The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Here’s why Randall Radford became my second target.  In late August, on a Thursday morning, Karla had called me at 6:30 a.m.  She always left for work around that time.  A storm had come through during the night and had caused a dying tree to fall across our long driveway.  I was still in my study working on a short story that was transforming into an epic novel.  I quickly dressed and grabbed my chainsaw from the garage.  When I got to Karla the saw wouldn’t start so I had to get the tractor and a chain and pull the tree back enough for her car to pass.  That afternoon I took my chainsaw to Radford Hardware and learned it was dead with a cracked cylinder.  I bought a new Husqvarna Model 359 and walked outside toward my truck.

Right when I was about to open my door I heard loud talking coming from the far side of my truck.  “Tell him not to fuck with me, if he does he might feel a bullet in his head.”  I knew the man’s voice.  It was Randall Radford.  I just stood there where they couldn’t see me. I couldn’t see them either. “Randall, you need to deal with him in the right way.”  I wasn’t familiar with the woman’s voice.  “I’ll call you tonight.”  The door slammed and through my truck cab I saw Randall stand up beside the car and lean back down.  Like he was bending his tall frame over to look inside the car window.  I got in my truck, started it, and backed out while Randall walked in the opposite direction back towards the store’s main entrance.  He never looked my way.

When I reached the edge of the parking lot I looked back over my shoulder and saw the woman backing out and heading out in the opposite direction.  I decided to follow her.  She drove to Albertville to a house on Pecan Avenue.  I remembered what the New York Times reporter, Nate Baker, had told me, “Randall Radford goes either on Monday or Tuesday to a house on Pecan Avenue in Albertville to see Cissy Sprayberry.” The woman I was following had to be Cissy Sprayberry.  I pulled into the driveway of the house directly across the street and killed my engine.  I got out and walked over behind a tree without Cissy seeing me.  She seemed to linger in her car before she started getting out.  By the time she walked into the open door to the garage a man met her.  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but no doubt he was unhappy.  I stood there five minutes or more and their conversation became more and more heated.  I guessed the man was Cissy’s husband and he had found out about her and Randall’s affair, and naturally was not too keen to it.

As I was driving home, I concluded Randall had to be my next target. I started conceptualizing a plan. Why not use this fiery seedbed as an opportunity to give Randall a full dose of justice?  After I got home, I changed clothes and enjoyed cutting up the fallen tree.

All during the night I rolled and tumbled.  All I could think about was Randall Radford and how he had always been a bully, at least for as long as I had known him.  A silly lunchroom scene from High School kept jumping into my thoughts.  Randall was at a table eating with, I think, James Adams.  There were two or three others that I cannot recall at his table.  Dessert that day was coconut cake.  I remember Randall getting up when he saw Harlon Danford walking by with his food tray heading to a table across the aisle.  As Harlon sat down Randall walked over and said, “Queer Harlon, I need your cake.”  Everybody at Randall’s table shouted out laughter. Poor Harlon was powerless as Randall scooped the cake over onto his plate.  Randall returned to his table with Harlon’s plate and started eating again.  Randall then looked over at Harlon and said, “what are you waiting on?  Here’s your lunch.  Come and get it.”  Harlon just sat there looking down as nearly everyone in the lunchroom laughed at him.  This scene was so typical of Randall.  He used his huge size to bully everyone around him.  When he saw something he wanted, he took it.  He certainly had an entitlement mentality.  As the night passed and my rolling and tumbling continued I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Harlon Danford.  I also wished that I had had the guts back then to stand up for Harlon, to test Randall, even if I had to take a beating.

People don’t usually change.  Here, in 2017, Randall is still the same bully.  He wanted Cissy even though she was married.  Before going to bed I had conducted some research.  Cissy and Talmadge Calvert had married in 1991. He was a lineman with MUB Electric and had no criminal record.  From all appearances, he was an honest, hard-working man.  I assumed Cissy didn’t work since she seemed available to Randall on Mondays and Tuesdays.  I didn’t know how Cissy and Randall had met.  She was nearly 15 years younger.  One thing I did know.  She was just another piece of coconut cake to Randall.  He saw her passing by and had to have her.  I was determined that this time would end differently.  I was going to stand up and defend Talmadge, unlike what I had done for Harlon.

For the next three weeks, I tracked Randall every chance I got.  This included his weekly work with Upward Bound at the Family Life Center.  John’s night had been every Monday.  Randall’s was every Tuesday.  Unlike John, Randall walked to the Center.  He would leave the hardware store and arrive by 5:30, entering the same side door that John used.  A few minutes before 9:00 he would exit by the same door and walk through Gethsemane Grove, across Sparks and south on Elm, all the way to Thomas Avenue.  He continued until he reached the store’s north side parking lot where he always parked next to the back entrance of the appliance department.

I would do it tonight.  It was September 11th, the week after Labor Day.  The Center was closed over the holiday weekend or I would have executed my plan a week ago.  Today, I realized it was the sixteenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks in New York City.  I felt uneasy as though that was a bad omen.

I was hiding out in the Grove when Randall came outside and locked the Center’s side door.  It was 8:59 p.m.  I waited until he walked across Sparks before I eased from tree to tree until I was standing by the sidewalk on Elm.  I could see him cross Elm and onto the sidewalk heading towards Thomas Avenue.  I darted across Elm to my truck that I had parked behind the same house I had used before to hide my bicycle when abducting John.  I was hurrying now.  I didn’t have but a small window of opportunity.  As I approached Randall, he turned and looked at my truck.  He didn’t do anything, except turn back around to keep on walking forward.  I pulled on 30 feet or so ahead of him and put the truck in park and got out rushing back towards Randall.  I told him to get in the truck.  He didn’t appear frightened even though I could have been the most dangerous serial killer in the world.  He didn’t say anything but started towards me.  Then, I think, he saw my gun.  He spun around and started towards the dark shadows of an adjacent driveway.  I shot once, hitting him in the shoulder.  He fell to the ground.  I walked over to him and again told him to get in the back of the truck.  He said he wouldn’t.  I then pointed my gun to his head and asked did he want to die right now.  It took him several seconds to get to his feet as I backed away.  He walked to my truck and I had him open the back window of my camper and lower the tailgate.  He crawled inside.  I walked over and closed the tailgate and shot Randall between the eyes.  I closed the camper window.

I drove to Oak Hollow thinking of how satisfied I felt.  Not about killing Randall, but about how well the silencer had worked.  I was amazed at how quiet the two shots from my Glock 45 had been.  When I arrived, I backed my truck down to the first open grave.  The horses were all clustered up next to the barn.  I walked to them and picked one at random.  I stood the old gelding in between my truck and the open grave.  I injected him with 50 mg of Diazepam as a sedative.  In less than five minutes he was laying down on his side.  I then injected him with 120 ccs sodium pentobarbital.  Within a few more minutes the old gelding stopped breathing.  

Over the next hour and a half, I followed the same routine as I had with John.  Randall’s body first, then three to four feet of dirt on top, then the horse—again using the come-a-long.  I then finishing filling the grave with dirt.  The only difference this time was the bloody tarp from the back of my truck.  I had pulled it out and thrown it into the grave on top of Randall’s body. 

I pulled my truck to the barn and flipped on the lights.  I inspected the back of my truck with my flashlight and didn’t see a drop of blood.  The tarp had done its job.  I flipped off the lights, drove to the other side of the gate, locked the chain, and continued home.

Just like the night John lost game one to justice, I tossed and turned in bed for an hour reliving the events of the past few hours.  I was glad I had abandoned my idea of framing Talmadge Sprayberry.  That would not have been right.  He was an innocent victim, just like Harlon Danford.  I could imagine both satisfied that I had given Randall a dose of giving instead of taking.  I then slept soundly the rest of the night.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Over the next two weeks I worked on an appellate brief to the Alabama Supreme Court trying to convince it to overturn the Alabama Court of Criminal Appeals’ decision refusing to grant my client, Edward Sanderson, a new trial.  In addition, I coached, counseled, and conferred with Gina about her case and the probability that Wade would settle and avoid trial.  She also conducted two snooping sessions of his Church office turning up nothing but an extra friendly ‘Thank-You’ card from Stella Bridgestone, the Church’s music director. Gina didn’t read anything into Stella’s expressions saying that she was generally effusive and forward with all older men.

On Thursday afternoon, July 20th, I was in the conference room meeting with a new auto accident client when Tina stuck her head in and motioned for me to come out into the hall.  When I did she, said that Detective Darden Clarke and Sheriff’s Deputy Clyde Vickers were in the waiting room with a warrant to search the office.  Etowah County Detective Pete Morrow was also with them.  I walked to the front and asked them what this was about and they showed me the warrant.  It was signed by the newly appointed Circuit Court Judge Tyler Broadside.  He had been appointed to fill the remaining term of soon-to-be-retiring Judge Allen Naylor who was forced to step down because of declining health.  Republican Governor Shawn Applegate was from Gadsden and had received the unanimous support of the Flaming Five and their families. 

Since John had disappeared in late April, I expected the issuance of search warrants and possibly even an arrest.  As the days ticked by, I became more and more surprised with the absence of these almost certain events.  Until, I heard through the lawyer rumor-mill that Judge Naylor, the Marshall County presiding judge, had refused to issue the warrants.  He argued that just because I had been framed by the Flaming Five and their families over forty years ago was not probable cause that I had abducted John Ericson.  To Naylor, that was too tenuous a connection.

This all changed upon the concurrence of two events.  The appointment of sympathetic Judge Broadside, and the discovery of video footage from a flagpole on the west side of the First Baptist Church of Christ’s parking lot that pointed directly to the Family Life Center’s side door.  It was closest to where John always parked his car in parking spot 275.  My mistake.  In all my reconnoitering, I had missed this camera.  I had been careful to scour the Family Life Center building itself.  I was certain there were none there.  However, I failed to even consider a camera could be mounted inside the flagpole on the other side of the parking lot, right up against Gethsemane grove.

I wasn’t the only one who had missed it.  The Boaz City Police and the Marshall County Sheriff’s Department deputies and detectives also missed it back in late April when they conducted their initial investigation after finding John’s car still parked by the Family Life Center.  It was not until the security company that supplied the Church’s cameras and security system contacted the Church’s maintenance director that there was a problem with this camera did he realize John’s abduction could have been recorded.

This recording converted a once tenuous connection between me and John’s abduction into probable cause that I was involved with the crime.  It was Judge Naylor’s missing link.  Judge Broadside never hesitated.  Once he was shown the video and briefed on my early, but highly controversial, relationship with John Ericson, among others, he issued the warrant to search my Boaz office.  He also conferred with law enforcement and Judge Grant in Etowah County, who investigated and issued a warrant to search Hickory Hollow.

It was not like the video showed me lying in wait for John, nor of me using my taser when he reached his vehicle, and it didn’t show me forcing him into the back of his Chevrolet Traverse.  However, it did show a man in black, including a black-faced toboggan–with my height and build doing all these things.   Without more, something specific to me, this would not have been enough.  The reasonable argument would say there are truckloads of other men who fit the height and build of the perpetrator.  But, Judge Broadside was appointed by our Republican Governor who owed favors to the Flaming Five and their families. 

It took a small army of deputies and police officers over three hours to search my office.  At the same time, Hickory Hollow was under a similar siege.  Law enforcement found nothing incriminating but they did seize my computer.  I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that I had come close to making my second mistake in the disappearance of John Ericson.  I had disposed of my office computer only two weeks ago.  If I had not, the District Attorney’s computer specialist would have found my ransom note and the letter to the Sand Mountain Reporter.  That would have been the smoking gun that put a face on the man in black caught on the hidden flagpole camera.

While the office search was being conducted, Detective Darden Clarke asked if I would submit to a formal interview.  I quickly agreed.  We sat in the conference room while two deputies inspected shelves loaded with over a thousand case books.  Darden asked most all the commonly used ‘setting the stage’ questions.  After he failed to score any points with the actual abduction and disappearance of John, he asked me if I knew anyone who might want to hurt John and or his family.  I told him I did not other than myself.  He looked surprised and asked me to explain.  I told him that finally it appeared that one of the ones who were directly responsible for the deaths of Wendi and Cindi Murray, and possibly their parents, had received a real dose of justice.  He said, “so you yourself wanted to hurt John?”  I responded that I did but that I could myself only do my damage with the law and that so far, all my efforts in that regard had failed.

The interview ended with me signing a statement of one sentence: “I did not kidnap John Ericson and I have no knowledge of who did or of his whereabouts.”  After Detectives Darden and Morrow, and Deputy Sheriff Vickers, and their crew left, I drove home to reassure Karla and Kaden not to worry about what they had just experienced, that it was routine for law enforcement in such a high-profile case to investigate almost everyone who even knew the victim.  I further assured them the searches found nothing because there was nothing harmful to find.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

The July 4th Celebrate Boaz concert was successful beyond imagination, at least that of every local resident.  The Boaz Police Chief had to call in favors from his fellow chiefs in Albertville, Guntersville, and Arab for police reinforcements, mainly to direct traffic.  Karla, Kaden, and I took three lawn chairs and a cooler filled with low-spirit drinks and enjoyed three hours of old and current Blues, Country, and even a little contemporary gospel.  I must say, Shania Twain was phenomenal.

Kaden could hardly sit for more than 15 minutes so we put him in charge of hiking back and forth to the multiple food trucks that had inundated the celebration, bringing to us small samples of most every item they offered.

I took Wednesday, the Fifth, off to help Karla finish framing four of her paintings she had sold.  The customer was coming from Chattanooga Friday morning to pick them up.  Karla had taken up both pencil sketching and painting several years earlier to relieve stress and to discipline her to use her hands and fingers.  Two medical specialists had told her this type activity was one of the best ways to significantly postpone the almost inevitable loss of dexterity in her hands from her Rheumatoid Arthritis.

Just before 4:30, and as we were clamping the last frame in place to rest until the glue dried, my cell phone rang.  I didn’t recognize the number.  I answered and the lady said, “Micaden, is this Micaden Tanner?”  I affirmed it was and asked who was calling.  It was Gina Culvert Tillman.  I quickly learned that there was at least one citizen in Boaz who had not joined the unity wagon train encircling the Flaming Five and their fathers.

Culvert was her maiden name. Gina was a former high school classmate and attended the infamous 1972 graduation party.  She was also one of four Boaz High School cheerleaders who had testified against me at my 1973 murder trial. To the surprise of all who knew her, Wade Tillman, the defacto pastor of First Baptist Church of Christ, had married Gina in August 1972.  Gina asked if we could meet today.  I told her I had taken the day off and was busy.  She pleaded with me to meet her at my office at 7:30 tonight.  She said that it was urgent and could be greatly beneficial to my investigations.  I finally told her to tell me exactly why she wanted to meet or I would postpone my availability until tomorrow.  “I am divorcing Wade and need an attorney.  I also have information about Club Eden that you may find interesting and helpful.”  I told her I would see her at 7:30 tonight.  She asked if it would be okay for us to meet at Hickory Hollow.  “I need to keep this very private for now.” 

Gina arrived a few minutes early and we settled at a round table in my study. 

“Micaden, I want to say again how sorry I am for how I greatly mistreated you at your trial in 1973.  I will never be able to repay you and hope that you will know how sincere I am.”

“That was over forty years ago.  I suspect you are no longer a naive teenager.”

“I’m certainly no longer a teenager but it’s up for grabs whether I’m any wiser.  As I said on the phone, I plan on divorcing Wade and I need an attorney.  I want to hire you and please know this is not an attempt to repay you for mistreating you so long ago.”

“Okay.  I’ll accept that.  In fact, I’ll take this approach concerning you.  I’ll believe what you tell me, take it as the truth, until I learn that you are lying.”  I said.

“Sounds good but I will not lie to you, ever again.”

“Now, I’m going to sit here and listen to you for a while.  Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?  I’ll interject questions for clarity or mere curiosity.”

“I suspect you know that mine and Wade’s marriage in 1972 was, as they say, a shotgun wedding of sorts.  It was Mom’s idea in total.  Myself, the young and dumb blond went along with it because I was stupid and lazy.  I never did like school, and thought it was a way to avoid having to get a college education and work for a living.  I did like Wade and all but I truly didn’t like the idea of trying to become a preacher’s wife.  I guess you can do about anything if you set your mind to it.”  Gina said.

“From my vantage point it seems you have done quite a good job.  You graduated from the University of Alabama and you have been the poster girl of a serious and faithful preacher’s wife.  Of course, I acknowledge how little I truly know.”

“That last comment is how I remember you, kind of funny while always fully serious.”

“A man has to survive.”  I said.

“My life with Wade has been good.  At least until 1997 when Wendi and Cindi were found.  We had two beautiful children.  However, I do admit that I was either too dumb or blind to not realize who Wade truly was.  He convinced me early on that he had nothing to do with the disappearance of the twin girls.  It was not until their bodies were found in 1997 that I realized I had been deceived by myself and others.”

“What role does the recent Sand Mountain Reporter letter have on your desire to divorce Wade?”

“It is the final straw.  But, you’re jumping ahead too much.  Let me fill in some gaps that you most likely don’t know about.”  Gina said.

Before she continued I asked if she wanted coffee or something else to drink.  She asked for coffee.  I excused myself and went to the kitchen and brewed a pot and brought back two cups with sweetener and cream on a tray.

“Thanks.  In 1998, I became an investigator of sorts.”

“Now, you’ve got my attention.”

“It was after Matt took my deposition in the Murray’s wrongful death case.  You were there.”

“I recall.”

“That night I went home and demanded that Wade tell me the truth.  I’m sure he sugarcoated it a lot but he did admit that John, Randall, and James had killed and hidden Wendi and Cindi and that their fathers, along with Walter and Fitz, had concealed the truth for all those years.  Wade pleaded with me to not reveal anything he told me.  He said since we were married that I could not be made to testify against him.  The marriage privilege he called it.  During this time frame, there were a lot of rumors circulating about what all you and Matt were uncovering and going to use at the Murray’s trial.  He also said that he and his Father had settled their cases with the Murray’s.”

“That part wasn’t true.  Only Walter settled.  Wade was not a part of any settlement.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.  Wade, I’ve learned over the past twenty years, is a master liar.”

“What else did you discover?  As an investigator?”

“Wade had always handled our finances.  Other than a household checking account I never knew about anything.  Maybe that the church had a retirement plan.  But, after I learned he had not been truthful with me in 1972 I began to ponder whether he might still be lying.  So, I started snooping around.  Wade had become very confident in my loyalty and faithfulness.  That was a mistake.  His confidence led him to be a little sloppy if he truly was trying to keep secrets.”

“Tell me more about your snooping.”  I said.

“One night, I think it was the Wednesday night after the Murray’s had been discovered dead at their home.  Wade was at church.  I went to his study and looked in his desk.  He had left it unlocked.  I really don’t know if he ever locked it.  I never went in.  The closest I came was standing just inside the doorway telling Wade to come to dinner or something like that.  I just thought it was where he studied and prepared or reviewed his sermons.  Anyway, in a file drawer on the bottom left side of the desk was a file labeled “Mission Money.”  It was a thick file, one of those that had multiple sections each with top prongs for fastening documents.  I found copies of bank statements in one section.  They were for a church bank account at First State Bank.  The account title was something like ‘Cooperative Program,’ or ‘SBC Cooperative Program.’  The most recent statement was on top and it reflected a $15,000 deposit and an identical $15,000 withdrawal leaving a small balance in the account.”

“Okay, that seems to only reflect that Wade had a copy of the Church’s statement where it collected and remitted the standard 10% of donations to the Southern Baptist Convention’s Cooperative Mission’s Program.”  I said.

“That’s what I thought also until I looked at the next section in that same folder.  In it there was also a stack of bank statements.  These were for a different account at First State Bank of Boaz.  This account was titled ‘Club Eden.’ The top statement contained a $15,000 deposit and it was dated the same date as the withdrawal from the Church’s Cooperative Missions account.”

“Let me jump in.  If you concluded that someway Wade was stealing Church funds for Club Eden then you have yourself jumped way out on a limb.”

“Micaden, give me a little credit.  I’m not that dumb.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that.”

“Attached to both sets of bank statements were copies of checks and deposit slips.  The $15,000 Coop check was made payable to ‘SBC Missions.’  I knew banks didn’t typically deposit checks to accounts where the check didn’t bear the right account name.  So, I flipped to another section in the big folder.  There, I found another account, ‘Saved by Christ Missions.’  The top statement revealed a $15,000 check from this account to Club Eden.  I matched up the dates and went back through several months bank statements for all three accounts.  I then concluded, probably unknown to everyone except Wade and other Club Eden members, the Church was faithful in paying 10% of its receipts to the Southern Baptist Convention’s Cooperative Program, except that such funds were being diverted to an account controlled by Wade which then was transferred directly to Club Eden’s pockets.”

“You might be correct, but I’m still hesitate to commit to your position.  When did you learn about Club Eden?”  I said.

“Gosh, that goes back to our High School days.  Don’t you remember all the rumors about the Flaming Five’s secret hideout?  From the many times that I went there, black-hooded of course, I just assumed that’s all it was, a place out in the woods Wade and the others carried gullible girls.”

“I know a lot more about Club Eden than that.  My knowledge came during mine and Matt’s investigation during our preparations for the Murray’s case.  Club Eden goes way back.  It was formed in the late 1800’s by the forefathers of the Flaming Five.  It is a legal organization and has been the recipient of embezzled funds from the City of Boaz.  I won’t go into details now about what I learned.  For now, I’m more interested in hearing about your snooping.”  I said.

“At first, I believed I was wrong, concluding Wade could be taking the mission’s money.  Then, I thought, ‘what if Doris the financial secretary was totally in the dark?’  She prepared a monthly check to SBC Missions and gave it to Fitz Billingsley the Church’s treasurer.  He could have switched out the attached envelope to SBC in Nashville before giving the bills and checks to Rita the music secretary that always dropped the mail off by the Post Office on her way home.  If Wade and Club Eden had a secret post office box they would retrieve the check and deposit it at First State Bank not triggering any alerts since the deposit account was simply the fully written out version shown on the check.  I certainly may be wrong on the ‘how’ but I am certain 10% of the monies that all the loving and kind members were dropping into the offering plates every Sunday were winding up in the hands of Club Eden.”

“There might be another source for the money.  It just seems impossible that Wade could pull this off without being detected.  But, I admit, having Fritz as treasurer doesn’t hurt your argument.”  I said.

“There’s something else.  There were other transactions on the Club Eden’s bank statements.  There were copies of deposit slips that were confusing because they only included what appeared as an abbreviation or code as the source.  Repeatedly throughout the statements was a monthly deposit from a ‘BU.’  That’s all that was written on each deposit slip.  You’ll be proud of me.  I figured out that ‘BU’ is Boaz Utilities.”

“How on earth did you reach that conclusion?”  I said.

“From the checks.  There was a monthly check to Steven Carrington.”

“He’s the manager at Boaz Utilities.  Right?”

“He is.  It took me three attempts to figure out Wade’s system.  For the next two weeks while he was at Church I returned to his study.  I was lucky that the desk remained unlocked.  I finally concluded that Wade was paying Steven 15% of all the amounts he was sending to Club Eden.  After seeing the penciled in word, ‘commission’ beside a $2,278 check to Steven I concluded he was an investor.  Of course, he wasn’t investing his own money.  Steven was skimming Boaz Utility money and directing it to Club Eden.  I reached my conclusion by matching deposits from BU to checks to Steven.  For example, the $2,278 check to Steven was 15% of the related $15,186.67 deposit from BU.  Out beside this deposit Wade had scrawled the word ‘investment.’  I went online to learn what the monthly gross revenues were for Boaz Utilities.  For this period, they were averaging a little over $3,000,000 per month.  This was freely available from their website.  I did this calculation for several months and concluded that Carrington was skimming a half percent of gross revenues.”

“Let me summarize what I think you are telling me.  Club Eden has investors of a sort.  At least one.”  I said.

“Let me interrupt you before you continue.  Steven Carrington is only one such investor.  I also conducted the same analysis for several other investors, including Jarod Darlington at Quintard Pharmacy and Roger Venson at the EagleMart SuperCenter.  Now, you can continue.  Sorry.”  Gina said.

“I know for a fact that the current members of Club Eden are Wade, James Adams, Randall Radford, Fred Billingsley, John Ericson, and each of their Fathers.  For your information, I was the only other member of this Club other than these five prominent Boaz families.  And, I never owned any stock. I have never received a penny from Club Eden but apparently the stockholders are getting filthy rich from its operations.  All illegal I highly suspect.  And, in addition, the Club has multiple ‘investors,’ all making huge profits from misdirecting funds that they control.”  I said.

“I think you’ve got it.  But, there’s one thing I haven’t been able to figure out.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“Where Club Eden is spending all its money.  After paying off its investors the Club is writing checks to several other entities.  It doesn’t keep but around $25,000 in its account at First State Bank.  I calculated that the Club is taking in about $5,000,000 per year as of 1998.”

“Let’s shelve that question for now.  It’s getting late.  Why don’t you tell me why you want a divorce other than you’re tired of being married to a criminal?”  I said.

“Since 1998 my loyalty to Wade has diminished greatly.  I’ve not really sought out a special friend, even though I have met a few guys online and chatted.  I got to know one guy quite well but his interest waned after he learned I was a pastor’s wife.  Now, I don’t even have an online friend but I want my freedom.  I want out of this shotgun wedding and away from the crime boss Wade.  I want enough money to live a comfortable life, hopefully for many more years.”  Gina said.

“I’ll be honored to represent you even though it will add mountains of stress to my worship experience as Karla and I attend First Baptist Church of Christ.”

“There you go again with that wicked humor.”

“Actually, my skin has grown thicker than an elephant’s over the years as I have represented the Murrays and withstood the razor eyes of half the congregation as Karla and I remained frequent-flyers in the middle section.”

“How much of a retainer do you need?”

“For a contested divorce, I normally request $10,000.  But, I have an idea.  What if you worked off some of this?”

“That sounds a little seductive but I know you better than that.”

“Sorry, what I mean is, what if you do a little more snooping?  Here’s the kicker which you probably won’t like.”

“Spill it.”

“You continue to live with Wade for a while longer, just until we do a little more research.  This includes you not filing your divorce until you move out.  Do you think you could do this?”  I said.

“How much time are we talking about?”

“This is just a guess, but maybe a month or so?”

“Oh, hell yes.  What’s another month or two when I’ve been in prison for nearly fifty years.”  Gina said.

“For now, we won’t even sign an agreement for my services.  I’ll just have you complete our standard intake form.  But, we can do that later.  Is it okay with you if I buy us a couple of burner phones to communicate?”

“No problem.”

“As we walk out I’ll show you a fake fern on the side porch.  I’ll have your phone with instructions in a box there by this time tomorrow night.  You could come by any time after that and get it.” 

“I’ll call you once I have the phone.” Gina said.

I walked Gina out to her car, pointing out the fern, and told her I appreciated her confidence in my lawyering abilities.  She gave me a hug before getting into her car and driving off.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

After the Sand Mountain Reporter published my ‘anonymous’ indictment against the five prominent families, I knew the citizens of Boaz would be in an uproar, raving against them.   I could not have been more wrong.  The local community circled their wagons around these five families. 

For the next three weeks, in all three weekly editions of the Sand Mountain Reporter, there was a full-page ad with the title, “Boaz United: Justice for John.”  The ad included a short statement that everyone deserved forgiveness but that in this case none was called for because The Flaming Five had all been acquitted (the Newspaper got its facts wrong) of all crimes against Wendi and Cindi Murray and that not one of the nine men listed in my ‘anonymous’ indictment had ever been charged with any form of crime involving the deaths of Bill and Nellie Murray.  The ad said little about John’s disappearance other than calling for his release and return.

The ad contained five photographs: an aerial view of First Baptist Church of Christ, and frontal views of First State Bank of Boaz, Adams Buick, Chevrolet & GMC, Radford Hardware & Building Supply, and Ericson Real Estate and Property Development.  All five photos were within a large circle in the center of the ad with an upward sloping diagonal phrase printed with the words, “Boaz Loves & Supports You.”

Three-quarters of the way down the page, in bold and large print, was the phrase, “BOAZ IS UNDER ATTACK.” Underneath this title and in regular print was a paragraph that basically urged every Boaz citizen to, as always, shop in Boaz, and to be on the lookout for strangers and for “oddities” as the article put it.

At the very bottom of the ad was an invitation to the annual, Celebrate Boaz, July 4th event held on Billy Dyar Blvd.  The invitation announced that the Flaming Five would be co-hosting along with infamous country music singer Shania Twain.

Along with these full-page ads were separate quarter page ads by the families of the Flaming Five scattered throughout the newspaper.  These ads offered deep discounts on merchandise if accompanied by the ad itself.  The Church’s ad offered something even better, mercy, love, and forgiveness available anytime, at any hour of the day or night, simply by stopping in at the Family Center.  It also included a 50% discount for every new student enrolled in the Upward Bound Bible and Basketball program.

These ads, invitations, and announcements brought a new wave of unity and solidarity. Everywhere I went within Boaz I felt a team spirit enthusiasm.  Mayor Adams and the City Council had also initiated a yellow ribbon program for John revealing their desire for his return.  The City’s website also included an invitation for each citizen to come to City Hall for a small yellow ribbon to wear on their label and for a large one to tie around a tree.  The site also provided a short history of the yellow ribbon stating that during Desert Shield and Desert Storm the ribbons appeared along with the slogan “support our troops,” which obviously implied “bring our troops home.”  The site also included singer Russ Morgan’s lyrics to “She Wore a Yellow Ribbon.” This was a song he had created (he altered the original version in 1917 by George A. Norton titled ‘Round Her Neck She Wears a Yeller Ribbon’).

“Around her hair she wore a yellow ribbon

She wore it in the springtime

In the merry month of May

And if you ask her why the heck

she wore it

She wore it for her soldier who was

Far, far away

Far away, far away

She wore it for her soldier

Who was far, far away

Around the block she pushed a baby carriage

She pushed it in the springtime

In the Merry month of May

And if you ask her why the heck

she pushed it

She pushed it for her soldier who

was far, far away

Far away, far away

She pushed it for her soldier

Who was far, far away

Behind the door her daddy kept a shotgun

He kept it in the springtime

In the merry month of May

And if you ask him why the heck he kept it

He kept it for her soldier who was far

far away

Far away, far away

He kept it for her soldier

Who was far, far away

On the grave, she laid the pretty flowers

She laid them in the springtime

In the merry month of May

And if you asked her why the heck

she laid them

She laid them for her soldier who was

Far, far away

Far away, far away

She laid them for her soldier

Who was far, far away.”

Sitting in my office the end of June, just days before the July 4th Celebrate Boaz concert, I couldn’t help but associate the blind ignorance of the Boaz community with Christianity in general.  It seemed every citizen had been completely misled.  Only a handful knew the truth, and every one of these, rested softly and securely in a large and extravagant Flaming Five related mansion.  The citizens supported these five crime families because it was in their best interest to do so.  It was that simple.  These five families, in direct and indirect ways, controlled the economic well-being of every Boaz citizen.  I didn’t dispute this, but, I knew the real and deeper truth.  The Flaming Five and their families were simply smoke and mirrors.  They acted carefully to convince their audience that they were honest, hardworking, caring, God-fearing people who, blessed beyond compare, simply wanted to make life better for everyone in their community.  This seemed to me related to what Christianity does.  I still felt sad, almost ashamed, to even think of my own Christian journey.  I once, like virtually every Boaz citizen, believed with my whole heart that Jesus was God’s only begotten Son, who came to earth as a baby and grew up to die for my sins to give me eternal life in Heaven with Him and His Father.  But, that ended when I experienced and endured the Murray’s story.  That prompted me to wake up, to start researching, and with ultimately concluding that the Bible is merely man-made, there was no Adam and Eve, and even if there were an actual Jesus, he died and stayed dead just like every other man who had ever lived.