Author: Richard L. Fricks

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 53

Saturday night at Connie’s was not much better than being alone.  She was the most aloof I had seen her since we had started dating.  I attributed her mood to Aunt Julia’s death and funeral.  However, Connie had wanted to play.  Regrettably, once again, she non-verbally insisted we race to the finish line.  I hated quickies.

By Wednesday afternoon I knew something was up with the lovely Connie.  Her mood had remained quiet and distant.  Between appointments this morning I had called and tried to ask her what was going on.  I almost begged her to tell me what I had done to upset her.

At 3:30 p.m., I had just left Sand Mountain Tire & Battery from picking up a couple of new-hire forms when my iPhone vibrated.  I didn’t recognize the number. 

“Fred is this Fred Martin?”  The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“Yes.  It is.”

“Fred, this is Sheriff Wayne Waldrup.  Is now a good time to talk?”  I didn’t know law enforcement types could be polite.

“It’s good.  What’s up?  Is Noah alright?”  My stomach turned semi-nauseous when I thought about the dangers inside jails.

“I have some good news and some bad news.  First the good.  Noah is being released.  Someone planted the pistol in the trunk of his car.  I guess his being a security expert paid off.  Lori, his wife, brought me a video filmed the night before his arrest.  It shows what looks like two women planting the pistol.  They someway had a key to the trunk of Noah’s Maxima.”

“Thanks for the good news.  The bad news has me worried.”  I said.

“Hold on.  It’s not bad for Noah, it’s just bad overall.  I hate murder cases.”  The sheriff seemed hesitant to unveil the bad news.

“I’m back at the office and have an appointment waiting.  Sorry, to rush you.”  I was frustrated enough with Connie and wasn’t interested in playing cat and mouse with the sheriff.

“The pistol seized from Noah’s trunk.  The planted one.  It’s the murder weapon.  That gun killed Doug Barber.  I just heard back from the Department of Forensic Sciences in Montgomery.  The tech guy said he was certain the bullet removed from Barber’s head was fired by the old Smith & Wesson.” 

“Before I have to go, may I ask you one question?”  I could be polite too.

“Sure.  I’ll answer if I can.”

“Who were the two women who planted the gun?  You said they looked like women.”

“Don’t know.  Yet.  But, the Department will analyze that video.  They’re high tech.  Might be able to pick up some clues.”

“Thanks Sheriff for calling me.”

After our call ended I sat in my car and reviewed our conversation.  Two things flooded my mind.  The two women.  Who were they?  My mind someway connected them to the surprise appearance of a certain duffel bag in the barn loft.  What swept those thoughts away was the connection between the pistol, which most certainly was used to murder Doug Barber, and First Baptist Church of Christ.  How on earth did that gun find its way inside the old Mosler down in the church’s basement?  Was someone trying to frame Pastor Caleb or someone else in a leadership role? 

I grabbed my briefcase from the seat beside me and walked across the parking lot to Alfa’s front door.  A new thought appeared.  “What if I was wrong?  What if it was the other way around?  What if someone in the church murdered Doug Barber? 

I wasn’t productive the rest of the day.

Thursday morning, I resisted gut-wrenching fear and drove to Huntsville.  It was something I should have done last Saturday.  Before going to bed last night, I had sneaked out to the barn loft and removed the duffel bag, placing it in the trunk of my car.

Colton Mason was waiting on the front porch of his house when I arrived.  I got out of my car and started to open the trunk when another man, one much younger than me and Colton, came around the far side of the house.  No doubt, I was surprised.

“Hey man, it’s cool.  That’s Harley, met him in jail.”

“Nice to meet you Mr. Martin.”  Harley looked like a fish out of water.  He was probably in his late thirties, and well-dressed.  Nice blue pin-striped shirt, dark tan pants, and expensive-looking shoes.  His face was fresh-shaved.

“Uh, nice to meet you too.  What’s going on Colton?”  My thoughts were still solidly centered on how I had been busted.

He quickly responded, leaning sideways on a porch post. “Insurance.  And, it’s not costing you a dime.  You know I’m well known around Huntsville.  I don’t need to be seen taking a flight to anywhere.  Harley’s done a good job keeping a low profile.”

“I thought you said you met him in jail.”  I said, feeling a hair less stressed.

“Oh, I did.  Harley was the best jailer I ever had.  It’s kind of a long story and he needs to leave if he’s going to make his connections.  Where’s the goods?”  Colton would have made a good attorney, or ship captain.

I came close to driving away right then and there.  It must have been something in Harley’s eyes.  I knew it was dangerous making life-changing decisions based on subjective feelings.  While Colton was talking, Harley had walked over and shook my hand.  Our eyes had met.  He hadn’t looked away.  His handshake was firm, his jaw set, his eyes determined but not at all dark.  Colton wasn’t the only one leaning.  Man was I leaning on the subjectivity straw.

I chose to stay.  I walked back to my car, opened the trunk, and removed the coins and jewelry I had acquired from the Rawlins haul.  The only difference was they were now in a backpack I had purchased at Staples, one of those fancy (and expensive) one’s school kids are buying.

Colton walked to my car and handed me a Wells Fargo money bag.  I took it and handed goods valued (by Alfa) at $560,000 to the only career criminal I would have trusted in a million years.  My legal mind knew I was laying a beautiful path for a career prosecutor to follow, just amble around blindfolded and pick up the breadcrumbs the dumb ass Fred Martin had left behind.

I stopped at Burger King in Harvest on my way back to Huntsville.  The money bag contained the promised $100,000.  The other $200,000 would be (I hoped) deposited within a week to a Cayman’s Island bank account Noah had discreetly opened nearly two months ago.  Although Alfa’s underwriting department had been ultra-conservative in the value they had placed on the coins and jewelry, I knew, like Colton knew, and obviously his Italian cousin knew, the haul was worth up to three times that amount.  Three hundred thousand for Noah and me was a fair price.  I didn’t have a clue what Colton and Harley were getting out of the slimy deal.

I ate a Double Whopper and drove to downtown Huntsville and toward the Regions Bank office tower.  There was one other reason I had come to Huntsville.

The circle of my life was rather small when you looked closely.  Vanessa Reed had worked for the law firm of King and Hart, P.C. in Huntsville for forty-six years.  I knew this because Vanessa was from Boaz and had gone to work for Bart King and Jeff Hart right out of high school.  She had met her future bosses when she was a snotty-nosed first-grader visiting her uncle’s cabin on Lake Guntersville.  The King’s owned the cabin to the south and the Hart’s owned the cabin to the north of Dixon Whitaker’s.  Bart and Jeff were from Albertville and were ten or twelve years older than Vanessa.  They were like the brothers she never had, and as good brothers often do, they hired their little sister after she graduated high school, and after they moved their law offices from Guntersville to Huntsville in 1971.

Vanessa, initially, had full intentions of going to law school and becoming partners with Bart and Jeff.  But, other things distracted her along the way.  Although she did graduate from the University of Alabama in Huntsville with a degree in Criminology, by the early eighties she had become addicted.  Addicted to forensics and especially DNA.  Also, my dear Susan was another distraction.

Vanessa and Susan had been inseparable in high school and quickly renewed their friendship when we moved to Huntsville and I began work at King and Hart.  Even with their busy work lives, the two spent time together every week, talked most every day, and for three years, at night, worked on their master’s degrees at Vanessa’s alma mater.  Susan’s death in 2013 was almost as equally devastating to Vanessa as it was to me.  There was something rare about our joint grieving process that encouraged me to now ask her a big favor.

For years, Vanessa, ever as bright as either Bart of Jeff, had micromanaged both civil and criminal discovery for the firm.  I knew from my own practice, she had multiple contacts in the forensics field, including independent labs who conducted ballistics testing.

We met at Pints & Pixels three blocks from Regions Tower.  It was a bar serving American food.  Neither Bart or Jeff would dare dart the doors here since they had long ago given up their wild and crazy drinking days, both on doctor’s orders.  Vanessa had arrived first and secured us a corner table.

She rose from her chair when she saw me walking towards her.  “Fred, so nice to see you.  This is kind of exciting.  It’s not every day an old friend calls and requests a secret meeting.”  Giving her a hug reminded me of Susan.  The woman I had shared a bed with for over forty years.

“Good to see you too Vanessa.  What’s it been?  Nearly four years?”

“Ever since you moved back home.  I’ve often thought about calling you when I was in town visiting mother, but I figured you would reach out if you needed to or wanted to.”

“By the way, how is your mother?”  It was the polite thing to ask.

“Not too good right now.  She broke her hip a couple of weeks ago.  That’s hard on anyone, especially a ninety-year old.

I decided to jump right in.  I felt like Vanessa would help me but I wasn’t sure.  “I need a favor, and if you can’t, it’ll be okay.  We’ll still be friends.”  I sounded like a teenager.

“Fred, you should know I would do anything for you.  Of course, anything that our dear Susan would have approved.”

“That’s a tall mountain to climb but I think she would give us the go-ahead.”

The waiter came and took our orders.  For me, a Club Soda, for Vanessa, a Gin and Sonic.  Appropriate name from a place with dozens of pin ball machines.  A gamer’s dream.

“I still can’t believe you quit practicing law.  Selling insurance?  That’s got to be boring.”  I think Vanessa recognized I was having some difficulty hearing her over the dinging of the machines being played by both men and women, mostly well-dressed, allowing office-rooted anxieties to release into the ether.  “Follow me, there’s a little deck out back no one hardly uses.”  She signaled the waiter what we were doing and led me down two rows of 1970’s looking machines, around a corner, and down the side of a room filled with billiard tables and players.

Outside, there were four tables.  All empty.  “Okay Fred, now spill it.  I don’t have all day, even though I wish I did.  Better idea come back to the office with me and talk to Bart and Jeff.  They’d probably let you work part time to start until you could get situated.”

“Thanks Vanessa but I’m anchored in Boaz.  My favor, here it is.  “Can you get one of the private forensic labs you work with to do ballistic testing on an old Smith & Wesson 38 caliber pistol?”  Even with Vanessa, a dear friend, one I felt I could trust with any confession, my forehead broke out in sweat.  Revealing secrets was a land mine full of risks.

“By the look on your face I assume you’re after privacy.  Probably don’t want Bart and Jeff to know.  Right?”

“That would be best.”  I had to be honest.  Damn, what a hypocrite.

“Question.”  Vanessa paused as the waiter finally brought us our drinks and walked away, not even smiling.  He probably didn’t like having to serve guests outside.  Too much extra walking.  “You certainly don’t have to answer it because I’ll do the favor either way.  Does this pistol have anything to do with the fireworks that’s been going on in Boaz?”  I wasn’t certain what she was referring to.

“Uh, maybe.”

“Mother, even at ninety-plus, faithfully reads the Sand Mountain Reporter.  She’s also still an avid fan of local gossip, even though she often misunderstands what someone says.  It can get funny; her creating newer gossip.  Even if she can barely hear, her vision, with the help of Dr. Davis, is remarkably strong.  She’s been keeping me filled in.  First, Elton Rawlins dies in that mysterious car wreck in Foley and then Doug Barber is murdered.  There’s got to be a connection.”  I could see the wheels turning in Vanessa’s head.  This stuff, crime, mystery, intrigue, was what she lived for.  Bart and Jeff were fortunate to have such a bulldog on their team.

I looked deep into Vanessa’s eyes and took the leap, believing I could trust her fully.  “I don’t know for sure, but I have a hunch this pistol had something to do with a 1973 triple murder.  Let me just say that I’m not supposed to have the sweet little Smith in my possession.  I’m kind of in a quandary, but I want to know the truth.”   I was confident Vanessa would realize there was a puzzle piece missing.

“Fred my dear, you’ve been away from the game too long.  What can ballistics tell you without a bullet?” 

“I hear you.  You’re exactly right.  I have another hunch, a lead on where the murder bullet or bullets might be.  But, I wanted to see if you would do me the favor before I pursued the lead.  It’s risky.  Risky with a capital R.”  In ninety-nine percent of cases, even fifty years ago, bodies, murdered bodies, were required to be autopsied.  If bullets were extracted, they were then examined, most subjected to ballistics testing of some sort.  I had recently learned from my new friend, Nancy Frasier, at the Boaz Public Library, that someway there had been some mix-up, she called it a snafu, over the three bullets that were removed from the bodies of Johnny Stewart, Allan Floyd, and Tommy Jones in late 1973.  She said the forty-four-year-old rumor was that someone within the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences had been paid a handsome sum to ‘lose’ the three bullets.  Nancy had long suspected the bullets were hidden somewhere in Boaz.  Her statement last Friday shook me a little like she was some way inside my head.  “If I was guessing, those damn bullets are locked away in the guilty party’s safe.”

Vanessa and I finished our drinks, mostly talking about Susan, when she received a call from Bart King.  He needed her back at the office as soon as possible.  We made our exit and walked across the parking lot to my car.  I opened the trunk and handed her an old Aigner purse of Susan’s.  Vanessa peeked inside and said, “Nice piece.  I’ll make up a good story. Don’t worry.”

She gave me a quick hug, told me she loved me, and walked away.  I drove to Boaz missing Susan like I hadn’t in years and realized she wouldn’t approve of what I was doing, especially of what I was planning.

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 52

By the time Luke and I reached Martin Mansion there was no sign of a cockfight, or Rebecca and Angela.  However, Deidre and my niece Gabby were sitting on the front porch in two old rockers smiling as though they had mopped the floor with their opponents.

“Mom, Mama D, what happened?  Tyler said it was a shout-fest.”

“Nothing your fit and trim grandmother couldn’t handle.”  I had to agree with my braggart sister.  She looked twenty-five years younger than her sixty-two label.

“Don’t start that shit again, not telling me the truth.”  I was surprised by Luke’s word choice.

“Lucas Sullivan, I’ll wash your mouth out with lye soap.”  Gabby quickly responded.

“If only we had some of Granny Martin’s lye soap.”  Deidre added.

I surprised myself with my contribution.  “How is that spelled, l y e, or l i e?  Seems to me there’s a lot of secrets around here.”

“Brother, that makes you a lucky man.  There’s things you’re better off not knowing, so don’t start meddling.”  Luke had sat down on the rock porch steps my great-grandfather Stonewall had laid when he built Martin Mansion before the turn of the twentieth century.  Deidre had scooted her rocker over behind Luke and was playing with his curly hair.

“Sounds like me and Uncle Fred are the last to learn things around here.”  Luke shook his head and moved away from Deidre’s reach.  It was then I noticed the locket she was wearing.  It was the same one Dad had showed me, the one containing her picture standing in front of the Lighthouse.  Naked.  I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, especially since I was to blame for her life’s miseries.

“Sister, what’s so special about that locket?  That is the one Mother took away from you.  Right?”  Another cockfight was about to begin.

“How the hell, heck, do you know that?”  Deidre now was standing at the top of the stairs looking down on me leaning back against the old well-house.

“Dad told me.  He found it in Mother’s things after she died.  Another question, “Did he give it back to you or have you been pilfering around?”  I think Luke was amused at what he was witnessing.  He was smiling and had given me a subtle thumb up with his hand beneath the edge of the porch.

“It was in plain sight.  You lawyers say that’s a legal search if its right out in the open.  Right, Mr. Lawyer?”

“Dad has a right to his privacy.  This is his home, not yours.” 

I was glad Gabby spoke up.  “They should be back any minute.  Let’s not upset Papa.”

“Where are they?  Where did they go?”  Luke asked.

“Papa went with Ed and Brad to an antique car show in Ft. Payne.”  Gabby had all the facts.

Deidre never could let dead dogs lie.  “Maybe it’s time the innocent and naive Fred learns the story of the five silver lockets.”

“Okay, I like a good story.”

“After hearing this one you might think differently, this one might be a horror story.”

“Are you going to tell it or taunt me with it?”

“I’m not sure exactly who tempted Johnny Stewart to pursue the challenge.  It was probably the entire football team.  No doubt he was the Casanova of the team.  If there ever was a perfect young man, it was my Johnny.  He certainly had a way with the girls.”

“Seems like you didn’t give him much resistance.”  Luke added, drawing a damning look from Deidre.

“The challenge was for Johnny to bed five girls.  One each from the classes of 1972 and 1973, and three from the class of 1974.  Here’s the catch, for proof, he had to produce a picture of each girl standing in front of the Lighthouse, naked. Somebody, probably the team and unknown to the coaches, furnished Johnny a camera, and five silver lockets, all just like this one.”

“So, you, no doubt, helped the awesome Johnny with one locket.  Yes, I’ve seen the picture, thanks to dear old dad.”

“Do you want to know about the other four lockets?  This might be where the horror part sets in.”  Deidre said.

“Mother let’s leave things the way they are.  It’s too late.  The truth, that truth, needs to stay buried.  Please.”  Gabby’s words got my attention.  It was just a gut feeling but I knew when I had been cornered.

“Rebecca Aldridge and Angela Collins completed the class of 1974.  All three earned their lockets, so to speak.  And, Holley Mullins won the 1973 award.”

“What I remember from when you told me, Johnny settled for Holley.  He really was after Olivia Tillman.  Right?”  Gabby said.

“Don’t go there.  Her father, Pastor Walter, got wind of the game and almost went berserk.  I’ve heard he and three or four of his friends threatened to kill Johnny if he came near the pastor’s sweet and holy Olivia.

 I interrupted my sweet sister.  “You make it sound like a contest, like the girls each won an Olympic Award.”

“That’s certainly one way to put it.  But, I’d say that wouldn’t bring the same thrill.”

“Mother, your grandson is present.”  Good old Gabby.

“Are you going to finish naming the five winners?”  I asked, soon to regret.  It was the type question a lawyer in a courtroom should never ask.  One he doesn’t already know the answer to.

Deidre had returned to her rocker.  “You might want to sit down yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“The lovely Susan was the winner of the sole 1972 award.”  Deidre wouldn’t look at me.  It was a shot to my gut.  This couldn’t be true.  Susan and I had dated, off and on, since the tenth grade.  I knew Susan would never go all the way sexually.  I should know since I had tried often enough.

I still don’t know if I was glad that Ed, Brad, and Dad drove up less than a minute after I received the horrible news.  The only thing I learned during the brief interlude was that Susan’s locket had never been seen.  I knew I certainly hadn’t seen it in all the years she and I were married.

Luke wanted me to stay for dinner, but I had been fool enough for one day.  I walked down the dusty trail to my little cabin, showered, and drove to Connie’s.  There was no way I needed to be alone.

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 51

Saturday afternoon after Aunt Julia’s funeral Connie wanted to spend time with her mother and Uncle James, who she hadn’t seen for almost fifty years although he lived only forty miles away.  I was glad she insisted I not come along.  “You will be bored to tears with my family.  Go home and get some rest.  I’ll call later tonight and maybe you’ll want to come over and play.”  The woman never ceased to surprise me.

During my drive home from the cemetery, the weather was gorgeous.  The perfect afternoon to go fishing.  All by myself.  My main goal wasn’t to catch a pan full of fish but to lounge in Dad’s old chair under the giant oak.

I quickly changed clothes, grabbed my rod & reel, and tackle box, and walked to the barn to dig a few earthworms for an empty coffee can.  I had already walked through the gate that led to the first pasture I would cross to reach the pond when my mind prompted me to visit the barn loft.  There was no reason to do so because the Rawlins’ haul had been removed for delivery to Colton in Huntsville.  I had learned a long time ago to follow my nose, or gut, whatever was prodding me.  I turned around, walked back through the gate, and continued until I was climbing the ladder in the hall of the barn.  What I found in the loft shocked me.

The small duffel bag was close to where I had first placed it and where it was when I removed it last week to give to Noah, but not exactly.  What was even more troubling was what I found inside the bag.  There, I found the coins and the jewelry, but also an envelope sticking out of a Playboy magazine.  It was not something I wanted to look at.  But, the letter had my attention.  I opened it and pulled out one sheet of mauve-colored stationery.   It read, “Roses are red, violets are blue, the ‘sidewalks’ are cracked, and so are you.”

The sidewalk’s word threw me at first but with the inside quote marks I understood the writer to mean he or she was using it in a special sense.  I immediately knew the author was referring to safes being cracked.  Were my secrets (and Noah’s) about to be exposed?

I returned the letter to the envelope and shoved it down my pants pocket.  I closed the duffel bag and positioned it like I originally had.  For some crazy reason, I felt the best place for me the remainder of the afternoon was sitting in the old oak chair next to Martin Pond.

I was disappointed when I cleared the grove of Douglas Firs great-granddad had planted to form a lane between the original barn behind Martin Mansion and the pond.  Luke was sitting in my chair and Tyler was standing and casting for bass not twenty feet away.  Neither of them saw me.  I started to turn around, but I felt guilty over ignoring Luke’s emails and texts for the past week and a half.  Duty or fear or something drove me to join the two teenagers as the tall and lanky Tyler showed off a tiny bass to a disinterested Luke.

“Hey guys.  Mind if I join you?”  I said when I got within hearing distance and while still watching Luke reading something he was holding in his lap.

“Look Uncle Fred, do you think it’s a keeper?”  Tyler said.  I was surprised he called me uncle.

“I’d suggest throwing that one back and giving it another year or so to become a monster catch.”

Luke folded some papers and set them down beside the old oak chair and under the lid of his opened tackle box.  “It’s good to see you’re still alive.  I just knew you had died, or you were ignoring me.”  I really liked Luke and now felt bad about not investing time to show him how much I really cared.

“I apologize for not responding.  I could say I’ve been very busy, which I have, but that’s no good.  Luke, our relationship is very important to me.  Can you forgive me?”  I meant every word.

It was Tyler who responded.  “Uncle Fred, Luke loves you like a brother and needs your wisdom.  He’s dealing with some serious shit right now.”

I walked closer to Luke and sat down on the ground next to his chair.  “Uncle Fred, have you ever felt like you were wandering around in the dark?”

“Almost all the time.”  I said.

“Did you know Tyler is my cousin?”  Luke’s question was troubling because now, sitting beside a young man who needed someone in his life to be totally open and honest, it looked like I had lied to him by keeping this dark secret.

“I know that now.  I learned that less than two weeks ago.  I’m sorry I haven’t shared it with you.”

“You are just like Deidre (that’s what Luke called his grandmother when he was upset with something she had done), and mother and dad.  You treat me like a baby, like I can’t handle the truth.  I’ll be on warm milk till I’m thirty.”  Luke, like me, felt violated by secrets.

“Mother didn’t know that Deidre had gotten pregnant in high school and had a baby.”  Luke said.

“Twins.”  Tyler added.

“Deidre says she didn’t know until recently that she had twins.  Isn’t that a crock of shit?  How does anyone, well, a girl, not know she just had two babies?  That’s a lie.  And, mother and Deidre aren’t being fully honest even now.”  Luke said, reaching back down for the letter tucked under the lid of his tackle box.  “Here, read this.  Proof they are still lying to me.”

I reached out for yet another mauve-colored letter.  I had a sick feeling what I was about to read had some kinship to several other similarly-colored letters I had recently read.  It took me five or six minutes to read the letter twice.  The author was my dearly departed mother, or someone who could match her hand-writing to a tee.   “Where did you get this?”  I hoped Luke would be honest with me.

“Can you keep a secret?”  Luke said.

“I can unless I believe I need to reveal it to protect you or anyone else in our family.”

“Papa Martin.  I found it in his middle desk drawer.  He doesn’t know I have it.”  I turned toward Luke and watched his eyes.  He was being truthful or was already an accomplished liar.

“Why were you snooping at Martin Mansion?”  I asked.

“I was mad.  I figured the old house had a lot to say, especially after what I had just learned.”

What I was still confused over was how Dad would have the letter.  Mother had written it to Julia Stewart.  No doubt it was written after the twins were born.  Mother was confessing how she had hated Johnny Stewart for getting Deidre pregnant, and how sorry she was about how she had treated Julia.  In the letter, Mother revealed the names of their mutual grandsons and where they were living, even who had adopted them.  I was surprised Mother had been so open with Julia and so seemingly closed with most everyone else.  At the end of the letter, Mother again said how sorry she was for the death of Johnny Stewart.  Mother even said she was certain that if he had lived he would have made a good son-in-law.  Right there, I knew Mother was lying to Julia.  Mother, unless she was drunk, which she had never been, wouldn’t say anything positive about the young man who impregnated her high school daughter.  I read the letter again.  This time I got the impression Mother’s conscience had gotten a hold of her and was making her say stuff against her natural will.

As I was pondering, Luke had gotten up and walked over beside Tyler and begun casting his line and artificial green frog.  “Uncle Fred, I really do wish you would answer my question.”

I tried to recall what Luke had asked me as I borrowed his chair.  “I’ll try, remind me which question you asked.”

“Twice, in emails this past week.  Did you even read my mail?”  Luke said looking back over at me and not cracking a grin.

“I did, and again I apologize for ignoring you.  There was one about how some scientists are committed Christians.  Right?” 

“Skip’s brother is in Dr. Ayers’ tenth grade Biology class.  They were talking about Francis Collins the guy who mapped the human genome, who is both a scientist and a born-again Christian.  This seems to rebut your theory that education, true education, is an antidote to mythical beliefs.”

I was aware of Mr. Collins and what, on its face, appeared to be an ace up the Christian’s sleeve.”  My position is a hypothesis and not a scientific theory.  Theories, like the law of gravity and evolution, are established facts.  I suggest you dig a little deeper into how very intelligent people can be deluded.”

It looked like Luke had snagged a pretty good bass the way the end of his rod was bent.  I hoped this diverted his attention.  “I’m busy here, don’t really have time to dig right now.  Please just tell me.”

“I guess that’s fair.  I read a book by Mr. Collins where he described his conversion experience.  One day he was walking in the Cascade Mountains.  I think out in Oregon.  He came upon a frozen water fall and he later wrote that it had caused him to fall to his knees and accept Jesus Christ as his savior.  The thing, to me at least, that shows how deluded a brilliant scientist can become was Collin’s statement saying there were three frozen streams of water and that reminded him of the Trinity, you know, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

By now Tyler was using a fish net to help Luke bring the five-pound bass onto shore.  “I still don’t understand.  The man no doubt is extremely intelligent.  Maybe he just sees things us common people have trouble with.”

“No, I don’t think so.  I suspect Mr. Collins is a master of categorization.  When he’s working as a scientist he draws conclusions from repeated testing.  He’s constantly working a hypothesis with objective evidence, trying to develop a theory.  But he remains open to being proven wrong.  Real theories are falsifiable.”

“What does that mean?”  Now, Tyler was joining the conversation.

“It means the theory could be proven wrong.  Some observed occurrence, something that really happened, that refutes the earlier conclusions.”

“Seems to me if Collins was this smart and cautious in the lab he would think and act the same when he’s in church.”  Tyler certainly had a good point.

“Someway, and I certainly don’t understand it, but Collins, and folks like him, simply set aside their critical faculties when it comes to Christianity and their belief in a two-thousand-year-old book.  Faith substitutes for logic, reason, and proof.”

Luke had just placed the beautiful bass on his stringer and tossed it back into the edge of the pond when Tyler screamed, “Miss Mossie, my grandmother, she’s dead.”  I hadn’t noticed he had pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

I got up and walked over to the young man who seemed to recover quickly.  I said, Tyler, I’m sorry for your loss.  Were you and your grandmother close?”  Maybe I too was unnaturally quick with my question.

“Not really.  I never got much of a chance to visit her.  But, she sure must have loved me and Dad.  From what I know she’s a rich woman and is supposedly leaving everything to Dad.”

Tyler received another text from his father telling him to walk back to Martin Mansion and wait for his ride.  “Do you need me to take you somewhere, to see your dad, or where ever?”  It was the least I could do.

“No, Rebecca and Angela are coming to pick me up.”  It was the last names on earth I expected to hear.  My mind raced trying to solve this little puzzle.  Carson and Tyler Eubanks were friends with Rebecca and Angela?  It just didn’t seem to fit.

“I’m curious, how do you know Ms. Rawlins and Ms. Barber? if you don’t mind me asking.”  I couldn’t resist.

“I first met them when we moved to Boaz.  Dad already knew them.  I’m not sure how he knows them.  They have been very supportive.  They’re almost like having two mothers instead of one.

My mind was still bouncing from one crazy thought to another while I watched Tyler walk out of sight between the giant Firs.

“Uncle Fred, now that Tyler is gone I want to tell you something.” 

“Anything Luke, I hope you know you can tell me anything.”  I confirmed my earlier promise that I would not ignore Luke ever again.

“Mama D says that you and your friend Noah started the whole thing.”

I shook my head to make sure I had heard Luke correctly.  “Uh, what thing are you talking about?”

“I overheard her and mother talking the other night.  I think Mama D felt she should be more open with me, especially after I learned that Tyler was my cousin.  She said that you and Noah were in the ninth grade and started doubting God.  She said if it hadn’t been for a Ricky Miller, a teacher, that you would have stayed faithful.”

“I agree with some of that, but I still don’t get what Noah and I started.”

“Oh, the whole controversy, that seemed to eventually affect the entire community.  Mama D said you and Noah inspired Mr. Ricky to start a club called the Brights and then he opened a place he named to spite his youth pastor brother, Randy Miller.  You remember the Safe House and the Lighthouse, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Mama said what you and Noah did was like the old saying about, ‘but for one tiny nail in a horseshoe’ the war would never have started.  I didn’t understand what she meant.”

“She meant that small things can lead to war or something really bad.”  My sister, the philosopher.

“She even said the deaths of three of her friends, including the Johnny guy who got her pregnant, would never have happened if it weren’t for your doubts.”

“Well, I guess it’s good to know that some people believe I’m a world-changer.”

“Oh shit, I better go.  Tyler says there’s about to be a cockfight at Martin Mansion.”  Cell phones, the stupid things, were also world-changers.  Again, I hadn’t noticed Luke reaching for his iPhone and reading Tyler’s text.

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“Here’s an update.  Seems like the two women coming to get Tyler are in a shout-fest with Mama D.”

“Let’s go.”  I wanted to see if my dear sister was going to blame me for her little cockfight.

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 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 49

I had just passed the north entrance to old Country Club when my cell phone rang.  The deafening sound reminded me how much I hated crickets.  And, how some habits are hard to break.  I had for years switched my phone from vibrate to ring every time I hit the shower.   This morning I had forgotten to switch it back.  I pulled the phone out of my jacket pocket and saw the smiling and sexy Connie with her back to the gorgeous waters of the Gulf.  I was thankful I had snapped this shot, over Connie’s protest, Sunday morning after our tour of my first-floor hotel room.

“Hey baby.  How’s Aunt Julia?”  I knew immediately I shouldn’t have asked this question.  Why else would Connie be calling me but to deliver the bad news?

“Oh Fred, she’s gone, and I feel so helpless.  In many ways she was my rock.”

“I’m so sorry.”  I let Connie stay silent; she was probably crying.  I wanted to honor her way of grieving.  I was just about to tell her I would come when she said, “the nurses are getting her ready for the funeral home to come pick her up.  They said Mother and I could spend as much time as we wanted with her before she was moved.”

“I’ll be there in about five minutes.”  I said, torn between needing to see Noah and needing to comfort my girlfriend.

“No, you stay in bed.  I really need to deal with this alone.  Please don’t take that the wrong way.”  I could hear someone whispering in the background.  “You go on.  I’ll come back up in twenty minutes or so.”  Connie explained that her mother was leaving the Chapel to go get a cup of coffee in a vending machine since the cafeteria hadn’t opened.

“Don’t worry about me.”  I had no choice but to do some explaining myself.  I filled Connie in on what I was doing.”

“I’m sure it’s just some mix-up.  Noah doesn’t seem at all the type to commit a crime.”  I thought I heard Connie whisper again, this time, to herself, “oh God, help me.”  Then, what at first seemed out of the blue, Connie said, “sometimes people will fool you.”  I bit my lip and didn’t respond.  “Fred, you there?”

“Baby, I’m here, just listening.”

“Fred,” I didn’t understand why Connie kept calling me by name.  “Do you believe in Karma?”

I had to be honest even though I sensed, for some odd reason, I needed to stretch the truth a little.  “No, I really don’t.”

“Well, that was a stupid question to ask an atheist.”  Ever since Doug Barber’s ‘Death’ class I had been open with Connie about my beliefs.  Surprisingly, she hadn’t judged me.  She certainly hadn’t rejected me.

“Right now, I’m thinking Doug might have been wrong.  You remember that Sunday night this subject came up?”

“I do.  He stuck to the Christian Bible and that a person’s acceptance or rejection of Christ determined where he would spend eternity in Heaven or Hell.  He definitely believed that God would forgive all sin as long as the person was saved.”  Obviously, I could pass Bible 101.

“All I know right now is that I hope Aunt Julia is finally at peace, that she’s free from the heavy load she’s been carrying around for nearly half-a-century.”  I guess there was something about seeing her aunt die that was making Connie, now, take a long, hard, look-back.

I started to again stay silent, but I felt Connie was wanting to have a conversation, almost like she was needing me to assure her things were going to be alright for her and Aunt Julia.  “Don’t you think, maybe, we are all carrying around some type of burden?”   That sounded too clinical, like I was trying to be a psychologist or a psychiatrist.

“It’s amazing what a mother will do for her children, especially if she has only one child.  And, for Aunt Julia, especially since her son was Johnny Stewart, the fabulous Johnny Stewart.”  I could tell Connie had gathered herself a little.  I could no longer hear her crying and sniffling.

“Johnny was the best running back ever to play at Boaz High School.  If he hadn’t died I have no doubt he would have played college ball, maybe even pro.”  I was intentionally keeping our conversation on the safe side, but sensed Connie was heavily burdened herself.

“Fred, Johnny was a thief and a busybody.  Aunt Julia did everything she could to protect him.”  Why was Connie telling me this?  Gosh, she had a weird way of grieving.

“That’s news to me.”  I said, being alert to going within ten miles of a certain photo I had seen less than an hour ago.  It seemed Johnny might not be the only thief in the Stewart family.

“I’m a little surprised you didn’t hear about Johnny, Allan Floyd, and Tommy Jones breaking into First Baptist Church of Christ.  It was Fall of 1973.  Well, they didn’t break in.  They overstayed their welcome.  Hid out after everyone else had gone home after Wednesday night prayer meeting.”

“It seems I missed out on a lot when Susan and I moved to Auburn.”

“Unlike Aunt Julia.  I bet she’s told me this story a hundred times.  She knew I would keep it private.  Now, look at me.  Fred, please, please don’t repeat what I’m telling you.  Can you do that?”

“Baby don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me.”  I felt like such an ass.

“It was such a stink at the time.  Uncle Bill was Chairman of the Finance Committee and was put in a bad spot.  What Johnny did affected him forever, changed his and Johnny’s relationship the few weeks he lived after the burglary.  If that’s what you call it.  But Johnny, just like on the football field, seemed to always have a way of getting out of a tight spot.”

I interrupted Connie as if to let her take a breath.  “I’m curious as to why Johnny didn’t go to jail, along with Tommy and Allan.”

“Knowledge is power, you should know that.  Apparently, the trio scavenged Pastor Walter’s office on the third floor of the Education Building.  Aunt Julia showed me the copy.”

“The copy of what?”  I asked.

“Minutes of a closed meeting with the Deacon Board.  The trio fired up the copier.  Brave little idiots.”

“I take it the minutes disclosed something important.”

“It was really weird, something you might never think would go on in a Southern Baptist Church.  Well, the resolution, not the affair, that’s pretty common I hear.”

“What affair?”  I was good at asking questions.

“Randy Miller and Jennifer Grantham.  He was the youth pastor and Jennifer was the wife of Peter Grantham, the Associate Pastor.  Seems like they had the hots for each other, Randy and Jennifer that is.”

“You mentioned a resolution.  Seems like I recall Randy Miller was the youth pastor until the late eighties.”

“Yep, that’s right, until he was found dead in the burned-out Lighthouse.  The minutes disclosed a cover up.  From the document, both Randy and Jennifer appeared before the Deacons and asked for forgiveness.”

“I’m often confused, but did this have something to do with Johnny, the trio, not going to jail?”

“Absolutely, according to Aunt Julia.  Remember, knowledge is power.  A deal was made, Uncle Bill could be persuasive, even cunning.  It was like he was the public face of him and Julia, while she was the private bulldog.”

“Okay, but I’m hearing new topics being introduced.  I’ll not put on my lawyer hat.”

“Talking about weird.  All three conspired to keep the money.”  Connie said, no doubt fading in and out of coherency.

“What money?  Which three?”  I thought of four stacks of cash safely secure in Connie’s safe.

“Aunt Julia felt she didn’t have any choice.  There had been nothing said during the negotiations about what else the trio, the three teenagers, had stolen.  I think, Aunt Julia thought, Pastor Walter and the Deacon Board were scared to mention anything.”

“What did the three burglars take?”  All burglars ask these type questions.

“A bunch of cash.  Aunt Julia made Johnny swear he would never mention it again.  She locked it away in a safe, Uncle Colton’s from Fort Payne.”

I had to declare.  “From what I’m hearing, Aunt Julia kept the cash locked there.  Probably till this day.  Right?”

“That’s true.  I have no doubt about that.”  Connie said.  I then had no doubt myself that someway the money I had seen was the money that Johnny and friends had removed from God’s house.

“It’s funny how circumstances change our beliefs and actions.  After Johnny was murdered, Aunt Julia needed some money.  Fred, this is kind of personal, but she had a burr in her saddle after she learned Deidre was pregnant.”

I was now in Guntersville, passing by the new Publix on my left having just crossed the causeway.  “Wait, are you saying Aunt Julia knew Deidre was pregnant with Johnny’s baby?”

“I guess I opened this can of worms, didn’t I?  Aunt Julia worked thirty, no forty years, for Dr. Corley.  She learned a few weeks before the burglary that Deidre had come to see the doctor, thinking she might be pregnant.  Well, it seemed later, I’m not really sure, Deidre turned up at Dr. Calvert’s, another local doctor, both great doctors with superior reputations, and this time your sister was pregnant.”

“Wait a minute.  How would Aunt Julia know this?”  I had slipped my lawyer hat on after all.

“The two doctors had impeccable characters but it’s obvious two of their employees didn’t.  Rachel Roden, she later married Doug Barber, worked for Dr. Calvert.  She and Aunt Julia were two peas in a pod, their friendship went back to elementary school.  Even though she was just a secretary and not a nurse, she did some snooping around and found Deidre’s file.  Aunt Julia put it together that Johnny had to be the father.”

“How did she do that?”  How, when, why, what, always fed me great questions in the courtroom.

“Fred, maybe you need to go in and see Noah.  It was like Connie realized I was sitting in the Marshall County Jail’s parking lot.  I realized something to.  She didn’t want to continue this conversation.

“I’m fine.  The deputies may not have finished processing Noah.  You were about to tell me how Aunt Julia learned she was going to be a grandmother.”  That sounded too flippant.

Connie hesitated a full minute or more.  “Brace yourself.”  Another pause.  “Your mother told her.”

“Aunt Julia went to see my mother?”  I asked.

“Oh yes, remember I said Aunt Julia was the private bulldog, Uncle Bill was the public bulldog.”

Now I had my full lawyer’s outfit on.  “What do you know about that meeting?  I bet it wasn’t too friendly.”

“I was never clear when the meeting took place.  But, it almost turned violent when Aunt Julia accused your mother of killing Johnny.”

“What?”

“Someway your mother’s hatred of my dear cousin had become more than private information.  Obviously, it was just a horrible rumor.”

“What was?”

“That your mother someway was involved in Johnny’s death.”  I hated how things that were impossible of being true someway, at least to a few people, transformed into reality.

“What did you mean a while ago when you said Aunt Julia needed to use some of the money?”

“This was later, but remember, she was a bulldog and learned that Deidre had left town.  It was after Christmas; Aunt Julia took a trip.  This is when she discovered your mother’s plan to conceal her daughter’s pregnancy.”  Connie whispered to a faint voice I could hear in the background.  “Fred, I’ve got to go.  Mother says Aunt Julia is ready for us.”  What a strange way of putting it.

“I understand, you go, and maybe we can finish this conversation later.  Connie, please know I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks, Fred.  And yes, Aunt Julia discovered your sister had twins.”  I knew that was one question you really needed to ask.  Talk later, bye for now.”

After our call ended, I felt sick.  My poor mother had to live with the local rumor that she had killed the father of her two illegitimate grandchildren.  I got out of my car for some fresh air and walked to the side entrance of the Sheriff’s Department.  I thought to myself, “How much easier and simpler my life, and Noah’s, would be right now if we had never, ever, thought about cracking Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber’s safes.”

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 48

Wednesday night I got the shock of my life.  After a monotonous meal of green beans, mashed potatoes, and fried chicken in the Fellowship Hall, Connie asked me, out of Dad and Deidre’s hearing, if I wanted to come to her house and spend the night.  I nodded and smiled as Pastor Caleb appeared from nowhere and announced Prayer Meeting would be delayed fifteen minutes.

I couldn’t tell for sure if Connie was serious.  I already knew she didn’t understand much about being romantic.  To me, her invitation was too brazen, almost in the camp of a ‘do you want to come over and fix my lawn mower?’  A true romantic would have simply asked me to come over for coffee and cake and allow time, touch, and talk to brew up a natural overnight retreat under the sheets.

We did have coffee and cake but then Connie led me to her bedroom.  I tried to slow her down but, just like in Gulf Shores, she was a wildcat that went right for the throat.  Once again, the rendezvous was pure sex, not anything akin to true intimacy.

I woke up around 4:00 next to the lovely Connie’s naked body.  At first, I thought she was initiating sex again, but my mind finally realized someway her iPhone had also decided it would sleep with us.  It was the intermittent vibrating next to my lower stomach that had confused me.

In less than five minutes Connie had dressed and was heading out the door.  It was Aunt Julia.  Connie’s mother had called and said that her sister might not make it to dawn.  I offered to go with her.  I wanted to do everything I could to comfort her since I knew she was almost as close to her aunt as she was her mother.  For whatever reason, Connie made me stay behind.

It only took the light of Connie’s Camry backing out of her driveway to wake up my little demon.  With him, her, whatever it was, came an overwhelming guilt.  How on earth could I violate the trust and freedom Connie was now so willingly providing?  The little demon convinced me that what Connie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.  Or us.

In the mid-sixties, Mosler Company had developed a unique safe-locking device (it was a safe-opening device).  Their research and development department had been tasked with creating a way for the Company to open any one of their safes no matter the combination the individual owners had selected.  Gus Mosler’s objective was to provide an alternative to the cost and aggravation for the customer who lost or forgot their three numbers.  I was happy Papa Martin had started including this information in his journal.

By 4:20 a.m., I had drunk half a cup of coffee from Connie’s automatic machine.  It was odd she always set it to start making at 4:00 a.m.  Without knowing Connie’s combination, I dialed in the three numbers, rotating left or right in between.  The thought raced across my mind that I wished Doug Barber’s safe had been manufactured as late as Connie’s.

I pulled open the door.  It seemed lighter than I recalled from my last adventure in the church’s old basement.  The first thing I saw, surprisingly, was four stacks of neatly wrapped cash.  I started to pull back the plastic on one end and thumb through the bills to get a rough estimate of how much money the lovely Connie had tucked back.  But, I didn’t.  The last thing I wanted or needed was for her to discover her safe had been cracked. 

I returned the bundle to its home and removed a small box.  It contained a familiar locket, one like I had seen Rebecca wearing when I had met with her several weeks ago in Connie’s dining room, less than fifty feet away from where I stood.  It was also just like the one Dad had shown me, the one revealing a naked Deidre, the one Mother had taken away from my hormone-spewing sister.  Like the cash bundle, I returned the box to its little home.

My hands felt clammy as I removed a manila envelope.  Why did everyone place one of these in their old Mosler?  I was sweating because I was afraid Connie would return, suddenly and unexpectedly like she had before when I was supposed to be taking a shower after finishing up her yard work.  Unsurprisingly, the envelope contained a photo.  It was odd at best.  It was Connie and her cousin Johnny posing with their four hands balancing a lidless box.  I couldn’t tell exactly what it contained.  The photo wasn’t high quality.  I turned the photo over and read in Connie’s perfect hand-writing.  It could be no one else’s.  “FBCC’s payment for mistreating Uncle Bill.”  I flipped the photo for another look. 

Then, it hit me.  The photo was taken in First Baptist Church of Christ’s basement.  Connie and Johnny were standing in front of the safe.  Looking carefully, I could barely see the front two heavy rollers at the bottom of the safe.  I guess my legal training kicked in.  “Who had made the photo?”  I slipped the photo back inside the manila envelope and felt another thin sheet of paper.  I had missed it before.  I removed the maybe five or six-inch square single sheet that no doubt had been cut out of a newspaper.  Along the right edge was hand-written, again by the lovely Connie, “SMR October 16, 1973.” No doubt it was an article from the Sand Mountain Reporter.  The title was “Three Teenagers Caught Red-Handed.”  I read the article and was confused.  Apparently, Johnny Stewart, Allan Floyd, and Tommy Jones had been caught coming out of the church’s office three hours after the Wednesday night prayer service had ended.  Two thoughts slithered through me.  One, Connie wasn’t implicated at all, and two, the article specifically stated that nothing was stolen.  I returned the single sheet of newspaper print to the inside of the manila envelope.

The only other thing in Connie’s safe was a file folder containing three pages of medical jargon.  The report was dated September 27, 1973.  After noticing the pages were out of order I came to the last page, which really was the first page, and noticed that it was medical records for Deidre Martin.  The only non-medical language I could understand revealed that Deidre was not pregnant even though she had been sexually active.  It was then I recalled that Connie had shared that Aunt Julia had worked for Dr. Luther Corley for over forty years.  I concluded that Aunt Julia had not been against violating someone’s privacy by sharing some very personal information.  Damn this was odd.  Why would Connie have these records?

Just as I returned the file folder to the inside left corner of the old Mosler, my cell phone vibrated in my back pocket.  I knew it had to be Connie.  I suspected it wasn’t daylight yet, figuring it was not quiet five a.m.  I closed the safe’s door and pulled out my phone.  It wasn’t Connie.  It was Lorie Waters.

“Hello Lorie, what’s wrong, something isn’t right, or you wouldn’t be calling this early.”

“It’s horrible.  Noah has been arrested.  He left for Huntsville around 4:15, to finish up for the final inspection at the Boeing plant.  He just called.  There was a drug checkpoint in Owens Crossroads.”

“I’m totally confused.  Arrested?  For what?”  I was just about to throw up.  Searches and arrests go together like marriage and honeymoons.  Of all days for this to be happening.  Our plans no doubt had gone to hell.  After his inspection, Noah was headed to meet Colton Mason to deliver a certain package containing some certain coins and some certain jewelry.  All removed late yesterday afternoon from the barn loft behind my cabin.

“Noah asked me to call you.  He says he needs to see you ASAP.”

I told Lorie I would get dressed and try to see him.  She said that Noah had said he was calling from a squad car and that the Deputy was letting him borrow his phone.  Noah was being transported to the Marshall County Jail in Guntersville. 

After spinning the locking mechanism to reset the combination, I closed the pocket door and tidied up Connie’s clothes along the upper and lower racks.  In ten minutes, I had showered and was turning north on Highway 205.  All I could think about was a connection between the old Smith & Wesson stolen from Noah’s parents’ house and Pastor Caleb’s recent discovery that the church’s safe had been cracked.

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 47

Tuesday.  It was 6:00 a.m.  I had just crawled out of bed when my cell phone vibrated on my bedside table.  It was Bobby Sorrells.

“Morning Bobby, I assume you’ve been up for two hours or more.” 

“That habit is as ingrained as breathing.  I get more done between 4:00 and 6:00 o’clock in the morning than the rest of the day.  Or, so it seems.”

“What’s up?”  I said, knowing Bobby hadn’t called me to chit-chat.

“I have some interesting news for you and thought you might want to meet for breakfast.  I’ve been in town since yesterday, mid-afternoon, already met once with Dalton.”  I wondered if the two of them had talked about a potential insurance fraud claim.

“I would like that.  Where do you want to meet?”

“How about that Huddle House across from the fairgrounds?  Say 7:00?”

“That works for me.  See you in an hour.”

When I arrived, Bobby was sitting in a booth with his back to the restroom doors.  I almost chuckled as I realized we were from the same camp, always thinking about having a lay of the land.  I forced myself to sit across from him with my back exposed to the rest of the world, well, at least to the other folks at the Huddle House.

After we ordered, Bobby got right to it.  Chit-chat was a pain for both of us.  “Your friend Carson Eubanks is about to be a rich man.”

“Apparently Mr. Bobby had found out some very deep secrets.  I wasn’t aware I had such a friend.”  I said, being overly petty.  “Seriously, what do you mean?”

“You were correct.  Carson was adopted by a family in Cincinnati.  And yes, he is the twin brother of your pastor, Caleb Patterson.  Oh, and lest I forget, your sister is the twins biological mother.  Congratulations Uncle Fred.”  Bobby rarely tried to be funny.

“What’s this rich stuff you mentioned?”  I asked right after the waitress left us our food.

“As luck would have it, or fate, or God, or whatever, young Carson drew the best straw.  His adopted mother is Nellie Eubanks.  Her husband, Carl, died back in the late eighties.”  Bobby stopped and ate a whole fried egg and two pieces of toast.  While I watched and waited.

“So, what’s so special about Nellie Eubanks?”

After a long draw on his coffee Bobby smiled and said.  “Her middle name.”

“You are really making this hard on me.  Please spill all the beans.  I’m ready.”

“Nellie Eubanks maiden name is Mosler.  She is the great-granddaughter of the founder of the Mosler Safe Company.  His name was Gustave Mosler.  Nellie and her brother, Gus, are the current owners of the entire company.”

“How in the heck did one of Deidre’s twins wind up with such a wealthy family?  I assume that’s what you meant when you said Carson was about to be rich.”  I said.

“Seems like your great aunt and Nellie were friends.  The two of them lived on the same block, which, by the way, was just around the corner from where your grandparents lived.  Same neighborhood.  I don’t know for sure, but I would guess when Deidre went to live with her great aunt, during your sister’s unplanned pregnancy, she confided in Ms. Nellie.  Then, when Deidre delivered twins, there obviously was an extra puppy.  Seems Ms. Nellie wanted the runt.”

“Funny.  Since Helen Patterson already had dibs on the pick of the litter.”  Bobby and I both liked analogies.

“On a sadder note, Ms. Nellie is dying, probably doesn’t have many days to live.  Stomach cancer is claiming another one.”  My mind was pondering the future of another sick person.  Carson himself was sick, possibly terminal.  As I ate my waffles I wondered what would ultimately happen to half the Mosler fortune after Carson died.  Maybe Bobby should have said, “Your friend Tyler is about to be a rich young man.”

“Question.  How do you know that Carson will inherit Ms. Nellie’s estate?”  I asked.

“Luck, it couldn’t have been anything else.  You as an attorney know that trusts don’t have to be recorded.  But, sometimes the maker or settlor of a trust has a compelling reason to let the world know about the normally private estate planning technique.  Seems like Ms. Nellie didn’t want there to be any question about the authenticity of her plans.  After Carl died in 1989, she had her lawyer prepare a trust.  And, she had him record it in Hamilton County, Ohio.”

“I take it Cincinnati is in Hamilton County?”  I asked.

“Correct.”  Bobby used his last piece of toast to sop up the rest of his runny eggs and hash browns.

“Another question, did you learn all this from the Internet?”  I had to know.  I couldn’t imagine that all the details Bobby had shared had someway found a home on the world wide web.

“Not a chance.  As luck would have it, your luck I might add, I’m working a case in Dayton.  I flew to Columbus the day after we spoke and drove down to Dayton.  My court testimony was delayed two days, so I decided to save you a buck or two. I drove down to Cincinnati and spent those two days in Seven Hills.  That’s a lovely community.”  Bobby said, motioning the waitress to refill our coffee cups.

“So, I suppose you did what you like most, reverted back to your true gumshoe days?”  I asked.

“The Internet is a valuable tool but there is no substitute for proper use of shoe leather.  Problem with that is it is mighty expensive on the one footing the bill.”

“You know I’d be happy to pay.  In fact, I insist.  You had extra expense even though you were already in Dayton.”

“Hey, what are friends for?  Consider it just a small payment on what I owe you.  There’s been many a time you’ve answered a legal question for me.  I’ve never forgotten.”  Bobby was a true gentleman.

I could have stayed and talked another three or four hours, but my schedule wouldn’t allow it.  “I hate to say it, but I have an 8:00 a.m. appointment.  I’ll have to leave in a few minutes.  In the meantime, is there anything else you learned, anything?  I was hoping you might stumble on why Carson and Tyler are living in Boaz, especially with the dad working in Huntsville.”

“I was going to let you read it for yourself.”  Bobby said, reaching inside his jacket pocket and pulling out an envelope.  “Here’s a copy of Ms. Nellie’s trust.”

I opened the sealed envelope and read the title of a rather short trust agreement.  It was titled, ‘The Irrevocable Trust of Nellie Mosler Eubanks.’ 

“Look at page six.”  Bobby suggested.

I flipped pages and found Section IX, ‘Distributions.’  Having created quite a few trusts during my legal career I was familiar with the language.  In short, if Carson survived Ms. Nellie, he was the sole beneficiary.  If she died when he was a minor, then he received the estate in a trust that was created upon her death.  That wasn’t the case, since Carson was clearly an adult.  The next paragraph shocked me.  If Carson predeceased Ms. Nellie, then her estate was to be divided between Caleb Patterson and Deidre Martin, or the survivor of the two of them.

“This is hard to believe.  I suspect Ms. Nellie would have known Deidre was Carson’s mother.”  I said.

“It’s actually more than that.  A neighbor, a woman who looked to be a hundred, Lessie Bouldin, lived straight across the street from Ms. Nellie, told me that she remembered the young Alabama girl visiting the big house.”

“Ms. Nellie’s?”  I asked.

“Yep.  Before you ask it, the answer is ‘I don’t know.’  Bobby said, kind of curtly.

“What was I going to ask?  Forget that.  So, you don’t know if Deidre knew for sure that Ms. Nellie adopted Carson?”

“You got it.  That’s the question.  And I have no answer.  But, here’s my guess.  It just seems natural that a mother would know who adopted her twin boys.”

“I agree.  Gosh, I’m late already.  I’ve got to run.  Thanks for the information, my friend, and for a copy of the trust.  I’ll call you later.”

I left Bobby a twenty-dollar bill and asked him to settle our tab.  I walked outside to my car.  As I drove to Albertville, all I could think about was how much Ms. Nellie was worth.  It had to be millions, but of course, I could be wrong.

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 46

I don’t know what it was about this morning’s conversation with Victor that had created such a compelling desire to revisit Papa Martin’s journals.  Maybe, it was Victor quoting Nell’s odd statement, “the old maid that Fred is dating.”  My mind shoved forth a photograph of an old, hunched over woman, holding a leash leading around a little dog.  Was that what old maids looked like?  Connie was nothing like that.  I admitted I was forgetting her sweet Yorkie.  The late Mollie.  M.  Maybe it was another M, Mosler.  Maid, Mollie, Mosler.  Whatever, after another Stouffer for supper sitting in my recliner, Alfredo Chicken this time, I pulled out Papa Martin’s journals to see how I had missed the who and when of Connie’s safe.  Who had bought it and when?

I was thankful my wonderful grandfather had created one journal specifically for safes sold to those with an Alabama shipping address.  Even though Mosler had, by the end of the great depression, dealers, mostly hardware stores, selling their safes directly to local customers, the company was strict about managing their warranty obligations.  A dealer could lose his right to sell the grand old safes if they failed to capture and submit the name, address, and model number on what Papa always referred to as the ‘W’ card.  He said it could stand for won, like we (Mosler) won another sale, or war, if we had to send a locksmith to repair or replace the locking mechanism.

It was almost midnight when I stumbled upon the hidden clue.  Even before finishing my Stouffer’s I knew I wasn’t going to find that Mosler had ever sold one of their safes to Connie Stewart.  Over the years I had spent countless hours scouring the pages in all of Papa’s journals.  Her safe had to have been acquired second hand.  She had probably bought it at an estate sale, or even at Radford Hardware here in Boaz.  I knew they sometimes had taken an old Mosler on trade and then resold it.  But, that was rare. 

The clue was the name, Giles.  That got my attention because I had heard Connie mention her aunt Julia’s maiden name.  A James Giles had bought the Model T20 Mosler safe, serial number 429053, in 1973.  His mailing address was 5287 Cranford Road in Fort Payne.  Even if I hadn’t known anything about the Giles name I could have recognized Connie’s safe by the serial number.  I now was glad I had remembered (and later written down) the six-digit number Mosler had burned into the safe’s heavy front handle.

After walking to the refrigerator for a dish of ice cream topped with some strawberry pie filling, I returned to my recliner and pondered, like I often did with half-read documents.  What was the rest of the story?  How did 429053 wind up behind a hidden wall in Connie’s walk-in master-bedroom closet?

After finishing my ice-cream, I opened Google on my iPhone and typed in “James Giles and Fort Payne, Alabama.”  The only result that was remotely relevant was an old Times (Fort Payne’s hundred-plus year-old newspaper) article with a photo that revealed the winners of a recent spelling bee at Wills Valley Elementary School.  The article was dated March 18, 1939.  I could barely read the names of the kids, apparently the winners, from the third, fourth, and fifth grades.  I opened the end-table drawer next to my recliner and pulled out a magnifying glass.  It seemed James and Julia Giles were both good spellers.  James won fifth grade, Julia, third. 

I lay my head back and tried to imagine the story around 429053.  It would seem to me that James, assuming he was dead, would have left his safe to his wife.  But, I could see a scenario where he died a widower and left his property to his sister.  Maybe Julia was James’s only sibling.  I realized I really didn’t know much at all, other than Connie possessed a very large and heavy safe, and that, like most everyone with such a device, she stored her most valuable items believing they were, well, safe.

Now, the demon was awake.  I had tried ever since stumbling over Connie’s safe to suppress my desire to crack open her old Mosler.  Heck, she was my girlfriend.  Now, it was real, after Gulf Shores and yesterday morning’s quick tour of my first-floor room.  It was hard to admit I had been unsuccessful in tiptoeing around the little demon.  The mistake, the big one I had made, was pulling down Papa Martin’s journals to begin with.  If I had let dead dogs lie, I wouldn’t have awakened the little demon inside my head.  Now, there was no turning back.  I had to learn what was inside Connie’s heart.

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 45

Monday morning at Alfa was almost comical.  The other four agents (Steven Darden had transferred to the Cullman office two weeks ago) appeared to kowtow to Nell and her obsession over the Doug Barber life insurance policy I had turned in a little over a week ago.  Nell, I had recently learned, was a cousin to Nancy Frasier, the ninety-plus year-old librarian.  According to Victor, the youngest and brightest agent of the fold, a late Thursday afternoon call by Nell to Nancy had triggered a long-buried memory that seemed to motivate Nell’s current desire to vindicate both her and Alfa Insurance Company.  I was confused, so I asked Victor to ride with me to McDonald’s for a late morning latte.

“Thanks for the coffee and the invite.  I’ve been wanting to get to know you better.  All the other agents seem to be afraid of you.”  Victor said, removing the lid from his cup and adding three Sweet-n-Lows.

We were sitting in the booth closest to the bathrooms and there was no one within three tables.  I sat with my back to the bathroom wall looking out across the entire McDonald’s landscape.  A security habit I think Noah had instilled in me half a hundred years ago.  “Afraid?  Why in the heck would they be afraid of me?”

“Your intellect.  That’s the only thing I can imagine.  Frankly, you seem about normal.  For a thinking person.”

“Thanks.  If they asked me, you would be the one to fear from a smartness standpoint.  I envy your youth and all the brain cells you haven’t lost.”  I said.

“Aging is a bitch I hear but seems like you’re doing alright in the lady’s category.”  Victor’s statement caught me off guard.  I had never mentioned Connie to him or anyone else in the office.

“What exactly does that mean?”  I asked.

“Nell mentioned her, Connie Stewart, as almost an afterthought.  It was late last Thursday after she, Nell, talked with her cousin Nancy.  Nell said something like, ‘Bill and Julia Stewart, that’s the uncle and aunt of Connie Stewart, the old maid that Fred is dating.’”

“Help me here.  Why did Nell say something about Bill, he’s dead you know, and Julia, who’s recently suffered a very debilitating stroke?”  I asked, noticing Pastor Caleb and Robert Miller walk inside McDonald’s and toward the order counter.

“I know you are catching the tail end of things here.  Nell sat all agents, except you of course, down late last Friday afternoon and gave us the full scoop.”

“Over what?  I realize it had something to do with that old Doug Barber policy that his wife, widow, found and gave to me.”

“Yep, that got a rise out of the otherwise even-keeled Nell like I hadn’t seen during the ten months I’ve been an Alfa Agent.  She said she recalled the original application had been denied, the million-dollar policy hadn’t been issued.  She was shocked when you turned it in and she did some snooping around.”

“The policy was issued in 1974.  It seemed Nell wouldn’t make such a simple mistake.  Heck, she’s just like her cousin Nancy at the Boaz Library.  That woman has virtually a photographic mind, at least concerning the name of every book on the shelves, and the detailed contents of every book by a local author.”  I said, again seeing the pastor and youth director sit down on the far side of McDonald’s next to the children’s playground.

“For some reason Alfa’s Cullman office got involved.  It seems the policy that was initially declined was later issued through that office.  Nell felt she had been snubbed for some reason.”  Victor said.

“The policy did seem odd to me.  The policy owner was First Baptist Church of Christ and the insured was Doug Barber.  What was strange to me was that the beneficiary wasn’t the church.  I think the primary beneficiary was Doug’s first wife, then his estate if she predeceased him.”

“According to Nell, the reason the original application was denied was that Alfa’s underwriting department didn’t think the church had an insurable interest in Doug’s life.” 

“That was another thing I was going to mention.”  I knew this was a big thing for all life insurance companies.  The policy owner had to be at risk, suffer a loss, if the insured died.  Normally, life insurance policies are issued to husbands and wives to make up for the loss of income when a spouse died.  Just as often, a business will insure the life of its owner or other valuable employee.

“You’re probably wondering why Nell mentioned Bill Stewart.”  Victor, always bright, knew that subject hadn’t been properly addressed.  I could imagine him fitting in quite well with Ricky Miller’s club, the Brights.

“Again, that was something I was about to ask.”

“According to Nell, and confirmed as well by Nancy, Bill Stewart was chairman of the church’s finance committee at the time and was adamantly opposed to spending quiet a sum for a life insurance policy that wouldn’t ever benefit the church.  It seemed he and the pastor at the time, Walter Tillman, just about came to blows.  I guess you can figure out who won the fight.”

“From what I’ve heard, Mr. Tillman and four of his friends always got what they wanted.”  I said, recalling a lot of things I had heard over the years, admittedly, mostly rumors.

“Nell vows that she is going to visit him as soon as she can.  You know he’s in prison?  According to Nell, the old pastor will likely spend the rest of his life at Cumberland Island Federal Penitentiary in Georgia.  Man, that’s a story I’d like to read about.” 

“I think you might have your wires crossed.  Walter Tillman is dead.  It’s his son, Wade, who’s in prison.”  I corrected Victor in a rare mistake.

“I admit that whole story is confusing.  Kind of like what Nell is saying about the million-dollar policy.”

“What else did Nell say?”  I really wanted to know more about why the damn thing was considered at all.  Then, I recalled the two policies Elton and Doug had on their lives where First Baptist Church of Christ was the beneficiary.

“Obviously, you know about two other policies, the ones where the church received a chunk of money after both Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber died.  Nell believes all these policies are rooted in what happened back in 1973 when Bill Stewart’s son, Johnny, was murdered.  You should remember something about that.  Wasn’t that back in your day?”

Victor had a way of making me feel as old as I was.  “I’ve heard that he was killed after a Boaz-Albertville football game.  I wasn’t here during that time.  I was a student at Auburn University.”  I said.

“I’m getting a little worried about Nell.  She may be going a little senile, paranoid.  After talking with her cousin, the old librarian, Nell thinks the cross policies reveal that the church, and both Elton and Doug, knew too much on each other.  The policies were like, well, insurance against the other.  Nell said she suspected some backroom dealing was involved with Alfa issuing the bigger policy on Doug’s life.  Nell also said her cousin mentioned she had witnessed the signing of a confidentiality agreement between the church and Elton and Doug.”  Victor was a reservoir of information.

Before I could stop myself, I said, “I thought it was an agreement between the church and Elton, not Doug.”  I hoped Victor missed that red flag.  I could nearly hear him ask, “how do you know that?”  I had to be more careful.  What I saw and learned from my safecracking activities had to be kept locked away inside my mind’s safe.  I was talking to myself too much.

“I really need to be going.  I have an appointment at 11:30.”  Surprisingly, Victor said just what I needed him to say.  Little slip-ups were what got criminals caught.  I knew that from forty years of practicing law.

As Victor and I walked toward the McDonald’s exit, I caught the stares of Pastor Caleb and Robert Miller.  It was like I was receiving two different messages.  The pastor seemed upset, nothing pleasant in his face, a slight frown.  The youth pastor was smiling.  His head held higher.  As I drove back to the office, I kept thinking that Robert Miller might be another reservoir of information.  No doubt, he would know a lot about his late grandfather and great-uncle.