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 35
Saturday night came and went. Our date was little different than going out to eat with my brother. If I had a brother. Wayne took me to a new little cafe in downtown Boaz called Pirates Cove. It was a quaint little joint with exposed century-old brick on the walls. The food was good. Apparently, he liked country-cooking. When he had called me early Saturday morning he asked if I was okay with going to Huntsville. Everything he had said about where we were going and what we were going to do was perfect. All day I fantasized about our romantic first date. It didn’t happen. When he picked me up he apologized and said he had to stay in town, something about a newly discovered crime scene. He seemed anxious about it but wouldn’t disclose any details. Wayne had taken me straight home from Pirates Cove, which was fine with me if he had stayed. He hadn’t. So much for all my Saturday fantasy thoughts. Gone. Evaporated like the early morning fog that had hovered over Wayne’s pond.
The following week of school went by in a blur. I had conducted my teaching virtually on autopilot which I had sworn I would never do. It cheated my students. I never anticipated having a part time job planning and executing a kidnapping and killing (my crime partner refused to use or acknowledge the word murder). Every day this last week before Fall Break was spent brainstorming and formulating our plan. By Saturday afternoon we believed we had addressed every possible detail.
It would take place Monday, October 16th. Cindy and Steve had secured reservations in early August for a cabin at Guntersville State Park. Steve would take his three children and Cullie on Sunday afternoon, the 15th. Cindy and I would join them Monday afternoon, using school and a pile of papers to grade as our excuse. I would stay overnight with her and we would be waiting on criminal asshole Wilkins Monday morning when he turned east on Tarvin Road, probably around 5:10 a.m.
Our vehicle of choice was a tan-colored 2005 Nissan Quest, a van. We had thought it would be easier for Cindy and me in moving Wilkins’ body. The side door was much lower to the ground than the bed of a truck. We had spent time contemplating whether to use Steve’s old pickup, the bright red and fully restored 1975 Chevrolet Silverado. That would have been rather stupid. A direct link back to Cindy if discovered. We found the van at Jeff’s Auto Sales in Leesburg two weeks before D Day. I suspect Jeff believed Cindy and I were both hookers just trying to make life easier on our johns. We both had worn disguises. I was impressed with Cindy’s preparation and execution. She had said, “cosmetology classes in high school and a theater minor in college, glad they finally came in handy.” We had hidden our getaway vehicle in Nanny’s barn, thankful it hadn’t burned along with her house.
Wilkins was delayed a few minutes. During the five-minute wait we beat ourselves up over our failure to consider that he and Paula might have taken a little trip this week themselves. After all, it was Fall Break. Just as our doubts were pushing us to abandon our plan, Cindy saw him turn right off Aurora Road onto Tarvin Road. We had parked the van about a hundred yards from his turn. I was glad Cindy had taken up her post across a shallow ditch and behind a grove of trees fifty feet or so behind the van, back towards Aurora Road. We had been talking via two burner phones we had purchased in Gadsden. The plan was for Wilkins to see me having car trouble and when I had him curiously inspecting whether my engine had died, Cindy would come assist.
“Patrick, man am I glad to see you. Do you live around here?” I could tell he was surprised. “I dropped my daughter off at my cousin’s and I think my engine just died. Can you look?”
“I’m not a mechanic, couldn’t help you if I wanted to. Sorry.”
“Can you help me remove my radiator cap. It may just be out of antifreeze or something.” I wanted to get him engaged, doing something to distract him.
“Alright, I can do that.” He walked from the middle of the road over to where I had parked the van, along the shoulder, almost in the ditch.
I stood very close to him. I made sure my left leg and left elbow were touching him. I said, “don’t you think it’s kind of neat for you to find me here. A lady in distress. This might be that opportunity we’ve both been looking for.” I was having so much fun with the bastard.
“There, it wasn’t tight at all.” He handed me the radiator cap and smiled. We were now facing each other, still very close. I reached my hand up to his face and gently felt his prickly beard. “I like a man before he’s had his morning shave.” He smiled.
“You’re surprising me. You’ve never responded this way at school.” He said looking at me with a devilish smile, his right lip curled upward just slightly. I had to admit, Patrick Wilkins was a nice-looking man, and fit. He had on a sleeveless tee-shirt and jogging shorts. His tanned body was sleek, like a runner, including taut stomach, and missing the gross muscles of a weight-room freak.”
“Patrick, believe me I’ve wanted to but, until right now, I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed.” I hesitated, giving him my shyest look, intentionally looking down to the ground. “Too public. I need my job. But, we’re not at school now. Are we?”
He reached out with his right hand and started to pull me into him. That’s when Cindy hit him in the back of the head with a piece of steel pipe. He fell forward into my arms. My body only slightly slowed his collapse onto the ground. In five minutes we had him bound, gagged, and in the back of the van. I turned the van around in the middle of the road, turned left on Aurora Road, right on Highway 205, and were soon traveling south on Highway 431.
It took us nearly thirty minutes to arrive at our chosen spot. I drove below the speed limit and made a few detours to make sure no one was following us. I eventually turned right on Highway 278, drove several miles west past the Mountain Top Flea Market and turned left on County Road 132. Two left turns later and we were on Moody Chapel Road. About a half mile past Salem Baptist Church, I made our final left turn onto a private road and drove another mile. We passed one long-abandoned house. The gravel road gave way to an old logging road that was barely passable. A slow and bumpy mile later, Wilkins was home. It was a densely wooded area and would provide plenty of shade for as long as he needed.
For some odd reason, Cindy and I had more trouble removing his body from the van than we had putting it in there to begin with. It might have had something to do with him being dead. But, I doubt it. While I had driven, Cindy had administered a 100 mg dose of potassium cyanide, enough to kill a horse. Surprisingly, it had taken him over ten minutes to die. As expected, it took us almost forty-five minutes to dispose of the fearless assistant principal, including putting him in the ground, shoveling in the dirt, and dressing-up the site with an ample amount of leaves and limbs. We were glad we had dug the grave last Saturday when Steve thought we were shopping. Over three hours of back-breaking labor.
By 7:30 a.m., Cindy and I were back at her house eating the breakfast we had secured after returning the van to Nanny’s barn. We had been careful to dispose of the blue tarp, and the thirty-inch section of steel pipe we had confiscated from a pile of scrap metal behind Steve’s shop.
Pastor Warren and Ryan had ordered their breakfast from waitress Gloria at Grumpy’s Diner when Sheriff Waldrup walked in the restaurant and over to their table.
“Radford, I’m glad I saw you. I was planning on calling you today. We need to talk. When can you come see me?” Waldrup said, not to engage in any pleasantries.
Ryan hesitated, looked at Warren, and said after the Pastor gave him an almost invisible nod, “How about 9:00 a.m. tomorrow?”
“That works for me. Don’t be late. I’ll see you in my office in Guntersville.” The tall man in full uniform, including a wide-brim hat, said, and walked back to the counter for an order Gloria had waiting.
“What the hell do you think that’s all about?” Ryan said.
“I suspect you know, your family is knee deep in the Darla Sims investigation.”
After Gloria brought their breakfast, the two spent twenty minutes developing a strategy, which was to tell the truth, at least part of it.
“Where the hell do you think Wilkins is? I warned him against being late. Pastor Warren said motioning Gloria for more coffee.
“If you ask me, he’s trouble. By the way, why did you want me to meet with the two of you?” Ryan said, downing in two swallows, a full glass of orange juice.
“I needed a witness. Nobody else could come. Fulton’s getting ready for a Board meeting. Danny’s in Gulf Shores at a realtor’s conference, and Justin said he had the flu or something. I think he was still pissed at me from Wednesday night.” Warren said.
“Yea, he didn’t much like you having Nathan’s lawyer at our meeting two weeks in a row. By the way, why were you needing a witness?”
“I wanted someone to know exactly what I told Wilkins, where there would never be any doubt that I had given him the final ultimatum.”
“Which is?” Ryan asked checking out Katie Sims as she came in the restaurant, picked up and paid for her takeout order, and walked outside. “Nice ass, don’t you think preacher man?”
“Let’s not go there. If the bastard shows, I was going to tell him that he needs to keep his pants on, that he is going to feel some real pain if he ever scratches his little itch again. Warren said.
“The rest of us told you all along not to bring him into the Club. I may like women as much as he does but at least I’m discreet.” Ryan said eying Gloria as she delivered food to an adjoining table.
“Anyone watching you would certainly know you’re discreet all right.” Warren said, pulling his iPhone from his shirt pocket. “Damn, nearly 8:00 o’clock. Wilkins promised he would be here no later than 7:00. Since he’s out of school this week, he probably went back to bed after his little run. I think I’ll go swing by there. Can you come?” Warren asked.
“No, I’ve got to get to the store. Monday morning staff meeting.”
“I’ll see you Wednesday night. Can you bring a twelve-pack?”
“No problem.” Ryan said as Warren left. “Hey darling, can I have a coffee to go?” Gloria frowned and pushed Ryan’s big right hand from her lower back.
“It’ll be at the register.”
“Thanks baby doll.”
The Pencil Driven Life 