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 Case of the Perfectionist Professor, written in 2018, is my sixth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
Late on New Year’s Eve in the small town of Boaz, Alabama, Snead State Community College teacher Adam Parker was found dead slumped over in his car. A preliminary investigation indicated the fifty-year-old biology professor died of a heart attack. Marissa Booth, Adam’s daughter and Vanderbilt School of Divinity professor, didn’t agree.
Four days later, Marissa hired the local private detective firm of Connor Ford to investigate her father’s death. She declared local police officer Jake Stone had likely murdered her father. She pointed Ford to a multi-month Facebook feud between Adam and several local people, including Stone and Boaz City Councilman Lawton Hawks. The controversy allegedly related to Adam’s research that contended that, in layman’s terms, long-term indoctrination caused actual genetic mutations that directly affected future generation’s ability to reason.
Over the next year, Connor Ford discovered multiple and independent sources of motivation to quiet and possibly murder the controversial professor. Ford learned that a civil lawsuit and widespread public outcry had effectively run Adam out of Knoxville, where he was a biology professor for over thirteen years. Ford also learned that Adam had become the number one enemy of Roger Williams, a self-made local businessman, and his son Alex, who is a Republican candidate for governor of Alabama. Adam had discovered Alex and Glock, Inc., the Austrian-based gun manufacturer, was exploring not only the possibility of setting up a large facility in Boaz but also supplying pistols for Alex’s highly touted and controversial ‘arm the teachers’ proposal.
Connor Ford has his hands full enough with these suspects. Add in his need to determine whether Lawton Hawks and Jake Stone are friends or foes of Roger and Alex, which accentuate the pressure no normal small-town private detective can handle.
Will Connor’s discovery there is a link between Dayton, Tennessee, and the 1929 Scopes Monkey trial and a rogue group of CIA operatives bend Connor and his two associates to the breaking point?
Read this mystery/thriller to find out if Adam Parker was murdered and how, and what role the long-standing controversy between science and religion had in destroying the life of a single perfectionist professor.
Chapter 6
I had already decided to take her case. If Marissa still wanted me to investigate the death of her father, Adam Parker, I was willing. In large part, because of yesterday’s confrontation with Jake Stone. He was a bully. Bullies are tyrants. It was the type of case I loved. Since my days as a criminal defense lawyer I had adopted the phrase, “Rebellion to Tyrants is Obedience to God,” as a motto of sorts. I had even pasted the statement on my letterhead and attributed it to Thomas Jefferson. It was years later before I learned that he had really loved the statement, but the correct source was Benjamin Franklin.
Stone wasn’t the only reason for my decision. I liked Marissa Booth. It wasn’t because of how she was becoming more attractive every time I saw her. That was true, but it was something in her eyes that said she came from good stock, stock that once it set sail, wouldn’t look back until reaching the foreign shore. I was still pondering my mixed metaphor when Blair brought two cups of steaming coffee to the conference room.
After an exchange of pleasantries, she said, “I wanted to come by and pick up Dad’s briefcases.” I noticed she hadn’t even looked at me, but instead peered looking at my shelves loaded with legal and crime thrillers while holding her coffee cup close to her face, gently blowing away the steam.
“Okay, but I haven’t finished my review.”
“You didn’t read my email?”
“I did, at least your subject line, just as I walked over from Pirates Cove.” I said.
“That could easily have been funny. I sense you have a subtle sense of humor, one that even you often miss.” Marissa was observant, even though I hadn’t tried to be funny. This time.
“I can be subtle.”
“To the autopsy. I was disappointed. That’s almost disgusting of me. What I mean is, I just knew Dad died under suspicious circumstances. Apparently, my gut was confused. My head also, I guess.” Marissa said.
“What I’m about to say won’t be subtle. Are all Bible professors as shallow as you?” I said wanting to shock her, certainly to get her attention.
“What? I’m confused. Should I be insulted? I think I am.”
“That was humor, but it was meant to be open and honest, direct. Question. Because the autopsy states Adam died of natural causes, necessarily means he wasn’t murdered?” I asked.
“Well, I would think most people would reach that conclusion. What am I missing here?”
“Autopsies aren’t perfect. Nothing is perfect, not even Adam Parker. And, please don’t take that as an insult in any way.” I said, hearing the back-door ding. It’s probably Joe.
“Are you suggesting that Dad killed himself?” Marissa asked.
“Wow, I didn’t know I could be that subtle. I didn’t mean to imply that but now that you mention it, that’s a possibility. Isn’t it?” I asked, wondering where this conversation was going, feeling she might storm out at any second.
“There’s no way my father killed himself.”
“I think what I’m trying to say is that we don’t know much at all. And, if I’m going to investigate this case, I need to have an open mind. So, do you. We should assume nothing.”
“Case? Investigation? I obviously assumed that decision was made the moment you saw the autopsy results.” Marissa said, looking at her iPhone that had just signaled a text notification.
“I can see where you could think that. I’ve led you down that path. But, I’ve had a change of mind, especially after my little visit with Jake Stone yesterday, spending some time in those two briefcases, and contemplating Baptists and abortion.”
“You think Adam’s death deserves an independent investigation?” Marissa asked.
“To be honest, I would normally respond in the negative based on what actual evidence we have. But, here, your case, Adam’s death, there are sufficient circumstantial ingredients floating around that have triggered my sixth sense, that thing most people call a gut feeling. Of course, you’re the one who must foot the bill. It’s ultimately up to you.” I said, subconsciously reminding myself that I always had to consider the business side of things. I now had a hefty mortgage to pay after buying this old building and spending a small fortune renovating it into an impressive set of offices.
Marissa shifted her body, turned more towards me, and looked me straight in the eye. Her green eyes were even lighter, accentuated by the fluorescents overhead. “My decision was made almost from the beginning, since I first talked with Dalton Martin about you. I’m ready to sign your agreement and pay the ten-thousand-dollar retainer. Why don’t we do that before you change your mind?” Marissa had set sail.
Over the next thirty minutes, Blair printed out our standard engagement letter, I made a few changes, with Marissa’s approval, Joe witnessed her signature, and she tendered a cashier’s check dated the first day she had appeared in my office.
“I’m leaving Sunday afternoon for Chicago. Since the autopsy is complete, Dad’s funeral will be Monday afternoon. Mother and Dad had preplanned everything, but I still have several things I need to do.”
Blair had gathered all her contact information on Tuesday when the two had completed our standard intake form. “What’s the status of Adam’s house, the contents?” I asked.
“I’m sorry to say that I’ve not made any progress. To be fully transparent, I’ve not done anything but explore and reminisce. I was waiting on your decision. I concluded, that if you took the case then you would want to inspect Dad’s place. Also, his office at Snead. I’ve made arrangements with Dean Naylor that nothing be touched there until you give the go-ahead.”
“Thanks for having confidence in me. I guess that’s what you did, at least in part.” I said.
Marissa gave me keys to Adam’s house and school office and stood up to leave. “Oh, something I wanted to leave with you. Probably nothing. Here’s a list of Dad’s students. I’ve had some time and have let my mind fly around whereever it wanted. For some reason, I did a Facebook search for each name. You’ll find it interesting that Natalie Goble is Jake Stone’s step-daughter.”
“Gosh, that’s interesting. You learned this from Facebook?” I asked.
“Yes.” Marissa said, slightly shaking her head and looking a little sly the way she squinted her eyes. “Mostly.”
“It’s amazing how Facebook and Twitter and Instagram have almost revolutionized detective work.”
“One other thing and I’ve got to run. Natalie’s best friend is Paige Todd, who’s also a student at Snead. Seems like the two of them are anything but Southern Baptist fundamentalists. You might enjoy reading their posts.”
I again led Marissa out the back door. As I walked back down the hall towards the front office I couldn’t help but question my decision to have the rear of our office face the parking lot. I hadn’t contemplated the effects of the one-way street and Pirates Cove. Sometimes, little things bothered me. Big things too.
It was Saturday morning and I was taking things slow. It had been a hard week and all I wanted to do after my breakfast was to read and dose and dose and read in my recliner. A little after ten o’clock Emily called my cell and asked if it was okay to drop by. Apparently, she had just completed one of three required interviews at Gadsden Regional Hospital.
Even though she said she would arrive around 10:45 a.m., it was almost noon when her and a Harley type walked in from the back porch. It was my term for anyone who looked like a biker, someone with long hair, a mangy beard, and a hefty beer-belly. Carl actually didn’t look like a biker of any type, whether Harley or Honda. Neither did he have long hair or a beard. And, the best I could tell, he had abs like I had twenty-five years ago when I completed the police academy. I had to face it. I wouldn’t have been satisfied if Emily had walked in with Saint Peter. She was still my little girl. Of course, I was forgetting what a wild stallion she had been, especially during and for three years following her high school graduation.
“Hi Dad, this is Carl. He’s a friend from St. Vincent’s. He drove me up in this nasty weather.”
“Hi Carl, nice to meet you.” I stood up and the two of us met in the middle of the den. “Thanks for driving Emily.”
“Nice to meet you Mr. Ford.”
“Connor, just call me Connor.”
“Carl, come back around one o’clock if you will. Do you remember me saying Harbor Freight is only about a mile further north from where we turned on Martin Road?
“I think I’ve got it. See you at 1:00. Nice to meet you Connor.” Carl said as he walked out the back door.
“He seems nice, respectful, hopefully responsible.” I said.
“Dad, I know what you’re thinking. ‘Has she taken up with another low-life?’
“Probably, to some degree. It’s kind of hard after considering your history. But, forget me, what’s up?” I said, wanting to be responsible myself, which seemed to call for less judging.
“I just wanted to come and make sure you are really okay about me moving in while I’m getting my feet under me with this new job.”
“I am. To be honest, at first, I didn’t like the idea at all, mainly because it happened, your request, about the time Camilla had decided to move in. But, she and I have talked it through enough. I want to put you first for real, for maybe the first time in my life.” I said motioning Emily to sit on the couch.
“Thanks for that. I hope you know that I want us to become close. It’s important that we forgive each other and make a clean start. Don’t you think?”
“What exactly do I have to forgive you for?” I asked.
“Don’t even try to be funny. You know, maybe not as good as mom, how much of a hellion I was when I was in high school.”
“Also, don’t forget your three years after high school. I seemed to remember the sucking sound coming from mine and your mom’s checking account while you roamed the world and.”
Emily cut me off before I could complete my sentence. “And partied and slept around more than any healthy person should?”
“What’s important is what we do now. I can’t, and you can’t go back. I suspect we both would do a few things differently. I know I would.” I said.
“Dad, you don’t have to, but would you mind going a little deeper there. Let me just say, I ask that because I want to know you better, I want to know how you feel, now and about back then.” Emily said.
“To be blunt, I abused you. Now, don’t think I’m talking about sexual abuse. No, never, but I did ignore you. I think it had a lot to do with your mother. After she finally came clean, well, I’m assuming she did come fully clean, about her sexual promiscuity in high school, I thought I had forgiven her and that we had moved on with our lives, especially as we struggled with school, work, and a colicky baby at Auburn. In truth, I don’t think I ever was able to love your mother like a wife deserved to be loved. It was like I subconsciously believed that she had been dishonest with me. In 2009 or 2010, after Amy had the affair with one of her old high school boyfriends, you know who I’m talking about, I felt a little vindicated. None of this should have influenced our relationship, mine and yours. I should have put you first, but I didn’t. Instead, I threw myself into my work, later into law school. Of course, by that time, you had graduated from Dothan High School and had flown the coop as they say, you were gone.”
“Thanks Dad, for being so honest with me now. It’s important for me to ask your forgiveness. I know you know all this but here lately, I guess after we talked the other night and Camilla and I kind of ganged up on you, I’ve been wanting to spell it out. Dad, I’m sorry for being such a slut, having two abortions, and causing you and mom a living hell. Can you forgive me, even try to forget, and help me go forward?” Emily said.
“Of course. I can, and I will.” I said getting up and moving over beside Emily on the couch. She turned to me and hugged my neck. “I love you Emily.”
“I love you too Dad.” She released me and we both continued to sit on the edge of the couch facing each other.
“Life is lived one day at a time. I know that sounds trite but the older I get the more I realize this is true. Maybe we could promise each other that we’ll try our best to do a full day’s work for a full day’s pay. That didn’t make a lot of sense. Did it?” I asked.
“No, but it sure points to the right philosophy. It’s kind of like that saying, ‘don’t go to bed angry.’ Emily said, looking around the room and almost smiling as she looked behind my chair at the hundred-plus year-old log walls.
“Your granddaddy would be proud of you.” I said. “And your grandmother.”
“I have so many regrets. It seems I barely knew them. I remember short visits while I was growing up. I remember their kindness and generosity. Now, I so hate myself for traveling the world and partying for three years when I could really have gotten to know them, maybe even coming to live with them.”
“Okay baby, here’s the rule. Look forward, not backward. You’re less likely to break your head or your heart.”
“That’s good. Did you make that up?” Emily asked.
“Probably not. I might have modified a little. It’s not an original thought.”
It was nearly 1:30 before Carl returned. Emily and I enjoyed some coffee while we both stood at the bar. We talked about Amy and the decisions she was making in her venture of returning, with Parkinson’s, to her home across town, and how much hope she had for Emily’s new nursing job. She was excited about landing a nurse’s supervisor’s job. I was proud of my one and only child. After being a wild bronco and roaming the countryside for years, I was proud that she had returned to Alabama, excelled for four years at the University of Alabama at Birmingham, stayed committed for an equal number of years at St. Vincent’s Hospital, and, despite a failed marriage to Tyler Tyson, was determined to move forward to an even better life. It was a good day for Emily and me.
The Pencil Driven Life 