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 39
I was surprised by how cordial everyone was to me as I walked inside Martin Mansion. Even Gabby and Brad gave me a friendly nod. The meal itself was better than I had expected. Deidre and Gabby were someway pulling off the impossible. Their green beans brought a happy sadness to my mind. This Sunday, they hadn’t forgotten to add the bay leaves which gave them the Harriet Martin signature.
Not much was said during our meal. Ed and Brad’s sparring over whether Labron James or Stephen Curry was the better basketball player kept me huddled safely at my corner of the table. For some reason I kept looking across at Susan’s empty chair and missing both her and the lovely Connie. When I had talked to her earlier this morning she had been rather vague about what she was doing for her Aunt Julia, who wasn’t doing so well at the hospital.
As our Sunday lunch moved into dessert phase, Deidre started slicing everyone a piece of coconut cake. Then, all hell broke loose. It had started off less hot than where it ended. It surprised me that the bomb hadn’t come from either Gabby or Deidre. Just as I was taking my first bite of Gabby’s rather poor attempt at replicating Mother’s favorite cake, Luke shared his first words since I had arrived forty-minutes earlier. “Why in heck does anyone believe prayer healed Eugene Lackey?”
I had heard the recent Boaz High School basketball coach had received a glowing report from his doctors that his cancer was in full remission. For the second time. There was no doubt the membership of First Baptist Church of Christ and many, if not most, of the local community, had engaged in a giant wave of prayer for the highly respected coach. I had attended several Wednesday night prayer meetings where Eugene’s health received the most attention.
Deidre was the first to take Luke’s bait. “Coach Lackey is a faithful follower of Christ. He, his family and friends, and so many people, far and wide, have pleaded with God for His special touch. The doctors are not lying when they say he is in remission. Why on earth would you question what is as clear and simple as that?”
I didn’t say it, but I was proud of Luke. Especially, his response to his grandmother. “Okay, I’ll modify my question. Why in heck did God not heal Heather Mosher?”
Gabby then entered the fray. “Luke, who is Heather Mosher?”
“Lately I’ve been trying to better understand what you, Dad, and a church and community of folks have been pouring into my head ever since I was able to nurse. The one subject that I couldn’t avoid was prayer. It’s all the hype on Facebook if someone gets sick or loses their dog. The comments seem to be as natural as breathing. Folks respond to the bad news with, ‘praying,’ ‘God’s got this,’ or ‘God’s plan is always perfect.’ By the way, Heather Mosher was a thirty-one-year-old woman from Connecticut who died of breast cancer back in December. I was doing some research and found her story through Google. The article I read related that her boyfriend had asked her to marry him the day she was diagnosed with cancer. A year later, the two went ahead and married even though Heather was in the hospital and virtually at death’s door. Again, why didn’t God heal Heather Mosher? Do you think it was because no one at all had prayed for her?” I also liked Luke’s sarcasm. “Certainly, if she had been healed it would have been because of all the many prayers. Oh, I forgot to say. Heather died the day after her wedding.”
I could tell Deidre was about to explode. We already, from Luke’s first question, had exchanged looks. Her face hadn’t expressed too much brotherly love. “Luke, God isn’t bound to grant every request. He is God. He is sovereign. He is mysterious. His ways, thoughts, and plans are not ours, they are higher than ours.” What a crock of shit but I kept my mouth shut.
“Mama D, that kind of proves my point. Prayer doesn’t work. No doubt everyone who prayed for Eugene Lackey or Heather Mosher asked for healing. They asked specifically that the sick would be restored to good health. I think we can assume all prayers were sincere, yet, God said no to one and yes to another. Doesn’t the Bible say that if you abide in God you can ask what you will, and God will grant your request?”
I guess it was time for Gabby to show her Mama Bear nature. “Luke, I’ve been polite long enough. I know you can’t see it right now, but you are allowing your great uncle to brainwash you. Someday you’ll realize that you don’t learn about high and holy living by asking a criminal.”
“Oh, now I’m a criminal. I almost said something I would later regret. Instead, Luke came to my rescue. “Uncle Fred has done nothing but answer me honestly. I went to him. He is the only one who treats me like I have a brain. And, he is the only one who doesn’t claim to know things none of you can possibly know.”
“Like what?” Brad now joined in, probably to show Gabby he was with her defending their only son.
Luke will make a great lawyer someday. His logic and reasoning skills already revealed his prodigious mind. “Here’s a few things. God created the universe, but God himself was never created. God created Adam from the dust of the ground and Eve from his side around six thousand years ago. And, here’s what is starting to make me so damn mad.”
“Son, no cursing, please.” Gabby’s cautionary command was clearly on display.
“If God is so darn loving, why does he allow so much suffering? You would think God, the supernatural God, the one who is all knowing, all loving, and all powerful, could and would do something to save the suffering and starving children around the world. He is either incapable or He simply doesn’t give a, well, you know what.” I could see myself in Luke, always respectful of our mothers.
For the next fifteen minutes I was unsure whether I was going to be hauled out and burned at the stake or pushed down the cellar stairs and locked away forever. Even Dad seemed to align himself with the winning side, the majority who, no doubt, would say in the event Eugene Lackey ultimately died of cancer, that “God’s will is mysterious, praise God for loving Eugene so much He carried him home.”
I had never heard a more pleasing and welcoming sound. A few minutes after 1:00, a car horn blared beside Martin Mansion. Just as quick as Luke had stepped out into heresy lane, he was up and headed to the front door. “It’s Tyler. We’re going fishing.” Luke was clearly becoming defiant. He hadn’t even asked if he might be excused from lunch. Gabby and Brad certainly had a hell-raiser on their hands. Luke wasn’t the only one with a command of sarcasm.
In my own defiance, I stood up and asked Dad if I might be excused. He looked at me funny and finally gave me a nod. I walked to the front porch and found my favorite chair. Today, I was going to be the last to leave the afternoon discussion. Mother would be proud of me.
The Pencil Driven Life 