Shadowy Tales

By Lucy L. Jones

"Shadowy Tales" is a heart pounding thriller that emphasizes the danger of cultural division and social intolerance through a truly compelling mystery. This is the story of a protestant minister, Frances Anna Keeton, newly appointed by her bishop to a church in the conservative south. Arriving from a liberal environment in California, she faces immense turmoil. Frances realized she was entering into a difficult situation. But she never would imagine the danger, harm, and secrets that lie ahead.

A new casino is being considered on land currently owned by members of the local Choctaw tribe who are active members of Fran's church. The clout behind this proposal is exerting pressure on Fran to support the local gaming establishment rather than actively oppose it.

Fran is terrorized repeatedly, but she doesn't know if it's because she is a woman pastor or if it is to intimidate her into supporting the new casino. When Kevin, her organist and friend, is kidnaped, a search begins. A carved arrowhead is left at her door for no apparent reason. A phone message instructs Fran to present the arrowhead as a signal that she is ready to submit herself as ransom for Kevin or forfeit Kevin's life. Telling no one, she hunts for an unidentified person who would know the sinister meaning of the arrowhead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667826301

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Shadowy Tales

© 2022 Lucy L. Jones

All rights reserved. This book or any portion there of may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Lucy L Jones

Kailua-Kona

[e-mail]

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-66782-629-5

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66782-630-1

Table of Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Chapter One – Saturday morning Week One

Chapter Two – Sunday morning

Chapter Three – Sunday afternoon

Chapter Four – Sunday afternoon

Chapter Five – Sunday evening

Chapter Six – Monday morning

Chapter Seven – Tuesday morning

Chapter Eight – Wednesday morning

Chapter Nine – Wednesday evening

Chapter Ten – Thursday afternoon

Chapter Eleven – Thursday evening

Chapter Twelve - Friday

Chapter Thirteen – Friday and Saturday – Week Two

Chapter Fourteen – Sunday afternoon

Chapter Fifteen – Sunday evening

Chapter Sixteen – Monday morning

Chapter Seventeen – Monday afternoon

Chapter Eighteen – Monday evening

Chapter Nineteen - Tuesday

Chapter Twenty – Tuesday afternoon

Chapter Twenty-one – Wednesday morning

Chapter Twenty-two – Thursday

Chapter Twenty-three – Thursday evening

Chapter Twenty-four - Friday

Chapter Twenty-five - Friday

Chapter Twenty-six – Saturday morning – Week Three

Chapter Twenty-seven - Saturday

Chapter Twenty-eight - Saturday

Chapter Twenty-nine – Saturday evening

Chapter Thirty – Sunday morning

Chapter Thirty-one – Sunday afternoon

Chapter Thirty-Two – Monday morning

About the author

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I offer a special loving thank you to my brother whose willingness to give me good advice always, no matter what I do. He is a life-long encourager, creative companion, and best friend. Check out his site at https://hiltonkeanjones.com.

Another special thank you goes to my first readers who have exquisite tastes in reading and still gave me the go-ahead. To Janet and Kim, I send love and appreciation. Their questions for clarification kept me honest.

Finally, those at BookBaby who offered encouragement, helped with designing the cover, and worked with the interior pages until they sparkled for your readability.

To my readers, exceptional gratitude for reading to the end. If you found pleasure in this book, watch for the sequel Washboard Tales coming out soon. There are many more adventures to share with Frances Anna Keeton, pastor extraordinaire.

Chapter One –

Saturday morning Week One

The murky shadows at the door masked his body. He watched the woman curled up on the bed, listened to her steady breathing. Could he be man enough to do what needed to be done? The sole object of his concern was the pretty lady. His body reacted with a subtle quickening, but the immediate task would relieve his need. He withdrew into the dark office space across the hall, lifted the phone of the fax machine and dialed.

Pastor Keeton?

The muffled male voice on the phone convinced Fran this was no dream. In a fog, she rolled over to peer at the clock. Two o’clock! Did I sleep through until afternoon? A dim streetlight glowed through her blinds, verifying nighttime.

Speaking, she answered.

I’m callin’ from the police station, the drawling voice continued. Your church ain’t locked up. I wonder if y’all’d mind goin’ over and walkin’ through it to make sure nothin’ has been tampered with or is missin’?

What? Fran was awake now. How do you know it’s not locked?

A routine check, Miss. Our man stops by there to check all the doors at night. This time he found one unlocked. Can y’all get over there?

Of course, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Thank you for calling.

He moved back into the shadows of the hallway’s dead end. She switched on the small lamp beside her bed, leaving him in even deeper shadows beyond her eyes. He watched her tear off the nightgown, an old t-shirt that left little to his imagination. He watched her slip into jeans and a light sweatshirt, watched her run fingers through spiked red hair, watched her bend over to tie on running shoes before shooting out the door. He wanted to watch her do more, but she was gone. She was out of his way, but her image loitered in his senses. He sauntered through the house and let himself out the kitchen door to walk home.

The parsonage, home for Parson Reverend Frances Anna Keeton, was several blocks away from the church instead of right on the church property itself like it was for many years in small communities. Within five minutes of the phone call, she was flying toward the church parking lot. Even though she normally walked or ran the short distance, this time of night she decided it was better to drive.

Turning a corner, Fran saw the dark structure ahead. A spotlight normally focused on the steeple and cross, but an automatic timer was set to go off each night at ten. Nothing was awry there. The streetlights were minimized after midnight to conserve power, shedding a ghostly pallor over the entire corner church grounds. Now fully awake and able to think what she was doing, Fran pulled into the empty side parking lot with caution.

Where is the police car? Shouldn’t it be here waiting?

She turned off the headlights, but remained in the car, watching the shadows, anticipating the arrival of a patrol car. If someone had entered the church, thinking money from the offering plate was kept there, that person might still be inside. No sense in being crazy enough to go in alone. But she was here now, and awake. Why not check it out? The small community of Piney Falls was a low crime area, after all.

She flicked off the dome light before she opened the car door. Night vision was critical. She stepped out onto the asphalt lot, letting her eyes adapt to the dark. The narrow strip of concrete that led up to the office door was almost visible. Clutching the ring of church keys in her hand, she eased the car door shut and inspected the vacant street. The muffled click brought no curious dog barks. There were no booze bashes in final stages, no blue television reflections flickering through windows, no soft lights to assist midnight feedings of babies, no lingering scents from late dinners. Crushing darkness buried the neighborhood.

Fran walked around the corner of the open courtyard that enclosed the east side of the building. Rounding the corner, she hoped to find a patrol car waiting in the north parking lot, but she saw nothing.

She tried to recall details of the brief conversation with the dispatch person from the station. Was the patrolman to meet her here or did he want her to check it out herself and let him know if anything was amiss? She was almost certain he was to accompany her on the walk-through.

The entryway to the narthex of the church was situated to receive the most direct illumination from the streetlight, as muted as it seemed to her now. Keeping watch for the local blue and white patrol car, Fran tested the thumb latch on the colonial style handle of the thick door. Locked. She slipped a key into the hole beneath the grip and rotated it to the left.

Which door did the patrolman find unlocked? This one seems secure.

One of Fran’s first tasks as pastor in Piney Falls was to learn the location of the light switches in all rooms of the educational buildings and the main church building. She knew this switch was just inside the door on her left, but this wasn’t the time to flip it on. She stood in the dark, listening for any unusual sounds. She heard nothing more than an occasional soft rattle from a breeze flowing through the metal strips of the air vent at one end of the narthex.

Realizing she was half-crazy to go into the dark building alone, she left the front door ajar and walked through the large double doors that led into the sanctuary. The stained-glass windows picked up enough of the obscure light from the street to cast a grotesque matrix of color across the pews and aisle.

In the past, Fran often found solitary reassurance and serenity in quiet church sanctuaries. Until now, she’d never come into this specific sanctuary at night, and she’d never come in alone. She yearned for that familiar solace now, but it was absent. Fran stood with her back to the wall just inside the door to wait – listening and remembering.

Her first church appointment after ordination was to a small farming community near the Pacific coast. Still unsure of her abilities in the new role as pastor, she often slipped through the door between her office and the sanctuary at all hours of the day or night to kneel at the altar railing. Performing that small dance of faith with an open heart brought the strength and support she needed, often to get her through the next five minutes.

Take thou authority.... Often Fran had to remind herself of those first three words of the ordination service as the bishop and others placed their hands on her head and shoulders. The yoke he placed around her shoulders was a simple piece of cloth, yet it was often heavier than she deemed bearable. Pastors held a baffling sort of authority. Church people seemed to want to claim the control, yet her leadership was not to be merely of a temporal nature. She was to represent a spiritual force outside herself. Church members often confused the two.

Tonight, Fran didn’t feel the protection of a holy presence, or the familiar serenity that accompanied those thoughts. There was hollowness in these surroundings. Even the Divine appeared to have retreated in an encounter with some evil. Was the Spirit finally impotent?

At first, she heard only her own inhale and exhale quivering in the emptiness. A whiff of air closed the front door with a soft thump and now there was total darkness. No longer did the streetlight shine through the crack she’d left open. She sensed a slow rhythmic breathing that grew louder as her imagination took over, thought there was something more here than the musty smell of an empty old building.

She slumped to a sitting position on the floor without a sound, making herself a smaller target for whatever alien presence might have joined her. She listened again, sniffed the air. Still nothing. Moving only her eyes, Fran probed the gloom around her, seeing mostly shadows she recognized, distorted as they might be.

As a child, she pretended the shadows of her room were clowns who had come to laugh and entertain her. She was having difficulty finding the same amusement in this situation. Were the phantoms real this time? Maybe if she invited the silhouettes around her to be clowns now, they wouldn’t be so frightening, but these menacing shapes refused to become clowns for her.

Scooting along the rough plaster wall toward the corner, Fran practiced deep meditative breathing, wondered why she thought entering the dark sanctuary alone would be a good idea. She should either turn on the lights to finish checking the rest of the building or go back out the front door to her car to wait for the police or leave.

When she was young, she felt safer if the lights were off, allowing her to watch through her window for the scary stuff of childhood. Now the force that threatened from beyond her own body swallowed her. Maybe if she got as far as her office, she could phone the police and find out why someone wasn’t here with her. Maybe they weren’t the ones who called after all, but who would bother pulling such a stunt? There was nothing for anyone to gain from this.

I tell people that God is in control of our lives, but that we are put in charge of daily living. Why am I having trouble feeling in charge right now?

Inch by inch she scooted on her bottom along the left side aisle of the sanctuary. Not willing to continue the risk of exposing her back, she remained on the floor in a seated position, determined to face whatever creepiness was in front of her.

If I can get as far as the chancel door that leads from the sanctuary to my office, I’ll call someone. It’s also closer to my car if I need to run.

Slowly slithering through the darkness, it seemed like hours before she reached the door. After each sideways slide on her rear end she waited, exploring the shadows. When all felt safe, she slid again, her outstretched hand seeking the doorframe. If she could inch forward only another two feet, she’d reach the knob. Another eternity passed before she bridged the gap. She twisted the handle, inch by imperceptible inch.

Without stopping to wonder if someone was in her office hiding behind the door, Fran pushed the door forward and slid into the dusky room. Her desk angled across one corner of an outside wall. She’d almost convinced herself there was nothing to fear when a scuffling sound came out of the sanctuary. She listened, heard it again – the scuttling of a mouse. Relieved, she scrambled around the wall, avoiding chairs and stacks of books on the floor.

Behind her desk, she put her hand over the edge to grab the phone until she realized the dial tone would blare out in the hollow darkness. The door to the side parking lot was on the far side of the desk. With only the sound of her own shallow breath, she debated her next step.

Maybe the safest maneuver is just to get out the door and to the car. But what if something is in the sanctuary other than a mouse? What if....?

In one swift movement, she stood up, rushed for the door, threw it open and ran for the Toyota. The office door closed behind her with a thud. Fumbling with the key fob, she finally hit the automatic unlock for the doors and got herself safely inside.

Intuition warned her not to go back to the parsonage. Racing to a nearby open gas station, Fran pulled up to the pump, asked an attendant to fill it while she ran to the phone booth to dial 9-1-1.

This is Fran Keeton, pastor of Piney Falls Community Church. Around two this morning... Fran paused for a deep breath. I received a phone call that one of your people on patrol found a door unlocked at the church. Did someone call me from there?

Let me check.

Fran heard a rustling of paper on the other end.

I’m sorry, Reverend, but I don’t find a record of any call made to your number this evening. Are y’all sure it came from here?

Even if no one was at the church stalking her, someone had called her to go to the church. A second thought came tumbling in on Fran as she dropped the phone back into its cradle. The trick might not have been to get her to the church alone at night at all, but to summon her away from the protection of her home.

For what purpose? To commit a robbery? To hide there and wait for me? To frighten?

She stopped trying to think it through, dialed the police station again.

This is Fran Keeton. I spoke to you a moment ago. She explained the events in more detail, adding her thoughts about what might have happened.

I understand your concern. We need to check it out. Where y’all at right now?

Fran described her location.

Please stay right there. An officer will be down in just a few minutes.

Fran paid for the gasoline and pulled over to the side to park, then sank down into the seat of her car, legs and hands trembling in relief, but also with anxiety about what she might find at home. Was someone waiting for her, hidden and ready to pounce? Did someone strip the house while she was cowering in the sanctuary? Too many questions with no easy answers.

The familiar blue and white pulled up beside her. A male officer sat behind the wheel, a female officer rode on the passenger side. She motioned for Fran to drive ahead; they would follow. Fran glanced at her watch. Four o’ clock! The initial call had come two hours ago. Anything could have happened in that amount of time, but now she had the backup of two police officers. She moved the truck into her driveway far enough to leave room for the cruiser to park behind her, waited for the female officer to approach.

I’m Sargent Robbin Maxwell, Pastor Keeton. Please stay in the car while Officer Philips and I make a periphery check.

Thank you, Sargent Maxwell. You don’t know how relieved I am to have you here.

Please lock your door and stay low in the seat in case someone comes around here before we get back. We need to make sure everything is secure.

Yes, I’ll do that.

Fran stretched out across the bench seat of her pickup. She pulled out an old camping blanket stuffed under the passenger seat and curled up beneath it. Frances Anna Keeton was rarely frightened, but knew a little extra caution was a good idea.

There weren’t many times she wasn’t able to hold her own in a difficult position. As a single woman, Fran learned how to defend herself in almost any situation – the riot times of Berkeley, Civil Rights marches, neighborhood punks. She’d survived them all, and now this. Sargent Maxwell interrupted her reflections with a tap on the car window.

Pastor Keeton, come with us, she said. We’re going into the house now and we’d like you to tell us if anything is missing.

Hi, ma’am, I’m Eddie Philips, the other officer said, sticking out his hand. Y’all can be safe with us. And call me Eddie. He wore both belt and suspenders – not a man of great faith.

Thank you, Eddie – and Sargent Maxwell. Did you find anything outside?

We’re not sure, Eddie said. But we’re gonna need y’all to look at a couple of things with us later to make sure they were like that before we got here, okay?

Walking with caution, the trio approached the laundry room side entrance that Fran normally used to go in and out from the carport. The officers stood alert with guns drawn as she turned the key in the lock. There was no audible click. Stricken with terror again, Fran said, It’s already unlocked. I distinctly remember locking it when I left the house earlier.

Then stand back, ma’am. Let one of us go in first, Eddie said.

You and I will go in after Eddie gives us the signal, Robbin Maxwell said. I’ll keep a watch behind us. We don’t want any more surprises.

Anything else that’s different so far?

Not yet, except...

Except what, ma’am?

I don’t remember turning the kitchen light off when I left. I stopped in there on my way out to close the window over the sink because the breeze blowing in was too cool. Fran hesitated. But then, I thought I closed it before supper. Why was it open again when I left? Does that mean someone was already inside my home before I left?

It’s possible, Maxwell said. Is there another phone line in the house that could have been used to make the call to your bedroom?

Oh, of course! Fran said. There’s a phone on the fax machine. The room I use as a home office is just across the hall from my bedroom. Someone could have come in through that kitchen window, then called me from the fax line.

This person might have been in the house when you left, Maxwell said. He could have let himself out after you went to check out the church.

Why would he do that? And why would someone wait until he was already in the house before he called me?

"Why would anyone want to do that sort of thing at all, ma’am? Eddie asked. I’d say somebody has a beef against y’all for some reason. Any idea who it could be?"

None, Fran replied. I’ve received several odd warnings about being a female pastor, but I don’t want to believe it has anything to do with this.

What kind of warnings, Reverend Keeton? Sargent Maxwell asked, interested in issues that might be considered prejudicial. They may have more to do with this than you know.

Most of them came from one of the very conservative pastors here in town, Fran said. People have heard him denounce me from the pulpit. Also... Fran paused.

Yes, ma’am? Eddie queried. "Also what?"

Honestly, I’m not so sure about much of anything anymore. I just don’t know. I’ve never been afraid in my life, but I’m not feeling so brave right now.

What else has happened, Pastor Keeton? Sargent Maxwell pushed for answers, using Fran’s title of respect, implying she expected the same. It wasn’t proper to be on a first name basis in a professional capacity. What else can you tell us?

I suppose you already know that the three pastors before me all died mysterious deaths?

I’ve heard something about that, ma’am, said Eddie. Think you’re next?

At first, I didn’t, Fran said. But after tonight’s episode, I wonder. Thinking like that can be rather terrifying.

Let’s continue through the house to see if anything else is amiss, Maxwell said. She took the lead as the three went into each room, opening closet doors and drawers, checking under bathroom sinks, inspecting cabinets. At the end, everyone knew the color and size of her underwear, as well as the brand of deodorant she used.

We need to get fingerprints off your fax phone, ma’am, Eddie said. We gotta know if the person was actually in the house makin’ the call.

Fran could only nod, follow their directions. She shivered to think of someone watching her as she slept. Not even a night’s rest was sacred anymore, with someone hearing you snore.

Everything else seems to be in order, Fran told the two officers. "I appreciate your help this evening – I mean this morning – I mean… Hell, what time is it? She gave a half-laugh and said, I’m really losing it, aren’t I?"

No, ma’am, said Eddie, not at all shocked to hear a preacher cursing. That’s a normal reaction if you think someone has been in your house, and especially if y’all were here asleep.

Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep, Pastor Keeton?

Not right now, Fran admitted. I might be able to nap later this afternoon after church. And I’m not sure how I’m going to feel about being here tonight again, alone.

Next time y’all get a call that indicates it’s from the police, ma’am, or from anyone that smells fishy, please check with us first, okay? Eddie asked. I also think you need to get that Caller ID from now on. This was a strange one.

Is there anyone you can call to come stay with you the rest of the night? Maxwell asked. Anyone you trust? Any place you’d like to go rather than stay here?

Fran immediately thought of Kevin St. John, a dedicated member of her church and a professor of psychology at the local community college. He was also one of several gay men in the community against whom the ultra-conservative Pastor Lester Bolger regularly rampaged. Because Kevin and Fran found kinship as mavericks in a superficially puritanical society, he was the only one she knew who wouldn’t mind coming over to join her in a cup of coffee to wait for the sun to come up. He seemed sincerely concerned about her safety.

Yes, let me call right now, she told the officers. She dialed Kevin’s number.

Are you getting midnight cravings for Chinese? was Kevin’s joking response to her greeting. Wong’s might be closed at this hour of the morning.

This is a little more serious than that, Kevin, Fran said. She filled him in on the latest events and made her request.

Damn! I’ll be right there, he responded. Keep the police there with you until I arrive. It won’t be but a few minutes.

Do you mind waiting until Kevin St. John gets here? Fran asked the police officers. He doesn’t live far away. Besides, he’s riding a Harley.

I can wait, but I wouldn’t mind some of your coffee in the meantime, ma’am.

Coming right up, Fran said, heading for the coffee grinder. By the way, you said there was something outside you wanted to ask me about? Could it be more significant now?

Perhaps, Eddie said. Someone was tramplin’ about in one of your flower beds, ma’am. There were footprints all through it.

Were you planting anything yesterday? Maxwell asked.

No, not yet, Fran answered. Are you saying this person has been messing around outside, too?

Looks that way, ma’am.

Another means of sending me a message that they are around, Fran said.

Coffee finished perking as Kevin knocked on the side door. Sargent Maxwell led him into the kitchen and Fran handed him a cup of coffee.

What the dickens is going on around here? he asked. Is this whole town going nuts? Why is someone picking on the local ministers?

I don’t know, sir, Maxwell said, but we hope to find out soon. It appears that the person was inside the house when he made the call. It must have been a way to get her out of the house. We can’t find any damage otherwise.

"From inside the house? Kevin asked. Why would this pervert want her out of the house? What was he going to do with her? How did he get in?"

The whole thing may be simply a way to frighten her, Maxwell said, more of a warning than anything criminal.

But a warning about what? That’s the big question, isn’t it?

We really don’t know at this point, sir.

We need to get on our way, ma’am, Eddie said, avoiding Kevin’s questions. Looks like you’re in good hands for now. We’ll stop by the church to make sure it’s secure, too. Thanks for the coffee.

"Thank you for the help, Fran said. I’m only slightly calmer than when I called you, but I’ll be fine in a bit."

She let them out the door, dropped into a chair, gave a sharp exhale. Kevin crouched beside the chair, stroked her hand.

We’ll talk about this later in the morning when you’ve rested, he said. This was a stressful situation you got into tonight.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep, Kevin.

I insist you try to sleep again for at least a couple more hours while I keep guard here in the house. You look like a wreck.

Thanks! Fran managed a smile. "You’re probably right. And it will help, just knowing you’re here in the house with me."

Come on, he said, leading her up to the main bedroom. Let me tuck you in. I’ll be right down in the kitchen or around there.

He checked to make sure the window curtains were pulled shut to eliminate morning light that might creep in. He watched her from the doorway several seconds before gently closing her door. He sat in the kitchen with a second cup of coffee, thinking about the incident. He had some formless ideas that wouldn’t quite come into focus.

* * *

Kevin, Fran said as they walked into her office the next morning before church services. Would you walk into the sanctuary with me? I want to look at it in the daylight hours before anyone else gets here. Last night is still heavy on my mind and I’m a bit unnerved.

The sun beamed through the stained glass and ricocheted over the pews and altar, a lively contrast to last night’s ominous shadows. Everything appeared in order, nothing disturbed, but the ambience was no longer the same.

Chapter Two –

Sunday morning

I ’m a lo-o-one prophet in the wi-i-i-i-ilderness! This town is the wi-i-i-ilderness of Miss’ippi, mah friends, and we are livin’ in the ver-r-r-r-ry pit of HELL! This wilderness of which I speak is fu-u-u-ull of demons. Look around you, my friends. We are faced with all these abominations, right here in Piney Falls – obscenities like gamblin’, homo-sex-yew-alls, loose livin’, and women who dare stand up to speak in the house of GAWD!

The bombastic and judgmental voice of The Reverend Lester Israel Bolger carried out over the corner of Main Street and Gardenia Avenue.