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 42
After returning home from Cindy’s I had gone straight to bed but after nearly an hour rearranging my pillows, I had committed the cardinal sin. I opened Facebook on my iPad swearing I would stop leaving it on the nightstand.
My first group to visit was my tenth grade English class. I reviewed tonight’s comments related to my earlier vocabulary word post. The word was divination. It meant “prediction; prophecy; forecast.” Everyone seemed to be equating my sample sentence, “Possessing the gift of divination, she warned her husband of the evils that would result from his journey to Greece,” with their outlier version of Real Justice. Ben Gilbert wrote, “Pastor Walker’s divination powers were unique; they also worked in reverse.” Four comments later, Joanie Kittle wrote, “Stella’s past venture down vengeance lane would haunt her in Ellijay.”
For the next hour I read every comment in every Facebook group, those officially sanctioned by me and the two unofficial groups created by my tenth and eleventh grade English classes. The common buzz was that Stella Gibson had moved to Ellijay from Alma, a small town in Arkansas. There, the story was, she had been accused of murdering five people, all who allegedly had raped her daughter. I knew none of this had been mentioned in any of the outlines from any of my five Creative Writing teams. But, I had given them the liberty to modify and adapt their story’s plot. Each of the five outlines were maintained online at the official group’s site. I entered the password and noted that Teams 2 and 3 had made recent updates to the back-story section of their outlines. I read them both two times. It seemed that Pastor Aiden Walker discovered Stella Gibson’s past and had shared it with his four friends. Their intent was to use this as leverage to persuade the gorgeous newspaper editor to become the first female member of the Jaybirds.
Throughout Monday at school, my mind’s go-to thought dealt with my growing confusion and concern that my own life was somehow infiltrating the Real Justice project. My internal dialog always ended with the question, “how is this happening?”
I had never been so happy that a school day was over. The 2:40 bell rang after my Creative Writing students and I ended a thirty-minute brainstorming session on what information Pastor Aiden Walker might discover from an investigation into Stella Gibson’s Arkansas past. As the last student walked out into the hallway I retired to my little office and dialed Wayne. He had left a voice-mail message at noon, just as my AP American Literature class had begun. He said it wasn’t urgent but to call him when I could.
“Wayne, I’m sorry I’m just now returning your call.” I said as he answered on the first ring.
“No problem. How’s Katie? Are you better? I felt so bad you got sick on my account. Next time no seafood.”
“Thanks. Yes, I feel much better. And, I wanted you to know I had a wonderful time Saturday night and hated it so bad that I had to end our date when I did.” I said, not wanting to sound desperate but also wanting him to know the night had not ended like I had intended.
“I’m sorry but I’m in a hurry. My trip to Leesburg has gotten me behind schedule.” I didn’t know what he meant.
“Okay. Leesburg. That’s over towards Centre. Right?” I said, knowing more about Leesburg than I could ever divulge.
“I called to give you an update. It’s a potential break in the disappearance of Patrick Wilkins.” Wayne said.
I didn’t respond. I just waited for him to continue. My stomach reminded me how I had felt Saturday night.
“Jeff Chandler called our Hotline yesterday afternoon. He has a car lot in Leesburg. He had heard our WQSB radio ad seeking information about a tan-colored van. I knew it was a long shot but after Terri Logan reported her boys seeing this vehicle I thought it was worth a try.”
“What did this Chandler man say?” I needed to sound interested in Wayne’s news.
“Said a few weeks ago he sold a 2005 Nissan Quest van, tan-colored, to two women from Atlanta. He was sure they were hookers or wanted him to think that. He said they certainly dressed the part. Said he couldn’t figure out why they both had on blond wigs but wasn’t really concerned since they paid full freight for the van without trying to chew down his price.”
“To me, and I’m sure no detective, but that doesn’t sound like much of a break in Wilkins’ disappearance. I don’t see the connection.” I said, ignoring a long list of obvious connections that I would keep to myself.
“I’d agree if that was all. I’m still amazed how things work out. Sometimes, you go months on a case without a single clue and then suddenly, the dam breaks. The dam broke this morning. My dispatcher called me during my drive this morning to Leesburg saying Sheriff Harris from Dekalb County had called and reported finding a tan-colored van. Apparently, two deer-hunters found a matching van abandoned down an old logging road just south of DeSoto State Park.”
“This is sounding like a puzzle of sorts. Are you going to tell me the van the hunters found is the same one sold by Jeff in Leesburg?” I shouldn’t have said Jeff. Had Wayne said Jeff’s Car Sales? I was confusing what I had experienced with what Wayne had just told me.
“Katie, you may be more of a detective than you admit. Perfect deduction. Now, here’s the key link. Jimmie, my friend Sheriff Harris, said a search of the van turned up a dog tag. It was pretty much hidden under a seat railing. The two rear seats of the van had been removed. Since I called and left you a message around lunchtime, I’ve confirmed with Paula that the dog tag belonged to Patrick. She said that he always wore it. She gave it to him a couple of years ago. Harris later confirmed that it is exactly what Paula described. It is an Armor of God Dog Tag Necklace. It’s inscribed with Ephesians 6:11: ‘Put on the armor of God, that you may be able to stand firm against the schemes of the Devil.’ I’ve always liked that verse.” If Wayne said anything else, I didn’t hear a word of it.
Several seconds must have gone by. I was nearly in shock. Cindy and I thought we had conducted a thorough inspection of the van before we left it parked in Nanny’s barn. When we transferred it to Dekalb County I didn’t even think to scour it one more time. I doubt if Cindy had thought about it either.
“Katie. Katie. Are you there?” Wayne said, finally gaining my attention.
“Uh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking, just speculating, what must have happened. My thoughts are horrible. I assume you haven’t seen the van?” I asked.
“No, that’s why I’m kind of in a hurry. I’m about to drive to Fort Payne. Harris had it transported to the County’s impound lot.”
“Has he said if he found anything else?” I asked, now convinced that Cindy and I probably had left a few photos of ourselves kidnapping Wilkins, maybe one or two of us pushing him into his grave. It sure seemed Cindy and I had been that stupid.
“Nothing visible. But, I’m hoping the Alabama’s Forensic team will be able to discover and extract some fingerprints, maybe even some DNA.”
“That would be helpful.” I said, contemplating whether I should just go ahead and confess. Cindy and I were in some deep shit and it was getting deeper.
“Sorry, but I have to run. I just wanted to keep you updated. Take care and I’ll call you later.”
Just as the call ended, Cindy walked in. Apparently, by just looking at my face she could tell something was horribly wrong. We spent the next thirty minutes half whispering as Cullie and Alysa raided my fridge and sat in my classroom talking about how they would like to poison Riley Radford. I ignored their conversation, chalking their trash talk to innocent teenage rivalries ignoring the fact Cullie was dealing with the recent discovery that Riley was her stepsister. But, I didn’t ignore Cindy, who was trying to explain why she hadn’t fully confessed to Steve. I only half-listened to her describe how she convinced Steve she was pregnant, and it was his.
Driving home, Cullie asked me, “have you ever thought seriously about killing someone?” As the good mother that I am, I told her, “sure baby, it’s only natural.”
The Pencil Driven Life 