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 20
What I had learned from Dad in the gazebo had triggered a rush of adrenaline. Instead of using the excuse of Mother’s death as a good reason not to attend Doug’s Training Union class, I arrived early. But, I wasn’t the first person.
Connie was already there, sitting on the first row right in front of Doug’s podium. Just like last week. I smiled at her and said hello as I walked toward the back row.
“You can sit with me. I don’t bite.” Connie said, returning my smile. No doubt it was silly, but it seemed like her invitation was like the midpoint of a novel, and our relationship up to this point in time. I felt a monumental shift, like a long row of dominoes had just tripped over the first of another similar row that was headed in a whole other direction. I turned and walked toward the most beautiful woman I had ever seen (sorry, Susan). I hoped Connie didn’t detect I was fully delusional.
“What time is it?” I asked as I sat down in the second seat from Connie. “I didn’t realize I was so early.” My delusion continued.
“Sit next to me. I’m cold.” It was the weirdest place on earth for sexual desire to rush over me like an ocean’s wave. Even though it was hot and humid outside, the small basement classroom was cold. And, Connie had on a sleeveless blouse. “You can keep me warm.” Did this woman, sixty-two’ish but easily disguised as a thirty-six-year-old former model, not know what she was doing to me? For the first time ever, I was thankful for the old and uncomfortable chairs along the front row of the classroom. They were the type that, for some reason, were all tied together. They were fitted close together and you had no control over one chair’s distance from its next-door neighbor. Praise God for all blessings. I sat down, and my left shoulder and upper arm had no choice but to be near-firmly pressed against Connie’s.
“It’s like a refrigerator down here. Where’s the thermostat?” Always helpful me. Why didn’t I say something like, ‘how warm do you want to be?’ but thought the better of it.
“How’s your Dad?” Easily, quickly, Connie changed the subject. I had seen her briefly at Mom’s funeral. Then, all she said was, “I am so sorry. I know how close you two were.” I recall being thankful she hadn’t said, “she’s in a better place.”
“He’s taking it pretty hard. But, that’s no surprise. I stayed last night with him. Surprisingly, he’s been a chatter box all day, reliving almost every second he and Mom spent together.” An older couple came in. I didn’t recognize them. They hadn’t been here last week. They said hello and sat in my back-row spot.
“I can’t imagine how I’m going to feel when my parents die.” I knew Connie’s parents were still almost the picture of health, even though they too were well into their eighties. Before I could comment, she said, “changing the subject but do you know anything about John Deere lawn mowers?”
“Not really. Why?” Man, Connie could throw a curve ball.
“Mine just died late yesterday afternoon. The dealer at Snead was closing when I called. He said for me to either bring it in on Monday, tomorrow, or he could send a truck and driver to pick it up. I just thought you might remember some of the stuff you learned in high school.”
“Gosh, you have a good memory. I did take shop with Mr. Jackson. I learned a lot about two-stroke engines, winning a second-place ribbon in the eleventh-grade county competition.” This ten minutes before class was like riding a roller coaster. Sexual urges (mine) and a flashback to our youth (hers).
“I hate to ask you, but would you mind coming over and taking a look. I don’t have any way to get the darn thing down to Snead and I really would rather not pay the dealer a fee to come get it.”
“No. I mean I don’t mind, but don’t be disappointed if I’m not much help. Technology is a little different now than nearly half a century ago.” Connie gave a low verbal nod.
Doug, and what seemed the remainder of the class, walked in before either of us could continue. He placed a folder on the podium and scanned the room while everyone took a seat. “Thanks to everyone for coming. It’s a minute or two after six so let’s get started.”
Doug spent the next thirty minutes lecturing us on what the Old Testament said about death, more particularly, what happened to a person after he died. Doug clearly believed the OT promised an afterlife with God. He cited two verses. One, in Job 19:27, where the suffering old man said, “I myself will see him with my own eyes. … How my heart yearns within me!” The second one from 2 Samuel 12:23, speaking of King David when his infant son was taken from him by death. To Doug, King David affirmed his conviction that someday he and his dead son would be reunited.
Connie added her own understanding to the class when she said, “David’s words in Psalm 23 have brought comfort to me and countless generations of believers: ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. … And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’ That’s from Psalm 23:4 and 6.” I shouldn’t have been surprised that the lovely Connie was fully familiar with the Bible.
The new couple on the back row asked Doug if the Old Testament taught of a literal Hell. He answered, I think correctly, that the OT was rather vague on the idea. Doug spent several minutes assuring the class that the New Testament clearly taught the doctrine of a literal Hell. Doug cited a ton of scriptures including, Matthew 3:7, 3:12, 5:29-30, 18:9-12, 13:38-42, 13:49-50, and 25:46. And, these were just the Matthew scriptures. Doug then argued the OT indirectly argued for a literal Hell. He said that the OT contained many references to God’s wrath, and that He gets angry at wickedness and those who perpetrate such wickedness. Doug also said the OT prophets repeatedly spoke of a time when the Holy One would have His ‘day,’ which was a day of justice in which He would express His anger toward sin and visit judgment on sinners.
I raised the question about Sheol. Doug, no doubt, was familiar with this term and the Bible in general. He said Sheol referred to the grave or the abode of the dead, and that during the OT period, it was believed that all (humans and animals) went to one place when they died, Sheol. It didn’t matter whether the humans were righteous or wicked, no one avoided Sheol. It was a place thought to be in the lowest parts of the earth.
After several questions from the class that ate up a lot of time, Doug was speaking of the absence in Sheol of love, hate, envy, work, thought, knowledge, and wisdom, when the bell rang.
For some reason, after Doug led the class in a closing prayer, he made a remark about wickedness, referring to our earlier discussion. Then, he announced as everyone stood and was starting to move toward the exit, “please continue to pray that the wicked man, woman, one and all, will be captured. Angela would love to have her journals back.” I thought it was an odd statement, coming when it did. My mind, odd how it worked at times, thought it strange the three journals were safe and secure on the top shelf in my kitchen closet that doubled as a small pantry.
As it happened, Connie and I walked into the hallway together. If things for ten minutes before six couldn’t get any better, Connie turned to me and said, “you can sit with me during preaching.” She must have thought, no, she would have certainly known, I was bat-shit crazy about her. All I could mumble was, “yea.” It was like I was casting a vote for something in Congress. She looked at me a little strange and smiled.
The Pencil-Driven Life 