All Things Work Together: A Layton Guy Novel

By Dr. Keith L. Posehn

The serenity of the suburban small town of Folsom California is shattered with the brutal on campus murder of Stephanie Green, a beautiful young basketball star and honor student at Folsom High School. Her twisted body, discovered on the steps of the Gymnasium, sets off a panic in the otherwise sleepy berg: has the gang violence, which infests the inner city neighborhoods finally found its way to Folsom?
Rev. Layton Guy, a local youth pastor, Steph Green's youth pastor, who volunteers as a chaplain for the Folsom Police Department, finds himself entangled in the tragedy of her murder. Because of his close ties to the youth sub-culture and his family history with law enforcement, he has the trust of Detective Irv Hassleblat who invites him into the heart of the murder investigation. Layton also has another motivation drawing him into the investigation of Steph's murder in ways he doesn't quite understand: Perhaps too deeply. Stephanie Green is not the innocent he and her multimillionaire parents believed her to be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dr. Keith L. Posehn
• Release date: Mar 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476079554

Dr. Keith L. Posehn

www.keithposehn.com Rev. Dr. Keith L. Posehn, a fifth-generation Californian, was born and raised in the Sacramento Area, confirmed as a member of Fair Oaks Presbyterian Church and Graduated from Casa Roble High School. He earned his Bachelor's Degree at Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma, Washington, his Masters of Divinity at San Francisco Theological Seminary, and his Doctorate of Ministry at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. Keith began his service to the church over 30 years ago. He served in youth ministry for 20 years at FOPC, St John's Presbyterian Church in Reno, and Folsom Presbyterian Church in Folsom CA. He served as an Interim Pastor in Sacramento Presbytery for seven years at four different churches. He recently finished a four year Designated Pastorate at River Valley Church in Rancho Cordova. Keith co-founded the office of Chaplain for the Folsom Police Department and served the FPD for five years supporting both the officers and the victims of crime in the community. Currently, Keith is the Founder/Director of Heaven Help Me!, consulting for churches in the areas of Leadership Development, Vision Planning, Staff Development and Calibration, Worship Strategy and Presentation, and Stewardship. He is also continuing to release new volumes in his hilariously unconventional devotional series, "Good News and Grins To Go" designed specifically for Kindle Readers on smartphones. Keith Loves to spend time with his wife Tracy and his three sons: Forrest, Ryan and Jesse. In his free time, he enjoys golfing, home improvement, golfing, restoring old cars, golfing, coaching Jesse's AAU basketball team, and golfing with his boys. Keith is currently serving as Interim Head of Staff at Northminster Presbyterian Church in Pensacola, Florida. Print this

Book preview

Prologue

"Alright, look, if you girls aren’t going to give your all, we might as well quit right now! Just because the preseason ranking picks us to win the league, doesn’t mean a thing other than every team is going to be gunning for us."

Come on coach, we been practicing for two hours and now you want us to run lines? Dude, we're tired! And the football guys aren’t even practicing with us yet. It just ain’t fair

"Well, dude, the football players have been practicing since August and they’re already half way in shape. You potatoes, on the other hand have been playing Madden on your X-Box and that’s why you’re so whooped. Now quit crying like a bunch of girls and get on the line if you want to make this team . . ."

The exhausted group of skinny but reasonably tall teens dragged their butts toward the end line of the basketball court wondering if it was all worth it. They prepared to continue their battle with lactic acid when the sound they expected to hear did not come. They were expecting to hear the coach’s whistle and then his bellowing. What they heard instead was the muffled sound of gunshots from outside the gym. Half of the boys started off the line like sprinters at the starting gun but it didn’t take long to register that they hadn’t heard a whistle. The initial thought was that someone had set off firecrackers – illegal in California and extremely enticing to mischievous teens. Living in the sheltered upper-middleclass enclave of Folsom, they hadn’t experienced the pop of handguns and the echoes off buildings in close proximity. The coach had dragged them back to the court with his screech of Pay attention! and they momentarily regained focus and moved back toward the starting line until they heard the scream . . .

  

Marge Gustafson was satisfied with the progress of her team. They had only had a few practices but they looked like a contender and the girls seemed to gel quickly. They had talent, but more than that, they bought into her system and her leadership. She felt like for the first time she had a legitimate chance to achieve what she hadn’t as a player – a championship. She reflected on the afternoon’s practice session and an aura of satisfaction settled over her. She leaned forward to put her clipboard into her gym bag as she heard the familiar 'pop-pop'. Those little pranksters aren’t gonna get away with it this time! she shouted to herself in the empty locker room as she bolted for the door.

  

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t know whether to smile with satisfaction at how beautiful she’d become or to cry at her predicament. How can I be so smart and in such a terrible mess, she thought so intensely that she wasn’t sure she hadn’t said it out loud. She quickly scanned the shower area to see if anyone had heard her, but like always, she was the last one to leave. Unlike the rest of the girls on the team, she did not go home after practice. Instead, she would make her evening trek to the hospital to do her volunteer work. It will look great on your college applications, her school counselor told her. Again, to herself in response, I’m glad I don’t have to put this mess on my applications. She wasn’t sure how she was going to work past this but she was intelligent, resourceful, and, perhaps more importantly, drop dead gorgeous. Even in the midst of her tumultuous situation, she had a quiet sense that everything would work out. Besides, she thought to herself, Romans 8:28 says, ‘All things work together for good for those who love the Lord’, so everything will be fine.

She finished dressing for her hospital gig and headed out with her gym bag toward her car. Goodnight coach Gustafson, she chirped in her bubbly voice, which covered her pain as she walked past the coaches’ office. The coach seemed distant in thought so she just continued out to her car. As she stepped onto the parking lot, she suddenly got the sensation that not all was square with the universe. She began to look behind her as if someone was stalking her but the trouble was not behind her. She didn’t see the gray sedan that was idling in the end parking slot or the muzzle flashes as they leapt out of the passenger window. She didn’t even hear the shots or feel the pain of the lead ripping through her flesh. She didn’t hear the car speed away. The only thing Stephanie Green experienced in the last moments of her life was disappointment. Her final thought in that last fleeting moment of life on earth, This can’t be how things work out for good . . .

  

Marge Gustafson was on a mission. She had called the police three times in the last three weeks and swore to herself that she would catch the little jerks. Though she was a tall, sturdy, 40 year old Swede, years of basketball made her quick on her feet and even more years of coaching kept her in shape. Faster than even she expected, she was out of the locker room and out to the parking lot. She could hear a car speeding away. She would get them this time.

To her surprise, she almost tripped over her star point guard. To her horror, she did step in the growing puddle of blood emanating from beneath the twisted body of Stephanie Green. Though Marge was no frail woman, she nearly fainted as she let out a scream that was nearly as gruesome as the scene that had prompted it. Quickly regaining her composure, she changed her screams to cries for help. She remembered that she knew CPR and began the process, checking for a pulse. Her first attempt was thwarted because the carotid artery she reached for was missing.

As she grabbed for Stephanie’s wrist, the entire boy's basketball team stumbled out of the gym and gawked at the carnage. Call 911, quickly! Marge bawled. Some of the boys ran for their cell phones and a couple ran toward a nearby pay phone but their coach knew that their efforts along with Marge’s would do no good. He had seen it before in Iraq . . . Stephanie Green was gone.

Chapter 1

He dreaded the day. For officer Tad Puggle, the thought of spending an entire shift with a preacher in his car was only slightly more desirable than the months of physical therapy he’d been through after the surgery to repair his torn anterior-cruciate ligament. A University of Washington Tight end destroyed it when he blindsided Puggle with a low block in the last game of his junior year at USC. That cheap shot not only ended his lifelong dream of playing at the professional level, it nearly left him a cripple. This time the sergeant had blindsided him with the Opportunity to have the chaplain ride along. He’d considered calling in sick but he had already used too many sick days this year and couldn’t afford the pay cut or the bad politics.

Officer Puggle resigned himself to the task. He promised himself he wouldn’t let the preacher get to him. I ain’t gonna make no confessions or change my language. It’s my damn cop car and he can live with it. I don’t go to his workplace and bother him. I’m not letting him get to me! he said out loud to himself as he pulled into the secured property yard of the Folsom Police Department. He muttered his convictions over to himself as he changed into his uniform in the locker room in the basement of the stationhouse. He checked the depth of his conviction as he adjusted his uniform in the mirror. As he walked past the weight room toward roll call, one of the officers who knew how much Puggle dreaded the coming day snickered, Hey Pudge, then crossing himself continued, remember, it’s spectacles, testicles, wallet, watch.

Officer Puggle sneered and flipped the jokester off. Puggle was not sure he liked the moniker that his fellow officers gave him. While it showed the boys had accepted him, he did not like its genesis. See, during the rehab of his knee and the realization that his NFL dreams were dashed, Tad had swallowed a lot of anger, and even more French-fries and beer. Though it was apparent from the way he carried himself that he had at one time been an athlete playing at a high level, the beer belly was now prominent, especially with the bulletproof vest over it. Despite the fact that over the last year he had worked a lot of it off, he’d been christened, and it would stick.

Pudge walked into roll call with purpose and, as usual, was the last one there, about 30 seconds before drawing the duty sergeant's ire. As he entered, he saw the coy smirks on the faces of the other officers. He instinctively formed a response with his upper teeth pressed against lower lip and began to force the air out for his retort but as the officers suddenly checked their shoes, Pudge noticed the chaplain sitting off to the right. Pudge choked off the profanity an instant before it came out. The officers and even the chaplain chuckled. Pudge cringed and dropped his head as he chastised himself, Damn, one second in the holy man’s presence and I already knuckled under and changed who I am! He slinked to a seat he found on the complete opposite side of the room and slumped into the chair.

  

Layton Guy was not what anyone would expect a chaplain to look like. He was young, tall, fit, and handsome in a ‘boy next door’ way. At 6’3" and a muscular 220 pounds with Hazel eyes and a thick mop of sun bleached dishwater blond hair, he was noticed when he entered a room. He had played a little basketball in his college days and spent more than his share of time on the weight machines at the 24 Hour Fitness Center near the church. Though he might have pursued a scholarship to a big name university, he was a realist and he had a calling. The realist in him admitted he had a critical case of ‘white man’s disease’ and his defensive prowess was a commodity that scouts ignore and coaches only desire deep into the NCAA tournament. His calling was from a league much higher than the PAC 10. He decided that his was to serve his creator. So, his hoop was limited to the occasional pick-up game at the gym and his dreams were of making a difference.

While his looks kept many folks from noticing, Layton was more intelligent than often even he realized. At times, he would surprise himself at the ease with which he figured things out. He could fix just about anything he could take apart and supplemented his income through college and seminary by building and Networking computers. Growing up, school was so easy as to barely keep his attention and he often caused trouble in class because he finished long before his classmates and had nothing to do. His fourth grade teacher, the first male teacher Layton had, recognized the situation and challenged him by giving him projects above and beyond the regular curriculum. There were few discipline problems that year.

Layton, though a seasoned soul in many areas of his existence was a bit naïve when it came to dealing with women. He could never quite figure out the subtleties of their style of communication and rarely picked up on their cues. His looks attracted much attention from the farer sex but he did not fair well with them.

He married while in seminary and it was a miserable failure. He was 22 at the time and his bride was 20. He had rescued her from an abusive home life but never could live up to the ‘knight in shining amour’ billing. He couldn’t see that she needed more of a father than a husband, and she couldn’t see that he needed more than hints about her needs. He’d later say that the theme song for his marriage was an old tune by Captain Hook and the Medicine show, She was too young to fall in love, and I was too young to know.

They divorced soon after Layton started at his first church out of seminary. Over the years, they’d figured out a way to get along, more out of necessity than of choice. See, out of all of the misery that was their relationship came the greatest blessing of Layton’s life, his son Nate.

Nate was a carbon copy of his dear ol’ dad, a trait not lost on the old man. He looked, acted, thought and even spoke like Layton. Though he shared custody, his world revolved around his son and he spent every available moment with Nate. He’d decided that, since his luck with women was on the wimpy side and the dating process was, for ministers, dangerous at best, his lot in life was to be a single dad. He gathered a sense of peace about the prospect and dove into the role.

Layton’s biological father was on the California Highway Patrol and was killed in the line of duty when Layton was only three. Layton had no real memory of his father that he could distinguish from the stories he’d heard told about the man. His mother remarried not long after his father’s death and though he considered this man a father, they never really connected. He often wondered if he would have turned out different if his father had lived. This only served to focus his resolve to be the best dad his son could ever have.

Layton had always had a deep spiritual side. It just seemed natural to him to be in relationship with his creator. From childhood, he was involved in his church and even though his parents took him to church, he’d have figured a way to go without them. At 12, he had what might be called a ‘born again’ experience, but it was nothing as drastic as you’d hear about from a revival speaker. He had a moment of clarity where he sensed, in a real way, that Jesus was with him and that he needed to respond to the presence with a commitment. So he did.

While still in high school, one of Layton’s friends who was in college invited him to be a leader of the junior high youth group at their church. It didn’t take long to discover that he was an incredibly gifted leader, teacher and communicator. The kids took right to him, listened to what he said, asked questions that proved they listened, and took what he’d said to heart. It was not long before Layton figured that he’d been given these gifts for a reason and, after much wrestling with his own doubt, decided that his vocation in life would be to share the Gospel with kids. As a result, after he graduated from college he entered a Presbyterian Seminary, completed his training and his masters of Divinity and was ordained as a pastor in the Presbyterian Church (USA).

Not long after, he started work at Trinity Presbyterian Church, his second church (the first one didn’t work out since his marriage began to fall apart soon after he started and most people want their pastors to be perfect), Layton began musing about his biological father. The birth of his son along with the fact that the CHP had provided for his finances sufficiently to get him through college and seminary essentially debt free, led him to inquire about volunteering at the Folsom PD as a chaplain. He figured he could give back a little of what he’d been given and, because of his father and grandfather, who was also CHP, police work was in his blood whether he realized it or not. He soon discovered that the FPD had never had a chaplain. He also discovered that the chief, whose ‘seat and tray table were not in the full upright and locked position’, a fact known by the entire FPD, would be his biggest deterrent to filling the need. But Layton never backed down from a challenge and faced the chief head on.

  

. . . So make sure you stop and check any late model white Dodge vans you see with right front damage, including broken turn signals and or missing right rear view mirrors. We need to catch this hit and run driver and make an example of him because this is becoming epidemic. The duty sergeant smirked as he looked at Layton and then at officer Puggle, And Pudge you get to ride with Chaplain Guy today. That’s all: Go get some bad guys.

Pudge sulked out into the hall and Layton followed at a distance. The duty sergeant motioned to Layton and whispered, Go easy on him. He thinks you are gonna get all religious on him. He’s scared to death! Layton winked and slid out the door. He caught up with officer Puggle as they walked out the door to the property yard and toward the patrol car.

Hey, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, Layton said as they reached the car. Then, with a formality that belied his laid-back religiosity, I’m the Reverend Layton Guy. It’s a pleasure to meet you officially. I thought we might spend some time in prayer before we begin our shift. Layton folded his hands and bowed his head. Pudge, confused and caught off guard, did likewise. Layton then peaked up to see if Pudge had followed suit. Seeing that he had, he yelled, Psych! and the other officers broke into a roar. Pudge was not amused.

As they got in the car, Layton put on a more serious tone, Look, I’m not here to be your pastor or confessor or judge or whatever you think I’m going to try to be that has you so upset. I’m just here to get to know you and to be available to the PD if they need a chaplain. I do ride alongs to get connected to the feel of what you do and the pressures you face. We can talk if you want but I’d rather not talk about spiritual stuff unless you really want to. I have to deal with that stuff all the time and I do this to get away from the grind of my job. Then Layton loosened up a bit, We can just sit silently for the next twelve hours if you’d like that best, but I might have to start singing Negro spirituals to pass the time. That got a bit of a grin out of Pudge.

Pudge then caught himself, "You listen