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 61
Monday morning, I almost called-in sick. I had woken up with the desire to visit Boaz High School and see if I could convince Mr. Harrison to talk about the past. He had been principal for over fifty years and hadn’t liked me too much during my four years as a student during the late sixties and early seventies. But, he and Dad were best friends. I figured Harrison would possess insights about the Brights vs. The Believers controversy. And, what exactly had triggered the 1973 anarchy and Bible burning.
My work ethic convinced me otherwise. Nell had reminded me Friday that I was scheduled to fill Ted Eubanks’ spot at Goodyear Tire in Gadsden. If memory serves, Ted (no relationship to Carson according to Nancy at the library) had developed a habit of avoiding his rubber company responsibilities.
I dropped by the office to pick up a supply of new-hire forms. Connie called just as I got back in my car. “Good morning hot stuff.” I liked how the tall and shapely brunette made me feel young. “Bad news. I can’t find Tyler anywhere. I pulled an all-nighter. He’s not been at home. Neighbors say they haven’t seen him since his dad died yesterday morning.
“You better get some rest. Oh, after you do, would you keep an eye on Rebecca, maybe hang out with her, keep her occupied?” I said feeling uneasy about Tyler’s well-being.
“Okay. It’s kind of funny. I’m not really that tired. Maybe I should talk to that Connor Ford guy, he’s a local private eye, and see if he has a part time job for me.”
I loved talking with my dear Connie but sometimes she could ramble. “Hey babe, I’ve got to take another call.”
“Later. Tonight?” It was a question. Connie’s aggressive side was becoming insatiable.”
“Okay.”
“Just call them back. I forgot something. I saw Pastor Caleb’s puke-green minivan turn around in the Eubanks’ driveway twice earlier this morning, right before sunup. I have to say, he takes visitation to an all new level.”
Something wasn’t right. Caleb’s visits, attempted visits, were out-of-place. My training was screaming there was an elephant in the room.
My work morning wasn’t very productive. After sitting for two hours in a small conference room beside the human resource director’s office, only one of the new-hires showed up. At 10:30, I received a text from Regina, Alfa’s new secretary, that read: “a Nancy Frayzur called asking for you. Wants you to her.” I guessed good spelling wasn’t as important as it used to be. Omitting words was also permissible. Nell was slipping.
I was bored so I went ahead and called Nancy. She answered the Library’s phone on the first ring. Her voice was distinct, almost as deep as a man’s. “This is Fred Martin. I was told to call you.”
Without a good morning or a thank-you for calling, Nancy said, “The library in conjunction with the Sand Mountain Reporter is putting together a tribute to Clarence Bright, you know, the sixty-plus year reporter who recently retired. We’re organizing all his articles where visitors can see in one place the volume of his work. I was reading through a few of his 1970’s articles this morning and thought of you.”
“Okay.” Nancy could be long-winded.
“I really don’t know why or how we had Clarence’s most interesting article. It was never even published. I vaguely recall a short-lived public controversy over the newspaper’s Saturday edition, in the fall of 1973, not being distributed. Anyway, Clarence had a long, detailed interview with Ricky Miller. I don’t think I’ve ever read it.”
“That seems odd, but what did it say?” I’d love to know the full story why the article, heck, the entire newspaper, wasn’t published.
“Clarence had a way of pulling out the facts from even the most reluctant witness. In this case, Ricky must have been in a talking mood. I’d love to have a recording of how Clarence greased the wheels in Ricky’s mind and mouth.” Nancy could be colorful.
“Give me a summary, I’m about to have another interview. I‘m at Goodyear.
“Ricky must have learned that Pastor Walter Tillman was stroking the flames.”
“Of what?”
“The belief difference between Ricky and Randy. Ricky said that it was all in fun, that he and his youth pastor brother had been in a friendly-brother battle since they were kids. Ricky believed Tillman was doing things to keep local folks focused on the Brights and the Believers. You remember the two clubs?”
“I do. I also remember the two hangouts, the Lighthouse and the Safe House.”
“Ricky disclosed to Clarence that the real news should be what was being hidden by First Baptist Church of Christ and two sex perverts who knew too much.”
I asked Nancy to explain.
“In a nutshell, according to Ricky, Pastor Tillman and four other local guys operated like the mafia. They, the five of them, were part of a group called Club Eden. They exchanged favors for money. I suspect Randy must have tipped Ricky off to this stuff. Someway Randy became aware of money being skimmed from church member contributions, and about a sex ring. Seems Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber became aware of these illegalities. But, here’s the kicker. The church, not really the church, but Walter and his gang, had their own leverage. Mind you, Clarence wrote this article just a few days after the triple murder. You know, after the bodies of Johnny Stewart, Allan Floyd, and Tommy Jones were discovered. Ricky alleged that Rawlins and Barber were responsible for the deaths of the three boys.”
“This interview was obviously right before Ricky’s death. Didn’t he die around Thanksgiving that year?” I asked.
“Oh, you didn’t let me finish. Clarence wrote that Randy had a different take on things. Clarence admitted Randy’s position came from Ricky, which you know was hearsay. Ricky said that Randy believed Johnny Stewart’s death was caused by a very disgruntled parent, one whose daughter had been seduced by the Casanova Stewart.”
I don’t know exactly how long Nancy kept on talking or what she said. All my mind wanted to do was slide down a steep and slippery slope towards one and only one conclusion: that someway my otherwise sweet and adorable mother had shot and killed Johnny Stewart.
If Goodyear’s director of human resources hadn’t shook my shoulder, I don’t know when I would have escaped the fog. “Fred, Fred, are you okay?” I had never traveled to such a place. When I awoke (it was like I had fallen asleep and was dreaming), I saw the tall and virtually anorexic man standing beside a short and wide man who reminded me of a bulldog. The completed new-hire form proved I conducted an interview with the short guy.
When I walked in the front door of Alfa’s office, Nell handed me a pink phone message form. “Call Connie, it’s urgent.” I didn’t remember turning off my iPhone. I walked to my office and delayed returning the call until I could tell if I had missed any messages. I had. There were two missed calls, one from Connie and one from a number I didn’t recognize. I also had a text message waiting. Connie: “call me, it’s urgent. Bad.”
I dialed her cell number first. Voicemail. I had the same success trying her home phone. She always answered one or the other. Perfect timing, as if I needed more stress right now.
Where the hell was Caleb? She thought, peeking through the supply closet door open just enough for her to see Deidre at the nurse’s station standing over a younger woman sitting in front of a computer. It had been nearly three hours since he had answered his phone. I need to forget Caleb right now. He has no choice but to kill Tyler.
Two hours earlier, Rebecca had left home wearing a pair of surgical scrubs she lifted from the Gadsden Regional Medical Center during last week’s serendipitous visit. Her real luck had come when the same dumpy little nurse’s aide sitting at the computer had left her name badge in her chair while she relieved herself in the next-door bathroom.
If Deidre followed last week’s routine, she would leave the nurses’ station at 11:05 a.m. and take the elevator to the first-floor cafeteria, where she would buy a grilled chicken salad and return to her office on the third floor. The other two nurse supervisors, this time last week, had stayed in the cafeteria, leaving Deidre alone in her cubicle for almost twenty minutes. Shit, this was a terrible idea, a rushed idea, not enough planning. Rebecca said as a security guard strolled by flashing a flirt-intended wave at the dumpy aide.
The Pencil Driven Life 