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 23
Dad seemed more like himself last night than at any time since Mother’s death. It may have been that Deidre’s all afternoon visit and their open and honest talk helped him understand a side of his wife she had kept locked away. I had picked up supper at Pizza Hut and Dad and I had watched two episodes of The Walton’s on DVD’s Gabby had bought her grandparents last Christmas. I wanted to hear details from Dad and Deidre’s talk but didn’t push him. Walton’s Mountain did its job in carrying Dad to a simpler time, one where he could easily imagine he had the love of his life by his side.
Today, I was again tired. After I had gotten back to my cabin last night, unsurprisingly, I had another email from Luke waiting anxiously for my reply. I chose not to respond. His two-part question asked why the Apostle Paul didn’t include anything about Jesus’ birth, life, or ministry, and why the Gospels didn’t include anything about Paul, what he experienced, and his widespread ministry. After he asked his question, he had written: “These things seem odd since Paul wrote around the mid-fifties and the Gospels were written from the mid-to-late seventies all the way past the turn of the first century.” Luke had a good point, but I was in no mood to respond. Not to be denied, a few minutes before midnight my phone vibrated on the table beside my bed. I didn’t recognize the number, so I didn’t answer. Less than a minute later, my phone sounded the text notification tone. The text read, “this is Luke. I now have a cell phone, 256-390-3053. I’d really like to talk with you.” What was I to do?
I called and learned he had just today received a new iPhone, thanks to his dad. I had never heard Luke angry about anything. At first, he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. He kept saying, “it’s all a lie.” And, “I’ve gone to church all my life, and not once have I ever heard the truth. Not once have I ever heard a preacher address my two-part question. I’ve been led to believe that all the stories of Jesus’ life and ministry happened as the Gospels state and then the Apostle Paul came along, and after his Damascus Road vision, he wrote, taught, preached, and set-up new churches.” We talked for nearly an hour and by 1:00 a.m., I was convinced it was Tyler who kept poking the fire that was raging inside Luke’s head.
For a Tuesday, Alfa’s walk-in traffic was slow. This gave me an opportunity to doze and to wonder if today I would be given the honor of working on Connie’s John Deere riding mower. At 2:30, I received the following email: “Mollie’s gone. I’m devastated. But, I still hope you can come work on my mower. Anytime between 4:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m. is good with me.” I sent her a quick reply stating how sorry I was about Mollie and that I would be there around 5:00. I was glad I had brought a change of clothes.
Connie was sitting in her garage beside her mower when I arrived. It looked like she was reading something. I parked and walked through the over-sized door into the giant garage. I could tell she had been crying, probably a lot. I shared, again, how sorry I was for her loss. That’s all it took. She laid aside her book and walked over to me with her eyes looking down. I was surprised she wrapped her arms around my waist and laid her head on my shoulder. “I’m all alone. She was my world. For fifteen years she was the mate and partner I never had.”
I didn’t know exactly what to say, but I didn’t want the moment to end. There was no doubt Connie was hurting and no one would think I didn’t have a duty to provide what comfort I could. It was the Jasmine or whatever the scent, virtually identical to what Susan had worn for the last several years of our shared lives. Connie always smelled the same. Now, close, close, I could also catch a faint whiff of her shampoo. My mind said lilac, but I really didn’t know if I had ever known that scent. It didn’t matter. I had to work hard not to explore with my left hand that was gently resting against the middle of her back. I was also careful not to hug her like I wanted to. This scene was her creation and she was in full control. I may have imagined it, but it seemed like she gave me a little squeeze right before she released me and stepped back.
A few words finally emerged from my physical freeze: “I don’t want to sound unsympathetic, but I think I can imagine how you feel. When Susan died I thought my life was over. In many ways, it was. You can’t believe it now, but things will get better.” As I said my last word I was hoping Connie wouldn’t be offended in any way. It’s so hard to know what to say to someone who has suffered such a deep loss.
It turned out her mower problem was simple. It was a solenoid switch that kept the engine from starting. I promised I would find one tomorrow and come back and have her mowing before church fellowship Wednesday night. It was the first gorgeous smile she had shared with me since I had arrived. I was gathering up the tools I had brought when Connie said, “why don’t you come in and wash your hands. I made a coconut cake late this afternoon. If that won’t spoil your dinner, I could use the company.” I was glad I had learned at an early age to always help anytime and anywhere I could.
Connie’s cake brought back memories of Mother. The two ladies were both excellent cooks. If it hadn’t been impossible, I would have sworn my dear mother had baked the cake Connie and I shared in her dining room.
After two slices I was feeling like I needed to be making my exit. I didn’t want to send any type signal to the lovely Connie that I was interested in making any type move towards a relationship. I wanted her to drive this car if she wanted to go somewhere together. I finished off my third cup of coffee (I never liked small coffee cups) and pushed back my chair.
“Can I ask you a question?” Wonderful, she’s not finished with me. This is good.
“Sure, I’ll answer if I can.”
“This may be more personal than you want to get but why did you never ask me out again? You know, after our one and only date in high school?”
“Now there’s a question I can answer. I didn’t think you liked me. Our date was awkward. I had a good time, but I sensed that you could have been just as happy, maybe more so, if you had stayed at home. Connie, I hope this doesn’t hurt your feelings, gosh, I would never want to do that, but I always believed you were too good for me. You were both the prettiest and the smartest girl in school, and that’s saying a lot. Boaz High had some awesome girls.”
“Fred, that was unfair of me. I shouldn’t have asked that question. Sometimes, especially now, I feel like I’ve made such a mess of my life. I’ve missed out on being married and having children. Now, I’ve lost the most important person in the world. Mollie that is.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, I guess I owe you at least one?” Connie said, giving me her second smile of the night.
“Why did you not get married? I’m pretty sure you have had quite a few suitors over the years. I can imagine there have been lots of men pursuing you.”
“I have dated a few men over the years. In the late seventies I was close to a man from Birmingham, but I later learned he was already married. That taught me a valuable lesson. Men aren’t to be trusted. At least those you haven’t known for half a century or more.”
Without giving me a chance to respond, Connie pushed her chair back, stood up, and gathered up the dirty dishes. Still in a helpful mood, I followed her into the kitchen carrying the remainder of the coconut cake.
“Put it in the refrigerator if you will.” I did as she placed each utensil, and both plates and coffee cups in her dishwasher. It was something about how she leaned over. I don’t want to say it was how damn good she looked from behind, but that might have had something to do with my boldness.
I slid the heavy cake onto the top rack and noticed several bottles of Jack’s Hard Cider on the door’s bottom shelf. The thought, “Connie Stewart is probably an enigma, wholly full of surprises.”
I stood back up and turned around. Connie was facing me, leaning against the kitchen’s sink. “Thank you for coming tonight and looking at my mower. I promise I’ll return the favor, especially if you get me back in the saddle by late tomorrow.”
“Sounds like the cowgirl has got some riding and roping to do.” This was the lightest and funniest we had ever talked. Thinking back, this might have been the catalyst that prompted my outlandish question. “This may be way off base, but would you consider going out to dinner with me sometime, maybe this weekend?”
At first, she didn’t respond. My heart raced for a few seconds, then it was as though it had stopped. Finally, looking at me from across the kitchen with her deep blue eyes piercing my mind, she said, “Fred Martin, you are the slowest man on earth. But, I must give you credit. You asked me for our second date. Yes, I would be honored to go out with you.”
I thought I would collapse onto Connie’s floor. No doubt she could tell I was a little faint because she walked over and gave me another hug. This one didn’t last like the first one, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
Driving home, at first, I felt guilty for feeling so good. It was like I was betraying Susan, something I had never done. When I pulled underneath my carport, I almost imagined Susan looking down on me and saying, “Fred, my love, you have my permission to go on with your life.”
Richard L. Fricks 