Then Came Light

By D.J. Donaldson

Known for his forensic mysteries and medical thrillers, D.J. Donaldson now takes his readers on a new kind of ride — 14 stories unlike anything you've ever read before.

Chuckle under your breath or perhaps laugh aloud at the evil antics of a vengeful cat that is much smarter than its owner. Follow a young girl as she rescues a puppy from sure death, then becomes involved in a wondrous event beyond anyone's ability to explain. Spend Halloween eve with a nasty couple who discover that frightening children is not as much fun as they thought. See how a preadolescent boy's infatuation with a neighbor girl helps him find an inner strength that will last the rest of his life. Meet two new residents of a city, where the husband rightly concludes they are no longer living among "their own kind." Witness the shocking events that transpire when a con man and his female accomplice enter the strangest Christmas store that ever existed. At some point while reading these and the other eight stories in this collection, you'll probably shake your head and think, Where does he get this stuff?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dingbat Publishing
• Release date: Dec 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393207092

D.J. Donaldson

Donald (Don) Jay Donaldson, who also writes as David Best, was born in 1940 and is a now retired professor of Anatomy and Neurobiology. He holds a Ph.D. in human anatomy and his entire academic career was spent at the University of Tennessee, Health Science Center, where he published dozens of papers on wound-healing, and taught microscopic anatomy to thousands of medical and dental students. He lives in Memphis, Tennessee with his wife and two West Highland terriers. In the spring of most years he simply cannot stop buying new flowers and other plants for the couple’s prized backyard garden. He is the author of five medical thrillers and seven forensic mysteries, the latter featuring the hugely overweight and equally brilliant New Orleans medical examiner, Andy Broussard, and his gorgeous psychologist sidekick, Kit Franklyn. Of these it has been said that they contain ‘lots of Louisiana color, pinpoint plotting and two highly likable characters’, whilst the Los Angeles Times states ‘the autopsies are detailed enough to make Patricia Cornwell fans move farther south for their forensic fixes ….. splendidly eccentric local denizens, authentic New Orleans and bayou backgrounds’.

Book preview

THEN CAME LIGHT

A Collection of Stories

D.J. Donaldson

Dingbat Publishing

Humble, Texas

THEN CAME LIGHT

Copyright © 2019 by D.J. Donaldson

Dingbat Publishing

Humble, Texas

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

eBooks cannot be sold, shared, uploaded to Torrent sites, or given away because that’s an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are entirely the produce of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual locations, events, or organizations is coincidental.

INTRODUCTION

This book is mostly about people with flaws in their character. Oh, you say. "So you mean, different from me." I certainly hope so. I doubt you’re capable of murder or adultery, but what about a harmless Halloween prank played on children, or maybe once or twice a long time ago, when you bragged about a romantic liaison that never happened? No, of course you wouldn’t be involved in anything like that. And I say good for you. Because as you’ll see in these pages, sometimes there are unexpected consequences for such behavior.

One more question... when you retire, are you planning to just enjoy yourself... fish... golf... sleep? Seems like a reasonable goal to me. But there are some who would judge that as a character flaw. So I’ve included a story warning you about expressing such an intent to the wrong people.

Above, I mentioned that most of these tales are about folks different from you. I’ve also included one depicting an important event in the lives of a young couple who are probably as different from you as it’s possible to be. If you dispute that after reading the account I’ve provided, please write and tell me why. Include some pictures if you have them.

To me, there’s considerable comfort in writing about criminals and even boorish louts who don’t get away with what they’ve done. But I worry that, despite an attempt to leaven my stories with humor, you might close this book believing the world is a darker place than you thought. Therefore, to balance the tales that could push you toward such an unhealthy state, I’ve included three showing that often something good will come out of a bad situation and occasionally, it might even be a wondrous thing.

D.J. Donaldson

CONTENTS

THE CAT THAT SAT LIKE A MAN

BLACK MORELS

ARIEL’S ANGEL

A NASTY BUSINESS

GONE FISHIN’

DRISCOLL’S SALVATION

RETIREMENT

THE BOX

PHEROMONES

KELLY’S SMILE

THE JUNGLE PROVIDETH

SIREN, TEXAS

NOT OUR KIND

UNAVAILABLE LOCALLY

About the Author

Have you read...?

Also by D.J. Donaldson

THE CAT THAT SAT LIKE A MAN

LEO MOSSLER WASN’T concentrating much on his driving, but was thinking more about the woman in the rumpled bed he’d just left. Then, barely twenty feet away, the driver of a car parked at the curb threw his door wide open. Praying that no one was coming up behind him in the other lane, Leo swerved sharply to the left. Waiting for the sound of crunching metal, he had no idea how he’d explain having an accident way over on this side of town.

Then it was over.

Catastrophe avoided.

Sighing with relief, Leo wondered if the close call might have been a warning... some kind of spiritual hand slap to get him to straighten up, for Leo was having an affair.

Having an affair...

It didn’t seem possible even to Leo. Nor did he understand why he let it continue. Oh, it was exciting, no question about that; his palms all sweaty as he rode the elevator to J.L.’s apartment, his head feeling like a helium-filled balloon while he waited for her to answer the door. But there was fear, too, a numbing dread that Rowena would find out. Maybe that’s why he always had heartburn afterward.

Guilt.

He fumbled in his shirt pocket for an antacid mint.

By the time Leo got home, he’d convinced himself, as he had on many other occasions, that most men do this sort of thing. No big deal. He was making too much of it. Before going inside, he sat a moment to gather his wits and check his face in the mirror one more time. Let’s see... the client was from Atlanta, a buyer for a chain of stout shops. He collected presidential autographs and chewed his food so hard you could hear his teeth click. Yeah, that was it. Always good to have some detail ready. He got out of the car, nervously smoothed his tie, and went inside.

As he hung up his overcoat, he heard a floorboard creak. Ro, he said, you should have heard this guy eat. He turned. It was like...

Leo’s analogy died unborn on his lips, for it was not Rowena behind him, but a cat. Utterly black from the tip of its ears to the end of its tail and as fat as a baby seal, it sat on its haunches and scrutinized him with inquisitive yellow eyes.

I see you two have met, Rowena said, coming up behind the cat.

Whose is that? Leo said, hoping she wouldn’t say...

Ours.

Huh uh, Leo said, raising his hands in protest. I don’t like cats in general and I don’t like this one in particular.

The cat opened its mouth in silent protest.

"You don’t like anything in general, Rowena said. Just consider it one of life’s little inconveniences."

In Leo’s view, it was going to be a big inconvenience. Where’d it come from?

Ran inside when I opened the door this morning to get the mail. She knelt down and cupped the cat’s face in her hands. "Poor thing was being chased by a mean old dog."

The way Rowena had said mean old dog, like she was talking to a baby, made Leo want to throw up.

C’mon, Ro, it’s not a kid.

"Yes, it is. It’s my kid."

It’ll shred the furniture, Leo ventured, hopefully.

Rowena shook her head. No claws.

Obviously, somebody’s house cat, Leo said, cheered. You’ll have to run an ad.

I suppose, Rowena said, unhappily.

Sure, wouldn’t be right to take somebody’s cat.

Fifteen minutes later, Leo shuffled into the den in his robe and slippers and found Rowena staring at the Leolounger, the only really comfortable chair in the house, his chair, the chair he read the paper in, the chair he watched bass fishing in, the chair Rowena wouldn’t even think of sitting in, not even when she was home alone. It was Rowena who had named it and the name had stuck.

Now when have you ever seen anything like this? Rowena said, her hands held toward the lounger.

Sitting upright, its front legs folded on its belly, was the cat, its eyes fixed on the TV.

Watch, Rowena said, going to the TV. She turned the set off and the cat began to yowl. When she turned it back on, the cat grew quiet. A cat that sits like a man and watches TV. That’s unique, Rowena said.

Leo didn’t care about unique. He just wanted his chair. He grabbed the paper off the coffee table, rolled it up, and swatted the cat on the head. Get outta there, you freeloader.

Ears laid tightly against its head, the cat hissed and swatted back. Leo retreated and pulled his arms to his chest. You sure he’s got no claws?

I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean you can...

Reassured, Leo leaned in and whipped the cat with the paper, driving it from the chair. Mumbling something Rowena couldn’t quite make out, Leo dropped into the chair and shook and smoothed the paper to where it was readable again.

While Leo read, the cat sat in the doorway and watched him for nearly an hour, its yellow eyes never deviating, never blinking. Catching an occasional glimpse of it when he rearranged the paper, Leo thought the cat looked as though it was plotting something. As if cats could think.

There were no calls in response to Rowena’s ad and the cat became a permanent member of the Mossler household. No cat ever had a better home. For a bed, Rowena bought it a large basket lined with a down pillow, and she fed it the most expensive cat food she could find, the cat’s meal often costing more than what she fed Leo. All the hair that came out on the grooming brush went into the toilet, a discovery that made Leo think there was something alive in the bowl the first time he saw it floating there.

Rowena’s hope that Leo would come to accept the cat received a setback each night after dinner, when the cat would beat Leo to the lounger and Leo would have to drive him out with a rolled-up newspaper. For the next hour or sometimes longer, the cat would sit, without moving, without blinking, and stare at Leo, who would occasionally wad up a page of newspaper and try to bounce it off the cat’s head. Eventually, the cat would climb onto Rowena’s lap and watch Leo from there, while Rowena stroked its glistening fur.

A week following the cat’s arrival, Leo again came home late, the chalky remains of an antacid mint still on his tongue. While he was hanging his coat in the hall closet, he had a chilling thought. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he came out with a small beige card that should never have been brought into the house. Decorated with a border of blue violets, it bore a message that should never have been written: Leo honey, I’m counting the hours. J.L.

Leo’s toes curled in terror. The damned thing should have been flushed down the toilet at the office and would have been if old man Whitlow hadn’t barged in without knocking while Leo was reading it. The old shit. To keep Whitlow from seeing the card, he had shoved it into his pocket and now, sweet Neptune, there it was. Flames sprang from the smoldering coals in his gut.

Footsteps... Rowena.

Leo leaned into the closet and tucked the card into one of his golf shoes. Ro, I don’t know how much longer I can put up with these long hours, he said, shutting the closet door.

Later that night, when he was sure Rowena was asleep, he got quietly out of bed and crept downstairs. There, he went to the living room and opened the closet door, praying that it wouldn’t squeak. He slid his fingers into the golf shoe where he’d hidden the note.

Nothing!

Nothing there.

Impossible.

Absolutely impossible.

Knowing he hadn’t put the note in the other shoe, he searched it anyway.

Empty.

He picked up the first shoe and jammed his hand into it until he could feel the toe with the tips of his fingers. It just wasn’t there. No... No... No! Rowena had found the note. In his gut, a furnace door blew open. He dragged himself up the stairs and got two antacid mints out of the medicine cabinet. Carefully, he eased himself under the covers, quaking with fear that Rowena would wake.

Sleep was now out of the question and Leo lay quietly, staring at the ceiling, listening to Rowena’s congested breathing until dawn, at which time he rose, carried his things downstairs, and showered and shaved in the bathroom off the den, where Rowena couldn’t hear his razor. For the first time in fifteen years, he left the house without his orange juice. But his escape was only temporary. Rowena wouldn’t sleep forever and when he came home, she’d be waiting.

All that day, his coming confrontation with Rowena lay across Leo’s consciousness like burning airplane wreckage. At the computer, his hands were slow and clumsy as his mind helicoptered over the crash site of his marriage. His fingers wandered over the keyboard, entering data in the wrong columns, misplacing decimal points, and in one ghastly error, erasing the fourth quarter shipping schedule.

Having absolutely no appetite, he spent his lunch hour walking aimlessly through the city’s crowded streets, hands thrust deep in his pockets. That afternoon he smoked every cigarette in the pack that had remained unopened in his desk since he’d kicked the habit eight months ago. Finally, more quickly than it had ever come, it was quitting time. He pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. No sense prolonging things. Might as well go home and get it over with.

Rowena was waiting.

Well? she said, one hand on her hip, the other behind her. It was the one behind her that had Leo worried.

Leo’s legs grew rubbery. The color drained from his face. Well, what? he said, his voice giving no evidence of the flames licking at the lining of his stomach.

You really don’t know, do you?

Leo shrugged innocently.

You went off and left your wallet on the dresser, Rowena said, bringing the evidence around in front of her and shaking it in Leo’s face.

His wallet. In his haste to get out of the house that morning, he’d left it behind. He wanted to laugh, to dance, to whirl Rowena around the room.

If you’d been stopped by the police, they’d have hauled you to jail, Rowena said, taking Leo’s hand and slapping his wallet into it. I swear, Leo, sometimes I wonder...

She doesn’t know about the note, Leo thought, happily. She doesn’t know. Rowena doesn’t know.

But then a nasty squall appeared on his horizon. So where was the note?

After dinner, Leo and the cat had their usual set-to over the lounger, but this time, the cat ran from the room. Instead of graceful fluidity, a trait any cat owner had a right to expect from his pet, Leo noted that this one moved more like a cement truck climbing a hill, the fur on its belly whipping from side to side as its stubby legs churned against the carpet.

A short while later, when Leo put down the business news and picked up the Metro section, he caught sight of the cat sitting in the doorway with something in its mouth... something familiar... a beige card bordered in blue violets.

Leo’s heart skipped two full beats. A visceral wind blew life into the smoldering coals under his liver. He glanced at Rowena, who was watching Wheel of Fortune on TV. She hadn’t noticed!

Slowly, Leo lifted the paper from his lap and put it on the carpet. As he got to his feet, the cat fled. Casually, Leo strolled from the room. Out of Rowena’s sight, he became a madman, running from room to room, flicking on lights, looking under furniture, throwing back the drapes.

But the cat had vanished. A damn magician, that’s what he was, Leo thought. Got the card out of the closet that was never open for more than a few seconds, and now, had damned well disappeared with it.

Taking the steps two at a time, Leo rushed upstairs and searched under the bed. He looked on top of the highboy. He ran his hand along all the draped window ledges. Suddenly he knew where the cat was.

A maniacal grin on his lips, Leo slipped along the hall to the bathroom. Ha. The door was slightly open. He crept inside and positioned himself in a half crouch in front of the tub. Wrapping his fingers around the edge of the shower curtain, he slung it open.

Gotcha, he yelled to a yellow sponge in the bottom of the tub. Baffled and vexed, he grabbed up the sponge and squeezed it in both hands. Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha, he yelled, shaking the cat substitute violently.

Then he thought of the kitchen. Oh, crap. He had forgotten the kitchen. His fingers opened and the sponge dropped from his grip.

If the cat went into the kitchen and left the card on the floor, and Rowena went in there for anything... Face flushed, Leo slid and stumbled down the stairs. He flew to the back of the house.

Thankfully, Rowena was still in the den. He thumbed on the kitchen lights and scanned the gleaming white linoleum from the doorway. Seeing no cat and no card, he looked behind the stove. He swept aside the strawberry-patterned tablecloth that hung in billows from the table in the breakfast nook and looked on each chair. He slid the refrigerator away from the wall and looked behind it. He looked in the wastebasket. Seething with frustration, he threw open the door to the dishwasher and looked in there.

Where the blast could it be? It wasn’t like he was dealing with a slim, slinky blur of a cat. This was a tank whose belly scraped the floor when he walked. So why couldn’t he find it?

Defeated, Leo returned to the den, where Rowena was muttering words that might fit the blanks in Wheel of Fortune’s second-round puzzle. And there, sitting in the lounger, was the cat.

Arrogantly, the animal turned its head from the TV, looked at Leo, and smiled. There was no doubt in Leo’s mind that the cat smiled, a know-it-all wise-guy grin that set Leo’s blood pounding behind his eyes.

Murder on the menu, Leo lunged across the room. Deftly, the cat slipped his grasp and swished from the room.

Leo, leave the cat alone, Rowena said without even glancing his way.

Leo dropped into his chair and lapsed into thought. The card was still somewhere in the house. He