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 35
I hadn’t slept good at all last night. After I arrived home from Noah’s parents I had tried to relax and doze in my recliner. That hadn’t worked well, nor had laying for seven hours in my bed. I don’t think my insomnia had as much to do with what I had discovered in the two duffel bags as with Connie’s call a few minutes before midnight. She had invited me to her house today for what she described as a lawn party. When she mentioned her John Deere riding mower, an edger, and a blower, I realized she wanted me to help her groom her giant yard. Her final statement consumed my mind’s entire night: “after we finish, and you shower, we can see what happens.”
Connie had also invited me to breakfast. “Motivation for all the hard work you’ll be doing.” She had said. As I removed a change of clothes from my closet my iPhone rang. It was Deidre. I started to let the call go to voice mail but was worried it might have something to do with Dad.
“Good morning sis.” I always liked starting off with honey.
“Fred. I’m going to tell you one time and one time only. Stay away from Luke. He’s a good kid and doesn’t need to fall for your bullshit.” No doubt Deidre was mad. Her call wasn’t really a surprise. Someway I had known all along that my discussions with Luke wouldn’t remain secret. I laid my pants and shirt hangars across my bed and stood silent, knowing she couldn’t or wouldn’t. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“I agree. Luke is a great kid. And, a curious one. He has a right to ask questions about the world.” I knew I was right, but I also knew there was no way Deidre would listen to logic.
“The news you have been coaching Luke has so angered and upset Gabby and Brad they threatened to sue you for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”
I almost laughed out loud. “That’s hilarious, that quasi-criminal charge relates to an adult action that allows or encourages a minor to engage in illegal behavior or exposes them to illegal behavior.”
“Well duh, convincing Luke there is no God will certainly lead him to all kinds of immoral behavior.”
“Sis, you’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t been trying to convince Luke of anything. But, I admit, I have encouraged him to use his brain and think. He came to me with questions. I tried to answer them the best I could.”
“You could have refused and reported the awful news to Gabby and Brad, or, at least, to me.” Deidre was so damn deluded.
“So, it’s awful for a bright, young mind to ask questions? That’s so par for the course, just what Christian fundamentalists want. You sound just like Mother.” I shouldn’t have brought Mother into this.
“I sure hope that Luke can be rescued and not hurt Gabby like you hurt Mother.” I don’t know what triggered my anger, but it was like, after half a century, I had reached the tipping point. I had enough of the old and tired accusation that I hurt Mother so bad by rejecting her religion.
“He certainly needs rescuing. Just like I did when I was about his age. Thank God for Ricky Miller.” I was ignoring all the red lights my legal training had drilled into me. I was leading myself to an eventual slaughter, or, at a minimum, a point I would regret.
“His coaching turned out well for him, didn’t it? There has never been anyone in the history of Boaz to cause so much sin and suffering as the heathen Miller.”
“What about his brother, Randy? Him spouting all the Bible nonsense led many a generation into believing the biggest myth ever told.”
I could hear Deidre’s heavy breathing. She and I shared one Martin characteristic that had gotten us both in trouble on many an occasion. Once provoked, we didn’t turn back or calm down. She was like a mama bear protecting her cubs. “Ricky Miller ruined my life. His little Safe House spawned a war that killed Johnny Stewart.”
The red flags were waving. “I figure you’re jumping to big conclusions, but I agree with one thing. Your life would have been different if your baby-making lover hadn’t been killed.” Damn, I needed to shut my mouth. I was already late for breakfast at Connie’s and here I was knee-deep in the worst argument my sister and I had ever had.
“What the fuck are you insinuating?” How on earth had this conversation devolved to this?
“Sweet sister, secrets have a way of crawling out into the sun. I hate to burst your bubble, but I know more than you think I know or you want me to know.” I seemed powerless to shut my mouth and to stop the destruction of Martin Mansion.
“Whatever you think you know you are wrong. Stay the fuck out of my life, and Luke’s.” I wasn’t the only one who was saying things they would later regret. At least, I hoped so.
“Sis don’t worry. I’ll never divulge your secret. I suspect dear Ed doesn’t know about the twins.” Someway, I had to end this hell-on-wheels call.
“Twins? There you go Fred, always talking bullshit, acting as though you know something is true. You should stick with hocking insurance policies to vulnerable women.”
“Don’t worry sweet pea, I’m not after a confession. You never have to tell me anything. Here’s for a truce. I keep my mouth shut about you and Johnny Stewart’s baby-making, and you let Luke follow his curiosity.” At least I was beginning to suppress the red flags.
“Don’t fucking try to tell me what to do. One bit of advice. Have a little respect for your dear and dead mother. She would turn over in her grave if she knew you were bringing up this dark chapter in her life.”
I didn’t respond to Deidre’s last statement. I ended the call, grabbed the two clothes hangers, and drove to Connie’s arriving nearly fifteen minutes late.
The Pencil Driven Life 