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 37
By Saturday night, Cindy was two bundles of nerves, each had a separate controller. Paula Wilkins and Steve. I had returned from the State Park early Thursday afternoon. Cindy and her family made it home yesterday shortly before noon. She wanted me by her side every waking second. I was lucky she had let me come home at night to sleep and remain until after my early morning writing sessions. Cullie thought she was lucky too. She had spent the entire week with the Barker family. To her, there was nothing better. Last night, Cindy followed me to my car as I was about to come home. “Katie, please go with me to Sunday School and Church. I hate having to go but if I don’t Steve will know something major is wrong. Please.”
As instructed, I met Cindy in the Church’s parking lot at 9:00 a.m., fifteen minutes before the Assembly began in the Young-But-Maturing Sunday School Department. She had told Steve the two of us were going to work a few hours this afternoon in our classrooms at school, and for him to transport the kids.
“I know you think it is insane for me to go to the one place on earth that Paula Wilkins will be this morning.” Cindy said under her breath as an older couple pulled into the parking spot next to Cindy’s with their windows lowered.
I nodded several times. We stood between our cars, both of us rearranging our hair in the reflection of the car’s windows, and Cindy slipping on the matching jacket to her pants suit. Finally, as the blue-haired woman and the hairless man were out of earshot, Cindy reopened her car door, leaned in and took out her Bible. Apparently, she had forgotten it. “I almost forgot my pacemaker.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it called that, but I guess it fits.”
“This morning, probably about the time you were walking into, what did you call it, The Thread, I was talking with my Savior.” Cindy looked puzzled. I did not know if she was going to cry or scream with excitement. It could have gone either way.
“What did He say?” This was the part that had always lost me. God had never, that I could remember, talked with me. Although I had often wanted Him to.
“That He is with me always, knows my needs, and will never forsake me.” Cindy said, but did not seem overly confident of her words.
“Then, His shield will defend you against every arrow shot by Paula or anyone else. Hadn’t we better be going? I thought you said it started at 9:15.”
“It does. Assembly does. That’s where all four classes in our department meet for general announcements, and fellowship. I sometimes skip that and go sit in my class, especially if I haven’t read my lesson.” Cindy said, and I pondered what lesson her teacher had prepared for us today.
After we talked another fifteen minutes, mostly me listening to Cindy speculate whether Paula would confront her at all, we walked inside the Education Building and rode the elevator to the fourth floor.
Maxine Fulton taught the Ruth Sunday School class. It was for married women although Cindy said there were a couple of recently-divorced woman members. I was probably the only never-married human in the entire department. Cindy said this was her fourth Sunday with Maxine and that she and Steve had decided to try separate classes the first of the new Sunday School year. I thought it oddly appropriate that the lesson title was “The Submission of the Christian Wife,” taken from Ephesians 5:21-32.
Maxine was an excellent teacher, combining short Bible analysis with modern-day examples, and gently but directly drawing the class into a discussion. By the end of the class I was close to believing that the hierarchical structure espoused by the Apostle Paul could likely work for a man and a woman who were truly soul mates, if they never disagreed. As I was showered with ‘nice for you to come,’ and ‘we hope you come back next Sunday’ salutations, I couldn’t help but realize why I had always desired a more equitable relationship, one where the two partners were equal, with the total absence of domination. As Maxine handed me a copy of the Sunday School quarterly, I realized I probably would have been better off if I had been as lucky as Cindy to find a man like Steve. They both believed strongly in the Bible but seemed to live their lives more according to the model I had always wanted but never found.
I had almost forgotten about the grieving Paula. I must have subconsciously believed she would restrict herself and her sadness and anger to her home. This feeling vanished when Cindy and I entered the lady’s restroom. I guess we were fortunate the three of us were the only ones needing to pee or freshen our makeup. A pretty face was the last thing on Paula’s mind when she caught us coming in while blotting her lips before the mirror.
“Where the hell is my husband?” Paula didn’t mince words or waste time. I didn’t believe she was talking to me.
“I don’t have a clue what you are talking about. Obviously from your rude and despicable phone call last Thursday, your sweet and faithful husband has been lying to you. I dare you say he and I are having an affair.” Cindy wasn’t intimidated.
“I haven’t seen or heard from him in nearly a week. The last thing he did before he went on his run was apologize. He confessed the two of you were having an affair.” Paula looked like she could pounce any minute. I was glad she hadn’t said Wilkins claimed that Cindy was pregnant, although that’s what I thought he had told her. Of course, that’s what I had discovered from my Real Justice fictional world.
“I wouldn’t doubt he’s telling you a partial truth. He probably is having an affair. God knows he’s hit on me enough at school.” Cindy said, stopping short of describing how she had resisted.
“Paula, I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Cindy. Patrick is a womanizer and has flirted with me since school started. He’s always looking down my blouse or standing way too close.” It was the right thing for me to do. Defend Cindy. I knew she would never have an affair with anyone. I also knew Patrick had raped her. I would risk my life for Cindy.
“Shut up you little bitch. Did I ask you? This is between me and this slut.” Paula might want to calm herself just a little. I didn’t know but I suspect Cindy could take care of herself, especially since Paula was a smaller bitch than me.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” I thought I was hearing someone out in the hallway. Paula had asked the one question I feared but never anticipated coming from her mouth. “I wouldn’t doubt it. It’s happened before.”
“What’s that to you? If I were pregnant, and I’m not, it sure as hell wouldn’t be Patrick’s.” I was surprised Cindy had used the ‘hell’ word while at church.
“What did you mean, ‘it’s happened before’?” I asked, willing to hear the ‘B’ word thrown my way once again.
“You don’t know? You haven’t heard about last year. I can’t believe that.” Paula said looking directly at me.
“She just moved here in August. I’ve lived here for years and I haven’t heard it either.” Cindy was now defending my lack of knowledge.
“Seemed to me it was all over town. Patrick and Pattie Winkles, but she was smart enough to have an abortion.”
Just as Cindy looked at me and scrunched her face into a puzzled and disbelieving contortion, Maxine walked in, saw Paula, took her hand, and expressed her sympathy over the missing Patrick. Cindy and I walked, both apparently forgetting to pee, or freshen our faces.
After a short song service, Pastor Warren’s sermon was not much longer. “Faith Can Move Mountains,” no doubt was meant to assuage everyone’s doubts over the fate of the missing Wilkins. The final thirty minutes of the Worship hour was spent in personal testimonies and prayer. I suppose Warren believed a few shared stories of how real people had experienced real doubts over their loved ones only to be ultimately rewarded with a satisfying resolution, would help Paula shore up against her raging storm. The testimonies also inspired all twelve active Deacons to hover around the distraught Paula, lay their hands on her head and shoulders, and to pray that God would find Patrick and bring him home. One Deacon pleaded, “Almighty God, bring our Education Director back to us in a chariot of fire.” I had trouble deciphering his exact intention.
After the same Deacon led the congregation in singing three verses of “Amazing Grace,” Cindy and I followed Steve through the line to shake Pastor Warren’s hand. Sometimes she made the poorest decisions. I’m not sure she heard it because she was telling Steve what to prepare for the lunch she would miss. Behind me and towards the entranceway to the hall that leads back to the elevators, I could see two of the Deacons that I had seen praying for Paula, standing and talking. As the long line wound around closer to them I walked over to a display table holding contribution envelopes and prayer request cards. I don’t think either of the men knew I was there.
The taller man said, “Deputy Yates told me they at first hadn’t suspected foul play but yesterday they learned Wilkins was having an affair. Seems like they might have discovered a motive.”
Right then, Cindy yelled at me, “come on Katie.” That’s when both men realized I was standing at the corner table.
Wayne, the mysterious and handsome sheriff, called me at school on my cell before Cindy and I had finished the Big Macs we had grabbed at MacDonald’s.
After a two-way exchange of pleasantries, he said, “I’m sorry I haven’t called since our date. Again, I apologize for not taking you to Huntsville as promised.”
“No problem. You had a good excuse. Maybe there’s still time.” I said, regretting it immediately. That sounded so desperate.
“I like keeping my promises. Will you give me a rain check?”
“I’ll think about it.” Now, he would think I was more like a teenager, playing kid games with him.
“That’s in my favor. I hope. I know you need to get back to your work, but I wanted to give you an update. I’ve had to wait until the family was notified.” Wayne was confusing me.
“Uh, I’m not sure what you mean?” I said.
“You remember I had to stay in town during our date because of a new crime scene?”
“I do.”
“It was a murder. Nathan Johnson. Your Nathan Johnson. I mean the man we suspected of killing Darla.” Wayne was stumbling badly.
“I’m really confused now. I thought Nathan Johnson was in jail. Did another inmate kill him? Or, did Johnson kill someone.” It seemed it could be either.
“Sorry, Nathan Johnson was murdered. And, not at the jail. Again, I apologize for not being able to tell you any of this. First, and don’t ask me how it happened, but someway his attorney, Nathan’s attorney Cliff Thomas, persuaded Judge Broadside to grant bail. Johnson was set free that Friday and his body was discovered the following Saturday. It’s taken a week to reach his parents. Seems they were traveling in Europe and were truly off the grid.”
“How was he killed?” This all seemed too convenient, too lucky for Ryan and probably Danny Ericson, maybe the entire Faking Five.
“Two fishermen found him in a slew on Town Creek. His body was tangled in an old dead tree that had fallen into the water. Shot straight through the forehead.” Wayne said, giving it to me short and sweet.
“Katie, sorry. The DA’s calling. I got to run. Take care.”
After our call ended I knew without a doubt that Mr. Nathan Johnson was too much of a liability for someone. I suspected it was the Faking Five.
The Pencil Driven Life 