Bicycle Shop Murder by Robert Burton Robinson (fiction novels to read .TXT) 📖

Greg and Cynthia walked through the spacious marble lobby to the large, circular reception/security booth, which separated them from the hallway of elevators. A huge digital wall clock read 4:08 PM. Two uniformed men were carefully watching an array of closed circuit television monitors.

In a quick survey of three screens, Cynthia saw a young couple in one of the elevators, a woman walking down a hallway with an armful of folders and a man opening a door.

One of the guards looked up at Greg. “May I help you, Sir?”

“Yes. We’re here to see Buford Bellowin.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Uh, no, we don’t.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t let you go up. You’ll have to call his secretary and set up an appointment. The office numbers are listed over on that board. I’m sorry—but, that’s all I can do for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Why hadn’t he lied to the guard about having an appointment? No—the guard would have called Buford’s secretary to verify it.

They walked to the information board and found Bellowin & Associates. It was located on the seventeenth floor. Greg typed the office phone number into his cell phone, but did not press the ‘Send’ button. “Let’s go over there,” he said to Cynthia.

He led her to a small couch close to the lobby entrance. He didn’t want to be within earshot of the guards. “Okay. Here goes.” He pressed the ‘Send’ button.

“Bellowin and Associates. How may I help you?”

“I would like to make an appointment with Mr. Bellowin.”

“Are you one of Mr. Bellowin’s clients?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Well, now, Mr. Bellowin is booked up for the foreseeable future. But one of his associates could see you

next Wednesday at 5:30. Would that work for you?”

What had made Greg think they could just walk right in and meet with the mighty Buford Bellowin?

“No, Ma’am. I’m sorry—this is not about a legal matter. I’m an old friend of Buford’s, from his hometown of Coreyville. I’m in Dallas on business and just wanted to drop by and ‘shoot the bull’ for a while.” He hoped he sounded like one of Buford’s friends. On second thought, he didn’t know whether Buford actually had any friends.

“Oh, I see. Well, he’s in court for the rest of the day, but I could probably squeeze you in sometime between 8:30 and 9:00 tomorrow morning. He reads his email during that time, but I’m sure he could spare a few minutes for an old friend.”

“That would be great.” It wasn’t great. Now he and Cynthia would be forced to spend the night in Dallas. They had planned to meet with Buford and be back home by late evening, having solved the mystery of the Coreyville killing spree. It had seemed like a good plan. What were they thinking?

Cynthia had an ear close to Greg’s phone, and didn’t like what she was hearing. But Greg gave her a look that said, ‘We have no choice.’

“Now, what was your name?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather surprise him.”

There was a brief pause before the secretary responded. Maybe Greg had blown it.

“Okay. Just tell the guard that you are Buford’s friend from Coreyville. He will call me, and I will give him the okay for you to come up.”

“Oh. Actually, there are two of us. The other one is a lady friend of his.”

The secretary knew Buford would not want to miss an opportunity to see a lady friend. “Got it. Two friends from Coreyville at 8:30 AM.”

“Thanks. See you in the morning. Bye.”

“What if he figures out that it’s us?” said Cynthia.

“Even if he does, I think he will be curious to hear what we have to say.”

Cynthia’s cell rang, and Greg was about to advise her not to answer—but, he was too late.

“Hello?

Ten o’clock? I would prefer afternoon, if that’s okay.

Good. I will see you at 2:00.”

“Who was that?”

“Andrea Newly, the Assistant D.A. Thank goodness for cell phones. They have no idea I left town. I’ve got to meet with the D.A. tomorrow afternoon at 2:00. Can we be back home by then?”

“I hope so. If we can see Buford before 9:00, we should make it back in time. But we may be cutting it close.”

*

“Bellowin and Associates. How may I—”

“—Millie, it’s me. I just got out of court, and I have special dinner plans tonight. So, I do not want to be disturbed by anyone for the rest of the evening.”

“I understand, Sir.”

“Any important calls?”

“No, Sir. But, you did get a call from an old friend.”

“Who?” Buford had no friends—just associates and clients.

“He wouldn’t give his name. Said he wanted to surprise you. And there’s a lady friend too. They’re from Coreyville.”

“Coreyville?”

“Yes. I told them to come by at 8:30 in the morning.”

“Did they say anything else?”

“No, Sir. That was all.”

“Okay. Thanks, Millie. See you in the morning.”

Buford got into his Mercedes, locked the doors and thought for a few minutes. Who would be coming to see him from Coreyville? He hadn’t been there in eight or ten years. What if Marty had suspected that Buford sent someone to kill him? He might be coming to kill Buford right there in his own office. He wouldn’t care if he got caught. But who was the woman?

What if it was Cynthia Blockerman. And Greg Tenorly? What if Dorothy Spokane had told one of them what Buford had done? Marty had killed Dorothy. But what if she had already told Buford’s dirty secret?

His pistol was locked safely in his office drawer, along with plenty of bullets. He would have it ready to go by the time they got there. He had spent an adequate amount of time at the shooting range to handle this situation. If they knew too much, he could shoot them and say it was self-defense. He could put one of his big, heavy golf trophies in Greg’s dead hands and say that Greg was about to hit him with it.

He would come up with some way to justify Cynthia’s killing as well. He had a very sharp legal mind. He would get himself out of this. And of course, the police would believe almost anything he told them. He was a powerful man. A man who would, in a few short years, be governor of the Lone Star State.

*

Angela Hammerly popped her head into Andrea Newly’s office. “Got Cynthia Blockerman lined up for tomorrow?”

“Yeah. She’s coming in at 2:00.”

“Why not first thing in the morning?” The D.A. was clearly disappointed in her new A.D.A.

“She had a conflict in the morning. I don’t know—”

“—you should have made her come in to suit our schedule—not hers!”

“I’m sorry. Should I call her back?”

“No. I don’t want it to look like I’m undermining your authority. We need a united front.”

“So, you really think she killed her husband?”

“Well, let’s look at the facts.” Angela walked in and took a seat. “The night of the murder, as I was getting out of my car at Cynthia’s house, I saw Greg Tenorly driving by. Or at least I saw his big red convertible. It’s the only one like it in town. I can’t be sure he was driving it—but, for now, let’s just assume he was.

“Why was he driving down her street at three o’clock in the morning? And one of the vice presidents at her bank said he saw Greg go into Cynthia’s office on Tuesday afternoon. By tomorrow, we’ll have their phone records. That should be interesting.

“We also know that she attended his choir rehearsal Wednesday night, the very night of the murder, and stayed late for a private meeting with Greg. And here’s the best part: the church organist says that she overheard Cynthia telling Greg she wished Troy was dead.”

“Are you thinking Greg Tenorly is the murderer?”

“I don’t know which one of them actually cut Troy’s throat, but I think they planned it together.”

“So, Greg and Cynthia were sneaking around having sex while plotting to kill Troy?”

“Something like that.”

“I can get their credit card records and see if one of them has checked into a hotel lately. If so, we can try to find out what the other one was doing at that time,” Andrea said with a wicked tone Angela particularly liked.

“Now you’re thinking. If we can catch them in bed together, after the fact—then we’ve got ‘em.” Angela almost looked proud of Andrea.

“I just hope they were stupid enough to use a credit card.”

“They’re not stupid. But I can guarantee you they’re not as smart as they think they are.”