Month: October 2024

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 15

I had trouble following Pastor Caleb’s sermon Sunday morning.  It was one of two things.  He seemed to be focused on several of Jesus’ miracles starting with the turning of water into wine.  My mind was distracted but I didn’t hear his transition to Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead.  Apparently, Caleb was trying to convey that we serve the same supernatural being that performed all these miracles.  I had always thought it odd that Christians didn’t seemed to ask why Jesus stopped, why the suspension of the natural order didn’t appear to take place now.

The second reason I had difficulty focusing on the Pastor’s sermon, was what Noah and I had done early this morning.  With the police discovery of the hidden camera at the Rawlins’, we had decided to alter our plans.  Originally, we had intended for Noah to transport the coins and the jewelry outside the country when he and Lorie flew to Italy in late summer.  That was still weeks away.  We concluded that since I had continued to wear my carefully crafted disguise when I hid my share of the loot at Paradise Storage in Guntersville, there was more than just a possibility that I might have been caught on camera there.  Such a discovery would no doubt connect the dots and Noah and I, especially me, would be closer to being discovered.  We realized it was a long shot because we both had used alias’ in renting each of our storage units.  The loot from the Rawlins’ safe was now hidden in the loft of the old barn that was less than a hundred feet behind my cabin.

At the conclusion of the service, after the choir sang all three verses of “Amazing Grace” during altar call, my mind became much less distracted.  It had everything to do with Pastor Caleb’s call for a special prayer for, as he put it, “all three members of our church family who have recently experienced Satan’s handiwork up close.”  He went on to name Doug and Angela Barber, and Rebecca Rawlins. 

After a long moment of silent prayer and a short-verbalized ending of praise for God’s infinite blessings, I walked down the balcony stairs with Ed, Deidre’s husband.  I asked him, “I must have missed the news, what’s happened with the Barbers?”

He stopped halfway down and stood just staring at me.  “It was all over Facebook yesterday afternoon.”

“Dad and I were fishing.”  I said, not wanting to share my disdain for the most popular social media site.  Although I had an account, I rarely looked at it.  To me, it was mostly a waste of time to see the ugly faces of aging women who, in their youth, were quite attractive.  Facebook was simply too predictable.  My so-called Friends loved posting photos of things they were doing, whether it was gardening, hiking, beach walking, or watching their favorite cat and dog videos.

Ed continued down the stairs and I tagged along.  “Another burglary.  Angela discovered it when she returned from Montgomery.  As she pulled into the garage she saw their old safe.  Someone had taken a torch to it.”

As Ed turned for the front exit I kept walking to the rear of the building next to where I had parked.  All the way I tried to figure out why and how Doug hadn’t discovered the pilfered safe sometime earlier in the week.  The only thing I could conclude was that he didn’t use the garage.  I recalled a carport attached to the back of the house.  Probably, Doug drove in there and used the back door to come and go. 

Mom’s lunch was extraordinarily good.  If that was possible.  Her bacon-wrapped pork loin was the first product from the cooker-smoker Dad had finished building for her last Friday.  It had been a two-month long process.  Mom said it had taken her two attempts to get it right.  Apparently, she had done a trial run yesterday and wasn’t satisfied.  After another trip to Walmart during the middle of the night for a thicker bacon, Miss Perfectionist was satisfied, albeit six hours later.

After Dad sliced the loin he said, “Deidre, what do you remember about the Safe House and Ricky Miller?  Seems your older brother stumbled onto an old Sand Mountain Reporter article and is eager for some forty-four-year-old history.”

Deidre must have been in deep thought because she didn’t respond.  Sometimes salads took a lot of thought.

“Earth to Mama D, Papa just asked you a question.”  Miranda said, uncharacteristic for her.  Deidre’s oldest granddaughter normally didn’t say much during our family meals.

Deidre finally asked Dad to repeat his question.  After he did, she said, “gosh, I haven’t thought about that place in a long time.  I loved Mr. Miller.  He was the kindest and most respectful teacher I ever had.  Intelligent to an extreme.  Fred, you might ask your mother why she forbade me from going to the Safe House.”

I took the bait and looked over at Mother, who was staring down at her half-filled plate.  “Well Mom, are you going to share?”  I asked.

Finally, she looked up and said, “Johnny Stewart.  That’s why.  He was a bad influence on your little sister.  Ricky Miller wasn’t much better if you ask me, but his was a different type of influence.”

For the next several minutes I learned that Johnny Stewart hung out at the Safe House with Ricky Miller.  Mom believed that Johnny was bad news for Deidre since he had already gotten a ninth grader pregnant the prior year.  As to Ricky, Mom was convinced he was a heretic and would be the cause of sending many a young boy or girl to the pits of Hell.

After a fifteen-minute Alabama and Auburn football update conversation between Dad and Ed, Mom left for the kitchen and brought back her famous coconut cake.  Gabby apparently had been pondering her grandmother’s disdain for Johnny Stewart, and said, “why was Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber never investigated for Johnny Stewart’s death?”

Deidre looked surprised.  “What brings that up?  Where did you hear those two names associated with Johnny’s death?”

“Alabama Public Television, a couple of weeks ago, did a special on Alabama cold cases.  Brad was watching it while I was listening to my iPod.  It got my attention when I saw pictures of old downtown Boaz on the TV screen.”  I think Gabby, Deidre’s daughter, loved Mom’s cake as much as I did, based on how she was woofing it down.

“I’m curious.  What did APT have to say?”  The whole case was new to me, but I was interested in why Gabby had mentioned Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber.

“I suspect I know.”  Deidre interjected even though my question was to Gabby.  “Did the program mention the scene at the Safe House where Elton and Doug came in and literally pulled Johnny out and across the street to the Lighthouse?”

Gabby responded. “Actually, they did.  The program raised the question whether there might have been some connection.  It seems what happened to Johnny riled him up pretty good.  Later that night, he and his two friends, Allan Floyd and Tommy Jones, found Elton and Doug hanging out at the Dairy Queen.  APT seemed to know about a big fight that broke out with Elton and Doug getting the worst end of things.  The program asked whether revenge was the motive for the deaths of Johnny and his two friends two days later.  I guess we’ll never know unless Doug spills the beans. Elton won’t be talking.” I declined an afternoon of conversation on Mom’s huge front porch, opting instead to go to my cabin and my recliner.  I slept for three hours, making up for the time I had lost early morning during my and Noah’s little adventure.  Between long naps and intermittent dozing, all I could think about were long-buried secrets that had lain just under the surface in what I had always believed to be a sleepy and innocent little town.

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 14

Thursday afternoon and Friday, I spent in Birmingham at an insurance sales conference.  Saturday was a day I would cherish forever.  Dad and I worked in his garden for a couple of hours before retiring to the pond for an afternoon of fishing and talking.  I didn’t catch many fish but was encouraged to learn how sharp Dad’s mind was, especially concerning the history of Boaz.

After we settled in at our usual spot, just at the outside edge of a long-lasting shadow cast by the giant oak on the west side of the pond, I asked Dad, “What do you remember about Ricky Miller and his place?  I think it was called the Safe House.”

“You should remember Ricky.  He was your Biology teacher, what, in the tenth grade?”  Dad asked.

“Of course, I remember that, and how much I liked his attitude toward life.”

“Yea, right.  That’s what got you all whop-sided with Christianity.”  Dad could have said a lot more here.  Ricky Miller, that year in Biology class, had opened mine and Noah’s eyes.  He was so unlike every other teacher at Boaz High.  They all were cut from the same cloth, openly sharing their faith, a few even voicing prayers during class time.  I was always amazed at how good they were at compartmentalization; they could think critically about everything but religion.  Looking back, my sophomore year was my best year in high school.  Ricky Miller changed the direction of my life.

“I don’t remember anything about the Safe House.”  I said.

“What’s got you thinking about that if you don’t remember?  Seems odd to me.”  Dad said as he reeled in his line, removed his float and hook, and attached a fat green frog for bait.  Dad was the best bass fisherman in the family.

“I saw an old Sand Mountain Reporter article the other day.  From 1973, I believe.  It talked about a controversy between the Safe House and the Lighthouse.  That place, I do remember.”

“Ricky and Randy were twins.  They were virtually identical from a physical perspective but couldn’t have been more different from a mental state.  Randy was on fire for God.  I’m not sure what drove Ricky.  But, it wasn’t God.  The opposite I guess.”  Dad was standing and snagged a small bass.  He seemed deep in thought.

“It seems to me the names, the Safe House and the Lighthouse, were symbolic.  I get why Randy and First Baptist of Christ named their youth hangout and ministry the Lighthouse.  What do you think Ricky intended with the Safe House?”  I asked.

“Come to think of it, you and Susan were in Auburn.  You didn’t come home very often, did you?”  Dad said removing a half-pound largemouth bass from the end of his line.

“I guess not.  School.  Study.”

“Yea, right.” Dad liked that phrase.  “Ricky was a fish out of water, especially here in Boaz.  He believed his brother was brainwashing the young people.  He felt they needed an alternative place to hangout, a place, according to Ricky, that young minds could be protected.  Thus born, the Safe House.”  I knew Dad would remember.

“Let me see if I’m hearing you correctly.  Ricky believed his students, the local young people, should be exposed to both sides of the issues, all sides.  I do recall him in tenth grade making statements, more so after class to a group of us who hung around, that the natural world directly conflicted with the Bible.”  I said, setting my fishing rod aside.

“I suspect that’s how the trouble began.  A couple of years after you were gone, and the Safe House was up and running, five kids became the center of attention all over Boaz.”  Dad said.

“Over what?”  I asked, thinking that I knew what he was going to say.  Rebecca and her Bible burning ‘crime’ had to have won the popularity award.

“Angela Collins and Rebecca Aldridge both alleged that Randy Miller had, let’s just say, been inappropriate with them.”

“Are you saying they accused the youth pastor of sexual assault?”  I asked.

“That’s one way to put it.  No one believed them.  Well, except Ricky.  Those two girls, both friends of Deidre’s, I can’t help but still feel sorry for them.  I guess the stars kind of aligned and they found shelter at The Safe House.”  Dad was now reeling in a much bigger bass.  The green frog seemed to be working.  I had lost all interest in fishing for the time being.

“You mentioned that five kids became popular, as you said, ‘the center of attention.’  Who were the other three?  Did they make the same accusations?”  I asked Dad almost regretting giving up the practice of law.

“Johnny Stewart, Allan Floyd, and Tommy Jones.  The group, I think they called themselves the Misfits or something like that.  No, the Aliens.  That was their nickname.”  Dad placed the big bass on a stringer and threw it back into the water, along the pond’s edge.

“What did these three guys do?  By the way, was Johnny Stewart any kin to Connie?”  I asked.

“Cousin, I’m pretty sure.  Those three, all classmates of Angela and Rebecca, and your sister, got caught burglarizing the church, First Baptist Church of Christ.  Seems like they stayed past closing time after a Sunday night service.  Surprisingly.  To them, during the night, the pastor, Brother Walter, returned to his office and found the three pilfering through his files.  Kids got arrested and, like Angela and Rebecca, became the scourge of Boaz.”

“I would suspect the court system treated them as Youthful Offenders and sealed their files for privacy purposes since they were so young.  And, I suspect the three kids as you call them went on to put all that behind them as they grew up.”  I was forecasting but I had seen it often enough.  Fairly minor offenses committed during one’s youth, rarely led to jail time, or any significant deflection of a normal life.

“That is how the court system dealt with them, but fate or God or whatever had something more painful in mind.”  Dad had sat back down beside me in his lawn chair and was pouring a paper cup full of tea from the thermos Mom had insisted we bring.

“What do you mean?  What happened to the three?”  I asked.

“Beaten and hung.  They were found on a Saturday morning, in the grove of trees behind the football stadium.  You know, next to the practice field.  Case was never solved.  Most folks believed it had something to do with the game.  It was Fall, mid-season, and Albertville had come to town the night before.  Boaz won but it wasn’t easy.  There had been a big brawl right after the start of the second half.  Johnny, Allan, Tommy, the three Aliens, were ring-leaders and were tossed from the game.  One of the Albertville players, a big black kid, I forget his name, had to be taken to the Emergency Room.  Again, word on the street was that the Albertville football team got their revenge.”

“Now that you mention this I seem to remember.  Didn’t you send me a couple of newspaper articles about it when I was in Auburn?”

“I’m sure I did.  I wasn’t good at writing letters.  Sending things I had cut out of the Sand Mountain Reporter was intended to be my way of telling you I loved and missed you.”

Dad and I continued to fish for another two hours.  He must have had enough talking since he wandered around the pond, casting throw after throw.  We ended up with a nice stringer of fish.  Ten by Dad’s skill.  One by my luck.  I drank more tea as I watched Dad fillet our catch while Mom fussed over the mess he was making on the back porch.  Oh, how wonderful life was at Martin Mansion.