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 21
After church, I walked out with Connie and almost asked her if she wanted to go to McDonald’s for a cup of coffee. I declined after she mentioned Mollie was a little under the weather. Instead, I drove home and pulled out Angela’s journals still wondering why Doug had mentioned them in his final remarks.
The one labeled “1971/Sophomore,” seemed the proper place to begin. Before I started reading, I closed my eyes and looked back in time to August 1971. That was the beginning of my senior year at Boaz High School. Although Deidre was in Angela’s class, my mind wouldn’t spin up any memories of the two of them being friends. Also, before digging into Angela’s words, I scanned the entire journal. It was rather thick, containing 300 pages, each numbered in ink in the lower right-hand corner, no doubt by Angela. It appeared she had written something for most every day of the school-year, more for school days and less for the weekends.
I buckled down and started to read. Angela had beautiful handwriting. By August 13th, the end of the first week of classes, I had learned that Angela and Rebecca Aldridge (now Rawlins) were best friends, and the two of them often flirted with her brother’s friends (John Ericson was Angela’s brother and his four friends were in mine and Noah’s class and were all-star basketball players, known around town as the Flaming Five because of how they set the nets on fire). It was also clear that Angela and Rebecca were friends with three male classmates: Johnny Stewart, Allan Floyd, and Tommy Jones. To me, this was sad to read because of my recent discoveries. Little did those three guys know, that in a little over two years, before they ever graduated from high school, they would all be dead.
Angela’s August 17th entry, a Tuesday, was like opening the top hatch of a submarine while it’s still a thousand feet or more under water. At the dinner table she had a heated argument with her parents, especially her father, Franklin Ericson. He had forbade her from participating in a group Angela referred to as ‘the Brights.’ Apparently, seventh period, twice per month, was reserved for club meetings. Mr. Ericson had said she had to participate in ‘the Believers,’ a club lead by First Baptist Church of Christ’s youth pastor, Randy Miller.
I could vaguely recall high school club meetings. Since I played football I never got a chance to participate. At the end of sixth period all players headed for the field house and Coach Hicks. For forty-five minutes he would walk around our lockers while we were getting dressed for practice. He was the master of holding meetings with small groups who all played the same position. His aim in doing this, coaching while we were dressing, was to have us ready to hit the practice field the split second the final school bell rang. All I knew about the Brights was it was a secular humanist club that Ricky Miller had started when I was in the ninth grade, the first year he came to Boaz High School to teach Biology. I also vaguely remembered a huge controversy his club idea had sparked.
I decided to call Noah. I thought his memory might be better than mine.
“Freddie, what a nice surprise. What’s up my friend.” Noah, for as long as I had known him, was upbeat and positive. I couldn’t remember a time I had called and found him sad or depressed.
“Question. Do you recall a high school club called the Brights?”
“Oh, hell yes. But, if it weren’t for Naomi I wouldn’t know so much.” Naomi was Noah’s sister, and she was two years younger, which placed her in Angela and Rebecca’s grade.
“Tell me about it.” I said.
“Naomi wanted to join but Mother said hell no. Well, she said no. But, that didn’t stop Naomi, she did a work-around.”
“What?”
“She was a silent member. She didn’t attend club meetings but was like an ex—officio member. Angela and Rebecca kept Naomi up to date. A way to avoid family problems. From what I heard, Naomi wasn’t the only ex-officio.”
“I’m not sure that’s the correct term. Tell me more.” I said.
“Ricky Miller started the club during his first year. That would have been when we were in the ninth grade. You know he was the brother of youth pastor Randy Miller?”
“I do. Keep going. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Hey, you called and asked. Listen up.”
“At first, Boaz High School stopped Ricky from organizing the Brights, saying the school wasn’t an appropriate place. The School, at least at first, thought Ricky was claiming he and whoever joined his club thought they were smarter than everyone else. Naomi said that wasn’t it at all, it was just a word to identify those who didn’t believe in the supernatural, in contrast to the Believers who obviously do. Seems like Mr. Ricky had some real balls. He got him an ACLU lawyer and within a couple of weeks, after a few back and forth letters and an emergency court hearing, the school had to relent. First Amendment stuff, you know.”
“I suspect I know the problem but tell me anyway.” I said.
“Freddie why are you wasting my time. You should know all this shit.”
“Refresh my memory. The only thing I have a clear memory of concerning Ricky Miller was Biology class in the tenth grade. What I learned that year was the final nail in my Bible thumping coffin. I still don’t know how anyone could believe in God if they have even a basic understanding of Biology and evolution.”
“There, you’ve pretty much summed up the Brights. As I said, they have a natural worldview, meaning they believe, like me and you, that everything has a natural explanation and therefore there is no supernatural being or force. That would exclude God.” Noah said, giving me the big picture.
“By chance, do you remember if Angela Ericson was a Bright?” I asked.
“That’s another story. Her father and four other deacons, all whose kids were joining, or trying to join the Brights, got Randy Miller and Pastor Walter involved. Best I recall, the church and a big part of the community protested outside the school, trying to get Ricky Miller fired.”
Who were the other four, if you remember?”
“Let’s see, Angela and Rebecca, and Johnny Stewart, Tommy Jones, and Alan Floyd. I remember because they were like five peas in a pod. Each of their fathers was a deacon at First Baptist Church of Christ. Each of them, the students, not the fathers, basically told everyone to go to hell. Not in those words of course.”
“For your information, I’m reading Angela’s journals. You know I told you how they came to be in my possession.”
“Sorry man, I don’t know anything about that.” Noah was trying to be funny. And, to not say too much over the telephone. He had a reason to be so wise concerning privacy. The man was a genius when it came to security matters.
“I’m reading where Angela is in the tenth grade and is attempting to join the Brights. I’m wondering why she wasn’t already a member. Why didn’t she join during the ninth grade?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it had something to do with biology class. You said she’s in the tenth grade. Well, that’s when we all took biology.” Noah probably had a point. I recalled how intelligent and persuasive Ricky could be, even without trying. His approach wasn’t to say much at all about God, the Bible, and Christianity. He really didn’t have to. He simply taught the intricacies of living organisms, emphasizing the vast time it had taken for life to evolve.
“Maybe so. Anyway, I’ll let you go. Are we still on for lunch on Thursday?” I asked.
“Right on.” I almost ended our call when Noah jumped in and said. “Freddie, you do know that the Brights club led Ricky Miller to set-up the Safe House in downtown Boaz. It was a little like evolution. It was an evolving process. While we were in high school was the time a foundation was being built. Ricky couldn’t do everything at once. But, by the time we graduated, the Brights had quite a few members and the Safe House made about as much noise as the Lighthouse across the street. Of course, local churches and almost all the community hated Ricky Miller about as much as right-wing Christians hated Obama. You get the picture.”
After hanging up with Noah, I read a few more of Angela’s August 1971 entries. The only new subject she brought up was her growing crush on Johnny Stewart. With that, I closed the 1971/Sophomore journal and walked to my recliner.
My mind pondered wonder boy. From what I had learned, Johnny Stewart was certainly a lady’s man, even as far back as his ninth-grade year. I doubt, back in the day, my dear sister would have disagreed.
The Pencil Driven Life 