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 60
When I pulled up in the front yard of Martin Mansion, I saw the entire family, other than Dad, walking towards me on the narrow trail that led to my cabin. Luke was in the lead. I reluctantly stepped out of my car.
“Uncle Fred why would the cops want to search your place?” Oh hell. Oh hell no. So that’s where the three squad cars were headed nearly two hours ago?
I said what any innocent man, or one acting innocent, would say. “What? They searched my place? Why?”
By now the darling Deidre was within shouting distance. “Lucky for you, they didn’t find anything. What are you hiding down there?”
By the end of three more exchanges, I learned the search warrant had been issued by Marshall County Circuit Judge Broadside. The six officers had searched both the barn and my cabin. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t found anything. Damn good thing I had created a false bottom to the ceiling in the kitchen’s closet. Otherwise, they would have found Angela’s journals, Dad or Mom’s Smith & Wesson, and a few other stolen items. I was elated I hadn’t delayed transporting the Rawlins’ stolen coins and jewelry to Colton in Huntsville.
As everybody was walking toward Martin Mansion’s front porch, I pulled Deidre aside and gave her the short version of what I knew. She seemed oblivious to all things pertaining to Miss Mossie’s trust. I think I got her attention when I told her that if Tyler were to be out of the picture, Caleb Patterson (and Rebecca if she was his puppet master) would have strong motivation to kill her.
I visited with a tired and groggy Dad a few minutes after Gabby insisted he join the rest of the family on the front porch. Less than three hours later I slipped into my bed, anxious to end a long Sunday. I was exhausted. Especially after a flying trip to Huntsville to meet Vanessa at Pints & Pixels and deliver my two other Smiths.
What made my tiredness almost pleasurable was revisiting the long phone conversation I had with Bobby during my return drive. He was the real deal, a true friend. My confession didn’t faze him, nor did my request he call in a long-existing favor he was owed by the oldest member of the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences Ballistic Division.
Grayson Bolton was seemingly a man of impeccable character. I had never met him in person but had a couple of phone conversations over the years concerning cases I was working. I couldn’t imagine what Bobby had on him. It didn’t matter. Grayson had the ballistic reports for every cold case that hovered over Boaz like an eternal fog. I lay back and realized that when I started repeating myself, the day must end.
At midnight, Rebecca slipped out the back door of the Hunt House. She smiled as she imagined the satisfaction she would receive when the sign on the front lawn was changed to Aldridge Place. She eased down the steps and across the wide back yard, through a neighbor’s flower garden and into the parking lot of First Baptist Church of Christ on Snellgrove Avenue. She passed through a small grove of Blue Hollies and down the step stairs to the basement of the church’s parsonage.
Rebecca couldn’t help but reminisce the many times she had descended these stairs when Wade Tillman, the then teenage son of former pastor Walter Tillman, occupied this house. Those trysts were a lifetime ago. Oh, the tragedy of life in a small town, especially one with as many secrets as Boaz, Alabama. Walter had died in a brutal shootout, Wade was in prison somewhere in Georgia for killing his wife, and poor, but young Warren Tillman was dead, killed just inside the basement, by violence spawned during a home invasion.
Caleb was waiting on the far side of the patio opposite the stairs, and the doorway into the man-cave he had inherited when he became pastor. He never smoked. He was smoking.
“Rebecca, I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do it. So, save your breath.” Caleb said between coughs and gasps for air.
“Young man (Caleb was in his mid-forties), you will do exactly what I say, exactly what we agreed on last Thursday. You’re obviously not very bright. How in the hell do you think your million-dollar gambling debt will be resolved? Surely, you don’t think because you’re a man of God, that a miracle will cause it to evaporate.”
“I don’t care. I can’t and won’t be a part of murder. Hell, two murders. No way. I don’t know what I was thinking the other day when I agreed.” Rebecca walked over to Caleb, took the pack of Marlboro’s he was holding and lite one for herself.
“Sit down.” Rebecca knew she had the gun powder to persuade the two-sided pastor. Caleb acquiesced and joined Rebecca in the other lawn chair sitting across from two old garbage cans not used since Warren’s death.
“Caleb, it’s high time you’re honest with me. Angela, God rest her soul, and I know you have been using your sticky fingers with Sunday’s collection plates. How long do you think you’ll survive when that’s discovered? Much less, the fact you owe quite a sum up in Tunica? Answer me truthfully, do you want to continue pastoring? Anywhere?”
“You know the answer. There is no more powerful feeling in the world than sharing the Gospel.” Caleb said.
“Even if you know it isn’t true?”
“That’s a different issue. It doesn’t matter that it’s a myth, people gain so much peace and comfort from simply believing it to be true.” Caleb had it figured out.
“Enough of that. We both have goals here. You have no choice. My plan is your ticket out of debt and the only way for you to retain your little hobby. But, pastor, and a good one you are, let me put it to you even more bluntly. If you don’t get on board, I will fucking kill you and your family. You are not going to get in the way of me accomplishing a lifelong goal. I can’t do this without you. You and Deidre have a legal right to half the Mosler fortune. You know Deidre is not motivated to share it with me. Hell, I wouldn’t want to be partnered with her anyway.”
“You’re forgetting one important component. Tyler Eubanks.”
“No, I’m not, but maybe you are. He’s your responsibility. And Deidre is mine. This way, let’s just say, we both have a large insurance policy on each other. A powerful reason to keep our mouths shut.”
“Okay, but leave my family out of it. And hear me clearly. After this is over, you stay the hell away from me. Do you understand?” Caleb sounded as though he wasn’t afraid of Rebecca. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Without responding, Rebecca lit another cigarette and walked away, clearing the stairs two at a time, leaving Pastor Caleb holding the half-empty pack of Marlboros. He read out loud: “‘Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health.’” He stood and threw the pack towards the two old garbage cans. “So is gambling. So is murder. Oh God, help me.”
The Pencil Driven Life 