideas for you? I know it’s tough when you’re dealing with this every day, but

“

“Sure. That’s fine. I’d really appreciate any help you could give me.”

“But don’t you want to talk to the pastor about this? He’s had a lot more experience—”

“—okay, please don’t take this the wrong way.” She leaned in, and spoke more softly. “But Dr. Huff seems a little too judgmental. I like him. His messages are very good. But I thought you’d be more understanding. And not make me feel like it was all my fault.

“A lot of times, men, and even women, treat me differently because of my looks and my job. They think: What could she possibly have to complain about? Anyway, I was right. You are a compassionate, understanding man.”

Greg felt his face starting to turn red. “Thank you.”

She checked her watch. “I’ve got to get back to the bank.”

Greg was walking her to the door, when she turned, and moved toward him. Surely she hadn’t intended to get quite that close. She would step back a little. Wouldn’t she? But as he stood paralyzed, she leaned in even closer. Their lips were nearly touching. Her eyes were a shade of blue he’d never seen before.

“Thank you so much, Greg. You don’t know how much it helps, just to have someone like you to talk to.”

“You haven’t told anybody else?”

He needed to move back, yet he didn’t want to offend her. But if one of the church members could see the two of them standing that close in his office, with the door closed—what would they think? God could see. But he could also see Greg’s pure heart. At least he hoped it still looked pure.

“The only other person who knows is my mother. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. And I wouldn’t dare tell anyone at the bank.”

As he felt her warm, sweet breath passing through his nostrils, and deep into his lungs, his pulse began to race. He was not doing anything wrong. Yet he was about to have a heart attack, and fall dead right there on the church carpet. He stumbled back a bit, and reached awkwardly for the doorknob.

Even after she was gone, her fragrance lingered all over his body. How does that happen? He never even touched her. She was gone, yet she was still with him. And would be for some time.

Now he would slip out of the building, covered in sweet-smelling guilt. He just hoped the church secretary wouldn’t get a whiff.

Chapter 2

Greg Tenorly drove the familiar route from the church to his music studio, studying the homes along the way. He wondered about the families who lived in each one. Like that two-story brick on the corner. What secrets were they hiding? Was the husband abusive? Did a teenager use drugs? Was the family nearly bankrupt? How could anyone know? It was better not to know. The mind can only handle so many problems at one time. He wondered where Troy and Cynthia Blockerman lived.

Greg had appeared at the courthouse that morning as part of a jury pool, only to be released. He and the rest of his group would have to return the next morning. He hoped they would not need him. The church would pay his regular part-time salary while he was serving on a jury, but any private lessons he missed would be money lost.

Greg’s red 1965 Pontiac Bonneville convertible always turned heads as he drove through the small town. He had purchased it two months earlier from a career Navy man down in Longview who had babied the thing for years. It spent most of its life in the man’s garage, coming out only when he was on leave. Most trips were to the car wash or the Pontiac dealer for scheduled maintenance.

Greg gladly paid $4,000 for it. The sailor called him the very next day and tried to buy it back. He said it was like losing a member of the family. Greg felt bad, but not bad enough to give up the car. How could a 40-year-old car have only 93,000 miles on it? It was dazzling.

His little studio was near the town square, nestled between Coreyville Hardware and Susie’s Sewing Box. Occasionally he and a student could hear a pipe wrench or hammer hitting the floor on the hardware side. But things were always quiet from Susie’s side. At least the soundproofing he had installed kept his neighbors from hearing his students. You can’t teach music without hearing both beautiful sounds and sour notes.

Parking the mammoth red beauty behind the building always made him a little nervous. The two pickups next door were in and out constantly. It was only a matter of time before one of those trucks drove out of the alley with red paint across the fender.

He walked through the back door, and into the odor of yesterday’s Folgers and aging music scores and textbooks. A welcome aroma.

The message machine was flashing.

Message 1: Hello Greg, this is Penelope Ragsdale. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make my lesson today. Thanks.

That’s $12 down the drain, he thought.

Message 2: Mr. Tenorly, this is Patty Hansel. Hugh fell out of a tree and broke his collar bone, so he’s going to miss his piano lessons for a while. I’ll let you know when he can come back. Thanks.

Why did they name the kid Hugh? Maybe he was named after Hugh Grant or Hugh Jackman. Surely not Hugh Hefner.

Greg had twenty-nine students. Many of them took two lessons per week. He taught piano, voice, guitar, and music theory. His teaching hours were from 1:00-8:00 PM, although there were plenty of open time slots. On an average week, seven or eight students cancelled lessons. He dreaded phone calls, since they were nearly always cancellations.

The phone rang, and Greg reluctantly picked up.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?”

It was David Beachton, owner of BeachTone Tanning Salon and a bass in Greg’s choir. Greg didn’t think tanning was healthy, even in the sun—much less under artificial light. He tried not to think about it too much because David was a good friend.

“I’m fine. How about you?”

“I just wanted to let you know you are not off the hook for the big trial.”

“How did you find out?”

“Greg, I’m always one of the first to know what’s going on in this town. You know that. They only got eight

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