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 42
I spent all day Tuesday and Wednesday filling in for Nell. Her brother in Wetumpka, Alabama had died, and she had gone to the funeral to spend some extra time with her sister-in-law who herself was in bad health.
Today I was like a kid about to visit a candy store for the first time. Connie still couldn’t believe I had moved so quickly on her last week’s suggestion that we take a trip to the beach. Just as I opened the trunk of my car to load my suitcase my iPhone vibrated in my shirt pocket. Noah. I really didn’t want anything to change the mental picture my mind had been painting across my vision ever since I woke up. Connie, no doubt, was an easy ten in the pink bikini I had figuratively dressed her in.
“Morning but know I’m on a mission and it doesn’t involve you.” It was nice having a friend I could be so open with. And rude.
“The Smith and Wesson is missing.” That’s all Noah said, like he was heeding my command to make it fast.
I slammed my trunk lid and leaned back against the side of my car. “I assume you are referring to a certain pistol supposedly secure in a certain gun case at a certain old house.” I was half trying to be secretive thinking Noah might have omitted using his secure phone.
“Fred, this is serious shit. Get serious. I dropped by this morning just like we discussed, to get the two bags and move them to Execuplex Mini Storage in Huntsville. You sure you didn’t forget to return the pistol when you went by?” I knew Noah wasn’t accusing me of stealing. He knew me better than that. I almost laughed out loud at the thought that I was honest as old Abe. Heck, I was a thief.
“You know I’m more careful than that. How could the thing just disappear? Then, I remembered the old woman next door who saw me leaving. No way had she broken in and stolen the old pistol. Would she? “Come to think of it, the back-door lock gave me some trouble with the key you loaned me. They say that’s the easiest type to trip.”
“I could kick myself for not installing a security system. It’s like I’m the cobbler whose kids don’t have shoes.” Noah said.
“Don’t waste your time crying over spilled milk. Even if you had, you might not know much more. You know, the best burglars wear disguises.” The shiver that ran up my back made me break out in a sweat. What if the disguises I had used in my first three safe-cracking events were not good enough?
“You’re right, there’s more serious stuff to cry over. Say that pistol is pawned, and the Sheriff learns it was stolen from my house, my dear parents’ house, God rest their souls, then my ass is grass. Maybe yours too. I guess that depends on what they beat out of me.” Noah chuckled.
“Remember, this is serious. Maybe you are overreacting. Maybe the church doesn’t claim it, in other words, we know they are harboring secrets. They might not disclose their big Mosler had been cracked. Here’s a thought that should give you comfort. If the Sheriff comes knocking on your door, why not tell him you found the gun?”
“That’s a stupid thing for a former lawyer to say.”
“I still have my law license.”
“And, you’re still stupid. Like the police would believe me, that’s like telling my teacher my dog ate my homework.”
I was quickly pondering a better way to assure Noah we might not be in too much trouble when my iPhone pinged that I had received a text. “Waiting for my man. I hope I don’t have to call a cab.” Wow, that one word from the lovely Connie brought a flash across my eyes. There she was again, in the imaginary pink bikini. Those long and tanned legs impatient to wrap themselves around me. I had to get a grip.
“Fred, you there?” Noah asked, maybe more than once.
“Let’s talk about this when I get back from the beach.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You might be sweating if the coins or the jewelry had been stolen from your barn.” Noah was correct. Damn, I hope Colton can close our deal very soon.
“You’re right. In the meantime, let’s try to think of a good reason that old Smith & Wesson was at your parents’ house to begin with.”
“Okay, I’ll think long and hard. By the way, I hope you can handle the sexy Connie. I imagine she can get a little kinky.”
“Don’t go there my friend. Bye, talk later.”
“I’m getting worried.” Angela said just as Rebecca walked through the back door.
“You stay worried. What’s your favorite fear today?” Rebecca said laying her purse on a side table loaded down with several boxes. “These magazines still getting under your skin.” Rebecca pulled back the lid of the closest box exposing a thinly clad young boy under the title, Play Boys. She knew this wasn’t the popular version but one of several dark and sinister magazines Angela had found while going through Doug’s private study.
“Connie, that’s what I’m worried about. It was hard enough to convince her to play along to begin with, now, I think she’s smitten by the fabulous Fred.” Angela said, rising from her recliner and walking over to Rebecca. “I’m carrying all this trash to the City dump. I obviously knew Doug had a thing for younger women, but this shit makes me sick.”
“Men, you never know them. That might be our angle with Connie. Try to show her she’s better off staying single. We know there’s a side to Fred that Connie wouldn’t tolerate.” Rebecca said digging inside her purse.
“You know Connie would be madder than hell if she found out about our little camera.” Angela said.
“Here, I used a Walgreen’s in Anniston to develop these. I think Fred looks as good now as he did back in high school.” Rebecca said handing several 4 x 6-inch photos to Angela.
“Woo, who. No wonder Connie is smitten. Let’s ask her if we can borrow Fred and his junk for a night or two.” Angela said, flipping through the photos. “Here, so Connie does have a safe. No doubt Fred was looking for it given these shots.”
“I forgot to make you a thumb drive of the recording. I’m impressed with the little GoPro camera we stumbled on. Expensive but, you know, you get what you pay for.” Rebecca said walking to Angela’s kitchen and pulling down a bottle of Jack Daniels Honey Whiskey stored above the refrigerator.
“Maybe while Connie and Fred are in Gulf Shores we could visit her over-sized closet and find out what’s in that big Mosler.” Angela said.
“You want a drink?” Rebecca asked. “You can be such a dumb ass. How do you think we would look inside? Doesn’t her safe have a combination lock?”
“Yes, but what good did that do me? And, what good did it do with your old Mosler? I know it’s still a guess, but I’d say it’s an educated guess. Fred Martin is the Boaz safecracker. He has to be, given what we know about his grandfather and all those damn journals.” Angela said reaching out and taken a half-filled tumbler from Rebecca.
“That would be a lucky break. Kind of like how we stumbled onto Caleb and Carson.” Rebecca said, pouring her another shot of the sweet whiskey.
“The gods were favoring us that day, that’s for damn sure.” Angela said, walking back to her recliner.
“Oh, I nearly forgot. I saw Caleb and Tabitha at Walmart last night. He was in a talking mood and was asking what I thought about the wilderness gig Robert is organizing for the youth group. Apparently, Tabitha was more interested in a bargain bin full of CD’s. Caleb and I eased back into Children’s Clothing to keep from blocking traffic. It was a perfect opportunity, so I pressed him a little. I’m pretty sure he’s a player. He sure as hell doesn’t want it out that he and Carson Eubanks were playing blackjack for big money in Tunica shortly after he took the pastor job here in Boaz.”
“Speaking of Carson, I received an email this morning from Coy. Seems like his CML has taken a turn for the worse.” Angela said, walking over to the kitchen counter and returning with the half-empty bottle of Jack.
“The way you said it, it sounded like Coy has CML. Anyway, tell me again what that stands for.”
“Chronic myelogenous leukemia. According to our investigator, Carson’s condition is terminal. I hate to say it but, once again, the gods love us.” Angela said reaching over to Rebecca now seated on the couch and pouring her another shot.
“I’m still mad at Coy. He’s told me twice that his secretary is supposed to be sending me the same emails as you. The little bitch is too young to be working for such a seasoned investigator. Probably his daughter, or, she might be a little playmate.”
“There you go again. Not every young girl leans toward older men.”
“Like you and I did,” Rebecca said, propping her feet on a giant coffee table.
“For us, it sure wasn’t the attraction, definitely not the sex. Us girls had a plan.” Angela said, pushing Rebecca’s feet away.
“I sure as hell hope the gods speed things up. Any plan that takes fifty-plus years isn’t good. I’m getting too old for the shit we’ve got going.”
“Some things are worth waiting for. Becca girl, go fetch me that pack of photos. I know I’m not Mr. Fred’s type, but I can dream, can’t I?”
The Pencil Driven Life 