Blue Light by Night (a Layton Shayne Mystery)

By Gerald Lopez

Detective, and ex-military man, Layton Shayne’s newest case has taken him from his home out west into the dark and ominous swamplands of Louisiana. His client Leticia Carter has only told him that the case is simple and involves three siblings with the last name of Kennedy. Layton’s job is to discover who should inherit the old family estate located in Shelby, a town so small it doesn’t even show up on most maps. Immediately after he entered Shelby, the detective met some colorful and mysterious characters. It wasn’t long before he discovered that there was an ancient supernatural element which held the citizens of the town in fear.
Soon after meeting the Kennedy sisters and their handsome brother Alex, Layton noticed that the old southern veneer of the town was thin and disintegrating by the minute. He’d need to depend on his military training to learn not just who to trust, but in order to survive. Somehow in the middle of all this, love comes to the lovelorn detective from more than one direction. Layton knows that work comes first and the case he is there to solve, which sounded so simple, is anything but that. If Layton manages to survive night treks through the swamp, an impromptu trip to New Orleans, some wise-cracking kids, and the lusty inhabitants of Shelby, he still has to come up against supernatural forces and mysterious blue light orbs with the power to kill.
No matter what the outcome, Layton Shayne’s life will never be the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gerald Lopez
• Release date: Nov 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310569081

Gerald Lopez

Gerald was called to write at various times in his life. When he was young, the writing consisted of plays and short stories. Then he explored the fine arts and literature, earning a bachelor’s degree in the latter while minoring in art history. In his studies he was fascinated by and enjoyed analyzing characters, their personalities and motivations. To him it’s always been the characters who make a story special. Once again writing has taken hold of him. In the past it was just an amusement, but now—for Gerald—writing is a passion to live, eat, and breathe.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Start of Things

The heat was rising inside me and I was so hot that all I wanted to do was rip my clothes off till I was naked to the wind… nonexistent wind that it was. I settled for just unbuttoning the blue plaid cotton shirt I was wearing so that it hung open on my wet chest.

Damn! It was stupid of me to have driven my dad’s old truck down to Louisiana. Sentimentality be screwed! I smacked the steering wheel with the palm of my hand. Great time for the truck’s air conditioning to go out—with me on my way to the location of a new case. I brushed back a loose, wet strand of hair from my face and felt a drop of sweat hit my nose.

Looking ahead, all I could see was yet another bridge constructed over one more desolate, smelly swamp. First, it was a novelty seeing all this water, at least for a midwest guy like me. The round, wide, onion-shaped bottoms of the cypress trees fascinated me for a while, but the water they grew out of seemed dark and ominous. In my research on the area I’d discovered the trees were called bald cypress trees. I was on my way to the St. Martin Parish region of south Louisiana to work for a client I’d only spoken to on the phone. Maybe not the smartest thing I’d ever done, but the money was good… real damn good, and I needed to get out of town anyhow.

My life had gotten off-kilter a year ago when I’d found my lover of ten years in bed with my twenty-year-old nephew. The scene popped into my mind and I recalled everything without even trying.

* * * *

I’d come home early from being on a case, expecting to see the two of them working somewhere on the property but they were nowhere to be seen. The minute I entered our two-story farmhouse I heard them.

Oh, yeah, baby, that’s the spot, my nephew said.

I walked quietly up the stairs to our bedroom.

I’m close, babe, I’m gonna—, that was him—my lover.

My hand was clenched in a tight fist, all my seething rage going down toward it. I kicked open the door and entered the room.

Unc!

Layton!

They tried to cover themselves with the sheet that had been thrown onto the floor beside the bed. But I grabbed the end of it and pulled it off them. They were naked in front of me, their cocks still dripping cum. All I felt was seething anger rising inside me. I grabbed my nephew’s arm and threw him out of the bed; he stumbled and landed on the wood floor. I picked him up and pushed him toward the doorway.

Hey my clothes are in there, Unc!

Get the hell out of my house, I said. Now!

He ran naked down the stairs and I heard the front door hit the wall like it always did when someone slammed it. I looked at my lover of ten years with a mixture of anger, disappointment, and pure shock. Neither one of us spoke for a moment, then he tried to come toward me with his eyes imploring me to do or say something, but what?

Leave, now, I said. Don’t bother with your clothes, just go.

But where will we go?

Go, I said in a commanding voice he knew well and would obey. It was a voice I’d used often in my military days. The bed still reeked of their lovemaking. I walked to the corner window, pushed back the curtain a little and looked down at them naked in front of the house. The two people that meant more to me than anyone else in the world had just betrayed me in the worst way possible. My shoulders ached and my chest hurt from the tension of the moment. I inhaled deeply, grabbed the sheet from the bed, opened the window and threw it down to them.

Sleep in the barn with the other animals! I said to them as they caught the sheet and scrambled to the barn. Undoubtedly they’d screw some more in there. My head hurt, I should’ve left them naked to deal with the unjust world which had dealt me a cutting blow. I walked downstairs to take something for my head. While in the kitchen I thought of my parents and of my dad. Right then I made an important decision. I raised the glass of water I’d just gotten and wiping a tear from my eye spoke my last words in that house.

Here’s to you Dad, you were a better man than me to put up with life here. But I can’t stay in this place anymore… it’s just not worth it.

With those words, I walked back upstairs and packed my belongings. There was no time for me to feel anything, just time enough to go through the motions and not think about it, them, or anything but getting the hell out of there.

* * * *

Since then I’d just been floating around, taking cases here and there, merely doing what needed to be done. I was living life on automatic. Not really living, just existing or being. At least I recognized what I was doing with my life and some people say that’s the first step to improving your circumstances. How does the old saying go? Physician, heal thyself. This is what I was doing by taking a case that took me far from home. Healing myself by getting away from a life that I needed to leave behind for my own health and happiness. Even now, I still had to remind myself not to think about ‘it’. Not to think about finding the two of them together in my bed on the family farm that I’d worked hard to keep afloat as a young man when nobody else gave a damn. When I was older my job as a detective helped keep us from losing the place while the ex worked the place full time. Forget it and them, I’m well rid of them all. That’s why I made the probably foolish decision to sign the farm over to my nephew for a measly hundred grand. Money he had to borrow from his mother, my sister. Oh, she hated ‘queers’ like me and my ex, but she’d be damned if the farm was going to anyone but family. In time, she would do her best to get rid of my ex or any other guy that would go after or dare to be with her son. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad decision on my part, since selling the farm bought me my freedom from all of them. Back home was a battle that this ex-soldier knew he could never win.

My cousin Ronnie had let me stay with him and his wife while I was getting my life together. I didn’t care much for alcohol and had never even tried drugs, so all that left was moping around feeling sorry for myself. To be honest, I wasn’t particularly good at that either. My biggest problem was that I didn’t have a plan for my life, and a soldier—even one turned civilian—was no good without a plan. That skinny kid Ronnie, twelve years younger than me, was always telling me to have faith that things would get better. Other times he’d tell me to have faith in people. Some days I didn’t even have faith in myself and my abilities, how could I have faith in anyone else? Seeing a sign for the turnoff to Shelby I shook my head to snap back to reality. I told myself to think of this as the road to a new life. It was time to make an effort to leave the past far behind me as if it had all taken place in another universe.

My client had informed me that Shelby was a place of no real consequence and that most maps don’t even show it. The small town was just a pit stop on the way to bigger cities like New Orleans. The four-lane road I turned onto became two lanes and views of the swampland changed into views of sugar cane fields then back to views of swamps. Leaning back in my seat I stretched my legs and enjoyed the feel of the flip-flops between my toes. They always felt so sexy to me for some reason—besides, lightweight cotton shorts and flip-flops were the only reasonable choice of clothing in this heat. On both sides of the now bumpy road were live oak trees covered in spanish moss. The trees were so large they canopied the road and helped block out the sun that was beating down relentlessly. The shadows of the tree limbs on the sun-bleached road looked like long, thin ghoulish arms leading me in—into what I wondered. I shuddered involuntarily, a bit spooked by it all. A little farther at a crossroads I spotted a small convenience store. It was housed in an old wooden building raised up on cement blocks. An inviting shade was provided by two large, moss-covered live oaks on either side. The front of the building had an open porch with thin, spindly posts holding up a metal roof that was rusty and had seen better days. The whole place looked as if it would collapse just by someone blowing on it, but I desperately needed something to drink and this place would have it. The truck tires made crunching noises as I pulled into the gravel lot and parked.

I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror. My shoulder-length, sandy-blond hair was wet and looked darker than usual. The straight, long hair hung limp on my forehead and over my ears on the sides. Brushing my hair back I was rewarded with a handful of sticky sweat. The light dusting of short golden hair in the center of my chest and abs was wet and glistening. Grabbing my handkerchief, I quickly wiped up the sweat on my chest and forehead before buttoning up the last two buttons on my shirt. Removing my sunglasses I looked at my eyes in the mirror. Bright, turquoise-blue eyes without the untanned, white skin around them that revealed the tourists in the area. I had a tan from working on the farm back home and loved wearing flip-flops, so I didn’t have to worry about those signs giving my non-local status away. My friends from the south often joked about the pale white or sunburnt feet of northern tourists in flip-flops, as well as the untanned white skin around their eyes from wearing sunglasses. Finally I opened the door and stepped onto the white gravel parking lot.

As I walked up the two steps to the porch they creaked. The screen door at the store’s entrance also creaked when I opened it. Once inside, I looked around before I spotted the cooler containing bottled water and soft drinks at the rear—I grabbed two large bottles of water. Heading to the checkout counter at the front of the store I noticed a thin, older, Black woman leaning against the counter with a large plastic bottle of tea in her hand. She was hard to miss in her bright, multi-colored turban, or head gear which I couldn’t properly name. Her outfit fascinated me with its ‘electric’ purple, floor-length skirt with multi-colored sequins at the hem, and lime-green, loose-fitting, long-sleeved blouse with sequined lace cuffs. She had a large deck of rust-red cards in one hand. After putting her tea down, she picked one card up and held it my way.

What d’ya see in the card, boy? she said.

Before I could respond, the scruffy-haired, dark-bearded clerk behind the counter spoke. His face was bright red and covered with acne. The only redeeming feature he had were his clear green eyes.

Don’t mind Miss Lucy here. There ain’t nuthin’ on those cards to see. It’s just a game she plays.

I placed my waters on the counter, took out my wallet and sent a smile Miss Lucy’s way. Hey, man. Put the lady’s tea on my bill, too.

The lady gave me a look which said she didn’t take kindly to my offer to pay for her drink.

You ain’t ‘my man’! You ain’t gotta be payin’ anythin’ fer me.

Well then, I respectfully take back my offer. I didn’t mean to insult you, Ma’am.

Miss Lucy took two dollar bills from her small, multi-colored change purse and put them on the counter. The clerk handed her some change and she walked out of the store, giving me a long look as she left.

Crazy old dame, the clerk said. It don’t pay to try an’ be nice to some people. He handed me my change before continuing. Ya’ have a good one, man.

Will do. You, too.

Walking toward the door I opened one of my waters and took a deep refreshing drink. Two more customers walked in talking and carrying on. One curious thing I noticed, they were speaking in broken English, but not with Louisiana or Creole accents. That was something I hadn’t expected. Outside on the gravel, I poured some of the cool water over my head and ran my fingers through my hair, ending by brushing it back again with my hand. I let out a deep sigh of contentment and heard loud laughter. I heard Miss Lucy’s voice before I saw her.

You’re one crazy fucka! She said, then laughed.

And I look like wet shit, too. I know.

Turning around I saw Miss Lucy sitting at a picnic table under one of the live oaks. An iridescent purple Cadillac was parked in front of it. Too fancy to be hers, then again, maybe not. The color certainly suited her. It would be easy enough to find out the answer later. Miss Lucy waved me over and began shuffling the red cards she had in front of her. The cards which the clerk ‘thought’ were blank. In the sunlight at certain angles they sparkled silver and gold. I walked past the Cadillac and stood in front of Miss Lucy, who with a hand motion beckoned me to sit.

What did ya see in the cards, boy? Ain’t everyone that can see what’s in ‘em. Just look at that ignorant shit clerk in there. But you did see. And what was it ya saw?

I took a long drink of water before answering. A lion rearing up on its hind legs.

He’s the rampant lion come to clear the path, leavin’ nothin’ behind but destruction.

That’s a nice thought, I said, sarcastically.

"T’ain’t bad for you. He’s come to clear the way for you with your dealings in this place."

She laid the lion card down on the table and went back to shuffling the cards. I went into detective mode now.

I noticed something, Miss Lucy. No one around here, including yourself, speaks with a Creole or even a Louisiana accent.

She still concentrated on her shuffling, not looking up as she spoke. And you ain’t gonna hear any Creole or see any Creoles round these parts. They’re too smart for that. They know this ain’t no place for Creole or any other kind of Louisiana folks. Shelby is a place unto itself, where the old, old, religion is king. No room for anything else here. Not where the old rites are still practiced.

Voodoo? I said.

Voodoo! Sheeeit! She laughed. You talk like a babe needing its momma. Go find you a momma, boy. Voodoo ain’t practiced in this here town. Voodoo is too young a religion in this place. The religion practiced here is ancient… been practiced a long time… since the dawn of man some say. When the bones of Abel were crying out for justice this religion was in the world.

She laid down a second card. On it was the picture of a book. These are old cards, boy, for an old religion is in play here. These ain’t no voodoo or tarot cards I got, they something older. The images were painted on ‘em with dyes made from plants going back to the ancient of days. These images on ‘em can only be seen if the card holder wants ‘em to be seen.

Kind of like ancient holograms, I said. You can see the images, if you’re looking at them the right way. Very clever.

Miss Lucy continued, almost as if she hadn’t heard me speak.

These were my momma’s cards and her momma’s before her and so on. These cards were sealed in the blood and fat of animals, maybe even humans too. Only God himself knows what else they used back then. There be real silver and real gold on them too, but they’ll never be sold. The cards will still be here long after I’m gone—in the hands of my daughter and then her daughter.

What’s that book symbol on the card mean?

Don’t you be rushing ahead. Use caution… don’t be rushing Miss Lucy.

She paused for dramatic effect and probably to teach me a lesson.

The book means wisdom and knowledge. It don’t represent you, that’s a for sure thing. In these parts you’ll be needing someone with knowledge; real knowledge. Be patient, they’re coming your way. And by the looks of you, they can’t be here soon enough. You don’t know what you got yourself into, boy. Wisdom? I don’t know if you got that or not. Maybes you do.

She went back to the deck of cards and put two more down on the table. One had the image of a golden, soaring eagle. The other, a large, gold crown. Miss Lucy looked up at me; staring me in the eyes, her deep black eyes looking into mine as she spoke.

The eagle means you got help from high up when you needing it. Means people above you and me, high ranking people are watching. The crown represents the golden boy who will show up to help. One with money, power, and position; some of which he’s yet to gain. The crown is being prepared for him, but does not yet sit on his head.

Is that me? I said.

"Shit! You got pretty eyes, but you ain’t golden like that. This card is you." She placed a card on the table that had the image of a dog on a leash.

So, I’m a dog, eh. I know I’m not the best looking man, but c’mon.

You ain’t that bad, boy. You got the nice hard body of a man, no fat on you. And a fine ‘nuff face. Somebody‘ll warm up to you. She laughed again before continuing. The dog is a good card, got nuthin to do with looks. It represents loyalty. An unchained dog represents absolute, unflinching, unquestioning, blind loyalty. He ain’t got no desire or thoughts of his own to worry about. He don’t need to be held in check. That ain’t always a good thing. People with that kind of loyalty join cults and end up drinking the Kool-Aid like them crazy Jones followers some years ago. The chained dog is loyalty in reserve. You’re loyal in the right way, not in the blind way. You question and you hold a part of your loyalty back till it’s earned.

She leaned back and we sat quietly for a moment, both studying one another. Miss Lucy smiled, then got serious. You made the right choice. A man’s choice. Those people back west didn’t deserve your loyalty.

I stood up, wide awake and shocked. How did you know about that?

Sit down! Miss Lucy said in a commanding voice.

Her voice had so much authority in it that I automatically did as I was told. It was like back in my military days.

You’re not asking the right question, detective. You need to learn the right questions to ask and fast ‘fore you get your butt handed to you. Right now you’re acting like a man in need of a wet nurse. I knew the minute you were picked for this case here. It’s my job to know about you. I been watching things in this town a long time. It’s my job to acclimate to a place, take on its characteristics even its ways of talkin’ and walkin’. If I was in New York you’d think I was a native, if I was in Palm Beach I’d play at being the educated, well-spoken rich man’s wife. I blend in like a chameleon, in a place like Shelby that’s full of eccentrics I become eccentric. In that way I find all the secrets a place has to tell and sometimes I even let your employers know a thing or two. For damn sure, I didn’t need these cards to tell me nuthin! She picked up the cards and tossed them across the table. Card readings can mean something sometimes or nuthin at all. There are real readers, and then there are charlatans who only use the cards for their own needs or wants.

She stood, and began picking up the cards from the table. Like I said, I didn’t need these cards to tell me shit about you, detective. But they weren’t wrong.

I stood up as she put the cards in the deep pocket of her skirt and walked over to me. Stopping, she gently put her hands on either side of my face like a mother would and looked at me. She then spoke softly. Religion is everything in this place. Everything. It would do you good to remember that.

She raised her hand up for what I thought would be some kind of blessing and I responded by lowering my head and closing my eyes. Instead, I was greeted by a hard, stinging slap on the right side of my face. I looked up with eyes wide open.

Don’t you be so trusting, boy. Not here. Not till you’re sure who you can trust. You just met me. You don’t know me.

Yeah, I do. I know the people I can trust. Serving in the military I learned that. Taking a bullet in the shoulder I learned that. My instinct is good when I listen to it. Back home I didn’t listen to it and paid the price. That isn’t going to happen again.

Good. I believe you, boy. I trust you and it’s good to see you trust yourself. Sometimes instinct’s alls we got. That still, small voice which shows us the way. Hell, some people believe that’s God himself talking to us. And some of the people saying that are actually sane. She laughed and shook her skirt out, then held her arms open for a hug. I ain’t gonna slap you this time, I promise.

I gave her a hug and she held me close and gave me a light kiss on the cheek that she’d slapped. I smiled.

That was better than a slap. Can I give you a ride somewhere, Miss Lucy? I had to know about that car.

"You ain’t my man to be giving me rides anywheres."

You’re too much woman for me anyway, Miss Lucy.

Damn straight. She laughed and picked her skirts up above the ground revealing sparkling, sequined, Indian-looking flats. What makes you think I need a ride, detective? Try some detecting. Do my shoes look like I walk in ‘em a lot?

She hoisted first one foot up then the other so I could see the clean, unworn soles of her shoes. You’re cute, but none too bright right now.

I get better, you’ll see.

Sorry, boy, but I won’t. Not first hand, anyways. Today’s my last day in these parts.

She walked over to the purple Cadillac and put her key in the door. I jumped forward and opened the door for her and she slid into her seat and started the ignition. I closed her door and stood leaning against it.

Nice to see you midwest boys got manners. Good luck, detective.

You’re leaving town, as in right now? I said.

When the rampant lion shows his head it’s time for me to move out and let the infantry do its job. That’s you. I gave your people any intel I felt was useful. They might share it with you… might not. Then she put the car into gear.

No more help, huh? I said.

Boy, you need a momma and I just ain’t it. Now move yo ass before I run it down.

I gave her a mock salute and jumped out of the way in an exaggerated motion, trying to be funny as she backed up.

You are one crazy fucka! she said. Her loud, contagious, joy-filled laughter filled the air.

Before leaving, she looked back, waved, and blew me a kiss. Then she was gone in a cloud of dust. What a character I thought, as I climbed into the truck. I got back on the main road and took a right toward the small downtown, wondering if I’d see any signs that a rampant lion had gone through before me.

Chapter 2

Catch of the Day

Small was the perfect word to describe downtown Shelby, which consisted of two long blocks of various stores, including a dress shop, men’s clothing store, dry cleaner, shoe store, bakery, and florist. If the rampant lion had done any damage I didn’t see it. Downtown was clean and pleasant, shaded by rows of the ever-present spanish moss-laden live oak trees. In each row there were two central stores with second stories featuring balconies. It looked like the second stories were being used as living spaces. At the end of the street was a stylish one story Victorian home with a wraparound porch, that had the columns I often associated with southern-style buildings. Out front there was a sign that advertised sandwiches and high tea. In a matter of minutes, I was past downtown and in a residential neighborhood consisting of small, wood, shotgun-style homes. They were painted in pastel colors of blue, green, and pink with most of them having cozy looking porches. Several of the homes were in states of abandoned disrepair. I took a long drink of water as I passed empty lots and swamp before catching sight of my motel. It was imaginatively named The Shelby Motel.

The old motel had seen better days, but it was well situated. The location was close to, yet removed from downtown. From what I could tell, the road in front was the main way to and from the small downtown. The motel itself was raised, looking almost like it was two stories, because of flooding I guessed. It was a white building with an ornate iron railing in front of the rooms. The railing was also white like the building, but the paint was peeling and missing in some sections. I could’ve driven the truck right up to the room door, if it had been level with the gravel. Unpacking cars would be a pain for some folks because of having to go upstairs to get to the rooms, of which there seemed to be twelve. The only other enclosed space on the bottom floor besides the lobby in front was what looked like a laundry facility. I parked and walked into the lobby, which was all the way to the left and at ground level. There was an entry door in the front and one on the side. The front wall was dominated by a huge glass window, which allowed the staff on duty to see who was coming their way. I bent down and scratched at an old mosquito bite on my left foot, cursing myself afterward for doing so. Mom had always told me never to scratch at a bite or it could become infected, but I couldn’t resist. After walking inside, I noticed an overly made up, middle-aged, busty blonde at the desk. She wore a low cut, spaghetti-strap dress with her bra straps clearly visible.

Ya’ here for a room? she said.

Geez! What the hell else would I be here for, lady, I thought, somewhat aggravated, but was more polite with my answer. Yes, I have a reservation. The name’s Layton Shayne.

She chomped loudly on her gum, like a cow chewing its cud, as she brought my name up in the computer. It was unappealing to say the least. I took the opportunity to look around the small lobby. Wallpaper was peeling in spots and it looked like it’d been around since the seventies. The blue, short-shag carpeting had bare areas and stains. The woman, whose name tag read Charlene, stretched her hand out to give me a key.

You’re in room six, right in the center of the motel. We got coffee down here in the mornin’ if that’s your poison.

I don’t drink the stuff, I said.

Suit yourself. But hey, if there’s anything else you’ll be wantin’—

She ran her fingernail, with bright red polish on it, along her lips and into her mouth. Then she began fluttering her eyelids, which were accented with layers of metallic blue and green eyeshadow and glitter. Her last move was to push her bust out. A sad and pathetic attempt at seduction that was completely wasted on me. The poor woman looked and acted almost like a caricature. I took the key from her.

"Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind and get back with you should… should the need arise."

I smiled to myself over the last comment, even though I shouldn’t have said it. But hey, even I’m allowed a little fun now and then. Maybe I was too subtle and she didn’t even get the arise bit, but then again she was the sort that wouldn’t have missed it. Getting back in the truck, I moved it to the parking space under my room. Two large duffle bags and a garment bag in the bed of the truck contained all my earthly belongings. Well, all the ones I wanted to keep. I patted the white, windowed