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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School . Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie. Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.
Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.
For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal. In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget. Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.
Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice. And, eternal friendship.
Chapter 34
Thursday morning, I was sitting at my desk in my little office reviewing the first drafts of the Real Justice outlines. I hated outlines for my own writing, but I had to follow with my five creative writing teams a less imaginary method to complete this gargantuan project. Otherwise, the story would likely run out of steam by mid-January.
I was particularly struck by Team Two’s creativity (who am I to say outlines squelch creativity!). It also felt ominous. This team’s antagonist is Noah Fletcher, the President of South Citizens Bank & Trust. His wife, Nancy, is the principal at Gilmer County High School and appears to play a supporting role to her husband, even in his quest to bed Stella Gibson. I noticed that in the second half of Act II, Team Two has Noah disappear along with his wife. What made me feel so strange was when I recognized a similarity to my real life. Educators and bankers. Patrick Wilkin’s wife, Paula, works with Fulton Billingsley at First State Bank of Boaz. In Real Justice, fiction, antagonist Noah is a banker with an educator wife. The most eerie feeling came from Team Two’s plan for their characters to disappear later in their story as part of a faux climax. As I set aside the outlines, I wondered whether Paula knew about Patrick’s womanizing?
My first three classes in the auditorium went well. When I returned to my classroom, Cindy was sitting in my office, in my chair. This was a first.
“Oh, the new Katie has a new bust line. I like it.” I said, not fibbing about wishing I had a sexier figure.
“Sorry, I needed to borrow a pen. Seemed more comfortable filling out this form. I’ll move.”
“No, sit there. What are you working on? Trying to win a prize?” I figured she might be wasting her time with Publisher’s Clearing House or something similar.
“You need to sign here. And, you’ll need to enclose a check for $289.00. If you don’t have it, I can loan it to you.” Cindy was shocking the hell out of me.
“Uh, do you mind telling me what you are doing?”
“Finding out who Cullie’s father is.” Cindy said as I sat down across from my own desk. I was now fully shocked.
“Could you maybe enlighten me a little?”
“You said last weekend, when we were sitting out on your pier, that you had to deal with Cullie, that she had to know the truth. You said she deserved to know the truth and you had committed to being fully open with her. Girl, first, you yourself have got to know the truth. ‘Who’s your daddy?’ isn’t the question you want Cullie being asked all her life. Forget Colton.” Cindy had come ready for bear.
“So, what is the paperwork?”
“Application for DNA tests. Lab work. It’s not free you know.”
“I’m not much of a scientist but I know from Law and Order you have to have something to test. Oh, by the way, can I assume you are talking about the Faking Five submitting to a mouth swabbing?” Cindy was making me pull the facts out of her.
“Who else is there? Cullie’s father could be any one of the five bastards. Right? I am correct, aren’t I?” Cindy asked. I hoped she didn’t doubt what I had told her.
“Absolutely. Back to the swabbing. How do you propose convincing them to stand still and open their mouths?”
“Don’ worry. They already have. Well, not exactly, they didn’t know they were still and open.” It was then I noticed five identical boxes, each about two inches tall and three or four inches wide, and maybe six or seven inches long, sitting on the far edge of my desk.
“Here’s the story. You know Steve helps with the Wednesday night meal. Your Faking Five always eat together. It was easy. He secured their eating utensils when he was cleaning off their table after they had left. He says he was extra careful to identify which items went with which human.”
“Steve? Now he’s in on my secret?”
“No, Blondie. I’m imaging your dark curls transformed last night into Paula Wilkins’ gorgeous mane.”
“Weird you mention her.” I said trying to figure out if a few people I know can read my mind.
“Why so? Never mind. Again, Steve is on a strictly need-to-know status. I told him it was needed for some research Bryan Haney was doing with his history class—the origins of a few of our local leaders. Steve can be a little gullible.”
“I trust you found a reliable lab?”
“I did. Found them online. They are out of Amherst, New York. Been in business since the eighties. Seems they’ve only recently gone nationwide, offering cheap but reliable paternity testing.”
“I thought that required blood.”
“New technology I guess. The information pack they sent was extremely specific on the types of samples to obtain. Did you know they can now remove your DNA from a Kleenex even if you didn’t blow your nose?” Cindy obviously had done her homework.
“You sure received the information in a hurry.” I said trying to sketch out a timeline.
“Can you spell O N L I N E?” Cindy was making me feel like a low-tech zombie.
Cindy also told me that Wilkins’ routine was simply clockwork. She apparently had conducted her early morning sleuthing two days already this week, including today. After I gave her a check she left in a hurry. Something totally unusual since it was now lunchtime.
“I’ll call you tonight. I want to get these to the Post Office. Later partner.”
At first while Cindy had been telling me what she was up to and how she had so smoothly choreographed Steve’s activities last night at church, I was angry. My thought, ‘that’s my business and I’ll handle it my way,’ hadn’t lingered. Now, I had set my emotions aside and was thinking rationally. I was proud of Cindy. She truly did know me. She had concluded that I needed a little push, maybe a solid boot in the ass, to pursue the answer I so desperately needed. As I unwrapped my bologna sandwich, I felt ashamed I had spent what seemed like hours during the night tossing and turning questioning why I would agree to help Cindy square the tables on criminal asshole Wilkins. I banished for good the thought that I might be acting premature to trust Cindy. Now I knew Cindy was for real. She was a friend for life.
By 11:00 p.m., I had spent nearly an hour at the kitchen bar after Cullie had gone to bed reading and responding to a ton of student Facebook comments in our five online Groups. I had just gotten up from my barstool to pour a glass of milk to hopefully settle my stomach when I heard a light tapping at the back door. Once again, it was Wayne. I motioned him in.
“You might want to invest in some blinds. Does this uncovered glass door not bother you after dark?” He said. I barely heard him. I had never seen a better-looking man. It was the first time I had ever seen him out of uniform. He was wearing dark slacks, a solid blue button-down shirt, and a light brown tweed jacket. Without his Sheriff’s hat his whole face and head looked so different. He was rugged and could pass for Walt Longmire’s twin brother, except for Wayne’s salt and pepper hair.
“Katie, are you okay?” I hoped he wasn’t one to read thoughts. In the milliseconds the tall, dark, and handsome man had been standing inside my kitchen, my mind had traveled to Absoroka County, Wyoming and back, stopping only to linger at that big old oak tree beside the little cabin across from the pond. I had not missed the smell of hours-old aftershave as he had pressed into me and locked on my lips.
“I’m fine. I guess I was dreaming, certainly in a fog of sorts.”
“I saw your light on and thought I’d take a chance you might still be up. I can give you an update if now is a good time.” Had there ever been a more polite and respectful mind. Of course, the electricity zipping up and down my spinal cord could be distorting my judgment.
“Now’s perfect. Thanks for thinking of me.”
“That’s quite easy. I followed up on what you shared with me last Sunday, about Nathan’s lawyer, Cliff Thomas. He practices with his father in San Marcos, Texas. I called on the local Sheriff who told me the two were well known as criminal defense lawyers and had the reputation of being willing to cross the line. He gave me a couple of examples but here’s something probably a little more relevant.” Wayne paused, and I asked him if he wanted to sit in the den. He agreed and surprised me when he sat beside me on the couch. I leaned back. He didn’t.
“It seems our Nathan isn’t just a scraggly-bearded drifter. His family owns the Lone Star Candy Company in Fredericksburg. He’s the black sheep of the bunch. Seems like Nathan Senior has had to bail him out quite a bit. You guessed it, Thomas and Thomas, has been involved for years. Get this, Clayton Thomas, Cliff’s father, spent seven years in Tuscaloosa beginning in 1958. Here, look.” I had noticed that he had been holding a book, a rather large book, under his arm ever since he had walked in.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A University of Alabama Annual. Here is the class photo, graduating class of 1962. Read the names.” Wayne pointed about two-thirds down the list of names I figured were for the students shown in the photo. Wayne’s finger pointed to Raymond Radford and then on down to Clayton Thomas. “Don’t you find it a little strange they knew each other. By the way, Clayton stayed on in Tuscaloosa to attend law school, graduating in 1965.”
“You’ve discovered an odd coincidence.” I said, not really seeing much relevance in what clearly intrigued the Sheriff. As he closed the book, his right hand brushed across my knee. He had not touched me at all when earlier he had laid the open Annual across my lap. It was an innocent touch but awoke the electrical train that had pulled into the station while I had focused with Wayne on his update.
“Sorry, excuse me.” Wayne had said our eyes connecting just long enough for me to notice he was visibly embarrassed. His face was a light crimson.
“Silly.” It was an odd thing for me to say. He stood with Annual in hand and moved around the coffee table and into a wingback chair.
“I’m going to pursue this further. I’ve asked the Hays County Sheriff in Texas to see if he can find a link between Clayton, or Cliff for that matter, and our local boys.”
“Wayne, I sure do appreciate all you are doing. A quick update from me. I had to have a repairman out to fix the stove. I paid for it. No problem, but just wanted you to know.
“Thanks, how much was it? That’s my stove and my responsibility.”
“No way am I going to let you be that generous.”
His response, his invitation came totally unannounced and unpredicted. “At least let me treat you to a nice dinner sometime. Would you feel comfortable with that?” Wow. Is all I could say to myself. Was the handsome fifty-five-year-old asking me for a date?
“You don’t have to do that.” I was nearly twenty years younger. He was old enough to be my father, yet I was attracted to him. I was also figuratively pointing a gun at my foot. If I turned him down, he probably would never ask me out again.
“Sorry Katie. I’ve been too forward. Please accept my apology. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Wayne Waldrup couldn’t be this nice. It had to be a game. Men, at least the ones that I had known the last fifteen or twenty years, were closer to animals. Wayne was more like a god.
“Silly.” Apparently, that was becoming my favorite word. “I would be honored to go out with you. You just caught me a little off guard.”
“I hope you don’t think you need a guard with me. How’s Saturday night for you?” Now, we were getting somewhere. Saturday was much more definite than ‘let me treat you to a nice dinner sometime.’”
“It’s perfect. What time?”
We spent the next ten minutes discussing times and places. I could have talked all night. I could have spent a week standing beside him next to the back door as he was attempting to leave. We shared an awkward moment. I wanted him to kiss me like I had imagined him doing so beside that big old oak tree, but apparently, he wanted to keep switching the Annual from underarm to underarm. Our hands brushed together as he walked out the door. That was intentional. My intent.
The Pencil Driven Life 