The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.
The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind. First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer. And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.
Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected. Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973? Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well? How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?
What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.
Chapter 9
Sunday, Pastor Caleb ended the morning service with a long prayer for Elton Rawlins. It was almost like the pastor was conducting the actual funeral even though it wasn’t scheduled until Tuesday. His final statement got my attention: “And Lord, we ask that you bathe Miss Minnie with your grace that she might find comfort and peace during these dark days.” I made a mental note to find out who Miss Minnie was.
Lunch at Mom and Dad’s on Sunday’s was almost mandatory. From what I hear, before I moved back to Boaz in March 2014, this rule was more flexible. I believe Mother thought there was safety and power in large numbers. With all her family, except me, real Bible thumpers, she subtly manipulated the makings of a mini-revival around Papa Stonewall’s giant dining room table shortly after noon every Sabbath. One thing that wasn’t flexible was the seating arrangements. This had long ago been established, while Susan was alive. We drove from Huntsville for the grand gathering at least half a dozen times per year. The lineup further refined itself as soon as the four grandchildren were old enough to feed themselves. Susan’s chair, across from me and besides Dad, continued to remain unfilled until, as Mom hoped, I would eventually remarry.
After everyone was seated and Dad blessed the food and our bodies, Luke, who was seated to my left (because of Mom’s novel seating chart) grabbed a hot biscuit from the plate in front of him and then popped a question. “Brother Robert told the group this morning that the universe is finely tuned by God for us humans; what do you think Grandmama?” I was glad he hadn’t directed the question to me.
I guess Deidre couldn’t resist. “Luke, pass the bread down this way for your mom and dad. As to your question, the Bible is clear. God created man and woman in His image. This would have to mean he first created a world that was just right for us.”
I filled my plate with potato salad, baked ham, black-eyed peas, and a host of raw vegetables including tomatoes, peppers, and onions. I had learned not to offer an opinion unless I was pinned to the wall. I think all the adults, other than Mom, had learned to bypass my street when they were seeking Bible truths.
“I’ve read that just a tiny change in the distance between the earth and the sun would kill us all. If it were a little farther away, we would freeze to death. If it were a little closer, we would fry.” Ed added.
“Pass the biscuits back this way sis.” I sometimes was able to distance me and the rest of us from potentially explosive subjects. But today my power lay dormant.
Luke turned and looked toward me and said, “what do you think Uncle Fred?”
I had to say something. “I’ve never thought about it much, but I did read or hear this analogy. If you think of a standard two thousand square foot house as the universe as we know it, the earth would be represented as a grain of sand over in one corner of the den. I’m really not sure how to square that with the Bible, or why 99.99% of the house couldn’t support a flea.”
It surprised me that no one followed up on my opinion, especially if they caught my intent that God must be small himself if he is like us humans.
Maybe it was Dad’s way of dulling the edges. He interjected, “Deidre, I assume you’ll be going to Elton’s funeral?” I took it that he was asking her and not simply making a statement.
“I am. Rebecca seems to be doing well, but I don’t want her to ever wonder why I wasn’t there. If nothing else, it will be interesting to see Jessica.”
“Whose Jessica?” Brad, Diedre’s son-in-law, asked.
“Elton’s first wife, and the mother of their two children.”
“Seems like only yesterday that you and Rebecca were inseparable, school, spend-the-night parties, and ball games.” Dad continued to interject.
“Don’t forget cheerleading and chasing the boys.” Ed added.
“How long have Rebecca and Elton been married?” I asked, knowing that he had to be twelve to fifteen years older than her, given the difference in mine and Elton’s ages.
“Three, maybe four years.” Deidre said.
“Why would a good-looking woman like Rebecca marry an old codger like Elton? She’s sexy enough to snare a man as young as me.” Ed said, trying to be funny or soliciting an affirmative response to stroke his ego.
“Oh boy, you’re older than Rebecca and she’d lock on to you. If she were desperate for a yardman.” Diedre said, smiling across the table at the pudgy Edward.
“Thanks, my love.”
Gabby seemed to be interested in her father’s question. “At least answer Dad. Did they marry because of love? I bet Rebecca is a gold-digger. I’ve heard Elton was loaded.”
“Don’t insult my best friend in all my high school years. Maybe, Elton was her knight in shining armor.” Deidre said, her voice trailing like she was dreaming. She was no longer smiling.
“If you ask me, Elton was pretty brave to marry a woman who had already murdered three husbands.” Ed offered, surprisingly rude for him.
“Murdered?” Mom said, taking a sip of coffee. I hated coffee at mealtimes, other than breakfast.
“Grand kids, Mr. Ed was only kidding. Rebecca, unfortunately, sadly, lost three husbands, all some sort of tragedy. Rebecca wouldn’t hurt a flee.” Deidre was trying to clean up Ed’s mess.
“Elton was a good man, probably loved Rebecca a great deal. But I suspect he also wanted to help her, take care of her. Maybe he was like your sis said,” Dad looked over at me. “He was her knight in shining armor.”
Sis apparently wanted to change the subject. I was glad she did. “Mom, do you know how old Miss Minnie is?” It was the question I had wanted to ask but had already forgotten.
“Let’s see. She’s at least ten years older than me. Her and Paul had Elton later in life. She was probably in her thirties. I’d say she’s getting close to a hundred.” Mom seemed confident in her reasoning. My own mother, at age eighteen, was valedictorian of her Boaz High School class, already married to Dad, and was eagerly anticipating going on to college in accounting. My own mother, now eighty-eight and fit as a fiddle.
“Where is she now? I doubt she lives alone.” I wanted to know more about the woman who had put up with Elton Rawlins for a good seventy-five years.
“Albertville Nursing Home. She’s been there for years. Parkinson’s. Fortunately, well, maybe not, she’s kept her mind. Now, she probably wishes otherwise.” Dad added.
“I bet she’s praising God right now for being so good to Elton, taking him on to paradise before her. She might even be a little jealous.” Mom said. I wondered at first whether she was serious. I looked at her carefully. She was serious. I almost made a snide remark, ‘old Elton is probably swindling some old woman out of her mansion.’
Instead, I remembered Dad’s knight in shining armor comment and decided to ask why Rebecca needed rescuing when a loud car horn blew. Mom got up and looked out the front window. “It’s a young man in a red car. Needs a good haircut.”
“Oh, that’s Tyler. We’re going fishing if that’s okay granddad.”
I was a little surprised that Tyler was driving by himself. He was just a ninth-grader like Luke. Maybe, he was already sixteen and had his driver’s license. If so, I guess he’s failed a grade or two.
“May I be excused?” Luke said, looking towards Dad.
The meal was great as usual and thankfully I had escaped the ever-reaching, long tentacles that seemed to surface from under and around Papa Stonewall’s giant table.
I drove down the half-mile narrow, hard-packed country lane to my house for a nap. For some traditions, I was forever thankful.
The Pencil-Driven Life 