August 2024 – Page 3 – Richard L. Fricks

Novel Excerpts—The Case of the Perfectionist Professor, Chapter 20

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 20

Ever since Marissa had told me about Adam’s Cymbalta prescription, I had subconsciously pondered if his depression had anything to do with his death. Without any basis, I had decided that was why he must have been taking Cymbalta. The extent of my minimum research had revealed this drug was used for treating depression, anxiety disorder, and pain associated with fibromyalgia. Finally, Saturday, I was determined to learn more.

Marissa had confirmed Adam was depressed and that he felt she would know if her father suffered from either anxiety disorder or fibromyalgia. I had spent most of Saturday afternoon on Google. One thing caught my attention. I’m not sure how I stumbled onto a rare condition called Broken Heart Syndrome. According to an article from the Mayo Clinic, it is caused by a surge of stress hormones. What got me really interested in this subject was the article mentioned that it’s possible that some drugs may trigger Broken Heart Syndrome by causing a surge of stress hormones. And, one of those drugs was Cymbalta.

Yesterday morning, Monday, I had called my personal physician and good friend, Dr. Michael Luther. He was with patients and didn’t return my call until last night. I gave him a brief overview of Adam’s health and his medicines and asked if he knew anything about Broken Heart Syndrome. I already figured he knew something; the man is a walking encyclopedia, especially when it comes to health issues.

I’ve learned over the two-plus years I’ve been back in Boaz to record my conversations with the brilliant Luther. I simply didn’t have the mental capacity to both hear and digest what he can spurt out. As had become my custom, I had Blair transcribe the intelligent side of our conversation.

Luther: “Broken Heart Syndrome may also be called takotsubo cardiomyopathy, apical ballooning syndrome or stress cardiomyopathy. It is a temporary heart condition that’s often brought on by stressful situations, such as the death of a loved one. The condition can also be triggered by a serious physical illness or surgery. People with Broken Heart Syndrome may have sudden chest pain or think they’re having a heart attack.

In Broken Heart Syndrome, there’s a temporary disruption of the heart’s normal pumping function in one area of the heart. The remainder of the heart functions normally or with even more forceful contractions. Broken Heart Syndrome may be caused by the heart’s reaction to a surge of stress hormones.

The symptoms of Broken Heart Syndrome are normally treatable, and the condition usually reverses itself in days or weeks, although there are rare instances where the patient dies. Therefore, the condition should be considered very serious.”

After our call ended, I realized how dumb I can be. It would seem I would have already revisited Adam’s autopsy. I couldn’t remember it saying anything about any drugs found in his system. Sure enough, under “Drugs Detected,” was one simple word, “None.” I had almost decided to let the issue go, figuring, assuming (which I knew far better than to ever do) Cymbalta wouldn’t show up in a toxicological drug screen. I think I didn’t want to bother Dr. Luther again.

But finally, my curiosity took over. Dr. Luther, gracious as always, said that Cymbalta wouldn’t show up in a typical drug screening. However, he said that it is not uncommon for there to be false positives found among people who take Cymbalta. The false positive would typically indicate methamphetamine. I provided Dr. Luther with additional details about Adam’s death and the autopsy’s report that no drugs were found in his system. He stated this didn’t necessarily indicate an error, but I could always call the doctor who had conducted the autopsy to see if he simply hadn’t recorded the false positive. Luther said sometimes, where there are absolutely no other indications the patient was a meth user, the doctor wouldn’t record a false positive, mainly out of compassion for the family of the deceased.

Since I was still in a mood of kicking myself for not having looked at this issue earlier, I decided to contact Dr. Harry Culbert in Huntsville. Unfortunately, I would have to wait. According to the receptionist, Dr. Culbert was no longer with Huntsville Pathology Associates. He had retired and moved to Wyoming. A quick search online revealed that Dr. Harry Culbert had graduated from Harvard Medical School in 2000. He had completed both his pathology residency and forensic pathology fellowship at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore in 2006. He had practiced in Huntsville for only eleven years. He was now only 43 years old.

I thought this was rather young for the highly educated doctor to retire. After another hour of trying to locate an online lead to Dr. Culbert, I finally recognized that even if I found him and spoke with him it most likely wouldn’t be fruitful. Whether the toxicological screening revealed the presence of Cymbalta or not, the autopsy listed the cause of death as a heart attack. It sure looked like the Broken Heart Syndrome was the culprit which could have been triggered by the Cymbalta. None of this helped my argument that Adam Parker had been murdered.

Dead ends had always been troublesome for me. For some reason I had thought I should be smart enough to spend my time on relevant issues. I had now spent at least three or four hours on this little Cymbalta issue. It had all been a waste of time.

It had been a week since Amy moved into the Playhouse. I hadn’t seen her at all, not even in passing. I also had hardly seen Camilla. Last night after we got off the phone before going to bed I made a promise that I would start making an extra effort in our relationship. If I didn’t, I ran a huge risk of losing her. She was simply too beautiful and sweet to put up with inattention, especially from a man seventeen years her senior. Tonight, things would be different.

I left the office at 5:00 and drove to Serenity Salon. This used to be my custom but ever since taking on the Parker case, my routine had changed. Again, not an effective way to show Camilla how much I cared for her. She normally worked until at least 7:00 on Friday nights. She was just finishing up with Pastor Caleb when I walked in.

“Hello Pastor.” I said as he put on his coat. As I approached, he reached out to shake hands.

“Hey Connor, nice to see you. Your lady here sure does a good job. Don’t you like my new cut?”

“It suits you well.” I said, noticing that his normally long and thick curls were missing. “Going for the buzz look? Makes you look thinner.” After I said it I realized it wasn’t the thing to say. Caleb was overweight by a half-ton and often mentioned from the pulpit how he was always trying to diet and often met with failure.

“Thanks Connor, that’s just what I need to motivate me tonight. Looks like a small salad and maybe a cup of oatmeal for me.”

“I love oatmeal.” I was running out of things to say. I felt the pastor probably wouldn’t enjoy the joke that Joe had shared with me this afternoon. It contained an ugly word, and two images of sexually explicit conduct.

I sat in Camilla’s barber chair while she and the pastor walked over to the cash register by the front entrance. There was a magazine still in the chair. One, I assumed, he had been looking at. The cover of Cosmopolitan seemed an odd choice for a Southern Baptist preacher, especially this one with the words, “Ten Sex Tips for Stale Partners” written in bold letters across the magazine’s cover. The words were steamy enough but on the lower right and left of the cover, beside the title, were couples wearing not much more than their birthday suits. The couple on the left was two African-American males. The couple on the right were male and female, both closer to Camilla’s age than mine. I guessed Pastor Caleb might have enjoyed Joe’s joke after all.

“Hey baby, how are you?” I asked Camilla when she returned.

“Tired. I was hoping for a quiet evening with you. My place okay?” It rarely ever failed that Camilla was quiet about her desire to be together. I was a blessed man.

“That’s good but Emily has plans so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

“What’s she up to?”

“You remember Carl, the guy who came with her back in January when we had our little father/daughter talk about her moving in?” I said.

“Yes. He’s a nurse. He and Emily worked together at St. Vincent’s. Right?”

“Yes. Seems like they are becoming a thing. Apparently, she’s spending the weekend with him at his place on Smith Lake. What’s your schedule looking like?” I asked.

“I have one more appointment at 5:30. I should be off by 6:00. We’re kind of slow for a Friday afternoon.”

“That’s not so good for your pocketbook but it’s wonderful for me. I’m really ready to spend some time with you babe.” I said this without strain at all. See Camilla. I can be open and romantic.

“There’s my appointment. She’s early. I’ll see you later. Don’t forget to remind me to tell you what Pastor Caleb said.” Camilla said tying on a new smock.

“I’ll pick up a pizza if that’s okay.”

“Sounds good. Don’t forget extra onions.” I loved that Camilla was so genuine and open.

I swung by Pizza Hut and beat Camilla home, but only by a few minutes. They were swamped.

As soon as she walked in the back door, I walked over and helped her remove her coat. “Camilla, I have something I need to tell you.”

“Uh-oh. This can’t be good. Tired of me already?”

“You are so absolutely insane. I wanted to apologize for not spending much time together here lately. I plan on changing that. Camilla, you are the most important thing, well, person, in my life. I love you and need you to know that.” I said. I didn’t know why I had always thought that such talk made me appear weaker.

“Is that for real? Or, since we have the house to ourselves, it’s just a line to get me under the covers.” Camilla was perceptive, but now, she was wrong, even though I wasn’t against some naked time.

“I have to be honest. It’s a little scary underneath those sheets. You are way too much woman for me.”

“Now, I know somethings up. Is it Blair or that Marissa woman? You got to be feeling guilty.”

“Should I be honest?” I rarely missed an opportunity to slide in a little humor.

“Always.”

“It’s both. Neither Blair or Marissa can resist.”

“I’ll wreck their resistance and for you Connor Ford, this hot body is off limits to you all night. Pastor Caleb said I could come by anytime.”

“So that’s what he said? That you wanted to tell me?” I asked.

“Silly, if you can be funny, so can I.” Camilla said pressing her lips onto mine. “Enough of that mushy stuff for now, let’s eat. I’m starving.

We walked over to the bar. I warmed us both a slice. She poured us a glass of tea. We sat across from each other and ate, without saying a word until I got up for more pizza.

“Pastor Caleb invited us to church next Saturday. I think you’ll want to go.”

“Saturday? You mean Sunday?” I asked.

“No, there’s an all-day seminar type thing on Creationism. It seems Paige Todd and Natalie Goble have persuaded the pastor to schedule this event.” Camilla said, warming herself another slice of pizza.

“This seems odd. Are they now experts on Creationism?”

“Apparently they are very interested in this subject. Pastor Caleb said a lady from Birmingham, a professor of some sort, would be coming. She’s one side of the debate. She’s against teaching Creationism in public schools. Alex Williams will be arguing from the Biblical standpoint.”

“Did he say the name of the professor?” I asked.

“He did. Lang, Professor Lang. I think Gina was her first name.”

“That has to be Gina Lane. Did he mention which school she taught at?”

“Birmingham-Southern.”

“Yep, that’s Gina Lane. That’s Garrett’s daughter.” I said.

“Your breakfast buddy?”

“Yes. What a small world.” I said.

“From what I gathered from Pastor Caleb, Paige and Natalie are determined to persuade other churches to host this type event.”

“I have a feeling this has something to do with Adam Parker. These two girls were his students. They were also good friends. Get this, they also believe Adam Parker was murdered and that, I hate to say this, but it’s the truth, they believe your father had something to do with Parker’s death.” I said.

“You don’t have to mince words with me. I wouldn’t put anything past the man. That was harsh wasn’t it?”

After two more slices of pizza for me and a bowl of Black Walnut ice-cream for Camilla, we watched one episode of Law and Order and hid under the sheets for nearly two hours. It was refreshing to know the woman I loved and adored still had a special need for my body. I was certain it wasn’t an act. Camilla was for real.

Novel Excerpts—The Case of the Perfectionist Professor, Chapter 19

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

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?

Chapter 19

Friday came too quickly. Even though time had inched by all week as I had waited for Alex Williams to call, it seemed my ex-wife had seized control of my mind. Today was the day I had dreaded since Emily had shared the good news over a month ago. Amy was moving back to Boaz and she was moving into the house my dearly departed mother had left her in her will.

The real problem was this little house was located at Hickory Hollow, where I lived in the original log cabin my great-grandfather had built in 1899. It had been remodeled and added onto several times over the past near one hundred twenty years. My great-grandparents had built the little house that Amy was moving into. It seemed the women in my life had a way of taking care of themselves. My grandparents and parents had both lived in the house. My great-grandmother Nora had dubbed it the playhouse since it seemed to produce a lot of babies. Originally, my great-grandfather had it built in 1915 to house Frank Martin and his family who helped with the farm. Over the next ten years Frank and his wife had twelve children, including two sets of twins.

In the early fifties, my grandparents moved from the Playhouse to the original log cabin after my great-grandparents both died. Then, in the mid-eighties, my parents followed the same pattern after my grandparents died. This left the Playhouse empty until Amy and I married in June 1986 and moved in. In mid-August, the two of us moved to Auburn for college. We stayed at the Playhouse during all our return weekends, the holidays, and between quarters. Amy and I graduated from Auburn University in June 1990, and returned to Boaz, living in the Playhouse until I graduated from the police academy and we moved to Dothan, Alabama in September 1992. Since then, the house has mostly sat empty, although mother would occasionally let a needy mother and her children she learned about from church stay there for a week, a month, and one time, for an entire year.

Mother and Amy had always gotten along like strawberries and ice-cream. In fact, they had a beautiful relationship. It was rooted in their mutual love for the Bible and their Christian faith. When mother and dad redid their wills in 2010 mother thought of Amy. Someway, maybe it was an insight gained through her faith and her daily devotion to God, mother foresaw tough days ahead for Amy. It was after Amy and I separated that mother semi-forced my dad to agree in their joint will to leave the Playhouse to Amy.

It’s called a life estate. Upon the death of Crane and Harriet Ford, Amy acquired the right to live in the Playhouse for as long as she was alive. Although Amy had this right since my parents both died in 2012, she had continued to live and teach in Dothan. It was not until the end of her twenty-fifth year as a fourth-grade teacher at Highlands Elementary School that she learned she had Parkinson’s disease.

My problem wasn’t so much that Amy was moving into the Playhouse, but that she had to drive past the log cabin every time she came and went. Her house was located about a quarter of a mile from the entrance to the eighty-acre Hickory Hollow where my log cabin sat.

If this wasn’t bad enough, my dear Camilla and Emily had conspired to enlist me in helping unload Amy’s moving truck and, as Camilla said, “make her feel welcome and at home.” Sometimes I felt Camilla was more like Emily, a daughter needling her parents to love each other.

I left the office at 12:30 and pulled up to the Playhouse right as the twenty-eight-foot U-Haul arrived. I was surprised that Tyler Tyson was the driver. He was Emily’s ex-husband and one I had thought since the end of their one-year marriage, had been long gone. I figured it was ‘help an ex’ day or something.

After I walked into the Playhouse I realized why I hadn’t seen Camilla and Emily hardly all week. They had cleaned, and tided up, throwing away half the old furniture. They had even painted the main bedroom and bath. Almost as soon as Tyson and I had walked in the house, Camilla and Emily told us to leave to get the truck parked and the gang-plank ready for unloading. Camilla whispered to me that the three girls wanted fifteen minutes. Camilla said, “it’s important me and your ex start off right. I can tell by her eyes; she and I will bond. Looks like you let a good one get away.” Man, that made me feel good.

Over the next three hours, Tyler and I unloaded nearly half the truck. At 3:30, Joe and Dalton showed up, thanks to the co-conspirators. It was almost six when Blair arrived with three large pizzas. I later learned, compliments of Connor Investigations. I had to say, the time was enjoyable the eight of us shared while eating pizza at the giant mahogany table Amy and I had purchased from the Antique Attic in Dothan on May the eighth, 1993, Amy’s twenty-fifth birthday.

By 7:30, Tyler, Dalton, and Joe had joined Emily’s and Camilla’s conspiracy. They all left, leaving me and Amy alone. I felt like my entire day I had been a piece of driftwood on a raging sea. I wasn’t normally the emotional type. I also wasn’t a piece of driftwood, having since the tenth grade prided myself on controlling my mind and my actions. Not perfectly of course, but normally remaining semi-active in what I was doing or where I was heading. Tonight, the waves pushed all that away and instead rolled in a freight-liner of memories.

Amy and I continued to sit at her mahogany table. I mainly listened, nodded occasionally, and always tried my best to force back a wave of tears that could break through at any time. It may have been how Amy looked, not whether she was still attractive, she was, but how I could see the affects her Parkinson’s was having. She almost fell when she got up to make a pot of coffee. Her left hand was trembling as she insisted on pouring my cup and preparing it just the way she used to.

We spent nearly two hours sharing our regrets and exchanging requests for forgiveness. Before I left to return to the log cabin, the last thing she said was, “you were always my knight in shining honor. I’m so sorry for hurting you and destroying the most beautiful relationship that God ever created.”

In response, I simply nodded, turned and walked out her door and down the front porch steps into a cold but clear night. As I walked the quarter mile home I couldn’t help but notice the clarity of the stars overhead. Looking up didn’t stop my tears from pouring down my face.

Camilla and I had driven to Huntsville last night and eaten at the new Saban’s. It was the infamous Nick Saban’s second steak house and sports bar his son had opened since the Alabama Crimson Tide won its fifth national championship. We had gotten in late, full of beef and beer (half glass; I hated the stuff), and Camilla had fallen asleep in my arms arguing that we would go to church this morning. We should have had something better to do. She was there. She was in my bed and not hers at Sundown Apartments. I could sometimes be such an SOB.

I had woken up feeling somewhat less full but still consumed by my passivity over Alex Williams’ promise. Normally, I would have marched over to his house and knocked on his front door if he hadn’t called me in four or five days after he had made his commitment to call. Today was now the tenth day since he lied to me at the Snead State cafeteria after his self-righteous little political speech. As Camilla and I got ready for church I promised myself that today was the day. Even if it was Sunday, I was going to talk with Alex, or Erica would hear some very troubling news.

Pastor Caleb’s sermon was on how to recapture a vision from God when you have no enthusiasm in your life and no one is watching and encouraging you. His message was rooted in 2 Corinthians 6:4. It likely was a great sermon but all I could really think about was Alex Williams and what type of person he was when no one was looking. I had learned quite a bit more about him and his background during the ten days I had been waiting on his phone call.

Alex’s parents, Nathan and Denise Williams, had started Rand Construction Company in the late seventies and had built it into one of the largest privately-owned bridge building companies in the United States. Alex had joined the company after he graduated from the University of Alabama but after several years of travel had quit to pursue an accounting career with MDA Professional Group. From everything I could gather, Alex’s move hadn’t affected his relationship with his father; he was pretty much bank-rolling his son’s political career. My conclusion that the Williams’ shared much family unity was supported by seeing all six of them, including grandchildren, sitting on the second row of the far-right side of the auditorium. The two men, father and son, were both deacons here at First Baptist Church of Christ.

After Pastor Caleb ended the third song and third plea for sinners to come forward and be saved, he called on Alex to say the closing prayer. It was what he said towards the end of his too-long petition that prompted me to descend the balcony stairs and seek out the lovely Erica Williams. Alex had asked God to strengthen us all to stay focused on Christ and the vision He had given every believer to serve him faithfully while sharing the Good News. I felt it was time Erica herself heard some good news.

I made my way down the stairs and across the auditorium while shaking a few hands along the way. I was within twenty feet of the lovely mother of two adorable children whose family was her life. I always disliked this part of my job, sharing truth where truth was so damn painful. The moment I said, “Mrs. Williams,” Alex appeared from behind me. He must have been off shaking hands and gathering votes.

“Yes, I’m Erica Williams.” She said turning towards me from buttoning the coat of her younger son.

“Erica, this is Connor Ford. I forgot to tell you he and I have a meeting at one. He just wanted to meet you and confirm our appointment.” Once again, I noted that Alex Williams was quick on his feet. He showed clearly that he didn’t want me talking with his wife. I intended to show him something. That I fully intended on talking with him now or he would face the wrath of a scorned woman.

I told Alex I would see him at one o’clock in my office. I whispered to him that if he were late I would enjoy an unannounced tour of his grand home in Boaz Country Club no later than 10:00 p.m.

I never doubted he would show. His first words as he came in the front door was, “Mr. Ford, what is it going to take for you to back off?”

I didn’t even ask him back to the conference room. We stayed in the waiting room. I carefully pondered my response. “Two things for sure. First, back off from Natalie. She should have the right to make her own decision about her baby. Second, tell me the full truth about Adam Parker. If you will do these two things, I’ll leave it up to you when and how you tell Erica your little secret. To be clear, if you lie to me, the first thing I’m going to do is share the good news with your sweet wife.”

“It seems to me you’ve got a few secrets yourself. I suggest we reach some common ground. It appears you’ve been quite successful in keeping your murder charge under a basket since you moved here. Connor, I can make things rather difficult for you. My family has the money and connections to destroy you. So, don’t go threatening me.” Alex said, not having a clue he had walked into a lion’s cage.

It was time Mr. Alex had a moment of exhilarating clarity. “Stand up, you self-righteous son of a bitch.” By the size of his eyeballs I could tell I had his attention.

“Sir, you better watch your language. I am the top Republican candidate for governor of Alabama. You might want to calm down.”

He kept on sitting. He was ignoring my command. I walked over to him and pulled him up by his coat and pushed him over against the wall. Mr. Jefferson’s eyes seemed to turn and look to his right, onto the scene that was transpiring. “Listen up you sorry sack of hypocritical shit. Don’t you ever threaten me again or I’ll ram your head through a glass door, like that one right over there. You treat me with a little respect and we’ll get along very well. Do you understand.” I said, pushing him back with both my hands against his biceps, feeling him struggle to remove my grasp.

“Let the fuck go or I’ll have you arrested for assault.” It was strangely enjoyable to hear the real Alex Williams trot out. I had decided at his Snead College speech he was a fake.

“Be my guest. I could call Jake Stone right now to come and arrest me. Better still, you call him.” I let go of his arms, stepped back, reached into my back pocket for my iPhone, and handed it to Alex. “Here, call him. I dare you.”

“You’re an asshole and a crazy motherfucker. That could get you killed.” Alex said straightening his suit coat.

“There you go threatening me again. This time I should bruise up that pretty face of yours. For now, why don’t you tell me how much money you are paying Jake Stone?” I asked.

“I’m not paying him a damn thing.”

“What did I say about lying to me? Do that again and your Erica might give you a free and very public Facebook ad. That’ll help your political future.” I said.

“I’m still trying to figure out what business you have asking me all these questions.”

“Adam Parker, have you forgotten? I don’t have proof yet but don’t think I’ll stop looking. I suspect you are someway involved in his murder.” I said, sitting now across the room from Alex, who was inching towards the unlocked front door. “By the way, leaving in a haste won’t earn any points.”

“You’re looking at the wrong man. I admit I didn’t like Mr. Parker. I also admit that we exchanged a few emails. He even came to see me once. He was adamantly opposed to teaching creationism in public schools. You need to be looking at Lawton Hawks and Jake Stone. But, please don’t say I told you too.”

“Tell me your reasoning.” I said.

“I don’t know exactly, but Parker had found out something about Stone protecting Hawks. All I know is that the two of them may have had a motive to get rid of Parker.”

“Tell me the truth. How much are you paying Stone and his wife, and Natalie to keep quiet about her pregnancy?” I asked once again.

“A hundred thousand dollars. Again, what is it going to take for you to keep this quiet?”

“Two things you need to keep front and center in your mind. I don’t like threats and I don’t take bribes.” I said. “But, to give you a little piece of mind. I don’t go around talking, unless it is in the best interest of my client. I’ll make this commitment to you. If you will be truthful with me and help me, help me your best, to find out what happened to Adam Parker, I will have no reason to share your little secret.”

“I’ll do that. Erica doesn’t need to know I had the affair.”

“Alabama voters probably don’t need to know either. Correct?”

“My one-time weakness has nothing to do with my ability to be the best governor Alabama has ever had.” Alex was so full of his self-righteous, underly-critical horse shit.

“One other thing. Do you promise to leave Natalie along? Let her decide what to do?” I asked.

“I make that promise. But, she needs to keep this a secret.” Alex said.

“I don’t represent Natalie but do me a favor. Take steps to assure that her baby, your baby, will be taken care of. I would think a tidy little trust fund would go a long way convincing her to stay silent about the father of her baby.”

“I’ll do that. Now, I need to go.”

“Be sure and report back to me everything you recall or learn about the death of my client. Remember, you promised.” I said, hoping that Alex would keep fresh in his mind how I had responded to his bullshit threat.

He walked out without responding.

Novel Excerpts—The Case of the Perfectionist Professor, Chapter 18

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

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?

Chapter 18

“I promise I won’t talk about tomatoes or gardening today. I guess that’s why you’ve missed the past three days.” Garrett said, already eating what looked like an omelet. I needed this week to productive. I felt I was floundering with every case Joe and I were working on, especially the Adam Parker case, but the Hannah Knott case wasn’t doing much better. I was hopeful this morning Garrett would have something helpful. Last night, I had tried something new. I had called him and asked if he didn’t mind finding out what he could about Alex Williams. It was like I had assigned the retired Methodist minister a little homework. I’m not sure he took me seriously. He had seemed more interested in the church social he was attending in Albertville. I made a mental note to call him at least an hour later Sunday nights if I intended to assign homework.

“No, I’ve been distracted with Alabama politics. I knew you wouldn’t be any help.”

“Thanks. I suppose then I’ll just eat my breakfast and not share what Gina told me.”

“Just kidding my friend. You know I’m all ears. Sometimes you stumble upon things that are at least intriguing.” I said.

“You know about Gina’s little hobby. I call it that, but it’s become a formal research project. She’s still gathering data, but she intends on publishing an article by the end of the year. She’s even developing some ideas for a book.”

“Refresh my memory. I know your daughter is a Biology professor at Birmingham-Southern College. Sorry, it’s slipped my mind. All I remember is that she was visiting here a week or so ago to hear Pastor Caleb. Right?” I asked, noticing that the new waitress hadn’t brought me any bacon.

“Creationism. She’s trying to get ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Sherlock, this is where your Watson reveals how valuable he is to your operation. Your man, Alex Williams, is Alabama’s main zealot for teaching Creationism in the public schools. I suspect this is going to become a big issue in his campaign, especially if he wins the Republican Primary.” Garrett grabbed the thickest slice of bacon off the plate the new waitress, Rachel, just delivered.

“I’ve never thought much about it, creationism. What’s the big deal? Why shouldn’t it be taught?” I asked.

“It might be okay to teach it in say, a comparative religion class, as something some people believe, but it has no place in a science classroom, and this is where Alex and his buddies want it.”

“Let’s see if my elementary understanding of this is correct. Creationism would reflect the Bible story, what Genesis states as how the world and all living things came to be. Right?” I asked. It seemed I was full of questions this Monday morning.

“That’s a pretty good summary. You asked about the problem of teaching this. Creationist, true creationists, believe God created the world less than ten thousand years ago, and that Adam and Eve were literally the first humans. God created them basically from nothing and they were the spitting image of what we are today, with a soul and everything. Of course, nothing includes some dirt for Adam and his rib for Eve, but you get what I’m saying.”

“This clearly is in opposition from what we know from science. Ever since I learned about Adam Parker’s interest in the Scope’s Monkey Trial I’ve been reading some on evolution. It’s seems clear that the earth is a whole lot older than ten thousand years. I’ve read the Big Bang was like 13 billion years ago and our earth is around five billion years old. I just last night read about Naledi, a prehistoric human found in South Africa. It’s claimed he dates back a couple of million years.” I said motioning for Rachel to bring me more coffee. I wondered where Gloria was today.

“You’re headed right, but only scratching the surface. Back to my homework assignment. By the way, always feel free to give me a heads up. I have plenty of time. I do like detective work.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if Joe decides to leave Connor Investigations.”

“After I got home from church last night I called Gina and asked what she could tell me about Alex Williams. She wasn’t too positive. She thinks he is a pure opportunist, someone who has a long political career in mind. Unfortunately, he’s bought fully into the new Republican party-line which, according to Gina, and I must say I agree, is dangerous for America’s future.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“In a way, it’s very simple. They, Republicans, aren’t interested in facts, in the truth. You may be surprised to hear a preacher say this but remember, I’m not a Southern Baptist fundamentalist. I’m a Methodist. It appears to me, Gina, and quite a few other thinking Americans, that the new Republicans believe almost literally in the Bible, and furthermore, detest science, including what it’s saying about climate change. Put another way, I did promise simple, didn’t I? Alex and his cohorts have a closed mind. They aren’t open to pursuing an education. Connor, my friend, always remember, when you hold to a position so tightly that you won’t even consider new evidence, then your goose is cooked. You’re done. Progress is impossible.” Garrett said, standing up and heading to the bathroom. I suspect three or four cups of coffee were talking to him.

While waiting on Garrett I pulled my notepad out and wrote, “Adam Parker.” What I really needed to know was whether there was any connection between him and Alex Williams.

“Sorry about that.” Garrett said returning to his chair.

“Thanks for all your help. I can easily imagine that Adam Parker would be directly opposed to all versions of teaching creationism in the schools. But, for whatever reason, I still feel compelled to explore whether his path and that of Alex Williams ever crossed.”

“I was about to get to that. My dear Gina shared, after my prompting, that she had met Adam Parker back in early December at a conference in Atlanta. He was one of the speakers, something about his research psychology and the evolving mind, or the evolving psychology of the mind. I’m not sure. Here’s something you might find interesting. Gina said that it was rare that a scientist, especially one where he was presenting a hungry hypothesis, that’s her term, would even mention anything political. But Parker, at the end of his presentation had said.” Garrett stopped and pulled out his own little note pad. “Here it is, Gina said, Parker said, ‘the survival of our species could depend on breaking the cycle of indoctrination. What goes into a child’s mind does matter.’ That’s exactly what Gina said.”

“Well, that’s helpful.” I said disappointed over the absence of even a twig of connection between Alex and Adam.

“Oh, I didn’t write it down, but she said that during a break she spoke with Adam. She was interested in his thoughts on her own project. Gina said he appeared interested in both sharing his research and helping her visit churches to learn what pastors were saying about creationism. She said he mentioned having a student who also might help since she had a growing dislike for a certain local politician who she knew.” Garrett said.

“But, she didn’t mention Alex Williams?” I asked.

“No, not according to Gina’s memory.”

As I walked out of Pirates Cove, I couldn’t help from being disappointed. Yes, it was helpful to know that Alex Williams and Adam Parker thought differently about creationism, but that was nearly as irrelevant as the fact they differed on which college football team they preferred. One thing was certain, investigative work could be so dull, boring, and as unproductive as chasing a rabbit.

After leaving Pirates Cove I walked across Main Street and down the sidewalk along Highway 168 to the rear of my building. Just as I was unlocking the back door I heard a car horn. It was Mark Hale.

“Hey Connor, you got a few minutes?”

“Sure, come on in.” I said as Mark got out of his black Tahoe, leaving it parked awkwardly beside our little stoop nearly blocking access to the stairs.

“You got some coffee?” Mark said as we passed through our file storage room and beside the kitchen. I could smell the fresh pot Blair had just made.

“Help yourself. Right in there. I’ll be in my office right down the hall.” I said, knowing this was Mark’s first visit and figuring he can find me in my office.

I hung up my coat and noticed a pink phone message on my desk. It was from Joe.

“Nice digs.” Mark said walking in. “Now, I know for sure I should have chosen the private side of detecting.”

“Sit there.” I said, pointing to my round table and walking over to join Mark. “What brings you here?”

“My pal Lawton Hawks.” Mark had always used this phrase. He said that it made him work harder and smarter if he got cozy with his victim. ‘I have to crawl inside their skin and learn what made them tick. It’s like I have to become them.’ He always said that a detective was like an actor. If he wanted to be a good one. Sounds like something Bobby Sorrells would agree with.

“Good. I was just thinking about Mr. Hawks this morning, how he had discovered the triple B stuff.” I said.

“You’re referring to ‘Bullets, Babies, and Bullshit.’ Well, that’s really at the heart of what I had to share with you.” Mark said. Blair walked in and introduced herself, placing a cup of coffee in front of me, just the way I liked it. When she left, Mark continued, “man, she’s a looker. What is it with you Connor? The ladies were always drawn to you like a magnet.”

“It’s my intelligence. The best-looking women are drawn to the wise. They have great bullshit detectors. Bullshit repels them.” I said, joking, but imagining my opinion must have some truth to it.

“Lawton Hawks. Let me warn you, don’t you get no ideas about hiring him away from me. Tony, not Lawton, he’s dead. Tony is one of them brainy types too, I’ve started calling him Tony the Techie, but, his old lady would have to sneak up on a bucket of water to get a drink. You’ve heard, haven’t you?” Mark was definitely prong to chase some rabbits.

“You mentioned Lawton Hawks.” I replied trying to move things along. Selfish me.

“I was getting to him. It seems that if it exists, Tony can find it on a computer. Of course, it helped to have Lawton’s computer. I think I’ve told you that.”

“Yes, that’s where the triple B stuff originated.” I said.

“Okay, drink your coffee and listen. Lawton was, as you know, a long-term Boaz city councilman. But, he was also a Sunday School teacher at First Baptist Church of Christ, right here in Boaz. I’ll skip over some of the boring stuff, but Tony learned that he, that’s Lawton, and three members from his Sunday School class, I think it was called the Seekers, were Jake Stone, Steven Knott, and Jerry Todd.”

“That’s interesting. Lawton taught Sunday School. Big deal.”

“Shut up Connor if you can. Just listen, you’ll thank me shortly. After Tony’s original research, what I shared with you a couple of weeks ago about the monkey scope.”

“The Scopes Monkey trial, I think it was.” I clarified.

“Yea, well, that all dealt with Lawton and Jake emailing back and forth, seemed to deal with the controversy between evolution and the Bible. You remember. But, it seems Lawton and these three guys were more interested in guns. Tony finally got a membership list from the Seekers, Lawton’s class. Don’t ask me how he got that. Anyway, there are thirteen members, all men. But, according to the emails back and forth, only Jake, Steven, and Jerry carried on a private gun affair.”

“That triggers a weird image.” Why did sex have such an influence on our lives, at least mine?

“Here’s the part where you need to shut-up and listen. It seems it all got started over an essay a student at Snead wrote about guns. She, a girl named Paige Todd, had written a scathing letter to the NRA, that’s the National Rifle Association.”

“I know. Who doesn’t know that?” I asked.

“Her letter had spawned her essay. The Jerry guy is Paige’s adopted-father. Some way your Adam Parker came on the radar. Remember, ‘Bullets, Babies, and Bullshit’?”

“Yes. Jerry Todd adopted Paige. Right?”

“Yea. Listen. Parker’s theory, what got him booted out at UT, was about three things. Bullets, obviously refers to guns, babies to abortion, and bullshit to the Bible. Tony’s confirmed that from every angle but Sunday.”

“I think it’s, ‘six ways from Sunday,’ meaning every alternative conclusion has been explored or something like that.”

“Anyway, now just know, this isn’t happening in one week, this is going on for several months.” Mark said.

“What, exactly, is going on?” I asked.

“The controversy between Lawton and his little group, I’ll call them the Seekers, and your Adam Parker. Some of the emails got heated. One, from Jerry, he was the most vocal about the Second Amendment, tried arguing to Parker that the Constitution gave citizens the right to defend themselves from all threats including threats from idiots who are against guns.”

“Can I ask you a question?” What do you recall Steven saying? In any of the emails, or otherwise. I asked.

“He wasn’t nearly as outspoken about guns as Lawton, and Jake, and Jerry. He was the more civil of the four. I do remember Steven asking Parker a question. It had something to do with his research and whether it showed a difference in the thinking of young people over guns.”

“Do you remember how Parker responded?” I asked.

“Not exactly, but he may have said that it had something to do with whether they had a bad experience, like a friend or family member being hurt or killed with a gun. Oh yea, Parker also distinguished whether the young person was a Baptist, something like that. Hey man, it’s almost nine and I’ve got to run up here to the bank.” Mark said.

“One final question, please. Who was the name of the English teacher at Snead, the one who the essay was for, the one Paige Todd had caused such a stir?” Sometimes, I didn’t like how I phrased my questions.

“My question exactly. When I found out I thought it strange for a while, but then I just concluded it had to do with small towns. You know they are the weirdest places.”

“They can be. Are you going to answer my question?”

“Oh yea, the teacher was Hannah Knott, Steven Knott’s wife.”

After Mark left, I made a note to question Hannah about Paige’s essay and Steven’s position on guns. I also made a note to ask her if she knew he had been communicating with Adam Parker.

After Mark left, I walked to the front office to see Blair. I hadn’t asked her in several days how she was coming on the assignment I had delegated to her nearly a month ago. It was to review and organize all of Adam’s journals (both public and private), his emails, his Facebook posts, and anything else she discovered as she explored. I was thankful Snead’s computer guru had slipped me the password to Adam’s computer; his act was another reminder I needed to continue doing little investigative favors along life’s way; serving that divorce complaint on the guru’s wife and withholding my invoice, had paid off in spades. The guru’s second act had now left me owing him. Yesterday morning, he had shown up unannounced with Adam’s office computer. Blair now had it in her private office next to the reception area. There is where I found her, sitting at a newly acquired folding table watching ‘It’s Best to Be Exact than an Act,’ streaming across the screen of Adam’s computer.

“That’s an odd screen saver, don’t you think?” I asked Blair, noticing the beauty of her profile and wondering how on earth could a man, particularly her ex-husband, have been so mean and uncaring to such a treasure.

“It’s the perfect tag line for the perfect man.”

“I’m taking that his words, what you’re discovering about him, is pushing you to that conclusion?”

“Right, I’ve never seen anybody so exacting. Here, look at this.” Blair said, turning in her chair and forcing me backwards as she rolled towards her desk. She picked up and opened one of Adam’s journals. “Read this paragraph from his December 4th entry.”

In his private journal Adam had written about the experience he had earlier that morning when he arrived at Snead College as he parked behind the Science Building. Apparently, from the angle he had parked he saw a tree, or, more particularly, several limbs of a tree whose trunk he could not see because it was just around the corner of the building, but these limbs reminded Adam of a hand. He had written that he had noticed this for weeks but that day, the 4th, he had noticed what looked like to him, was a half-deflated balloon that had gotten stuck on a limb. He had noted the round and foreign matter was stuck in the center of the imaginary hand. Adam went on to write another half a page about how the balloon was a metaphor for the core of his scientific hypothesis: that a long-time gene could endure environmental pressures just so long until it was forced to mutate, to change to adapt. To me, it was a strange metaphor. Adam concluded his December 4th remarks by expressing almost a contentment he had experienced from seeing the hand and balloon image. Then, he had written, “I have to be wary of any satisfaction or my life will be like that balloon, floating away, out of control, and into an evil hand.”

“This kind of confirms to me, what Paige or Natalie told me was correct, that Adam was exact in how he parked behind the college every morning. He had a reason for pulling into his spot, to see this image. In a way it was a daily reminder for him to not become satisfied, which, from my readings in his journals, was something he detested.

Before Blair could respond, the office phone rang.

“Connor Investigations, may I help you? Oh, hi Joe. Good morning to you too. Just talking with Connor. Hold on.” Blair handed me the phone.

“Morning Joe. I know I owe you a phone call. Mark Hale dropped by and caught my attention. I was just about to call you.”

“Hannah should be there any minute. I hope you have time to meet with us. That’s what I called about.” Joe said.

“I was needing to go to Gadsden but that can wait. Are you close by?”

“Ten minutes or so.” Joe said, and I heard the front door ding. It was Hannah; I could barely see her through the glass sliding window at the receptionist’s desk. “She’s here now, see you in a few.”

I walked back to my office and let Blair greet Hannah. In less than fifteen minutes, I joined Joe and Blair in the conference room.

“Hello Hannah. Thanks for coming. Before we get started on your case, do you mind if I ask you what you thought of Adam Parker? I assume you knew him since you both taught at Snead College.” I said, not wanting to spend any time chatting or on unneeded how-do-you-dos.

“At first I didn’t like him. I tried to be friendly when I’d see him around campus. I figured he needed a smiling face just like I did, especially since we had both started teaching at Snead at the same time. Fall 2014. But, he was so unpredictable. What I mean is, one time I would see him, and he would look up at me and half smile, maybe nod his head forward. The next time I saw him it would be like I didn’t exist, even if we were the only two people in the hallway. After a while I just figured his mind was elsewhere. He definitely was a loner, always sat by himself at faculty meetings.”

“From your first statement I assume that at some point you changed your mind about Adam?” I asked.

“I did. It was the next year. One day he showed up at my office with a strange request. He brought with him a copy of an essay one of my students had written.”

“Was the student Paige Todd?” I asked.

“Yes, how did you know that?”

“Just a hunch.”

“Anyway, Adam also brought a letter. It was the basis of Paige’s essay. I hadn’t seen the actual letter until Adam came. After he let me read the letter he asked me if I had encountered anyone else, not just other students writing this assignment, but ever in my career, who had such an experience.”

“What was the letter, Paige’s letter, about? It was written to the National Rifle Association.” I said.

“Another hunch I guess.” Hannah was sharp.

“Yep.”

“Paige had shared how her best friend in high school had committed suicide. It seemed the girl had used a gun her father had acquired at a gun show. Paige, no doubt, had been devastated. Her letter was simply her way of trying to convince the NRA to have a heart and recognize that there are too many guns.” Hannah said.

“So, Adam was simply looking for data, more evidence to probably use in his own work. How did this event cause you to see Adam in a different light?”

“I saw that he was passionate about his work and that he deeply cared about people, especially young people.”

Joe had sat still and silent long enough. “Question. Just curious. Did any of your other students have a similar type story, like Paige’s?”

“No, but I did, later, I think it was nearly a week after Adam came to me, I felt guilty and went to him. I shared Steven’s story.” Hannah said.

“What was that if I might ask?”

“Please don’t share this. It is real important you keep this between us. Okay?”

“I suspect it doesn’t have anything to do with Adam Parker. I should have told you earlier that we work for Adam Parker’s daughter, investigating his death.” I said.

“No, it doesn’t. Steven wouldn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him. Here’s what happened. Steven grew up in Eufaula, Alabama. That’s southeast of Montgomery.

“Just north of Dothan. I lived there for over twenty years.”

“Steven’s father was a gun nut, hunter and Second Amendment activist. This all changed when Stan, Steven’s twin, died.” I noticed Hannah teared up. She sat silent for maybe thirty seconds. “Sorry, Steven shot Stan. It was an accident. The boys were ten. Yes, it was their father’s gun.” Her silence returned.

“It would seem Steven would be adamantly opposed to guns given that experience.” I said.

“Oh my gosh, he was. He hates guns now.” I made a mental note of how that directly conflicted with what Mark had shared with me this morning.

“You sharing this with Adam kind of anchored your friendship?” Joe asked Hannah.

“It did. Over the next year I learned to admire him more and more even though I never could quite understand his research project. One thing I did learn was he was a fish out of water around here. He shared a lot about how antagonistic several local people were about him. Sorry, but I have another class to teach. Can we talk about Steven and Peyton Todd?” Hannah looked at Joe as though she was talking about her two best friends.

Joe returned a smile. “The only new thing I have to report is that Peyton and Steven left Health Connections last Friday afternoon and drove to her house on Lindo Drive. Again, it was her car. I’ve confirmed that Jerry was out of town. It appears they went there for a two-hour rendezvous. It was slick that she pulled up to her garage and it opened automatically. She then drove inside, and the door closed. Steven was so slumped down in his front seat I could barely see him. It was as though she was along, came home, stayed a couple of hours, and left. Again, alone.”

“Here’s why I called Joe and wanted to meet. This morning I had the rare treat of looking at Steven’s phone. Funny that I’ve discovered a pattern with him. Or, what appears to be a pattern. This was the second time he has left his phone in his gray suit coat. Both mornings, he has eaten his Kellogg’s Bran Cereal. You probably can project my story. What I can’t figure out is why he puts his cell phone in his jacket pocket before breakfast.” Hannah caught a breath and I jumped in.

“What did you learn from inspecting his phone?” I asked.

“He had received a text from the lovely Peyton yesterday afternoon a little before 5:00. It seems the two love birds didn’t have a session planned so she sent him this text. It said, “RAW deposit made. C u Saturday.”

“RAW. Do you know what or who that refers to?” I asked.

“Not a clue.”

Joe and Hannah continued to talk another few minutes. Raw had caught my attention. What was raw? Who was raw? This had to be an abbreviation. It had to be a person or a business, some sort of organization. Raw couldn’t be a tree or a bird. Those animals rarely made deposits.

It was long after our meeting had ended, nearly six hours long in fact before I turned my attention from another damn email from Dalton hiring us to investigate another collections matter. It took less than a minute on Google to learn that Alex Williams full name was Robert Alex Williams. I got up from my desk and walked over to my round table in front of a thousand legal and crime novels. Surely, the answer whether RAW was Robert Alex Williams lay safely secure upon one of the three hundred and fifty thousand or more pages vertically aligned on my bookshelves.

It was time to go home. My unanswered question was making my imagination spiral out of control.

Novel Excerpts—The Case of the Perfectionist Professor, Chapter 17

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

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?

Chapter 17

Thursday, mine and Garrett’s breakfast at Pirates Cove was unproductive. There I go again. So damn selfish. What had started off as simply a time of fellowship and light banter had turned, for me at least, into a regular investigative chore. I could, and did, blame Garrett for being so damn helpful. Today, it was like he sensed my growing addiction and had talked nonstop about which variety of tomatoes he planned on planting this year in his little garden spot out behind his house.

Yesterday afternoon before heading home, I had returned to Alex Williams’ website and found a link to his campaign schedule. After meeting with Paige and Natalie, I recognized that he had become my favorite bone. At lunch today, he was speaking at the Rotary Club. The public was invited. Contributions were requested, but no one would be turned away.

I arrived early. The Club normally met in a small banquet room off the main Snead State cafeteria. Today, it was so crowded the lunch meeting was held in the main dining room. I paid twenty-dollars and realized I had contributed a few bucks to a Republican Campaign. It pained me, but it was all in the pursuit of justice.

I sat between Pastor Caleb and Mayor Mohler at a table about half way back from the podium at the back of the giant room. I didn’t know the two ladies who occupied the other chairs at our table. They seemed averse to speaking with men.

“Hey Connor. Nice to see you. Do you know Pastor Caleb, Caleb Patterson? Pastor this is Connor Ford.” Mayor Mohler said.

“We’ve never met. Hi pastor, nice to meet you.” I said reaching out to shake his hand. “I enjoyed your sermon last Sunday. It’s still with me. I’m trying to be less selfish.”

“Nice to meet you too Connor. Thanks for being at church. Be sure your selflessness is for the right reasons.” Pastor Caleb said, taking a notepad and pen from his jacket pocket and laying them on the table in front of him.

“Don’t let the pastor distract you Connor. If you listen to him, he’ll have you on mission. Out somewhere wandering aimlessly, trying to setup new churches.” The mayor’s remarks struck me as antagonistic towards the pastor.

“Mohler, you’re a lost cause.” The pastor replied. “Connor, ignore both the mayor and me, we just like to banter. He knows God’s work is not limited to the mission field. In fact, more can be accomplished in the work place and in homes, schools, factories, and all the places people go everyday by lay folks just like you. If you want to work for God like the Apostle Paul did, you’ll find a way through your own work. By the way Connor, what do you do?” I could tell the pastor could get long-winded. I was ready to eat and to listen to the local boy, possibly the next governor of Alabama.

“I’m a private investigator. I help folks discover the truth.” I said.

“Pastor, Connor is a unique animal. He’s kind of like a three-legged stool. He’s worked as a police officer, an investigator, and an attorney. Now, it looks like he’s shed a couple of legs and become a one-horse pony.” The mayor said.

“There you go mayor, always trying to rib your favorite pastor with that evolution talk.” Right as I was about to ask Pastor Caleb how he felt about evolution, Jerry Todd tested the microphone and asked everyone to take their seats and to listen up. Jerry is Peyton Todd’s husband, a pharmacist, and manages the local Rite Aid.

“Thanks for everyone coming out today. This is an honor and a privilege for each of us. Never has Boaz had a local man or woman run for the highest office in the state. Alex Williams will make us proud. Thank you, Alex, for coming today, and thank you for already having eaten your fried chicken and green beans. Ladies and gentlemen, we wanted Alex to have more time to talk so we asked him to come early for his meal. Since we have known Alex all his life I’m not going to bore you with a detailed introduction. Alex, come on up and share what’s on your heart.” I learned from the mayor that Jerry is the current president of the Rotary Club.

“Thanks Jerry and the Rotary Club for inviting me. And, thank all of you for coming today. It is an honor to be here in my hometown. I apologize if I appear a little tired. I am. Erica and I just returned from a ten-day tour of south Alabama. Man, that’s a different world than up here on the mountain. They may not love the same foods as we do or be quite as enthusiastic towards football and Nascar, but there’s no doubt they care about the same political issues.”

Alex went on to talk, while everyone else ate, about the importance of Alabamians staying true to their core beliefs. He was unashamedly vocal about his Christian beliefs and his commitment to fighting all attempts by anyone, including the federal government, to limit the freedoms that Baptists, Methodists, and every other Christian denomination’s need to share the gospel of Jesus Christ.

He mentioned two issues that represented the heart of his platform. He shared how he intended to bring new legislation that added special protections for the life of the unborn, and how he would increase the right of every Alabamian to protect himself, his home, and property. No doubt, he was a pro-life, pro-gun Christian, if to think there was any other kind in Alabama. What I didn’t hear was real specifics, and certainly didn’t hear how he would navigate his proposals in Montgomery given the growing national outcries in direct opposition to his goals, especially the pleas to limit gun ownership given so many mass shootings across America.

After Alex’s speech, I hung around and talked to my friend Dalton Martin, who, to my surprise, seemed enamored with Alex and verbally intent on supporting his campaign. It seemed Dalton and Alex are both members of Mt. Vernon Baptist Church. I was thankful Dalton was willing to introduce me to his favorite candidate. “Alex, have you got just a minute?” By now, Dalton and I had ambled up to the front where Alex had been shaking hands. Now, the dining room was pretty much cleared except for several members of the cafeteria staff who were busy busing tables. I noticed that Alex had just hugged Erica who was now speaking with Jerry Todd over beside the windows along the outside wall.

“Hey Dalton, I sure hope I do, but my body’s running low on fuel.” Alex said.

“I wanted you to meet a good friend of mine. Alex, this is Connor Ford.” Dalton said using his right hand across my lower back to gently push me towards Alex.

“Nice to meet you Connor.” Alex said pulling off his suit jacket. We shook hands and then Jerry hollered over at Dalton.

“Sorry, excuse me, Jerry’s about to pin me down. I’m in charge of next week’s speaker.” Dalton said and walked over towards Jerry and Erica.

“Alex, I’ll get right to the point. I’m a private investigator working on the death of Adam Parker.” Before I could get to my question, Alex interrupted me.

“Are you interested in talking about how you can support my campaign? If not, then you’ll need to make an appointment. But know, I’m not taking on any new clients right now.” At first, I thought it was a stupid thing for Alex to say, then I realized he flat out wasn’t interested in me or Adam Parker. I gave him the benefit of the doubt that he might have thought, for some strange reason, I was going to ask him some tax or estate question on Parker’s behalf.

“I would like more information for sure, about your campaign and your relationship with Adam Parker.” I said and focused on his physical reaction. His head jerked to the left just slightly and both eyes squinted like they were a laser that wanted to shoot right through my heart. I was thankful I had learned early on while working for Bobby to be aggressive and direct.

“Mr. Ford, I don’t know what you’re thinking and trying to imply but I didn’t know Mr. Parker. All I know is that he recently died from a heart attack. He was found in his car behind Snead’s Science Building.” Alex said.

“Are you denying ever having talked to him?” I asked, figuring he wouldn’t respond and instead would tell me to get lost.

“I don’t have any more to say. You’re wasting your time and mine.”

I decided to hit him between the eyes with the two-by-four I was carrying, the figurative one. “Do you have anything to say about Natalie Goble, or would that also be a waste of our time?” For a second, my mind foisted a question. Which profession, lawyer or investigator, was the best for pissing people off? Or, making them angry?

“I have nothing to say to you. Erica, we need to go.” Alex said looking over towards the windows where Jerry, Dalton, and Erica were talking.

“Certainly, Mr. Williams, you don’t have to speak with me. But please know, I also have a right. I have the right to speak, to ask questions, maybe not directed to you, but at others. Would you prefer I talk with your attorney or the press? Or, is there someone else you would recommend?”

“Mr. Ford, I’m only going to ask you one time. Get the hell out of my face.”

“One final question Mr. Williams. Does Erica know about your philandering, about you getting Natalie Goble pregnant? Sorry, I have more than one question. Does Erica know that you are trying to force Natalie to have an abortion?” If that didn’t get the governor candidate riled up I couldn’t imagine what would.

His face turned a deep red. He was clutching his fists. I thought he might throw a punch my way. Quickly, I learned he was much smarter than that. He opened up his bag of tricks and asked me, “If you will walk away now, I’ll talk to you later. No, Erica doesn’t know, and I need to keep it that way. If you’ll do this for me, I might have some information that could help you with Adam Parker. Can you do that?” Alex Williams was quick on his feet.

“I’m agreeable to that. When can we talk?” I asked.

“Here’s my card, but I’d prefer you let me call you. Soon, I promise,” Alex said, looking over towards Erica.

“Good day, Alex. Soon or I’ll come to see you.” I said and walked away.

Novel Excerpts—The Case of the Perfectionist Professor, Chapter 16

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

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?

Chapter 16

During my drive back to the office, Marissa called and again thanked me for seeing her last Saturday on such short notice. The main reason she called was to apologize for not leaving a prescription bottle of Cymbalta she had been carrying around in her purse since her first trip to Boaz right after Adam’s death. “Right as I found it at Dad’s office, Dean Naylor had walked in. I had forgotten it until I changed purses Saturday morning. I think Cymbalta is prescribed for depression.” Marissa said and ended the call after a student walked in her office. She promised to call me later. I made a mental note to do a little research on Cymbalta.

I spent the next couple of hours trying to learn more about Alex Williams. Ever since Hannah had told me why Steven was counseling the Stone’s I had wanted to do a little research. I was proud I had listened to Pastor Caleb and implemented his advice to become less selfish. I don’t think Camilla and Emily, last night, realized the battle I was fighting as we sat in the den and made small talk. They didn’t see how this dog was gnawing on an invisible bone. I had a long way to go. Being less selfish required mind-work as well as leg-work. My mind had to be present and focused on Camilla and Emily when I was home. I had to figure out how better to leave my work at the office.

Alex Williams is a thirty-five-year-old local boy, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He comes from a well-connected family, but to his credit, he has worked hard to become a rising star in Alabama’s Republican Party. He apparently is smart and focused. Alex is an accounting graduate from the University of Alabama and married with two elementary-aged children. Alex is a CPA and partner with the accounting firm of MDA Professional Group in Albertville. He spent the past eight years as the legislative representative for District 26, which covers parts of Marshall and Dekalb Counties. He is now running for governor, the top constitutional position in Alabama. Alex’s current political goal appears to be a long shot. Unlike what Hannah had said, that Alex is the Republican Party’s candidate for governor, in fact, he is one of four candidates. The June primary would likely determine whether Alex would return to full-time accounting or go forth campaigning until the general election in November.

A few minutes before noon I walked across to Pirates Cove for a glass of tea and saw Paige Todd and Natalie Goble sitting at a table to my right as I walked in. They didn’t look up so I kept on walking. After filling my ‘Detectives are Lousy Lovers’ thermos (thanks Camilla), I laid a $5.00 bill on the register, paying for a week’s worth of the best tea in town. I passed the two girls on my way out and was nearly through the door when I decided to go back and at least speak to them.

“Natalie, Paige, how are you two?” I’m always amazed at my originality.

Paige looked up immediately, but Natalie seemed unimpressed and continued looking at her phone. “Hi Mr. Ford.” Paige said.

I leaned down a little closer to Paige and said, “do you think we three could talk sometime, maybe even today?”

Natalie heard me and used her foot to push an empty chair towards me. “Sit down Connor.” The way she said it made me think she knew how to deal with a grown man.

“This is really strange. Natalie and I were coming over to see you after lunch. You did invite us, don’t you remember?” Paige said.

“I do. Great, that’s sounds perfect. I’ll leave you two ladies for now. Just come over after your lunch. I look forward to seeing you.”

“See you in half an hour.” Natalie said, back now looking at her phone.

Good to their word, Paige and Natalie walked in the waiting room a few minutes after 12:30. Surprisingly, they took several minutes to inspect the design and decorum Camilla had developed and chosen. Sassafras wood was not endemic to North Alabama. What trees there were, simply were too small to saw six-inch boards. A local man, Nathan McDaniel, had been Camilla’s connection to the gorgeous lumber we had used. It was an Amish sawmill in Lawrenceburg, Tennessee that Nathan had dealt with that furnished the beautiful boards. Natalie also seemed intrigued by Mr. Jefferson. “Why do men abuse their power?” It was a question I hadn’t expected, right at this moment anyway. She continued, “I wonder if the black woman he fathered a child with had any choice in the matter?” I finally and gently managed to guide the two back into the conference room.

“Thanks again for coming. I have a few questions I would like to ask but first, ladies first. You said at Pirates Cove that you two had already decided to come over. What’s on your minds?” I asked.

“We wanted to make sure you were going to investigate Lawton Hawks. We think he’s someway responsible for Professor Parker’s death.” Paige said. She was a tall and slender red head, not gorgeous but not at all unattractive. She had green eyes that reminded me of Marissa’s.

“What makes you think that?” I asked.

“Over the past few months his and Adam’s, Professor Parker’s, Facebook conversations, continued to heat up. Plus, the morning of his death, we saw him coming out of his house.” Paige said.

“I saw him in class at 1:00 and there was something going on. He was clearly upset about something.” Natalie said. She was the prettiest of the two, although not as tall as her redhead friend. Natalie’s long, silky blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect hour-glass figure clearly explained why she was a Snead State cheerleader and had caught the roving eye of Alex Williams.

“I definitely will, especially after what you’ve told me happened at the Waffle House. I have a friend with the Sheriff’s Department, who’s investigating Hawks’ death. I’ll stay after him for information.” I said.

I could tell the girls were a little antsy. They kept staring at each other, like they wanted to say something but didn’t know how, or they were waiting on the other to do the asking. Finally, Natalie said, “Connor, I may as well go ahead and tell you. You’re certain to find out eventually. I’m pregnant. I think, we think, this has something to do with Professor Parker’s death.”

“Thanks Natalie for being so open and honest. I figure that took quite a bit of strength and courage to tell me. If you don’t mind, would you tell me why you think this way.”

“Let me answer that.” Paige jumped in as though to protect Natalie. “Professor Parker was the best teacher and man. He was my Biology professor last year. Natalie’s this year. He took such an interest in his students. He was quirky in so many ways, but there was no end to his commitment to his students. Here’s the key. He didn’t force his help on anyone. If you wanted his personal attention, tutoring, general advice, a sounding board, he was available. Most students wanted to just do the minimum to get by. Someway, Natalie and I connected with him. We got even closer after all the abuse started. Now, here’s the rub.” Paige looked over at Natalie who now was starting to cry. I could see tears emerging from her beautiful blue eyes. A few seconds went by and Paige said, “Is it okay if I tell Mr. Ford what happened, about your getting pregnant?” I finally saw Natalie nod in the affirmative.

“Paige, before you do, please know, you too Natalie, that I will keep what you tell me in the strictest of confidence.” I said.

“Thanks. The father of Natalie’s baby was, is, trying to force her to have an abortion. Can I tell Mr. Ford his name?” Again, Paige was looking over at Natalie.

“No, but I will. Alex Williams got me pregnant. He’s the father. And, he’s been pressuring me to have an abortion.”

“I hate he’s doing that. First, let me ask. Are you speaking about the local guy who is running for governor?” I asked.

“Yep, that’s him.” Paige said.

“Here, I could ask a ton of questions, but my job relates only to what had any affect up the death of my client, Adam Parker. But, please know, like I suspect he was with you two ladies, I am interested in your well-being and will do anything I can to help you, whether it has anything to do with Mr. Parker.” I said.

“All of this, my pregnancy, Alex Williams, the abortion, all has to do with Adam Parker. At least, that’s what I fully believe.” Natalie said, her crying had stopped, and she appeared to be regaining her composure.

“If you want, why don’t you and Paige tell me what you want me to know. At some point I may have a question or two to clarify things.”

“It started, you know, the sex, back six or eight months ago when I would babysit for the Williams’. I had known Alex all my life. His wife and my mother have been friends for years, having taught together in Vacation Bible School every summer. I even worked on both of Alex’s campaigns. I can’t explain how it got started, but it happened after a meeting at the Bevill Center when he announced he was going to run for governor. I was one of the last to leave and had walked to my car. For some reason it wouldn’t start. I was parked by Erica’s car, that’s his wife. She tried to get me to let her give me a ride. I told her I would call Jake, my step-father. I finally convinced her I was fine and for her to go on home; she had both kids with her. I then tried Jake but couldn’t reach him. About that time, I saw Alex come out of the Bevill Center walking towards his car. It was on the opposite side of the parking lot. I hollered for him. Long story short, we talked for like an hour or more, right there beside my car. It was the first time we had spent that much time alone. I have to say it was an intimate moment. It was dark, and he was funny and seemed really interested in me although he had a lot of important things going on. Again, I don’t know how it happened, but he leaned into me and kissed me. And, I liked it. Thirty minutes later we were in the back of his big Suburban down a little logging road in Sand Valley. It was my first sexual experience since the ninth grade. I need to pee, where’s your bathroom?” I gave her instructions and she left the conference room.

“Mr. Ford.” Paige said as soon as Natalie stepped out.

“Please call me Connor.”

“Okay. Connor, just so you know, Natalie fell in love with Alex Williams, but things changed when she got pregnant and especially when he started trying to force her to have an abortion.” Paige said, standing up to straighten and stretch. “Do you have a bottle of water?” Again, I gave the needed instructions, including asking her to visit our break room.

“Connor, Professor Parker was trying to encourage me not to have an abortion. I was caught in a very bad spot.” Natalie said as she was walking back in from the restroom.

“So, he knew about your pregnancy. By the way, how far along are you?”

“A little over three months.”

“Back to my earlier question. What makes you feel Adam’s death is connected to your pregnancy?”

“Well, I guess it should be obvious, but I had told him, Professor Parker, pretty much everything. We were that close. Seems weird doesn’t it? Anyway, after I told him that my mother and step-father also wanted me to have an abortion he contacted Alex. He, Professor Parker, never told me the full details, but my step-father, Jake, did. He said that my dear friend threatened to expose Alex, including going to the police. Jake can get quite agitated when he’s upset. I knew I hadn’t been raped. I knew Alex hadn’t committed any type crime. Not to say that screwing your baby-sitter while you’re married is the best thing to be doing.”

Paige walked in with three bottles of water. “It wasn’t the screwing so much that got Adam so upset. It was the forced abortion. Did you tell Connor what Alex is doing?”

“I was about to.” Natalie replied, taking a seat and opening her bottle of water. “Alex has offered me and my family money to make this thing go away, as in make this baby go away.”

“And, Adam, knew this. You had told him?” I asked.

“Yep, it got to where there were few secrets, if any, between us.” Natalie said.

“I have to ask this and please don’t think I’m being judgmental. Did anything inappropriate go on with either of you and Mr. Parker?” I asked.

“Lord no, heaven’s no. He was truly a father figure to both of us. As in a real father, not like either one of our fake fathers.” Paige said. It was clear she had a low opinion of her father. I wasn’t sure which father she was speaking of since I knew that her mother’s current husband, Jerry Todd, had adopted Paige a few years ago (thanks Garrett).

“Okay, I’m sorry, but I had to ask. If you will, tell me more about this proposed agreement, to exchange money for you having an abortion.”

“It’s not a proposal. It’s a done deal. Well, everything except my abortion. I’m holding out. Half the money has been paid. The remainder is due when the deed is done, when the baby is sucked out of me.” Natalie said and again began to cry.

For the next hour we continued to talk. The more they said the madder I got at Alex Williams and Jake Stone. It became clear to me that Jake had seen Natalie’s pregnancy by a well-connected visionary, one who needed to protect his political reputation, as a golden opportunity to profit financially. Jake, the man who had spewed his Biblical hatred against abortion all over Facebook, was a hypocrite. It seemed he simply had never fully thought out the abortion issue. When he could profit from it, he was all for it.

It was nearly 4:30 when Paige and Natalie left the office. I was still trying to figure out exactly how this sad chapter in Natalie’s life was a contributing factor to the death of Professor Adam Parker.

Novel Excerpts—The Case of the Perfectionist Professor, Chapter 15

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

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?

Chapter 15

Camilla couldn’t resist coming for breakfast. All I had to do was promise to prepare her favorite dish, at least her favorite early-morning dish. She called it her ‘sunny day meal.’ She never ate breakfast the other six days of the week, always getting up, grabbing a cup of coffee, and rushing to Serenity Salon at least an hour before the 7:00 a.m. haircut specials began, all to transport her mind into another world. I was more than a little proud I had played a part in her present infatuation with legal and crime novels. I was also proud and honored to prepare two sunny-side up eggs.

She said it was one of only a few things her father, the now deceased Lawton Hawks, had taught her. I had never taken a liking to an egg cooked sunny-side up. The yolk is still completely liquid and the whites on the surface are barely set. To me, an egg fried just on one side and never flipped was asking for trouble, as in Salmonella. I had been greatly relieved six months ago by Camilla who had pointed me to a carton of eggs she had purchased at Publix in Guntersville. It seemed she had listened to her father and learned well. By using pasteurized in-shell eggs, the risk of food-borne illness was eliminated.

After preparing her eggs, and mine scrambled hard, along with buttered toast, bacon, and overly-buttered grits, I asked her if she had slept well.”

“I did until you got up in the middle of the night. What time was that?”

“Probably two-thirty, maybe three. I didn’t look.”

“Still intrigued about that monkey business you mentioned last night?” Apparently, Camilla hadn’t paid too much attention to what I had thought was a detailed description I had provided after making love at 6:30. I was still amazed at her interest in my body.

“No, I had woken up from a nightmare I was having. There was this gorgeous woman chasing me. I had some way gotten involved with her, intrigued by her landscape, all to discover she had an ocean of waves that kept me washed up on a deserted island.”

“If you’re speaking of me, your little metaphor has lots of problems. I would never leave you stranded. Quit trying to be funny. Why did get you up?” Camilla said, reaching over my plate for the strawberry jam.

“You want me to be completely honest?” I asked.

“Okay, what have we decided, like six months ago?”

“To always be fully open and honest, no matter the subject or the risk of vulnerability.” I hoped Camilla never changed. She knew a lot about my background but still loved me, making me promise, from the time things turned serious, that we would be truthful with each other, to a fault.

“Correct, now spill the beans.” Camilla said, already finishing one whole egg.

“I guess I was a little torn over going to church today. I know I promised you I would but, now that it’s here, a few memories have flooded my mind.”

“Like what?” Camilla asked.

“Oh, just my history of growing up in church, then marrying Amy and our faithfulness to not only attending but being involved with the youth ministry. I spent nearly an hour sitting in my lazy boy reminiscing and trying to figure out where things changed.”

“I sense you regret, I guess I could put it like this, you regret falling away from God?” Camilla asked.

“In a way. It did provide a certain stability to our lives.”

“And, if you had remained in church, you and Amy would still be together?”

“I’m not saying that, but maybe.” I said finishing up the last of my eggs.

“Now, we are to the heart of the matter. You woke up because you were heartsick. Still broken-hearted over losing Amy. Right?”

“No, that’s not it. Even though we had nearly twenty-five years together, they weren’t all good. For a number of reasons, I suppose, we drifted apart. I was too invested in my work, going to law school and building a practice within Teague, Loggins, and Spradling.”

“I have to say, I’m feeling a little like a third wheel here.” I still viewed it as a miracle. Maybe God did love me. Camilla had come along at the perfect time. I had just started Connor Ford Investigations and had a haircut appointment at Serenity Salon with Barbara, the beautician I had used ever since moving back to Boaz in the Fall of 2014. Barbara’s sudden sickness that day had been an important part of my miracle.

Camilla Andrews was an apprentice stylist who was from Boaz but living in Birmingham and attending the Midfield Institute of Cosmetology. I was old enough to be her father. He was my age and was in my high school class. For many reasons, including Camilla’s dwindling relationship with Nate Andrews, her abusive and philandering husband, and her openness for a trust-worthy friend, she and I hit it off. Over the next twenty-eight months, our relationship evolved from every-other-week haircuts (my hair, for some reason, grew faster back then), to once-per-week conversations at MacDonald’s over coffee, to a first date picnic to DeSoto Falls on Labor Day in 2016. It had to be God. There could have been no other way for such a beautiful and adorable 32-year-old to have fallen in love with just an average-looking man with a daughter of virtually the same age.

“You are. And, the first, second, and fourth wheel. Sorry, for the pause, I was just reliving how we met and how I fell in love with you. How, particularly, it was nothing short of a miracle. Camilla Ann, I love you with all my heart.”

“Now, you’re talking. And, now we better get ready for church or I’ll have to show you, again, how much I love you.”

“Oh, thank God, it’s Sunday, time for church.” I said, smiling. She knew what I meant. Camilla could be exhausting. But, what normal man on God’s green earth wouldn’t die to have a sexy thirty-two-year-old, curly-headed brunette, always pressing a perfect body next to his?

I hadn’t been to First Baptist Church of Christ since the weekend in 1990 after Amy and I had graduated from Auburn University. Although we had many opportunities to, over the intervening years, for many reasons, we had just slept in, either at my parents or hers.

Caleb Patterson was the church’s first pastor not named Tillman in well-over a hundred years. The last one, Warren Tillman, had just a few months ago been shot and killed by a home intruder. Caleb looked to be about my age but was at least three years younger. He had come to Boaz from the First Baptist Church Prattville, Alabama, where he had served as senior pastor for over ten years. One reason I felt sure that Caleb would win the job was he had grown up in Boaz, being in the ninth grade when I was a senior at Boaz High School. Another reason I believed he was ‘called’ as Southern Baptist churches label it, was his father was a former member of the church’s staff and still a member.

Camilla and I sat up in the balcony. Caleb’s sermon brought back a lot of memories. It was easy to follow, rooted directly in scripture, and provided plenty of modern-day anecdotes. I recalled always being impressed with how preachers could clearly and convincingly tie whatever was going on in the world around us with Bible verses written over two-thousand years earlier.

Caleb’s sermon was based on 2 Corinthians 12:15, “… though the more abundantly I love you, the less I am loved.” It was not a surprise at all that the Apostle Paul was still alive and well in this Southern Baptist Church. According to Caleb, the man whose writings covered more New Testament territory than any other, believed that natural human love was different from God’s love. God didn’t expect anything in return. I guess the main thing I took away from Caleb’s sermon was a need to be much less selfish. It appeared Paul didn’t care at all whether those around him loved him or not. He was hellbent (not Caleb’s word) on pleasing God. Paul’s hero and master was Jesus Christ. Paul had one goal only, and that was to imitate God’s one and only son. I sure wasn’t ready, as the Apostle Paul seemed more than ready, to be completely destitute and poverty-stricken for the God who “though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor” (2 Corinthians 8:9).

As my mind was hearing the pastor say, “He did not care how high the cost was to himself, the Apostle Paul would gladly pay it,” I noticed Jake Stone sitting beside his wife Sandy Goble who was sitting beside Hannah Knott and her husband Steven, the minister of music. Whatever Caleb preached for the next fifteen minutes, my mind was fully distracted and tried to imagine whether the two couples had chosen to sit together or if it had simply by chance. If it was not the latter, I needed to know their connection. My focus on these four people had zoned me out, until Steven Knott stood and walked to the choir at the end of the service and I saw Peyton Todd smack dab in the middle of the first row, eager to respond to the Minister of Music’s direction. I think if Camilla hadn’t nudged when handing me a songbook, my mind would have drawn a picture of her leading him in a song of a different sort.

After church yesterday, Camilla and I had to ditch our picnic plans. By the time we got home, it was pouring rain. It was a satisfying moment, one I choose not to share with the visibly disappointed beautician.

Ever since seeing the Stone’s and the Knott’s sitting together, my mind did what it was trained to do, something I will always love and hate about Bobby Sorrells, the virtual twin of Sherlock Holmes. Bobby, from the beginning of my training, had said that a good detective can tell when a bone has been thrown his way. But, a great detective will take it between his teeth and not let go until it is fully consumed, or a better bone comes along. It was like an addiction. It was also one issue that had come between Amy and me. I had to take Pastor Caleb’s words to heart, to not be so selfish. But, yesterday after being showered with a wet blessing from above, I allowed my addiction unfettered reign.

Another blessing had also fallen in my lap. After the only reasonable decision had been made, Camilla decided she would run to Walmart. She normally does this after work on Saturday’s, with me sometimes joining her, but this week she had been too tired. After she left, I decided to go riding around.

I had driven to Grumpy’s Diner knowing that a lot of folks go there after church. I thought I spotted Jake Stone’s black Tahoe and decided to go inside the restaurant to look around. I was lucky. Or, maybe it was the prayer I had said, almost subconsciously, prompted no doubt by the calm and encouraging words of Pastor Caleb. I saw Jake and his three companions sitting in the far left-hand corner. He didn’t notice me, but Hannah did I’m sure. I was glad she didn’t wave or indicate in any way that she recognized her private investigator. I guess it had something to do with her philandering husband sitting next to her. I requested a menu and bought a stick of gum and walked back outside to my car. I repositioned it, so I could get a clearer view of Stone’s Tahoe without being so conspicuous.

Within thirty minutes, the two couples exited Grumpy’s and walked to their cars. All four seemed serious by the looks on their faces. No smiles or noticeably open postures. I even noticed the tension in Sandra’s hands. Jake reached out and shook Steven’s hand. He and Hannah got in their maroon Honda Accord and drove away. Jake and Sandra got in his Tahoe and sat, talking I suspect, for at least five minutes, before they too drove away.

On a hunch, I had driven to Reedy Circle and visited Garrett. I wanted to know if he knew the connection between the two couples. If they had one, I figured Garrett would have heard something. He had this uncanny ability to know what was going on in our mysterious little town.

“Support, encouragement. It’s most likely counseling. It would be the rarest of circumstances. The dynamics don’t fit. I would bet there’s something going on in the Stone’s life that has caused them to reach out for counseling.” Garrett had said after I asked him my question.

“That seems a stretch, especially since you didn’t provide any actual evidence.” I said, always feeling comfortable requesting objective information.

“You do know Steven has a master’s degree in counseling from Auburn University at Montgomery?” Garrett asked.

“No.”

“He earned that while he was at First Baptist, thought he wanted to change his professional focus. Then, from what I’ve heard, he got distracted with another woman, but I don’t know that for sure so that’s not repeatable.” Garrett and I had this agreement to always carefully denote what was rumor and what was truth.

“That still doesn’t confirm that’s what’s going on.” I said.

“No but think about it a little more. To me, Steven had a unique reason to sit where he did at church today.”

“You were at First Baptist?” I asked, knowing Garrett was a member of First United Methodist Church in Albertville.

“Gina just left. She was here and wanted to visit and hear the new pastor. She has been working on a personal project for a couple of years, something about how frequently Southern Baptist preachers refer to Creationism. She has a extensive network of folks who are helping her. Anyway, I love the music there and often go, sometimes twice a month. During preaching, Steven always sits in a chair next to the choir loft, over behind the pastor’s podium. But yesterday, after the offering and the special music, he walked down and sat beside Jake Stone. This says something. I believe it says there is a negative mood, maybe something sad, going on in the Stone family.” I was afraid Garrett would keep on rambling, so I interjected.

“You could be right, but I’m still not convinced. Is there anyone you could call and subtly find out what’s going on?” I asked.

“No, but you could. Isn’t your detective firm doing a little detecting for the counselor’s wife?” I nearly said ‘damn’ but checked myself at the last second. Garrett hated all forms of cursing.

“How in the you know where did you reach that conclusion?”

“You’re not the only one who can sit and watch. Seriously, I happened through town a while back and saw Hannah going into the back door of your office. I figured she wasn’t there to sell cookies or to clean your office.”

“This isn’t repeatable, but you are correct. Joe is doing a little investigating for her. It might be something akin to the unrepeatable thing you mentioned a few minutes ago.” I said.

“Okay, sounds like you’ve got an open door before you. Why don’t you call her right now? I assume you have her phone number in your Contacts?”

“Actually, I do. Can I ask how you reached that conclusion?”

“Personality. You’re a Type A.” Garrett said.

After Garrett and I shared a slice of pound cake that Gina had baked during her weekend visit, I called Hannah Knott. At first, she couldn’t talk but called me back in ten minutes. Seemingly, it was more uncomfortable for me to ask, than it was for her to share. She acknowledged that our relationship indicated she could be open with me. But, she also made me promise I wouldn’t share what she was about to tell me. Garrett had been correct. Steven was counseling both the Stone’s, Jake and Sandra. For the second time on Sunday afternoon, I had nearly said ‘damn’ in front of Garrett. According to Hannah, Natalie Goble was pregnant, and the father wasn’t any one of her young male suitors at Snead College. Instead, it was a married man, one, fifteen years her senior. The father of the baby Natalie Goble was carrying was local political whiz Alex Williams, Alabama’s Republican candidate for governor.

Since Garrett and I had spent nearly ninety minutes together yesterday afternoon, I skipped Pirates Cove this morning. Instead, after my round-trip walk to Oak Drive, I had called Joe and asked him to meet me at Huddle House for breakfast.

“I want you to either do me a favor or arrange for Hannah to come in to the office as soon as possible.” I told Joe after waiting fifteen minutes past our agreed upon meeting time. I had used this extra time to decide this was the best strategy. It seemed Joe and Hannah had a good working relationship. I had picked up on a subtle little sign or two that Hannah could easily become attracted to the ‘gorgeous Joe’ (Blair’s description from last Thursday) if she weren’t married to the consoling Steven.

“What’s the favor?” Joe asked.

“I need to talk with her and find out what all she knows about Natalie Goble being pregnant.” I said, going on to share what I had learned yesterday afternoon at Garrett’s.

Just as Joe said that he would prefer that all three of us meet, my eyes did a double-take. Joe and I were seated in a booth to the far-right corner of the diner’s front door. My back was to the restrooms, so I could see everyone coming and going. I would know the man anywhere. It was Tommy Lee Gore, the recently released felon whose brother, Brandon Gore, I had killed in 2012. He was with another man, another felon I suspected. Within ten seconds of the two men entering the Huddle House, Tommy Lee had concluded his scan and looked me straight in the eye. He started walking my way. I decided to stay put believing the act of my standing might be interpreted as fully confrontational.

Still ten feet away but continuing towards me, Tommy yelled, “Well, here’s the bastard who murdered my brother and got off scot-free.” By the time he reached Joe and my booth I couldn’t have slid out if I had wanted to. Tommy Lee stood with his legs against the table. In the milliseconds after his last word and while I was trying to formulate an appropriate response, the gentle-less giant of a man sat down right next to me.

Finally, I decided to respond. “Tommy Lee, you have no business here. I suggest you rethink what you are doing. Go on over there and sit with your buddy. Try the Southwestern Omelet. It’s wild like you. Add a spoonful of Tabasco sauce and you’ll get a five-minute thrill that won’t have any lasting consequences.” I didn’t have a clue why I had said what I did. It could make things worse.

“Well, Mr. Ford, you have always had a way with words. Especially with them juries, especially with your own jury. Talked them out of sending your sorry ass to prison. Words there wouldn’t do you any good. They won’t do you any good with me either.” Tommy Lee said, reaching over to Joe’s plate and removing a slice of bacon.

“Get your damned hands off my plate or I’ll shove it up your ass.” I was a little surprised by how quickly Joe had responded. He was big enough to back up his words with most any man. What worried me was he had never fought a mean man. Tommie Lee was as mean as they come. He didn’t fight fair. He didn’t care to die.

“Tommie Lee, I’m going to suggest one more time, and only one more time. You get up and walk over there to your friend and we’ll just all forget the little brain fart that prompted you to come join us.” I knew that my words alone wouldn’t likely persuade the lean and mean ex-con. Therefore. I shoved my Ruger SR9 into Tommie Lee’s right side, the one I had removed from its holster while the straggly-bearded and disheveled dumb ass was doing his little reconnaissance dance when he walked in.

“I guess I don’t have much choice now that you’ve brought in your little army. But, let me be clear, I’m coming for you. You don’t kill my brother and get away with it. I’ll find you on AWOL someday. You depend on it.” Tommy Lee got up and walked to a table along the front wall, almost as far away from Joe and me as you could get and remain inside the Huddle House. Tommy Lee’s incoherent AWOL statement certainly revealed his uneducated mind, but that did little to assuage the waves of fear coursing up and down my spine.

Novel Excerpts—The Case of the Perfectionist Professor, Chapter 14

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

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?

Chapter 14

I had just returned from Pirates Cove with two large teas when I heard the ding from the back door. I had told Marissa to park behind our office. I sure hoped she could enlighten me about her father’s interest in the Scopes Monkey Trial. For forty-five minutes before walking across the street, I had read online about a test case brought by the ACLU to attack the State of Tennessee’s Butler Act which forbid the teaching of evolution in public schools.

“Come in. I’m in the conference room.”

Marissa was dressed in tight blue jeans and a black sleeveless blouse. It was tight too, and low-cut, revealing enough of her healthy bosom to make me realize I would have to work to fight this magnetic distraction. Why did women wear clothes that had the power to pull men’s eyes and thoughts from Heaven to haystacks? I don’t have a clue why my thoughts had leaped to my grandfather’s barn loft, high school days, and the first time Amy had allowed me to explore her young, vibrant, and exploding peaks and valleys. By the time Marissa had taken a sip of her tea, I had loosely tethered my mind to a gorgeous beautician with a $1,999 three-quarter diamond on her left-hand ring finger. I embraced a deep thankfulness for the mostly sweet Camilla. Not so much for the remaining nine payments I still owed Kay Jewelers at the Gadsden Mall.

“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. I promise to not take all your afternoon.” I motioned for her to follow me back to my office and sit at the round oak table in the corner.

“Camilla’s working until five-thirty so I’m pretty flexible.”

“Connor, ever since Dad’s funeral and my time with mother I’ve known I needed to share with you something from his past. I’m not sure why I didn’t tell you this when I first came to you. I suppose I believed it didn’t have anything to do with his death. I’m still not sure.” Camilla said, fiddling with her iPhone. “It’s on vibrate now,” returning it to her purse sitting in the empty chair beside her.

“I’m all ears.”

“As I’ve said, Dad was a perfectionist. This necessarily meant he was never satisfied with the status quo, and was always trying to learn more, to make things better at least in his mind. Once he set his mind on something, katie-bar-the-door. He was extremely diligent and persistent, fully committed to doing whatever it takes to achieve his goal. Dad’s type always has one of two affects upon those around him. Either challenging them to do better themselves or antagonizing them with either his subject matter or his tenacity.”

“His perfectionism is written all over his journals. I wish I had met the man.” I said.

“I think it started in earnest after 9/11. I don’t remember him mentioning it before that horrible day. Mine and Dad’s relationship also changed when the Twin Towers came down. It wasn’t like it was bad before then. It was loving, caring, and kind. But, 9/11 made Dad realize how fragile life was. At the time I was twenty-three, four months shy of twenty-four, and I was just beginning work on my PhD at Harvard Divinity School, so I was extremely busy. From that day forward, he called me every day. Sorry, I got a little side-tracked. What I was about to say was that 9/11 also, someway, triggered an interest in Dad professionally.”

“Would you like me to pour your tea in a better cup?” I saw the condensation forming on both our paper cups. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” I walked to the kitchen and returned with two red coke glasses and two coasters. After I transferred our drinks, Marissa continued.

“By this time, Dad had been at the University of Tennessee for a year and had met Kramer Dickson. He was an evolutionary psychologist there at UT. If you don’t know, here is the standard definition used. I can quote it, ‘evolutionary psychology is a theoretical approach to psychology that attempts to explain useful mental and psychological traits—such as memory, perception, or language—as adaptations, that is, as the functional products of natural selection.”

“Gosh, that’s a mouthful.” I said, revealing my intellectual capacity to grasp complex subjects. “Let me interrupt you if you don’t mind. Is this when Adam’s interest in Bullets, Babies, and Bullshit, began?”

“Oh my God, how on earth do you know that?” Marissa said with her green eyes wide enough to explode.

“My friend, Mark Hale, is an investigator with the Marshall County Sheriff’s office. Just this morning, he shared this phrase with me. Apparently, his detecting work has turned up an article written by a reporter at the Knoxville Sentinel News several years ago. I think this phrase was the article’s title, or part of it.” I said.

“Knoxville, for Dad, was like moving from Chicago to the Middle East. It was his first real exposure to fundamentalism, in his case, Southern Baptists. After a year of close observation, including being around a ton of southern students, Dad concluded there was something strange going on. To me, he expressed it like this, ‘it’s like these people have two brains, or two separate compartments to their brain. One is wholly reasonable, the other couldn’t get them out of a paper bag. They’re brainwashed and deluded. They lose connection with reality because of their allegiance to a mythical book.’ After he met Professor Dickson, his ideas, should I say, evolved. Dickson helped clarify Dad’s thinking and gave him the direction he needed. In essence, Dad began a journey to determine how a person’s environment influenced his thinking and, most importantly, whether this could produce actual gene modifications, adaptations, I think they’re called. In other words, whether one’s beliefs influenced their genes to create mutations that would be passed on to their offspring.”

“This may be changing the subject some but what can you tell me about your father’s interest in the Scopes Monkey Trial? I assume you’ve heard of that.” I asked.

“Oh, have I? Just to make sure we’re talking about the same thing, let me summarize. In the early to mid-1920’s, John Scopes was a young high school science teacher in Dayton, Tennessee. By the way, that’s only about ninety minutes from Knoxville; Dad made the trip on several occasions. Scopes was accused of teaching evolution in violation of a Tennessee state law, known as the Butler Act. That law was a misdemeanor punishable by fine. The law said it was a violation, and again I quote, ‘to teach any theory that denies the story of the Divine Creation of man as taught in the Bible, and to teach instead that man has descended from a lower order of animals.’

“Someway, Scopes intentionally got arrested and charged with violating the Butler Act and enlisted the aid of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) to organize a defense. Apparently, the well-known William Jennings Bryan, a fundamentalist hero of a sort, and a three-time Democratic Party presidential candidate, agreed to assist in prosecuting the case. Not to be outdone, the ACLU enlisted the famous Clarence Darrow to defend Scopes. As you can see, this set the stage for one of America’s most famous trials.

“As the trial got underway, Dayton, Tennessee took on a carnival-like atmosphere with hordes of spectators and reporters. Preachers set up revival tents and kept the faithful stirred up.

Initially, the defense didn’t fare so well. Sorry, for the pun. The Judge shut-down Darrow’s attempt to argue the Butler Act was unconstitutional. The Judge also refused to stop his practice of opening each day’s proceedings with prayer.”

I knew Marissa must be needing a sip of tea, so I interjected. “See if you’ve heard this. I just read it before you arrived. There’s no doubt the scene outside the courthouse was quite a spectacle. There was an exhibit featuring two chimpanzees and a supposed ‘missing link.’ Vendors sold Bibles, toy monkeys, hot dogs, and lemonade. The missing link was in fact a man from Burlington, Vermont, a 51-year-old man, Jo Viens, I think was his name.”

“I have definitely read that. What happened in the courthouse was much more interesting to me. Not surprisingly, the Judge continued to destroy the defense’s strategy by ruling that expert scientific testimony on evolution was inadmissible.”

“Why on earth did he rule that?” I asked, almost feeling nostalgic towards a courtroom, recalling a few defendants I had represented who themselves proved humans were two chromosomes short of being a chimpanzee.

“The Judge said that it was Scopes who was on trial, and not the law he had violated.” Marissa said.

“That’s bullshit.”

“That’s what Did thought too. Obviously, the Judge was as much a fundamentalist as William Jennings Bryan and ninety-nine percent of everyone else in Dayton, Tennessee.”

“Get this, the Judge moved the trial outdoors, apparently, there were so many people in the courtroom he was afraid the floor would collapse.”

I was glad I had spent the time before Marissa arrived reading several articles from the Internet. “Clarence Darrow was brilliant. I read that for some reason this physical relocation caused him to change his trial strategy. He called Bryan as his only defense witness to discredit his literal interpretation of the Bible. Darrow was already known for his dissecting examinations. In law school, my trial practice professor had us read Darrow’s masterpiece. He subjected Bryan to severe ridicule and forced him to make ignorant and contradictory statements. I’m not sure how much the crowd was amused to see one of their own suffer such embarrassment.” I said.

Marissa jumped in and said, “I think it all turned out for the good. Darrow, in his closing argument, asked the jury to return a verdict of guilty in order that the case might be appealed. For some strange reason, under Tennessee law at the time, Bryan was denied the opportunity to deliver the closing speech he had been preparing for weeks. The jury, after only eight minutes I believe, returned with a guilty verdict. The Judge ordered Scopes to pay a fine of $100. Here’s the part I love, although Bryan won the case, he had been publicly humiliated, and his fundamentalist beliefs had been disgraced. Then, I think it was four or five days later, on July 26, he lay down for a Sunday afternoon nap and never woke up. That probably is a little mean of me.”

“Justice I guess. A year or so later, the Tennessee Supreme Court overturned the Monkey Trial verdict on a technicality but left the constitutional issues unresolved. And, here’s something even better. In 1968, the U.S. Supreme Court overturned a similar Arkansas law claiming it violated the First Amendment.” I said.

“One thing that didn’t change. The clear majority of American Christians still don’t want evolution taught in their public schools. The fundamentalists among them, you know the ones who hold to a literalistic interpretation of the Bible, they know evolution wholly obliterates Genesis and the creation story.”

Over the next hour, Marissa and I continued to talk, including about how Adam, from the early fall of 2001 until he was forced out of UT in May 2014, had continued to research and develop his evolutionary psychological theory, always with the capable assistance of his colleague, Dr. Kramer Dickson. Marissa even, without my prompting, shared the story of how her father believed he was a modern-day Galileo, labeled as a heretic in the South for his stance against the Southern Baptist community who deeply believed evolution was a lie, guns were as normal and necessary as breathing, and the Bible, every word of it, was written by God Himself. Right before Marissa changed our subject, I became convinced that both Galileo and Parker were either insane or virtually incomparable in their bravery in confronting two of the most powerful and dominating Christian organizations on the planet. I didn’t know much about Catholics, but I had grown up with Southern Baptists. I knew they were as dogmatic in their fundamentalism as William Jennings Bryan ever dared to be.

Before Marissa left a few minutes after three, she shared one other thing that had a lifelong affect upon her father. It was the death of her sister, Marianna, Adam and Anna Parker’s first child. Marissa described how her parents had learned during Anna’s pregnancy that the child was likely deformed or would likely suffer from some birth defect. Adam and Anna had struggled over the decision whether or to have an abortion. Adam had been for it. Anna against it. Adam never forgave himself for the pain Anna had endured during her pregnancy, having nearly died on two separate occasions. When Marianna was born dead, it nearly destroyed both parents, but Adam always blamed himself for not having the determination to persuade Anna once they learned of the baby’s condition.

After Marissa left, I sat and pondered the connection, if any, between Anna’s first pregnancy and the death of Marianna, and Adam’s apparent infatuation with both his abortion-related research, and his theory that bullets, babies, and bullshit were mutating genes, creating a whole new species of homo sapiens.

Novel Excerpts—The Case of the Perfectionist Professor, Chapter 13

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

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?

Chapter 13

Saturday morning, I was halfway through my walk to Oak Drive when my cell phone vibrated. I hated it when I couldn’t decide. Ever since Emily had moved in I had started back carrying my cell phone with me everywhere I went. Before we reconnected, I left it at home during my early morning walks. It was the best time of my day to, without the possibility of interruption, ponder, plan, and pretend I was happy and satisfied. Seeing Mark Hale’s name on my phone sent mixed signals. And, helped me decide to leave my cell at home, starting tomorrow. It was then I was reminded that I had forgotten to return Mark’s call from Thursday morning.

“Good morning Mark.”

“You back to ignoring me like you did when you became a fancy-pansy lawyer?” Mark had always thought I had gone to law school as a cope out, to avoid the dirt and grime of reality. What little did he know.

“Sorry, I honestly forgot. To save a little face here, I recall Blair saying that it wasn’t urgent.”

“It’s not to me. At all, but you might at least find it interesting.” Mark said. I couldn’t figure out the sound coming from his surroundings.

“What’s that noise?”

“A chainsaw. Two. Kristi’s been after me for over a year to get rid of this old Magnolia tree in our front yard. She hates a messy yard. No tree is messier than a Magnolia. Two of the deputies have started a little business on the side, trying to learn the art of tree surgery.”

“Walk away from them a little if you don’t mind. I can barely hear you. Now, tell me what I might find interesting.” I said as I kept walking.

“Lawton Hawks. Tony and I, you’ve not met him, he’s my new partner after old man Slaton retired, me and Tony searched Hawks’ house. You know, standard stuff with any murder, trying to find someone with a motive.” Mark said, about as disjointed as I could remember him.

“What’d you find?”

“Pullets, Rabies, and Pull Sheet, Triple Lee.” Mark apparently had walked back over closer to the screaming chainsaws. Surely, what I’d heard wasn’t what he had said.

“You’re going to have to go inside or something. I can’t understand you. I heard something about pullets having rabies. The rest made even less sense.

“No, dumbass. I said Bullets, Babies, and Bullshit.” Mark said. Now, I couldn’t hear anything in the background. He must have gone inside his house.

“Well, I’m hearing you clear now, but it still doesn’t make any sense.”

“Tony’s pretty good with a computer. It seems Mr. Hawks didn’t care much for your Adam Parker. Facebook clearly reflects their ongoing shout-fest, along with Jake Stone’s. But, things went even further. Hawks had acted like a hawk and went looking around. You get it? Hawks have eagle eyes.”

“I get it. You still haven’t explained what bullet baby bullshit is all about.” I said.

“Hold on Sherlock, I’m getting to that. Our man Hawks found out Parker had created a little stir up in Knoxville at UT. That stands for the University of Tennessee.” Mark liked being crystal clear.

“I know.”

“Hawks had several articles on his computer. He and Jake Stone, you know, he’s a police officer with Boaz?”

“I know.”

“They had a pretty healthy online relationship, always emailing each other. Hawks would give Stone a summary of an article. Seems like Adam Parker and UT were involved in some type lawsuit. I don’t remember if UT had sued Parker or someone had sued both Parker and UT. Anyway, the title of one of the articles was “Bullets, Babies, and Bullshit: Where’s the Biology?” Mark said.

“That’s certainly a lot of B’s.” Then, I remembered what Camilla had said, that the Mayor had told her that Mr. Hawks had three B’s burned into his back.

“Hawk’s told Stone in the email that a reporter with the Knoxville News Sentinel, that’s a newspaper, learned that Parker was pushing the envelope on Biology by arguing his research was indicating that environment was playing more of a role in producing mutations. That last part I’m reading from my black-book. It was all over my head, so I jotted down a few notes. Oh, here’s something else from that article. Parker was contrasting what was happening now, particularly in the South, with, let me get this right, the Scopes Monkey Trial of 1925 and the two warring factions of that time.” I could tell Mark was struggling to relay what he had learned.

“I recall something about that from law school. My trial practice professor used it extensively in teaching us how two craftsmen with different styles could argue clearly and forcefully. William Jennings Bryan, a three-time presidential candidate, argued for the prosecution, while Clarence Darrow, a famed defense attorney, spoke for Scopes, the defendant.” I said.

“Okay, I don’t need to know any of that. Here’s the thing. Hawks figured out that Parker was either fired or otherwise forced to leave UT. Whoever filed the lawsuit argued that a college level Biology class wasn’t the place to talk about guns, abortion, and the Bible.”

“Wow, wait a minute. You’ve gone off the rails. Explain what you just said.” I was having a hard time following the usually clear Mark Hale.

“Bullets are guns, relate to guns. Babies deal with abortion, and bullshit, according to Parker, was another word for Bible. Parker, at least according to the Sentinel reporter and Hawks, was a charlatan and therefore unfit to teach Biology. Hawks believed Parker was doing the same thing at Snead State and was polluting the young and pliable minds of his young students.”

“You haven’t said, but I think it’s pretty clear, that the three B’s carved or engraved on Hawk’s back refer to bullets, babies, and bullshit?” I asked.

“That’s mine and Tony’s conclusion. Hey, where did you hear about that?”

“Rumor mill. You know, word travels fast in a small town.” I said walking up the steps to my back porch.

“Sorry Connor, but I got to go. The guys are finishing up and will want some money. Talk later.”

I went inside, showered, dressed, and drove to the office. I was curious now and wanted to see if there was anything in the eight journals Marissa had brought to the office on her first visit that related at all to what Mark had told me.

After arriving, I made a pot of coffee and responded to an email from Dalton asking if I knew that Bobby was thinking about retiring after the Jackson County case. I simply responded with ‘no,’ and walked to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Just as I opened Adam’s journal from June through December 2014, my cell phone vibrated. It was Marissa.

“Hey Marissa. I was going to call you today, probably late afternoon.”

I could hear a radio playing in the background. “I started to call you last night. I have something I need to tell you. That’s why I’m headed your way. Will you have some time today or tomorrow to see me?” Marissa said.

“I would prefer today. Camilla is working and we’re going to church tomorrow and then on a picnic to DeSoto Falls, assuming the weather holds.”

“I’m about thirty minutes from Huntsville. I could be there in a couple of hours. Would, say, noon be okay?” Marissa asked.

“Just come to the office. I’m here about to look at some of Adam’s journals.”

“I’ll see you then.”

I spent the time scanning the eight journals in Adam’s briefcase. I focused mainly on the summaries and highlights he had written on the inside of the front cover of each journal. I learned that he left the University of Tennessee in May 2014, after nearly fourteen years there teaching Biology. His departure from Knoxville had devastated him. Although he didn’t write anything particularly about his research, he did say that it is not unheard of at all for scientists to be ridiculed when they offer a new hypothesis.

During July and August 2014, he wrote extensively about Galileo and the trouble he had gotten into in the early seventeenth century for proposing that the earth wasn’t the center of the universe as the Catholic Church believed. Because that’s what the Bible said. Galileo concluded that the earth revolves around the sun and not vice-versa. Heliocentrism, the theory that the Earth was a planet, which, along with all the others, revolved around the Sun, contradicted both geocentrism and prevailing theological beliefs. Finally, Parker, in relating to his own circumstances, stated his full commitment to be a modern-day Galileo, even if he met with full condemnation. What energized him, like Galileo, was that he had the truth on his side.

Novel Excerpts—The Case of the Perfectionist Professor, Chapter 12

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

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?

Chapter 12

I skipped Pirates Cove and breakfast Friday morning. A phone call to Garrett wasn’t needed. We had established that if I wasn’t there by 7:00, I wasn’t coming. It didn’t affect Garrett’s schedule since he ate there seven days per week.

I checked in with Blair to let her know I was headed to Adam Parker’s house. I wanted to make sure she didn’t have any messages for me and to check my email. I hadn’t checked it since leaving the office yesterday afternoon. I was trying harder to create a more distinct divide between my business and personal lives. I figured if someone really needed me they would call my iPhone or text me. I had made sure Joe had included my cell number on the simple website he had set up for Connor Investigations. There were no emails that couldn’t wait, and Blair handed me only one phone message. It was from Mark Hale. I decided to call him back later because Blair had written across the pink note that “it’s not urgent, call when you can.”

I drove past Snead College and on to 1012 West Mann Avenue. After a number of students had crossed the street from the boy’s dorm (not sure why I still called it that) I saw a Boaz Police cruiser backing out of Adam Parker’s driveway. As soon as I could, I sped up. I wanted to see who it was, thinking it might be Jake Stone, but a car backed out from the front of the gymnasium and blocked my path. I gave up on following the cruiser and drove half a block and turned into Adam’s drive.

His front door was locked and before going in I walked around the house. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. I tried to assume the police car wasn’t Jake Stone and it was another officer just needing to turn around.

My plan was to spend most of the day reading Adam’s journals. I knew I wouldn’t likely make a dent. There were sixty-four of them, not including the eight that Marissa had brought to the office on her first visit. So far, I didn’t know a lot about Adam Parker, but one thing was clear, he was organized and followed certain patterns or routines, including recording his private life. I was amazed that for thirty-seven years, beginning in January 1981, Adam had maintained a journal. And, he still had every one of them, two per year, lined up on bookshelves behind his desk in his study. I guess that disastrous Christmas holiday in the middle of his ninth-grade year had been a defining moment in his life.

I pulled the 1981 journal from the bookcase and walked to the sun-room. On the inside cover Adam had written a short summary of his year, obviously writing this after 1981 had ended. The first few sentences were written as though he intended someone else to be reading and needed an introduction. He was Adam Parker (DOB August 12, 1967). This journal covered six months of his life, from January 1981 through June 1981. He lived at 1288 Claremont Drive with his parents (who he didn’t name). Under “Highlights” he had written: “1. I now have a compulsion to be the best I can. Evidence: I made perfect grades my ninth grade second semester; 2. I have low self-esteem. Evidence: I avoid eye contact and walk around with hunched shoulders. Also, I am the most pessimistic person I know; 3. My value is directly related to what I can accomplish; 4. I go to sleep at night fearing I will fail the next day. 5. I know some of these four things conflict with each other.”

I spent forty-five minutes before concluding that Adam was living a tortured life. All he talked about was his studies, often going into detail about how he attacked and managed projects. A little before ten o’clock, I walked back to the study and grabbed the other 1981 journal, and the six journals that covered 1982 through 1985. By noon, all I had learned was that Adam continued as a student at Dearborn High and was becoming more interested in Chemistry and Biology, what he referred to as ‘The Gospel of Science.’ By 2:00 p.m., I realized all I was doing was mostly scanning for something that didn’t relate to school. I had noticed Adam did not mention having any friends or doing anything fun. He never spoke of extra-curricular activities, hobbies, family vacations. I decided I was wasting my time, but for some reason I returned to Adam’s study, along with the eight high school journals, and chose the first of the two 1986 journals.

Adam was now at the University of Chicago, starting his second semester. His front cover summary said that he had met Anna Graben and “it appears possible we might become friends.” A few lines down, under “Highlights,” he had written: “married Anna Graben on June 8, 1986.” I had to shake my head to determine if I was dreaming. That fact struck me as odd, but just one of life’s rare coincidences. Amy Vickers and I had married on June 8, 1986. Another thing I thought was even more than odd. How on earth had Adam found a girlfriend and got married? Up until now I would have bet ten thousand dollars it would have been impossible, at least at that time in his life. I obviously knew he had married at some point because there was Marissa, his daughter.

My imagination stirred so I went for two more journals: the number two 1986 journal covering July through December and the one covering the first half of 1987. I was right. In a way. Under 1987 “Highlights,” Adam had written: “1. Marianna was born January 23, 1987. Dead.” It didn’t take me but a second to realize that Anna was pregnant when she and Adam married. Of course, this assumed the pregnancy went full term. I made a mental note to speak with Marissa about how this. I was getting tired of journals and only scanned a few entries in the first 1987 journal. No doubt, Anna and Adam were devastated over the loss of their first child. Also, there was no doubt, Adam was doggedly pursuing the building blocks of life as demonstrated through chemistry and biology.

At three-thirty, I lay on Adam’s couch and let the warm rays of sunshine coming at an angle through the windows gently transport me into a deep and restful sleep. It was nearly six o’clock when I was awakened by Camilla’s phone call. She was concerned I hadn’t gotten home and that I hadn’t returned the two calls she had left with Blair. She never liked the policy of not calling my cell phone during my work hours, although she often ignored my instruction. I told her what had happened and that I would be home at least by seven since there was a quick errand I wanted to run.

It may have been a dream or something in one of Adam’s journals but for some reason I wanted to stop by and at least see Adam’s office at Snead College. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t already been by.

The Administration and Faculty office building was virtually deserted when I arrived. The back doors were open, thankfully. Two men were vacuuming on the first floor. I took the stairs to room 289. The key Marissa had given me worked without any problem. I walked in and flipped on a light switch. It was a two-room office with the outer room containing several filing cabinets and a small desk in the corner. Along a side wall was an eight-foot table piled with books. A quick glance showed they were all academic textbooks and single-subject treatises. I walked into the larger office that clearly evidenced Adam’s hand-print.

I thought I heard vacuuming and assumed the two guys were now up here on the second floor. I walked back to the front door and flipped off the light and returned to Adam’s office and shut the door. I wanted to see if the computer on Adam’s desk would allow my entry. I didn’t want to be disturbed.

After ten minutes of trying every possible combination of the phrase Marissa suggested might be the password Adam used, I heard a faint noise. It was almost like a cat clawing on the outside door. I got up and flipped off the light and sat back down to listen. It didn’t take long for me to notice the vacuuming had stopped and someone was trying to get into Adam’s office. After another fifteen seconds they had succeeded. By their whispers I could tell it was two girls. The lights came on in the front office and I decided to have a look. No doubt I startled Natalie Goble and Paige Todd when I opened Adam’s office door.

As soon as they saw me, they didn’t say anything but attempted to turn and run. “Wait. Natalie, Paige, I’m an investigator. I won’t hurt you.”

As Garrett had said, the girls were bold. I was surprised they decided to stay. “What are you doing here?” Paige asked.

“I’m Connor Ford and I work for Adam Parker, well, Adam Parker’s daughter, Marissa Booth.” I said. “By the way, what are you two doing here?”

“Uh, we’re looking for our grades. For the last paper we did for Professor Parker, before he was killed, died.” Natalie said. I could tell she wasn’t quite as bold as Paige.

“What makes you think he was killed?” I asked.

Neither would answer me. So, I tried a different tact. “Ladies, please know I have no intention of reporting you for breaking into Adam’s office. All I’m interested in is finding out if he was murdered. That’s why his daughter, Marissa, hired me.”

“Mr. Ford, that’s what we want to find out ourselves. That’s why we are really here.” Paige said, probably being a little too trusting towards someone she just met, especially someone she met after breaking into an office.

“Why do you have a suspicion that Adam may have been killed?” I asked.

“Do you have some type of identification?” Natalie asked. That’s a question a cautious and logical person would ask.

I took out my wallet and showed both my business card and my State of Alabama private investigator license. “If you want to verify I am who I saw I am, you are welcome to visit my office. It’s located at 201 South Main Street, here in Boaz, right across the street from Pirates Cove restaurant.”

“I know where that is. I’ve seen your sign on the side of the building, next to Highway 168.” Paige said.

“We believe somebody local killed Professor Parker because he was outspoken about abortion and guns.” Natalie added, exchanging looks with Paige.

“Guns? I know a little about an ongoing argument over abortion, but I wasn’t aware of an issue with guns.” I said.

“The root of both subjects is the Bible. Most folks around here are anti-abortion and pro-gun. You probably know that.” Paige said.

We continued to talk another twenty minutes. I brought up the Waffle House scene and they both admitted what Garrett had said was accurate. I liked the two girls. They both seemed sincere and level-headed. It didn’t take long to learn that the rumor I had heard that they were hardcore Southern Baptist fundamentalists was not remotely true. Before leaving, they had convinced me that Adam never would have parked his car by backing into his parking spot and that Adam was afraid of Jake Stone. Finally, I had no doubt that Natalie hated her step-father. Her words, “he is the ring-leader of all assholes. Paige and I are determined to do all we can to prove he and the equally asshole Lawton Hawks killed Professor Parker, the wisest and most gentle man we have ever met.”

I drove home feeling I had wasted my day at Adam Parker’s house but had established a valuable connection with two interesting and determined young ladies.

Novel Excerpts—The Case of the Perfectionist Professor, Chapter 11

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

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?

Chapter 11

It was Thursday before I returned to my normal early morning routine: my two-mile walk to Oak Drive and breakfast at Pirates Cove with Garrett. Emily’s presence in my house had disrupted my life, in more ways than I wanted to admit. They were not all bad. The past three days the two of us had, over bowls of oatmeal, shared thoughts on the future, including our hopes and dreams. These talks had given me hope that Emily was either experiencing a supernatural enlightening if that type thing exists, or she was finally realizing that drinking, partying, and revolving-door boyfriends wasn’t the pathway to peace and happiness. It seems her one-year marriage to Tyler Tyson in 2013 couldn’t corral the wild stallion. Driving to Pirates Cove this morning I had my own realization. My world and Emily’s may never so align again to allow for these father-daughter talks, especially now that today is her first day of work at Gadsden Regional Medical Center.

Garrett, as usual, arrived before me and had already ordered. Just as I sat down, I gave a thumb’s up to Gloria who was looking at me. When she was waitressing at breakfast my simple hand gesture was all it took for her to know I wanted my standard breakfast: coffee, two eggs over easy, two slices of buttered toast, one slice of crispy bacon, one sausage patty, and two packets of strawberry jam.

“Good morning Sherlock.” This was Garrett’s tell, at least one of them. Whenever he was feeling especially combative, he’d always call me Sherlock. I wondered which obstacle course he had planned for us today.

“And, good day to you Watson.” Two could play this game.

“Observation. You ready?” Garrett said pouring more maple syrup on his one pancake. This is one thing I liked about him, he got right to the point. He was, like me, not much of a chit-chatter.

“Just a second. I need to turn on my bullshit detector.” I said, feeling almost like a chit-chatter.

“There must be some form of universal law. When a new detective, or private investigator as you prefer calling yourself, moves into a small town, the crime rate goes up.” Garrett said.

“I’m waiting. I know you have an explanation for this universal principal.” I said, pouring cream into my coffee.

“You’ve been here now, you and your detecting business, for what, three years?” Garrett’s questions were often cumbersome.

“Right at it.”

“Now, there’s been a suspicious death and a murder in the past two weeks. See, the universal principal clearly at work.”

I thought I would lull him by agreeing. “You’re right, and your evidence doesn’t even include the suspicious drownings at Aurora Lake during the summer of 2016.”

“That doesn’t count. Their deaths were ruled accidental.”

“I thought they both had gunshot wounds in their heads.”

“That was just a rumor.” I raised my eyebrows, leaned my head to the right, and held up both hands like I was surrendering. If anyone would know the truth it would be Garrett. “Good work Watson.” I said. “Seriously, you said there had been a suspicious death in the last two weeks. Are you referring to Adam Parker?”

“Definitely.”

“So, what makes you think that? What have you heard?” I asked.

“You need to be more observant, maybe spend some time on Facebook, maybe start back to church. You’d be surprised what you would learn.” Garrett and I had talked quite a bit lately about me and Camilla spending Sunday mornings at a church of our choice. Until mine and Amy’s troubles, I had always been a regular church-goer. I had grown up at Second Baptist Church here in Boaz until the beginning of the eleventh grade. Then, I had moved my membership to First Baptist Church of Christ, probably because most of the in-crowd were there, including Amy and all the other pretty girls from high school. Garrett also knew I both hated and loved Facebook. I utilized it only when needed, when it was relevant to an investigation. Otherwise, it was a time waster and the perfect place to boost my blood-pressure since most postings were by rednecks and retards who were wholly deficient in reasoning skills.

“I’m still seriously thinking about church. No way to Facebook. I’ve got you for all the bullshit I need. Now, tell me why you think Adam Parker’s death was suspicious.” I said.

“Most everyone in town hated him. He had views, including views on abortion, that were foreign to Boaz, in other words, they didn’t align with Southern Baptist Republican Fundamentalism.”

“That may have been the first time I’ve heard that phrase. I suspect it’s true. It sure seems that, around here at least, Baptists are bent towards both the Republican Party and hard-core Bible beliefs.” I said. “What else, anything more specific?”

“You can’t get more specific than Lawton Hawks. Well, not unless you’re Jake Stone. Those two were Parker’s two main adversaries. To be clearer, those two were Parker’s two main Facebook adversaries. Again, if you’d spend some quality time on social media you’d know these things.” Watson was a virtual fountain head of information.

“In my line of work, it takes a lot more than that to generate real suspicion.” I said.

“Well, what about this. Something, as far as I know, that never hit Facebook. A few weeks ago, I was at Waffle House, you know, across from MacDonald’s. I sometime go there in the middle of the night for a cup of coffee, mainly, something to do when I get bored at home and can’t sleep. I had seen Adam there several times but this time he got into a shouting match when he was leaving. He had paid his tab right in front of me and walked outside to the parking. Before I went outside I made a pit stop in the bathroom. By the time I walked outside I could hear a heated argument. It was Adam and a man I didn’t know at the time. Now, from yesterday’s Sand Mountain Reporter, I know it was Lawton Hawks.”

“What were they saying?” I asked.

“The only thing I heard before the police arrived, probably they just happened to pull into the parking lot, was ‘You’ll do what I say or wish you had.’”

“Who said that?”

“Lawton Hawks.” Garrett said motioning for Gloria to refill his coffee cup.

“You’re positive it was Lawton Hawks? I asked.

“No doubt, again, based on the Reporter’s photograph. I’ve often wondered what would have happened if the police hadn’t driven through the parking lot.”

“So, they didn’t park and get out? They didn’t approach Parker and Hawks?” I wanted to know what had kept the heated discussion from accelerating. Many times, these situations continue to escalate.

“No, I’m not sure they even noticed the two men. They were across the parking lot standing between two cars.”

“So, they saw you and settled down?” I asked.

“Actually no. When I exited the building and heard the shouting, I eased over behind one of those god-awful jacked-up trucks that was parked nearly at the front door. I almost felt sorry for the two girls who got out of their car just right up from where the argument was taking place.” Garrett said placing a five-dollar bill and three ones on the table to pay for his meal, including tip.

“Can you describe the two girls?”

“Young. And bold, I have to say.”

“Why do you say that?” I said, looking at my iPhone for the time.

“One of the girls, might have been Snead State students, since their car had a blue and gold tag on its front bumper, said, ‘leave him alone or you’ll wish that you had.’

“Again, you’re sure that’s what you heard, what the girl said.” I asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Observation.” I liked when Garrett did that, so I tried it. “The girls were sitting there during the entire argument. The girl who spoke borrowed words from Mr. Hawk?” I asked.

“They may have been there all along. Come to think of it, I didn’t see them drive up, nor had I seen them inside the Waffle House. Now, that I’m thinking about it, why would they have backed their car into their parking spot?” Garrett asked.

“They did?”

“Sherlock, you’re not listening or drawing on your prior knowledge. I said I saw their blue and gold tag on their car’s front bumper. They were parked across the parking lot from the restaurant’s front door. You know the layout of that facility. They had to be backed in for me to see that tag.” Garrett certainly was reminding me that my mind was not yet hitting on eight cylinders, although I had already had two cups of coffee.

“One final question and I’ve got to go. It’s nearly eight o’clock. Do you recognize either of these girls?” I pulled out a photocopy of Natalie Goble and Paige Todd. Yesterday, on a whim, what I called a Mark Hale generated whim, I had driven to Snead State’s library and made a copy of both girls from the school’s most recent annual. I had then copied my copies to put them side by side on one sheet of paper.

Garrett took the paper and pondered them for several seconds. “This one.” He was pointing to Paige Todd. “She’s definitely the one who promised Lawton a future wish come true if he didn’t obey. This girl.” Garrett now was pointing to Natalie Goble. “She might have been the other girl. I’m not sure. No, that’s her. These two girls in your photo are the two I saw who confronted Lawton Hawks.”

“Thanks Watson, actually, thanks Sherlock.” See you tomorrow.” I said standing and placing my eight dollars on top of Garrett’s.