Green Eyes Cry, You Die, page 14
part #2 of Layton Shayne Mystery Series
“The grace of God, and the black men that came to your rescue when the white supremacists attacked my brother and raped you.”
It was the husky voice of a man that came from behind us. We all turned to see a young, heavyset man with short, black hair and a goatee sitting in a wheelchair. Next to him stood a tall, muscular man in a clerical collar, black shirt, and pants. The pastor wore glasses, had short black hair, a strong jawline, and a friendly smile as he addressed us.
“I’m Pastor Abel Markham, we met your associate Buck outside. He’s quite the character.”
“If that’s a nice way of saying the man’s an ass, then I agree,” Miss Lucy said. “It’s nice to see you again, Pastor Abel. These are my associates Detective Layton Shayne and his partner Alex Shayne.”
“Nice to meet you both,” Pastor Abel said.
“More white folks—just what we need sniffing around here,” the man in the wheelchair said.
“Don’t mind my brother Jeremiah, he’s still working on the whole ‘forgive your fellow man’ thing,” Pastor Abel said.
“Are the thugs who violated your sister-in-law responsible for you being in that wheelchair?” I said, firmly. It was important not to show weakness in front of a man like Jeremiah, even if he didn’t have a pretty story to tell.
“Yes. And my brother’s correct about my needing to forgive more, but I’ve come a long way. Right after my brother and his wife were attacked, a group of friends and I went looking for the thugs who did it. At the time, I was more angry than I was smart; I didn’t watch myself, and ended up in this wheelchair.”
“And what happened to the guys who did all this?” Alex said. “I hope the police dealt with them.”
“Two of them were killed by the guys with me,” Jeremiah said. “The cops arrested one, who’s still in jail; and the rest were killed by a rival gang I didn’t know. I was lucky to get out of there alive… not all the guys with me were so lucky. I’ve been raising one of the guy’s sons.”
“Those were bad times that are better left behind, Jeremiah,” Chantelle said. “Layton and Alex are good men working with Miss Lucy’s group.”
“Good luck, gentlemen,” Pastor Abel said. “If we can be of help, just call, or come by the church.”
He firmly shook my hand, smiled, then shook Alex’s hand.
“I’m sorry about being so rude,” Jeremiah said. “Old memories die hard sometimes.”
Alex and I took turns shaking his hand, then Jeremiah and his brother went back outside.
“Layton, you were asking about the writing on the statue,” Chantelle said. “The inscription is sexual in nature.”
“At the campground, during the festival of the green-eyed lady statue, there was an orgy as part of the celebration,” I said. “Would that have anything to do with the powers associated with the statue?”
“Maybe, but in more of a perversion of the statue’s original purpose,” Chantelle said. “And by that comment, I’m not trying to imply that anyone at the campground was a pervert—more that someone is deliberately misusing the statue’s power.”
“Sex is just sex… isn’t it?” Miss Lucy said.
“Not really,” Chantelle said. “The inscription applies to sex in a more clinical—almost healing and restorative way. Sex for the purpose of increasing the members of the tribe by helping barren women to conceive by building up the sexual energy to unimaginable heights.”
“If I might be blunt for a moment,” I said, nodding as I saw Alex heading toward the front door and looking for my approval.
“Please continue, Layton,” Chantelle said. “I prefer blunt honesty over deceit any day.”
“Well, Ma’am, what you said about the inscription… ” I paused, searching for the right words, so as not to insult the lady—and she was every bit a lady, of that I had no doubt. “A statue like that would be of great interest to a woman who couldn’t conceive, because of a physical trauma she’d endured.”
“Very nicely put,” Chantelle said. “And also, very astute. You’re correct of course… I was four months pregnant when the rape occurred. After that, I miscarried and haven’t been able to conceive since. Theoretically, the statue could help me, but only when placed together with the others… their powers work in unison. The real version of our replica prepares the human vessels for conception; the second statue makes the womb fruitful enough to multiply—I’m assuming by that they meant conceiving twins, triplets, or possibly more; and the final statue—the one responsible for the zombies—brings forth life. All the things necessary for a tribal culture, whose women were suffering from being barren.”
She walked to a stand in the corner and removed a small leather book from under another acrylic cover. She held the book up, so we could see it as she spoke.
“Missionary O’Neil’s diary and notes explain all of what I’ve just said.”
Miss Lucy took the book. “We really should’ve come to see you first, Chantelle.”
“If all this is known, then it’s just a matter of finding the other two statues,” I said. “Although clearly, someone has, and is misusing the one which can bring life.” I looked at Chantelle, searching her face for a moment. “I see what you meant about a perversion of intent. The statue wasn’t created to make zombies or any other evil creatures.” I stood silent for a moment before making an off subject statement. “Those white men who attacked you wanted to make sure you couldn’t conceive and bring forth any sweet black babies.”
“As white supremacists, that was their intention—of that I have no doubt,” Chantelle said. She walked to me and spoke in a humble voice full of conviction. “I try to walk as a godly woman, Layton; but it’s not always easy. I have to work at some things—like forgiveness, on a daily basis.”
“I would imagine that most women have a desire deep within them to be a mother,” I said, noticing Miss Lucy looking toward Chantelle for a reaction. “The reunion of those three statues would give you the chance to be just that… a mother.”
“That’s true,” Chantelle said, in a steady unshaken voice. “But for me, the price is too high—someone’s taking lives to get their hands on those statues. Besides, I’m not sure a Christian woman should use pagan ways in order to conceive.”
“Maybe not, but the baby would be yours to raise as a true child of God,” I said. “And you’d make a good mother. It takes a good woman to make a good mother—and I have no doubt that’s what you are Chantelle Markham.”
“Thank you, detective, I’m glad to have passed another of your tests.”
“You’re welcome, and I hope you’ll go back to calling me Layton. The stakes are high here, or I wouldn’t have put you through that. You’re a strong and admirable woman, Chantelle—so strong that I almost didn’t catch that quick flash of worry and fear in your eyes. But a woman like you doesn’t fear for herself; just for those she loves.”
Chantelle turned away, and Miss Lucy put a hand on her shoulder and spoke.
“Are you concerned the pastor might—”
“No, never—not him,” Chantelle said. “But I worry about the youth we’re trying to help… or the people in our church. They can be very devoted to my husband and me, and they’re only human, like all of us.”
“Then we’d better hurry and find those two other statues before some misguided person or persons get themselves into trouble,” I said.
“Do you have any idea at all who might have the other two statues, Chantelle?” Miss Lucy said.
“Other than Prudence Bailey, I’m not sure. The old store and hotel might still have the records of sale somewhere.”
“Could the owner have kept one of the statues for himself?” I said.
“It’s possible, but I thought most store owners were in the business of selling their goods,” Chantelle said.
“Not when those goods cry real emeralds,” I said, before thinking of something else. “Is there any chance that one of the statues could’ve been sold to the nearby new age hippie group?”
“Anything’s possible, but good luck getting help from them,” Chantelle said.
“Why do you say that?” Miss Lucy said.
“I was talking to my friend Charity, and I happened to mention meeting you, Lucy. It just sort of slipped out as we were discussing the news of the day.”
“Did you mention me and my assistants too?” I said.
“No, I didn’t know about you three back then. I’m sorry… I only mentioned Lucy to see if Charity could be of any help to her.”
“Oh, she was a help all right,” Miss Lucy said. “She cleared my constipation right up.”
Chantelle and I laughed, then I left Miss Lucy to explain, and went to look for Alex and Buck.
I stood out on the porch for a moment enjoying a light breeze. It was funny how in the last case and this one I’d met two pastors, their families, and so many different religious types. It’s just par for the course, I suppose, when your job has you investigating cults and looking for objects infused with supernatural powers. Looking to the right, I could see Alex in the distance photographing the building and the workers. Buck was tripping over his own feet as he walked through the vegetable garden. Miss Lucy would never describe him as a sleek, hunter type. Our next stop would be the bed and breakfast, where I hoped we’d find another statue, although I wasn’t feeling overly confident about our chances.
Miss Lucy found me still on the porch when she exited the building alone.
“Walk me to the car, detective,” she said, taking my arm.
She talked as we walked slowly toward the car.
“Very well, and neatly handled, Layton. Any ideas where we go from here?”
“We go to the bed and breakfast as planned. Miss Lucy, what do you think Chantelle’s relationship with Charity is?”
“So you picked up on that too, huh? From what I managed to get out of her, they’re friends. But I don’t think Charity sees us as friends, or at least not me. You need to pay her a visit as soon as you possibly can, Layton.”
I opened the car door for her, and she slid into the driver’s seat. I leaned on the open door as we continued speaking.
“In Charity’s eyes, we were sneaky liars, and she was probably looking out for her friend or—”
“Or what, boy?” Miss Lucy said, her interest piqued.
“I don’t get a bad vibe from her, Miss Lucy. I know you might feel differently, because her cooking wreaked havoc on your system—”
“She’s not evil or probably even bad, though,” Miss Lucy said. “All she was doing was getting rid of someone she didn’t trust. But she liked you and Alex well enough. How soon will you be going back to visit her?”
“It’s more important to check out the bed and breakfast, and the old store first, I think. Then we’ll pay Charity a visit. Miss Lucy, what would bring two women like Charity and Chantelle together as friends?”
“I don’t know… that’s why you’re the detective.” She reached down into her purse and pulled out the missionary’s diary that Chantelle had given her. “Keep this safe with you, and when you get a chance, see if there’s anything inside that’ll help our case.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, taking the book from her.
Alex and Buck walked over, and we were soon on our way. Miss Lucy drove us to a nearby gas station, where my truck was waiting. Alex and Buck quickly exited the car and left Miss Lucy and me alone.
“I’m going to see if our people have figured anything else out about the statue we have in our possession,” Miss Lucy said. “I’ll also have them put the emerald eyes back in just in case we need the statue functioning again.
“Hopefully, it’s well guarded—those workers at the barn facility looked strong and very capable.”
“It’ll be kept safe. I have a feeling you may have need of it soon, detective.”
-20-
Crazy Things
“Why did you say ‘soon’?” I said. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“No,” Miss Lucy said. “I’m just hoping you’re gonna be wrapping things up soon. I gave that fool Buck directions to the bed and breakfast, so get to steppin’, detective.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I mockingly saluted Miss Lucy, then left her car and went to my truck. After starting her up and getting on the road, I told the guys about what had transpired back at the farm.
“Geez, I didn’t know detective work was so easy,” Buck said, from the back seat. “Sounds like we can leave the rest of this business to that recovery gal Sassy.”
“It’s part of our job to find the statues,” Alex said. “And there’s still the mystery of who’s behind everything. People have been murdered, you know.”
“Whatever,” Buck said. “Layton, how are you so sure the pastor’s wife isn’t involved?”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure she isn’t involved in some way… just not in a bad way. My gut tells me she’s a good woman.”
“Your gut!” Buck said. “Good God, man, even decent people can do bad things. They find ways to justify what they do.”
“I understand that Buck, and when you’ve been in battle and seen people die, you can be in charge.”
“I saw people die and get turned into zombies back at that nudie place—just because you’ve seen military action, doesn’t mean squat, detective!” Buck said.
“Are you questioning my leadership, Buck?”
“No,” Buck said.
He’d spoken that one word in such a matter of fact way that it was instantly disarming, and I laughed. He continued speaking.
“I’m glad you’re our leader, dude. The only thing I’m doing is trying to point things out as part of my job on this team. Those workers on the farm thought really highly of Chantelle Markham—they’d do anything for her. And they were plenty strong enough to follow through on stuff; like killing a couple of guys and turning them into those freaky zombies.”
“That’s a hell of a lot of conjecture there, Buck,” Alex said.
“No,” I said. “Buck’s actually thinking the right way. Being Buck, he’s explained it in kind of a screwy way, but he’s not necessarily wrong. It’s time we started thinking about who could be responsible for what’s been happening. Even Chantelle has concerns that someone she knows might be capable of doing things in a misguided effort to help her.”
“Well, wouldn’t the pastor also be a possible suspect, then?” Alex said.
“Again, my gut tells me no,” I said. “But—before Buck says something—we don’t have proof that the pastor didn’t do anything. The emeralds would be plenty of incentive for someone to want the statues.”
“So would the power the statues could give,” Alex said. “Only… if someone wanted to take over the world with them, wouldn’t they need some sort of army?”
“An army of youths and church folks would fit the bill, and our organization is all about keeping tabs on cults,” Buck said.
“True,” I said. “But it just doesn’t feel like that type of situation. Does it to you, Alex?”
“All I have to compare it to is Shelby, where there were so many secrets; and my sisters’ cult had almost complete control over the people. Come to think of it—you’re right… people here seem pretty open and laid back about things, not like people trying to conceal a whole lot.”
“That’s because everybody only seems to know a little here and a little there,” Buck said.
“Exactly,” I said.
“You want to turn left at the next street,” Buck said.
I did so, then continued talking.
“Going back to what you just said, Buck—so far, we haven’t met anyone who knows all. Meaning, there doesn’t seem to be a central group in charge.”
“Not one that we’ve met yet, anyway,” Alex said.
“It’s not like there can be that many more people in this small town,” Buck said. “Unless they’re really hidden. There are just the crazy gays at the campground, and most of those folks come from out of town. Then there are the hippie folks you mentioned, and they sound too laid back.”
“That could’ve just been an act; besides, we only met Charity—we can’t judge the whole group by her,” Alex said. “They may all have stockpiles of weapons in their homes ready to use at a moment’s notice.”
“I was going to say that you two were starting to think like detectives, but you’re letting your imaginations go into overdrive now,” I said. “Sometimes the simplest solution is the right one.”
“The simplest solutions are these,” Buck said. “Either someone wants the statues out of greed for the emeralds, or to help the pastor’s wife. Who wants to rule the world anyway? It’d be a pain.”
“I thought the organization only dealt with groups that could offset the balance of power in the world, so how would this case fit in with that,” Alex said.
“Remember, the organization also retrieves objects with supernatural powers,” Buck said. “We were brought in because they didn’t know much about this area, or the statues.”
“They were probably concerned this could be another Shelby,” I said. “It won’t be—but I’m sure the organization felt that the possibility existed, and the situation needed to be neutralized.”
“Take another left, Layton, and it’ll be the yellow house at the end of the street,” Buck said.
I turned onto a street lined with beautiful old Victorian homes of varying sizes. Sitting on a piece of land that looked like it’d been built up was the queen of the street, a two-story yellow Victorian with a large porch featuring round columns and a balcony.
“Check her out!” Buck said, pointing toward a car parked in front of the house.
The car was an absolutely pristine, dark blue ‘68 Mustang, and sitting on the hood with her legs crossed and sucking on a lollipop, had to be Sassafras Jones. She had jet black hair, which curled up at the ends, sat right at her shoulders, and was pulled back on both sides with barrettes. Her straight bangs, heavy eyeliner, and red lips combined with the capri pants, the blouse tied at her waist, and the black platform heels with ankle straps gave her a 1950's pinup look. And there was one obvious thing, which both Noelle and Miss Lucy had failed to mention.
