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 50
Sheriff Waldrup let Noah and me meet in his office. He and Noah became fishing buddies after he installed the jail’s new security system two years ago. No doubt Noah has enough knowledge to disable the system if given the chance. Yet, the County’s chief jailer is trusting the newly arrested Noah with full use of the Sheriff’s office. This is surreal.
Noah wasn’t as trusting. As we began talking, he wouldn’t say much of anything. We exchanged written messages with a pad and one pen I scavenged from Sheriff Waldrup’s credenza. Surprisingly, we both were still adept at playing a little game we had created in high school.
Coach Hicks was anal about his playbook. He didn’t like anyone to touch it, not even Coach Jolley or Coach Sims. Noah and I loved pulling pranks which included theft of property. It was more like shuffling of property. When no one was looking, one of us would take something from a teacher’s (or coach’s) desk and move it somewhere else. We started several arguments. We did the same thing with Coach Hicks’ playbook, usually putting it on Coach Jolley’s desk.
Back then, Noah was the thief. I was the lookout. Our code was red, yellow, green. If he heard me say, ‘the clouds are red and lowering,’ he knew he was close to getting caught. Yellow anything meant stay in your lane and be cautious. ‘Green cars are grand,’ meant all clear, you have the go ahead. This statement was anchored to Noah’s lime green Plymouth Valiant. The ugliest car I’d ever seen.
Noah wrote the first note. “Green lights all the way. Reminded me of my old sexy Valiant.” Within a few seconds after reading what at first looked strange, I looked at Noah. He was giving me that subtle and mischievous smile. I then recognized he was saying things were not as bad as I was thinking.
I then wrote, “You must have seen at least some red.” I knew everything wasn’t perfect or Noah wouldn’t have been arrested.”
Then, out of the blue, Noah abandoned the notepad. “The deputies arrested me for the murder of Doug Barber. Deputy Stallings, a guy I’ve known since moving to Guntersville, told me on our drive back they had received an anonymous tip that I was transporting the gun used to kill Barber. When I pulled up to the checkpoint, they immediately searched my car, found an old Smith & Wesson 38 all by itself in my trunk. Well, other than my spare tire.”
I knew Noah was sending me a hidden message. He was clarifying his earlier reference to green lights. The deputies did not find coins and jewelry in Noah’s trunk. I was relieved but confused. Our exact plan had been for him to transport them to Huntsville and meet with Colton Mason for the exchange. Some way the gods had again smiled on us. I would have to wait for the real story on how that had taken place.
I was about to ask Noah how someone could have planted the pistol in his car when Sheriff Waldrup walked in. “Noah, I just got off the phone with DA Abbott. He told me you couldn’t have a bond until the pistol is examined. Sorry, my friend, if ballistics matches it to the bullet removed from Doug Barber, you won’t ever get a bond, that’ll be capital murder, and you’ll stay here until your trial is over.”
I thought about sitting silent. I didn’t expect to be of much help at this early stage of Noah’s dark night. Seeing the look of bewilderment on his face changed my mind. “Sheriff, I hope you know that Noah is not a killer. Someone had to have planted that pistol in his car. Please don’t let the DA overlook this most certain probability.”
“I totally agree. DA Abbott is leaning the same way, but he has to see this through. Fred, you’re a lawyer. You know how bad this looks for Noah. The presumption is that he placed the pistol in the trunk of his own car. That’s guilty looking. Let’s just hope the old Smith & Wesson isn’t the murder weapon. That should be our green light to release Noah.” I couldn’t believe Sheriff Waldrup was privy to mine and Noah’s code. Weird.
Five minutes later, two deputies came for Noah and our visit was over. Just as I walked down the stairs outside the jail, I received a text from Connie asking me to come to her house, saying that she didn’t want to be alone.
The Pencil-Driven Life 