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 52
No doubt I was changing, even transforming into a whole new person. By midnight Sunday night, I was thrilled to finally lay down. I didn’t care if it was Cindy’s bed. For most of my adult life I had dreaded going to bed, always thinking and believing it was such a waste of time. This was why I had survived, even thrived, on four or five hours of sleep per night. But now, I wanted to go to sleep to forget all my troubles. I hadn’t been like this in nearly fifteen years.
Last Friday, I returned to Guntersville to deliver Cindy’s medication to the chief jailer. I left without visiting. But I returned four times. Twice each on Saturday and Sunday. After my second visit yesterday with Cindy, I drove to McDonald’s to meet with attorney Matt Bearden. This had been arranged during my first visit with Cindy on Saturday morning. I had anticipated learning the intricate details of how Cindy had persuaded Warren to let her in his basement and what had prompted her to shoot him. I was vastly disappointed, or relieved. I wasn’t sure which. Matt declared he was representing Cindy on a charge of first-degree kidnapping. He did admit it looked likely there would be a forthcoming charge of first-degree murder, even though Patrick Wilkins’ body had not been discovered. He said he knew nothing about any other charges against her, pending or not. After I asked him, questions concerning what Cindy had told him, he made it clear that he could not, that he would not, divulge any confidential communications he had with his client. He explained that if he did then I would become a potential witness. The privilege, the confidential communications privilege, was between the attorney and his client. Period.
Right before I dozed off, I couldn’t help but ponder my amazement at how strong and courageous Alysa, Anita, and Arlon had been since their mother was arrested last Friday morning. They had gone about their lives almost as though both their parents continued by their sides. They had even wanted to go to church Sunday morning. I hadn’t thought it a good idea, especially given the likely confusion over Warren’s shooting but I had acquiesced nonetheless. I hadn’t stayed but had spent two hours in my classroom trying to get the ox out of the ditch. My desk, my lesson plans, the Real Justice project, everything about my teaching, was worse than a train wreck.
Monday morning, Wayne was waiting on me outside my classroom door when I returned from my twelfth grade English class at 10:30.
“I’m sorry to bother you but I promised.” Wayne said. I could barely hear him. It was morning break and the halls were buzzing with the thunderous rumble of youth. I looked in Wayne’s face but could hardly detect a smile or any other sign he was glad to see me. Further, he hadn’t made his normal greeting, “Katie, is now a good time to talk?” I knew something was up. And, it was serious.
“What promise?” I asked, unlocking my door and motioning him inside my classroom.
“I promised you I would come tell you when we resolved your mother’s case. I think we have. At least we are getting close.”
We walked into my small office and sat beside each other in the two chairs across from where I normally sit. “What’s happened? What have you learned?” I asked.
“We’ve discovered a witness who saw Ryan and Danny Ericson putting what she described as a ‘rug bag’ in the back of Ericson’s truck. We believe your mother was in that bag.” Wayne said reaching to take my hand.
“Should I assume this took place at Ryan’s house?” I was surprised Wayne’s statement omitted such an important component.
“Yes, sorry. I should have said that but knew you had talked to her earlier and that’s where she had said she was.”
“Tell me about the witness. It seems odd someone could see Raymond’s place. It’s pretty secluded, the last house on the left on Lindo Drive.” I said.
“And, you can’t see the driveway from Clara Robinson’s house across the street for the hedgerow.” Wayne added.
“The witness can’t be Ms. Robinson. I heard she died.”
“She did but actually, she is the witness.” Wayne said. I was more confused than ever. “I see that look on your face. Your eyes blink more rapidly and dart around when you’re confused, and your mind is seeking an answer.”
“I stay confused, so I guess I blink and dart a lot. To prove a case, doesn’t a witness have to take the stand? Seems like that’s going to be rather difficult for dear Ms. Robinson.”
“It’s called an excited utterance. What the witness said when she saw something startling or shocking. Normally, a witness has to give her own testimony. If one person tries to say what another person said or saw, that’s hearsay, and therefore inadmissible in a court of law. However, there are exceptions to this general rule. One of them is the excited utterance.”
“I understand, mostly. I guess I have learned quite a bit from Law and Order. Question, why are you just now finding this out? Not about the law stuff, but about Ms. Robinson. I assumed your deputies did it, what is it called, canvassing?”
“That’s right. They did. After your mother went missing I had deputies knocking on every door in the neighborhood. We were unable to talk with anyone at the Robinson household.”
“Why is that?” I said.
“Later that morning, before my deputies knocked on her door, she had to be transported to Marshall Medical Center South. That’s where she died. As far as we were concerned, that ended our motivation to return to her house. She had no family. A Barbara Burgess, Clara’s caretaker, who seemingly disappeared after she died, is now back in the picture.”
“Wayne, I hate to rush you, but I’ve got a ton of work to do. Maybe give me the short version now and then maybe we can find some time tonight to discuss the details.” I said.
“Sorry. I’ll do that. It seems Ms. Clara loved to take a walk every morning, except she couldn’t. But Barbara would follow along as Clara drove her mechanized wheelchair around the neighborhood. That morning, they had just passed Raymond’s house when they heard a gunshot. It wasn’t loud but apparently the two women both heard it. They kept going thinking it might have been a firecracker or something. When they returned, they were just past Raymond’s driveway, they heard commotion coming from his front porch. The dense hedgerow protected them. Clara drove close enough to get a peek. The dense growth is next to the street. Barbara followed. That’s when they saw the ‘rug bag.’ And, that’s not all. They both saw Cynthia Radford and an unknown man, who, according to their descriptions, had to be Nathan Johnson.” Wayne sat back to catch his breath, I’m sure anticipating a barrage of questions from me.
“I come to you with blinking and darting eyes. Meaning, I’m thoroughly confused. What’s the excited utterance?” I asked.
“Barbara told us yesterday that Clara had said, right there in her wheelchair, hidden behind the hedgerow, ‘They’ve killed Darla. She’s in that rug.’”
“Why would she say that?”
“It seems Darla and Ms. Clara were friends. According to Barbara, Darla often came to visit, sometimes twice a day. She had come over that morning, earlier. Barbara didn’t know what the two ladies had talked about, but Darla had seemed greatly stressed when she left.”
“I’m certainly no lawyer but this seems a little weak, especially now, after all this time.” I said.
“I’ll leave on this. But, here’s the ace we have, or Charles Abbott, the prosecutor will be able to use to convince Judge Broadside if this case goes to trial. After Clara and Barbara returned to Clara’s house, she made Barbara write down what they had seen and put it in her Bible. That’s where it’s been until we discovered Barbara. Right now, I won’t go into how that came about.”
My thoughts alternated between thankfulness for rejecting the idea of going to law school after finishing my English degree and wondering why the note was so important. So, I asked, “why not just let Barbara testify as to what she had seen. Didn’t she see exactly what Ms. Clara had?”
“She did. And, Barbara’s testimony will be offered. It’s important. She will testify who she saw and what she saw them doing, but her testimony isn’t nearly as important, as persuasive as Clara’s. Barbara’s observation didn’t lead her to the same conclusion as Clara’s. DA Abbott will be offering her statement for context and almost for what Darla would say if she were alive. Barbara didn’t know what Darla and Clara had talked about earlier at her house. This no doubt influenced Clara to say, ‘they’ve killed Darla.’”
“I’m still confused, didn’t Barbara hear Clara make her, what’d you call it, excited utterance?” I asked.
“Yes, but what makes Clara’s verbal statement even more valuable is the fact she insisted Barbara record what she had uttered. Now, we have an excited utterance and documentation in writing that it was made.”
I wanted to be the devil’s advocate. My thoughts seemed relevant. “Clara was only speculating. Her utterance was her opinion. The rug bag as you call it could have simply been a rug. How does DA Abbott prove that Darla was in the rug?”
“I never said Clarke’s entire case is Clara’s excited utterance. It’s one piece of the puzzle. This evidence, along with what turned up last night at Ryan’s when we executed a search warrant, and the clear inferences that can be drawn from Raymond and Darla’s prenuptial agreement, builds a solid case against Ryan Radford and Danny Ericson.”
“Look closely, my eyes are blinking and darting. Search warrant?” I said.
“Thank God for luminol. You know, the chemical used to detect blood. Crime techs discovered it in Raymond’s den. I feel certain blood and DNA testing will reveal it is Darla’s.”
“Obviously, I have a thousand more questions but for now, see if I’m properly summarizing. Ryan, Danny, and Cynthia will be charged with murdering my mother?” I left off Nathan Johnson since he’s obviously dead.
“Correct. Warrants for their arrest are being prepared as we speak. I’m sorry I’ve taken so much time. We’ll talk more, maybe tonight.”
With that, Wayne gave me a quick hug and walked away. Poor Darla. It took the rest of my planning period, which was not long, and my entire thirty-minute lunch break, to gain some semblance of control and refocus on my work. Finally, I had real proof that Ryan Radford had killed my mother.
The Pencil-Driven Life 