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 43
Connie seemed distracted during our drive to Gulf Shores. It might have had something to do with the five or six times she made me stop for her to go to the bathroom. She blamed her upset stomach on some salmon she grilled last night after coming home from Prayer Meeting.
The stops had become less frequent the further south we had ridden. I was glad she was ready to stretch her legs when we arrived in Foley. The Ann Taylor Women’s Store at the Tanger Outlet had her name written all over it. Her sudden interest in visiting the Mall was a big blessing to me, and perfect timing. I had something I had wanted to do for several weeks.
My excuse was a little deceptive, but only partly. From the look on Connie’s face, she believed that I had a client, Reggie Gilbert at Vulcan Aluminum Mills, and it would be beneficial for me to pay him a little visit. I think my story about how he was an attorney in Huntsville for a while before moving back home to take over his father’s company after he had a debilitating stroke, provided some credibility and urgency. The deceptive part was that Reggie, as far as I know, was still living and practicing law in Huntsville, and his father, hopefully, was fit as a fiddle.
After dropping Connie off at the Outlet Mall, I drove to 901 North McKenzie Street. Yesterday afternoon, Karen Ashton had promised me she would be at her desk creating first drafts of articles for the Saturday edition of The Foley Onlooker, the town’s largest newspaper. My own research had uncovered this seasoned reporter and her interest in the T-bone auto accident that had led to the death of Elton Rawlins.
“I’ll be right down, meet me in the small conference room. It’s to the left of the front waiting area, right down the hall with all the beach photos.” I had called her cell as soon as I had parked. I think she was as eager to talk to me as I was her.
I found the conference room without any trouble, although the sand and the brilliant blue beaches hanging on the wall made me question why I had risked Connie becoming suspicious and canceling our trip. Karen walked in just as I was pondering my stupid decision to leave Connie at the Mall, especially with her half sick.
“Hi Fred, nice to meet you.” Karen wasn’t anything like she sounded. On the phone, I had pictured her as older, closer to my age. If she was, she had aged well. She wasn’t what I call gorgeous, but she had that natural look of a Southern farm girl. No makeup, a no-frills haircut, and drab clothes. Her face looked as though she had just washed it with Dove soap. Her blouse and slacks were a little baggy, but I could tell she was built nearly as good as Connie. But, that could have just been my imagination.
“The pleasure is all mine.” I said. That was a little too forward.
“So, you know Rebecca Rawlins?” Karen asked without me bringing up the subject. The reason I was here was somewhat of a stretch, having piece-milled a story, at least a suspicion, that the car wreck that ultimately killed Elton Rawlins was something more than simply an accident.
“I do. I’ve known her since high school. That’s been about half a century ago.” I said.
“You and me both. I graduated from Foley High School in 1974. What about you?”
I shared the requested information and asked her why she had become interested in the late spring car wreck.
She flipped open a small black notepad, the type detectives carry. “It was the police report. I wasn’t sure, I thought it might have been the witness I interviewed from the Chick-fil-A parking lot. The man saw the whole thing.” Karen kept flipping back and forth between two pages in her little notebook. “Here it is, Randy Russell. I remember him from high school, fellows gained about a thousand pounds.” No doubt Karen was a real reporter, she thrived on details.
“You mentioned the police report.” As usual, like any good attorney, I was doing my best to guide the ship.
“Tommy Graben, young and solid officer just out of the academy, good-looking too. He wrote.” Karen returned to her notepad. “He wrote, ‘tire marks are at odd angle for a typical T-bone at this intersection.’”
“What do you think he meant?” I asked.
“I don’t have to guess, I’ve asked Tommy. He said it was like the Benson car went out of its way to hit the Rawlins’ car. It was like the t was more like an incomplete k. K-bone maybe.”
“Benson was the driver of the other car?”
“Yes, now that’s what got me really interested. Todd Benson, another guy from high school, a little older than me, he’s a piece of work. Always into something. Always trying to make a buck without working. Over the years, he’s been involved in several suspicious accidents, if that’s what you call them.”
“It’s sounding like you are leaning toward this not being a real accident, more like it was staged? Am I hearing you correctly?” I hope Karen didn’t think I was being condescending.
“Fred, I know you are a lawyer, so I expect you to be a little sharper.” I deserved that.
“I appreciate you checking up on me. And, forgive me for not saying it earlier. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me and for being so open. I’m serious, you are an impressive reporter.”
“Okay, I take that as a real compliment. Aren’t you going to ask me if I’ve learned anything else?” I really did like the eager Karen. No doubt, she was a bulldog reporter.
“Please.”
Karen opened the bottle of water she had brought with her. “Sorry, would you like a water?”
“No, I’m fine, but thanks.” She took a long draw while someway flipping pages with her right hand. “Here. By the way, don’t think I don’t know every one of these details by heart. I just like to verify. I write everything down.”
“I’ve already concluded you are a perfectionist, probably also a genius.” I could slather it on when I thought it could be beneficial.
“The DA is investigating the case. He’s interested in whether it’s an insurance fraud case. You know your Mr. Elton changed his will while the two were visiting Gulf Shores?” Karen asked.
“Actually, I do know that. But, I’m curious how you would have learned this fact.”
“Oh, simple man. Great reporters have many sources, we’re always developing contacts and connections. I’ve been doing this long enough to have many dots with lines between most all of them.”
“Anything else you’ve learned during your investigation?” I took Karen up on her earlier suggestion.
“I have a practice of checking video footage when my mind homes in on an interesting case. Luck or God would have it that my sister-in-law works at Whataburger, just south of Chick-fil-A and the intersection where the wreck happened. It seems Rebecca was driving when her and Elton stopped in for lunch. She pulled through the drive-through, ordered, and then parked on the north side while the two ate their burger. Then, she got out and came around to the passenger side. She had to help Elton walk back around to the driver’s side door. The man looked like he’d have trouble driving a wheelchair.”
“That fits with what I’ve heard. Apparently, Elton wasn’t supposed to be driving. From your report, it seems Rebecca made sure he was behind the wheel at just the right time.” I said.
“Right, just in time for Todd Benson to run him down at the next intersection.”
I think Karen would have talked until dark. Fortunately, I was wise enough to end our conversation and head back to Tanger Outlet. Connie was sitting outside the Ann Taylor store with six or seven shopping bags and a wet paper towel in her right hand intermittently wiping her forehead. When I finally got her and the bags inside the car, all she said was, “I’m glad you’re back. I’m not feeling well.”
It was nearly six-thirty before we arrived at the Best Western in Gulf Shores.
The Pencil Driven Life 