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 48
For the next three days, school was like one continuous funeral. The only difference was the absence of Alysa’s humor to break the sadness and grief. It seemed the entire faculty and student body was transfixed on Steve’s death. It was clear everyone loved Cindy and couldn’t imagine what had happened at Paula Wilkins’ house. The school was also filled with continuous chatter over the continued absence of Assistant Principal Wilkins.
If all of this wasn’t enough to depress the most positive person, my Creative Writing class, unwittingly I think, exuded an eeriness I had never experienced. For the first time, the teams articulated their growing awareness of how related their real justice project was to what was happening in Boaz. On Tuesday, Rita Goings expressed it like this, “Jackson Burke’s daughter, Jessica, is a spitting image of Riley Radford. Pure smart ass and conniving. I think she, Jessica, is somehow involved with the disappearance of Stella’s daughter. Come to think of it, Burke himself is a lot like Ryan Radford, Riley’s father. Both are big men in size, influence, and deviousness.” It was then I recognized that during my two-day absence last week and my lack of focus on Monday, I had completely missed what had transpired in our novel-writing project. After Rita and my other nineteen creative writing students rushed out after the bell, I pondered her statement and reminded myself of another similarity, that of Paula Wilkins in real life and Nancy Fletcher in Real Justice. As Cullie came into my room, I got almost deathly sick wondering whether the fictional tale was somehow predictive of what was sure to happen in Boaz. I couldn’t help but be afraid for Cullie.
For a reason or reasons that would have to be stranger than strange, I had gone to Prayer Meeting Wednesday night. In part, I wanted to see Cindy. I thought church might be the place she would be the most civil to me and make some overture towards restoring our friendship. I was encouraged that a little sliver of hope had inched its way into my subconsciousness. She wasn’t there in the flesh, but news of her emergency hospitalization was the lead prayer request. I stayed until Pastor Warren finished praying for her after a series of volunteers had stood and implored God to heal and protect both her and her child. Talking about strange things. Warren’s prayer, to an outsider, was beautiful: caring and compassionate, like he was speaking of his own wife. To me, one who knew what a fucking hypocrite and criminal he was, God had to restrain Himself from raining hellfire down on the man’s head as he stood before his loving and faithful flock.
I found Cullie in youth group and told her I was going to visit Cindy and would return before her session ended. At the hospital, Alysa stopped me outside Cindy’s intensive care room and as sweetly and kindly as possible told me her mother had given her strict orders not to allow me inside her room. The awkwardness for both Alysa and me was bad enough, but it was nothing compared to the pain from being slapped once again in the face by the loss of a beautiful friendship. I was so ashamed of myself and how I had hurt Cindy. Her response to me would be reasonable and understandable to most folks, but I viewed it in a more morbid sense given all we had been through together and the trouble we were currently in.
I didn’t have any trouble returning to church and being there when Cullie’s meeting ended. I drove us home after a quick stop at Walmart. I could tell she was troubled over something, but she refused to talk. I sat on the couch and was about to feed my newest addiction, watching episodes of Grace and Frankie on Netflix, when Wayne called.
“Katie, is now a good time to talk?”
“Perfect, the only thing that would be better is if you were here.” I said.
“I would love nothing better. I hope you know that. But, I’m still at work. A lot has happened since Sunday. I’m sorry to just now be calling to give you an update.”
“I need some good news. I’m still reeling from Steve’s death.” I said.
“I’ve got several things, so I’ll begin. Let me start with some Texas news. Sheriff Blaylock called. I think I’ve told you I asked him a few weeks ago to see what he could find out about the Thomas Law Firm and Nathan Johnson.”
“I remember.”
“There’s definitely a connection between Raymond Radford and Clayton Thomas. Seems like they stayed connected after their college days. At some point Clayton introduced Raymond to Nathan Johnson, Senior. They must have hit it off because they did some business deals together. Some of them were rather shady. The Sheriff discovered rumors that Raymond did some dirty work for Nathan, Sr. in Texas, and he, in turn, did some for Raymond in Alabama. Get this, at the time of Randall’s disappearance, he was under investigation for a murder in San Marcos. The man murdered was a former business partner of Nathan, Sr., who had brought a multi-million-dollar lawsuit complaining he had been swindled out of an interest in the Lone Star Candy Company. Clayton was his attorney and the case is still open; there is no Randall Radford to prosecute. Here’s a strange thing, Nathan, Jr., the one involved in your mother’s death, is a twin. Nathan, II was his father’s favorite and Junior was here in Alabama trying to curry favor with his father. It’s complicated, I’ll leave it at that for now.”
“All of that is interesting, but to me, it doesn’t help solve Darla’s, mother’s, murder.” I said.
“It’s certainly not the ace we need but it sure seems to indicate a likely conspiracy between Johnson, one or all of them, and the Radford’s.”
“You said you had some more things to share.” I asked, feeling tired and wanting to talk more personal with Wayne.
“I see one reason you are a teacher, or one effect from being a teacher. You keep your student on track.” Wayne said with a chuckle. “Jeff’s Car Sales in Leesburg, you recall. Details, details. They never cease to amaze me. I’ve already told you about Jeff who sold a tan-colored van to two hookers from Atlanta.”
“Alleged hookers?” I asked.
“Well, yes. The Jeff I talked to was Jed Cole. He’s an older guy, not too tech-savvy. I had assumed I was talking with Jeff. The car sales business is named Jeff’s Auto Sales. Well, Monday, Jed’s son, the real Jeff, called and said his father forgot to tell me that he had installed a security system a few months earlier. Jeff said that he had been out of town when his father had called after hearing the radio ad seeking information on the van. Jeff said after the van had been found, he figured we might like to see a video of the two women who bought the van. It seems Jeff had one camera in his office to record all sales transactions. So, just to let you know, we now have a solid lead on who kidnapped and probably murdered Patrick Wilkins.”
I sat silent as Wayne continued to talk about what steps his office and that of the Alabama Bureau of Investigation would take to locate the two women. I wasn’t surprised at what Wayne had learned from Jeff. I guess I was mostly reconciled to losing my freedom and thus my life. Cindy and I were headed to prison. We had been stupid. Criminals always do something stupid and get caught. I bet it is one of the rarest things in America for a criminal to get away scot-free from the illegal conduct he performs.
Wayne continued as though he might have a dozen things to share, each one more damning for Cindy and me. “One other thing, this time fingerprints. The Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences was able to lift a couple of fingerprints from the hooker’s van. Sorry, I keep calling them hookers. We do not know that for sure. We only know that’s how Jeff described them. No, I haven’t seen his video yet. Back to the fingerprints. There was no match in the national database. We’re kind of at a dead end until we locate the two women. Then, I’m pretty sure we’ll have our match.” Wayne said he was confident that he was on the trail to solving the Wilkins case.
“Being the pseudo-detective that I am, can’t you possibly locate Patrick’s kidnapper by checking the fingerprints of, say, everyone in Boaz? That might get you the match you’re looking for much quicker than locating the two women.” I wanted to know if I should expect such a local roundup.
“Sometimes I wish we could do that, but the Fourth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution prohibits that. We, law enforcement, must have probable cause. All American citizens have the right to be free from all unreasonable searches and seizures. We have to have some evidence, some suspicion, that the person was involved with the crime before we can secure fingerprints, or a DNA sample, or some other type of personal identifying information.” Wayne was clearly showing he wasn’t a newbie to criminal investigations.
“Oh, okay. I wasn’t exactly sure how that worked.” I said.
“Katie, that’s about all I have. I know you are dying to know what’s going on with our investigation into Steve Barker’s death but that one is going to be a beast. So far, no gun, no fingerprints other than one’s you would expect, no camera recordings, and no witnesses. But, I’ll keep you posted.” Wayne said sounding like he was getting a little impatient.
“Thanks Wayne for calling. I hope to see you soon.” I had never been so damn needy. I’m no doubt sure Wayne sensed my near-desperation.
“Katie, let me know if you need anything. The refrigerator is about as old as the stove we replaced. Let me know if it starts giving you trouble.”
“I think I won’t. You bought the stove. I can buy a refrigerator.” I said, determined not to let Wayne continue to be so generous with mine and Cullie’s housing needs.
After our call ended I walked to the refrigerator for a glass of milk or to see if it was working properly. I’m not sure. One thing that wasn’t confusing was the noose I felt tightening around my neck. I needed to let Cindy know about the troubling updates. I also wanted her to persuade me that I can have complete confidence that the disguises she had created were more than sufficient to protect the two hookers who had kidnapped and murdered the criminal asshole Wilkins.
The Pencil-Driven Life 