Category: Novels

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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School .  Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie.  Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.  

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal.  In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget.  Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice.  And, eternal friendship. 

Chapter 48

For the next three days, school was like one continuous funeral.  The only difference was the absence of Alysa’s humor to break the sadness and grief.  It seemed the entire faculty and student body was transfixed on Steve’s death.  It was clear everyone loved Cindy and couldn’t imagine what had happened at Paula Wilkins’ house.  The school was also filled with continuous chatter over the continued absence of Assistant Principal Wilkins. 

If all of this wasn’t enough to depress the most positive person, my Creative Writing class, unwittingly I think, exuded an eeriness I had never experienced.  For the first time, the teams articulated their growing awareness of how related their real justice project was to what was happening in Boaz.  On Tuesday, Rita Goings expressed it like this, “Jackson Burke’s daughter, Jessica, is a spitting image of Riley Radford.  Pure smart ass and conniving.  I think she, Jessica, is somehow involved with the disappearance of Stella’s daughter.  Come to think of it, Burke himself is a lot like Ryan Radford, Riley’s father.  Both are big men in size, influence, and deviousness.”  It was then I recognized that during my two-day absence last week and my lack of focus on Monday, I had completely missed what had transpired in our novel-writing project.   After Rita and my other nineteen creative writing students rushed out after the bell, I pondered her statement and reminded myself of another similarity, that of Paula Wilkins in real life and Nancy Fletcher in Real Justice.  As Cullie came into my room, I got almost deathly sick wondering whether the fictional tale was somehow predictive of what was sure to happen in Boaz.  I couldn’t help but be afraid for Cullie.

For a reason or reasons that would have to be stranger than strange, I had gone to Prayer Meeting Wednesday night.  In part, I wanted to see Cindy.  I thought church might be the place she would be the most civil to me and make some overture towards restoring our friendship.  I was encouraged that a little sliver of hope had inched its way into my subconsciousness.  She wasn’t there in the flesh, but news of her emergency hospitalization was the lead prayer request.  I stayed until Pastor Warren finished praying for her after a series of volunteers had stood and implored God to heal and protect both her and her child.  Talking about strange things.  Warren’s prayer, to an outsider, was beautiful:  caring and compassionate, like he was speaking of his own wife.  To me, one who knew what a fucking hypocrite and criminal he was, God had to restrain Himself from raining hellfire down on the man’s head as he stood before his loving and faithful flock.

I found Cullie in youth group and told her I was going to visit Cindy and would return before her session ended.  At the hospital, Alysa stopped me outside Cindy’s intensive care room and as sweetly and kindly as possible told me her mother had given her strict orders not to allow me inside her room.  The awkwardness for both Alysa and me was bad enough, but it was nothing compared to the pain from being slapped once again in the face by the loss of a beautiful friendship.  I was so ashamed of myself and how I had hurt Cindy.  Her response to me would be reasonable and understandable to most folks, but I viewed it in a more morbid sense given all we had been through together and the trouble we were currently in.

I didn’t have any trouble returning to church and being there when Cullie’s meeting ended.  I drove us home after a quick stop at Walmart.  I could tell she was troubled over something, but she refused to talk.  I sat on the couch and was about to feed my newest addiction, watching episodes of Grace and Frankie on Netflix, when Wayne called.

“Katie, is now a good time to talk?”

“Perfect, the only thing that would be better is if you were here.”  I said.

“I would love nothing better.  I hope you know that.  But, I’m still at work.  A lot has happened since Sunday.  I’m sorry to just now be calling to give you an update.”

“I need some good news.  I’m still reeling from Steve’s death.”  I said.

“I’ve got several things, so I’ll begin.  Let me start with some Texas news.  Sheriff Blaylock called.  I think I’ve told you I asked him a few weeks ago to see what he could find out about the Thomas Law Firm and Nathan Johnson.”

“I remember.”

“There’s definitely a connection between Raymond Radford and Clayton Thomas.  Seems like they stayed connected after their college days.  At some point Clayton introduced Raymond to Nathan Johnson, Senior.  They must have hit it off because they did some business deals together.  Some of them were rather shady.  The Sheriff discovered rumors that Raymond did some dirty work for Nathan, Sr. in Texas, and he, in turn, did some for Raymond in Alabama.  Get this, at the time of Randall’s disappearance, he was under investigation for a murder in San Marcos.  The man murdered was a former business partner of Nathan, Sr., who had brought a multi-million-dollar lawsuit complaining he had been swindled out of an interest in the Lone Star Candy Company.  Clayton was his attorney and the case is still open; there is no Randall Radford to prosecute.  Here’s a strange thing, Nathan, Jr., the one involved in your mother’s death, is a twin.  Nathan, II was his father’s favorite and Junior was here in Alabama trying to curry favor with his father.  It’s complicated, I’ll leave it at that for now.”

“All of that is interesting, but to me, it doesn’t help solve Darla’s, mother’s, murder.”  I said.

“It’s certainly not the ace we need but it sure seems to indicate a likely conspiracy between Johnson, one or all of them, and the Radford’s.” 

“You said you had some more things to share.”  I asked, feeling tired and wanting to talk more personal with Wayne.

“I see one reason you are a teacher, or one effect from being a teacher.  You keep your student on track.”  Wayne said with a chuckle.  “Jeff’s Car Sales in Leesburg, you recall.  Details, details.  They never cease to amaze me.  I’ve already told you about Jeff who sold a tan-colored van to two hookers from Atlanta.”

“Alleged hookers?”  I asked.

“Well, yes.  The Jeff I talked to was Jed Cole.  He’s an older guy, not too tech-savvy.  I had assumed I was talking with Jeff.  The car sales business is named Jeff’s Auto Sales.  Well, Monday, Jed’s son, the real Jeff, called and said his father forgot to tell me that he had installed a security system a few months earlier.  Jeff said that he had been out of town when his father had called after hearing the radio ad seeking information on the van.  Jeff said after the van had been found, he figured we might like to see a video of the two women who bought the van.  It seems Jeff had one camera in his office to record all sales transactions.  So, just to let you know, we now have a solid lead on who kidnapped and probably murdered Patrick Wilkins.” 

I sat silent as Wayne continued to talk about what steps his office and that of the Alabama Bureau of Investigation would take to locate the two women.  I wasn’t surprised at what Wayne had learned from Jeff.  I guess I was mostly reconciled to losing my freedom and thus my life.  Cindy and I were headed to prison.  We had been stupid.  Criminals always do something stupid and get caught.  I bet it is one of the rarest things in America for a criminal to get away scot-free from the illegal conduct he performs.

Wayne continued as though he might have a dozen things to share, each one more damning for Cindy and me.  “One other thing, this time fingerprints.  The Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences was able to lift a couple of fingerprints from the hooker’s van.  Sorry, I keep calling them hookers.  We do not know that for sure.  We only know that’s how Jeff described them.  No, I haven’t seen his video yet.  Back to the fingerprints.  There was no match in the national database.  We’re kind of at a dead end until we locate the two women.  Then, I’m pretty sure we’ll have our match.”  Wayne said he was confident that he was on the trail to solving the Wilkins case.

“Being the pseudo-detective that I am, can’t you possibly locate Patrick’s kidnapper by checking the fingerprints of, say, everyone in Boaz?  That might get you the match you’re looking for much quicker than locating the two women.”  I wanted to know if I should expect such a local roundup.

“Sometimes I wish we could do that, but the Fourth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution prohibits that.  We, law enforcement, must have probable cause.  All American citizens have the right to be free from all unreasonable searches and seizures.  We have to have some evidence, some suspicion, that the person was involved with the crime before we can secure fingerprints, or a DNA sample, or some other type of personal identifying information.”  Wayne was clearly showing he wasn’t a newbie to criminal investigations.

“Oh, okay.  I wasn’t exactly sure how that worked.”  I said.

“Katie, that’s about all I have.  I know you are dying to know what’s going on with our investigation into Steve Barker’s death but that one is going to be a beast.  So far, no gun, no fingerprints other than one’s you would expect, no camera recordings, and no witnesses.  But, I’ll keep you posted.”  Wayne said sounding like he was getting a little impatient.

“Thanks Wayne for calling.  I hope to see you soon.”  I had never been so damn needy.  I’m no doubt sure Wayne sensed my near-desperation.

“Katie, let me know if you need anything.  The refrigerator is about as old as the stove we replaced.  Let me know if it starts giving you trouble.”

“I think I won’t.  You bought the stove.  I can buy a refrigerator.”  I said, determined not to let Wayne continue to be so generous with mine and Cullie’s housing needs.

After our call ended I walked to the refrigerator for a glass of milk or to see if it was working properly.  I’m not sure.  One thing that wasn’t confusing was the noose I felt tightening around my neck.  I needed to let Cindy know about the troubling updates.  I also wanted her to persuade me that I can have complete confidence that the disguises she had created were more than sufficient to protect the two hookers who had kidnapped and murdered the criminal asshole Wilkins.

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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School .  Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie.  Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.  

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal.  In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget.  Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice.  And, eternal friendship. 

Chapter 47

I hadn’t slept all night.  After returning from Cindy’s, Cullie had gone to her room.  I sat in the den and cried for over an hour.  I knew the only way to stop was to change my mind.  My iPad was laying on the coffee table, so I picked it up and opened Netflix.  I was glad I had started last Tuesday night watching a series recommended by Cindy.

She had first mentioned it at the beginning of the school year.  We were sitting in the auditorium for the start of a faculty meeting.  Cindy had said, out of the blue, “my greatest fear is that someday Steve will come home from work and tell me he wants a divorce, that he is marrying his best friend, Adam.  You know, God made Adam and Eve, and not Adam and Steve.  The good thing is, as far as I know, Steve doesn’t have a friend named Adam.”  I had thought it was strange, especially coming from someone I barely knew.  She then had said, “Have you never watched Grace and Frankie?”  The meeting started right as she finished her question.  Since then, she has referred to the series on several other occasions.

For some strange reason, last Tuesday night, after my day finally was over, probably after 11:00 p.m., I had lain on my bed and started watching Grace and Frankie.  The Netflix original first aired in 2015.  It starred Jane Fonda and Martin Sheen as one married couple, and Lily Tomlin and Sam Waterston, as another.  First episode, Martin and Sam, rather, Sol and Robert, announce to their wives, over what should have been a lovely dinner at a nice restaurant, they wanted a divorce and were getting married.  The two long-time law partners had been having a love-affair for twenty years.  No doubt, their news had come as a shock to their wives, Grace and Frankie.

Tonight, to dampen my wave of tears, I had watched the fourth episode, The Funeral.  In it, Robert and Sol had their first spat after starting to live together.  It occurred at a colleague’s wake.  During a scene where the two lovers were attempting to make up, Robert said, “we will always have meshuga.”  I was unfamiliar with the word but let it slide.  It was after two hours of tossing and turning after I had finally laid across my bed that the word rolled back across my mind.  I knew I would never go to sleep without researching meshuga.  It’s basic meaning is “crazy or foolish.”  Webster’s example sentence was, “When your mother is meshuga like his was, a lifetime of therapy is pretty much a foregone conclusion.”  So, Robert thought his and Sol’s crazy foolishness, or their crazy and foolishness was a blessing, a relational characteristic that was as abiding as their sexual desires.  I was satisfied, and surprisingly fell asleep even though my mind was replaying that auditorium scene with Cindy and my heart was wishing it could go back and start over framing and developing the greatest friendship of my life.

My alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. as usual.  The Thread was clearly calling especially since I hadn’t had a writing session since last Wednesday morning.  Five days ago.  As I grabbed my coffee and walked down the long hall to The Thread, my mind was the furthest it had ever been from writing a scene in a current project.  I sat down and pulled out a new journal I had recently purchased online, one just like Darla had used.  I’m not sure why I had bought it because I wasn’t one to keep a journal.  I used to, but that was during my senior year in high school and my freshman year in college.  Once I began writing stories, what I called my public writing (because I hoped many others would someday read the little tales my imagination had spun), I had stopped my private writing.  The bottom line is I found it to be a waste of time, simply writing down an account of your day’s activities, including what time you had brushed your teeth and how you felt when the cute barrister asked for your phone number.  This was insane, why was I using my brain cells to think of this?  I was wrong about journaling.  Done correctly, it can be a life-changing activity.  However, it, not keeping a journal, was simply a choice, like so many other things in life.

With that, it seemed a good day to create my first journal entry in over twenty-five years.  Before I could write today’s date at the top of the first sheet, Robert’s meshuga whisked across my mind.  Crazy, foolishness?  How about insane?  It then dawned on me why this word had been able to wiggle its way into my subconscious and now front and center in my consciousness.  I had lost my meshuga, my Cindy.  I hated to admit it, but this was both good and bad.  Mostly bad.  But, the good part was, without her, I would be only a thought-crime criminal, never actually doing the deed.  I would keep my criminal intentions locked safe away in the back hell of my mind.  The bad part was, I didn’t believe I could live without my Cindy.  Her gorgeous red hair, I fully believed, somehow gave me life, almost like it flowed new blood into my body, not exactly like my own heart did.  Her blood was so unique and exciting.  It made me dance, it made me laugh, and cry.  With her, I could love.  I’m confident my feelings and desires for Wayne Waldrup would never have occurred without Cindy.  I’m sure I would have never sought real justice if it hadn’t been for Cindy.  This was bad, but it was also good.  Wilkins got what he deserved.  I doubt the law would have ever punished him.

I journaled about mine and Cindy’s meshuga for over an hour.  I was dead without my Cindy.  How on earth could I live without spending time with her, touching her hair as we sat on the pier, or talking endlessly about everything from Hell to Heaven and everything in between?  She got me, and she got to me.  The final sentence I wrote was, “even though both Cindy and I are both fully heterosexual, I could see and understand what Robert was talking about when he told Sol, ‘we’ll always have our meshuga.’  But, for me and my best friend, ours was gone forever.  I destroyed it when I forsook crazy, foolishness, and insanity, and broke the only promise she had ever asked me to keep.”

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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School .  Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie.  Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.  

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal.  In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget.  Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice.  And, eternal friendship. 

Chapter 46

It was Sunday night and Warren was still mad, madder than hell.  Steve’s funeral this afternoon had been the first time a Tillman hadn’t officiated such a ceremony for an active member of First Baptist Church of Christ who passed away in well over a hundred years.  This is how long a Tillman had been a pastor of this Southern Baptist Church.  It’s also how long the tradition and record had been a source of pride for the paternal side of Warren’s family.  He could still recall his great-grandfather, Rudolph Tillman, telling him, “It’s a matter of respect.  If one of your active church members dies and you are not asked to perform the duties at his or her final farewell, including preaching the main sermon, then you know you have failed.  You’ve lost your ability to persuade.  You have become an emperor with no clothes.”

It was all Warren could think about as Fulton was castigating Danny for some call he had made.  It was the first Sunday night meeting of Club Eden since Warren had been elected President over a year ago.  The Club’s bylaws clearly forbade such gatherings, describing them as a violation of the ‘thou shall keep the Sabbath for it is holy’ command.  Except in an extreme emergency (it too was defined in the bylaws) as called for by the President.

“Warren, you called this fucking meeting so let’s get on with it.”  Ryan said standing by the glass windows watching the first drops of rain alter their path sliding down as they bumped into faint gatherings of dust that had accumulated since the last shower.

Warren shook his head as though that would dissipate his anger.  “Sorry.  Ryan, I hear your anger, but this meeting is imperative.  I fully believe it is an extreme emergency.  And, I hate to say, it is all my fault.”

Justin stood from the round table and walked over beside Ryan but looked at Warren.  “I doubt your absence at Steve’s funeral would qualify for an extreme emergency.  Brother Rogers from Sylvania did a great job and he didn’t wear the stupid white suit you and all your ancestors always wore.”  A streak of lightning illuminated the semi-dark basement.

“See there, the light.  Our white suits symbolize my faith and the faith of my fathers.  Instead of black, dreary, deadly, black, the white suits represent light and light leads to life.  Jesus Christ, the light of the world.  For a believer, death of the body isn’t death to the soul.”  Warren was using the best opportunity he had to mirror the words he might have used at Steve’s funeral.  If he had been invited.

“Enough of this shit.  Get on with this little meeting that I know your father, your grandfather, and your great grandfather would never have described as an extreme emergency.”  Ryan said walking to the bar for a beer.

“The videotape has been altered.  Katie Sims snookered us, me.  That’s the extreme emergency.”  Warren had dreaded saying these words ever since his discovery.  While Brother Rogers officiated, Warren had, for the first time, watched the videotape Katie had given him in exchange for one million, two-hundred fifty thousand dollars, and a few written promises.

“What the fuck are you saying?”  Ryan was the best of all three to ask clear and direct questions.

“I made a childish mistake.  Monday, I deposited our money and she gave me the tape and signed the document all of you approved.  I was in a hurry and I trusted her.  Now, she has our money and we have a tape that shows about half of what went on during our, well, you know what in 2002.”  Warren said.

“Maybe the tape hasn’t been altered.  It is nearly fifteen years old.  Maybe the other half is missing because of deterioration or something, simply an old-age issue.”  Fulton said, trying to be as logical and reasonable as always.

“That’s not the case.  She has added a little footage to the tape.  After the halftime interruption, there is about a five-minute clip of Katie by herself talking.  Apparently, she taped herself.”  Warren tried to describe what he had seen but was interrupted.

“You have got to be kidding.”  Danny interjected.

“Let me finish.  It gets worse.  Katie described how Cindy saw me when Wilkins was abducting her, and I did nothing to help.  Katie accused me of being complicit in Cindy’s rape and pregnancy.  The worst part, if it’s possible to separate, is her threat.  She said if anything happened to Cindy, Steve, or their children, that every one of us would pay the ultimate price.  Guys, don’t think that was an empty threat.  The camera then turned away from Katie sitting in a chair to a series of still photos laying on a table.  Several of them were of Patrick Wilkins.  He was tied up and sitting back against what looked like the inside of a van.  Next, there was a live clip of him.  Same scene.  He looked rough.  He investigated the camera and said, ‘this message is for Warren Tillman, Justin Adams, Ryan Radford, Fulton Billingsley, and Danny Ericson.  They know what you’ve done.  They know you killed Darla Sims, Ralph Williams, and Nathan Johnson, and started the fire that killed Beverly and Sammie.  My advice, given my present predicament, is for you to take them seriously, and give them what they ask.  If you don’t, you will pay with your life.”  When Warren finished he shook his head and looked down at the table.

Fulton stood and said, as Danny and Ryan both sat down, “I’m getting tired saying this, but we can’t cry over spilt milk.  Warren’s fuck-up takes the prize, but we can’t un-ring that bell.  It seems Katie and Cindy have us by the balls.  I predict we haven’t heard the last of them.  Damn, it just hit me.  If we had known about this altered videotape before last Wednesday night we wouldn’t have pulled the trigger, literally, on Steve.  Now, we’ve done the very thing Katie warned us against.  Given those photos of Wilkins on the altered videotape it seems we have grossly underestimated the two teachers.  Warren, I hate to say it but your fuck-up may have gotten us all killed.”

“One other thing on the videotape.  I might as well pour out the whole bucket of slop.  Katie claims Glenda Williams, Ralph’s wife, found a camera, one of those outdoor things hunters and farmers use.  You know.  Katie claims Glenda and Ralph’s son found it in the barn.  She, Katie, says the camera shows the truth about what happened to Ralph.”  Warren said.

“Some of this shit may be a bluff.  Did she include a clip of that?  Or, any shots of still photos proving that?”  Justin asked.

“No, actually, she didn’t.”  Warren responded.

“Don’t think that clears our path to heavenly bliss.”  Fulton added.  We don’t know for sure she’s bluffing.  And, even if she is about that camera, we know she’s not bluffing about the tied-up Wilkins.  Further, if I had to guess, she’s not lying about a videotape of the fire, how the fire started.

“Am I the only one who now knows what happened to Patrick Wilkins?  Or, do ya’ll not want to admit it?”  Ryan said.  The sweet and sexy Katie, and the gorgeous redhead Cindy, kidnapped Wilkins.  No telling where they’ve got him holed up.” 

“You’re only partially right big Ryan.”  Warren said as he clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.  “Wilkins is dead and gone.  Don’t you see, we all raped Katie.  Wilkins raped Cindy.  That’s quite enough to make them madder than hell.  Someway Katie, for years, stayed away from revenge.  Cindy’s rape was the trigger that ignited the smoldering coals.  And, her friendship with Cindy just added fuel to the fire.  Finally, none of you have heard her voice or seen the look in her eye.  I have.  There’s a side of Katie Sims that’s a slave to justice, real justice.” 

For another hour, the five speculated over what to expect next from Katie and Cindy.  Finally, before disbanding, Warren led them in a prayer to God for wisdom and protection, pleading specifically that the two women be merciful and demand more money instead of spilling their blood.

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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School .  Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie.  Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.  

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal.  In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget.  Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice.  And, eternal friendship. 

Chapter 45

The next three days were the worst of my life.  I hurt for Cindy and her three loving children many times more than I had when I lost my own mother and grandmother.  I could only imagine the depth of Cindy’s pain.  I suspect no one knew better than me how beautiful a relationship she and Steve had.  It was truly storybook wonderful.  That is, until the horrible Patrick Wilkins raped and impregnated Cindy. 

She never had said much about her family.  About all I knew was she grew up in Montgomery and had met Steve when he was there as an eighteen-year-old private straight out of Army boot camp.  Cindy had been working at the little blue-collar diner part-time waiting tables as a high school senior.  Long story short, this seemingly random meeting launched the first phase of a life-long love affair culminating with their marriage and move to Boaz.

Cindy’s parents, two brothers and three sisters with their families, a host of aunts, uncles, and long unseen friends descended upon Boaz late Thursday afternoon just as Cindy arrived home after being discharged from the hospital.  I stayed by her side every moment, through late Sunday afternoon and the saddest funeral imaginable.   If things were not bad enough for my dear friend, her family made it worse.  Over half of them camped out, literally, in the yard and the fields that surrounded Steve and Cindy’s house.  At one-point Saturday afternoon I think I counted four campfires, all with the head or leg of some wild creature smoking and sizzling over the coals.  The scene was surreal, like something out of a werewolf movie. 

“You have to ignore them.  They mean well but they’re as ignorant and backwards as the folks on ‘Deliverance.’”  Cindy had always referenced this movie filmed in the uncivilized world of North Georgia, during the rare times she had mentioned her family.  “Just being here is their way of showing me we are family and that they love me.  I guess you might figure why I was eager to move with Steve from Montgomery.  It’s funny how I told people I was from Montgomery.  I was from the country, just outside Hope Hull, a little backwoods sort of place just south of Montgomery.”  For some strange reason, Cindy found comfort in talking about her growing up years and relaying to me her story of escape.  She gave all the credit to her knight in shining armor, Steve.  She said, “if it weren’t for him, I doubt if I would have ever discovered love or learning.”  By 2:00 p.m. Sunday she had told me, three different times, how Steve had encouraged her to pursue her dream of becoming a teacher.  I found it odd that she and I had never talked about our college experiences, even what schools we had attended.  After hearing her repeated story, I could almost see her attending Snead College in Boaz for two years before the two of them moved to Auburn for her to complete her education degree.  The smells from the outdoor campfires made me nostalgic to travel, at least virtually, to their little Carolyn-Draughn married student’s apartment and sit with them to eat the bacon Cindy said she fried every morning before she left for school and Steve left for a day working as a lineman with Lee County Electric Coop.

The funeral was so sad and depressing I could not talk or write about other than to say God has a sense of humor.  Humor, of all things, to show up during the songs, eulogies, and preaching that someway attempted to celebrate the life of one family’s hero.  I never would have dreamed that Alysa would have had the strength to deliver such a message.  It was her stories of her and her father’s many hours fishing and exchanging tall-tales with Cindy after they returned home from trips to Guntersville Lake that had the overflowing crowd in an almost roar.  I suspected the recently-turned fifteen-year-old was headed for a near-nervous breakdown but for over twenty minutes she lit-up the room.  It was probably all that saved Cindy.  Steve had given her walking, living, breathing memories to fill her mind and join God in fighting the demons who were ever-ready to destroy her hope.

Late Sunday evening, after the clan from Hope Hull headed southward, Cindy cornered me out by the pool.  “Come in here, we need to talk.”  I was surprised she was so stoic as she led me into the pool house.

“Okay.”  I didn’t have the heart to refuse whatever she asked.

“I need to tell you what happened.  First, I’m sorry for lying to you.  I said I was staying home last Wednesday night.  But, the more I thought about you and the unfairness of you settling for money instead of real justice I decided to go snooping on my own.”

“Cindy, I know exactly how you feel, but I accepted the resolution.  I settled for money to stop traveling down the path we were on.  We were and are still in enough trouble to destroy us.”

“When I crawled up next to the brick wall overlooking Warren’s study I first just lay there, didn’t look over.  There were two people talking, outside on the patio.  Now, I’m sure it was Warren and Paula.  I could hear them as clear as day.  But, that doesn’t mean I understood what they were saying.  It was something about getting him to Paula’s house.  Neither of them ever said who they were talking about.  Warren at one point said, “he needs to know the truth and you are the right one to tell him.”  Paula had said, “how do you know he will show up.”  Warren responded, “don’t worry, we’ll get him there.”

“Sounds like the two of them were talking about Steve.  Isn’t that what you think?”  I asked.

“Absolutely.  Now I do.  But, at the time, you can see where it didn’t make any sense.”

“What happened next?”

“That’s where all hell broke loose.  As they were going back inside, I had a panic attack.  I must have ruffled enough to make a noise.  I hadn’t considered the likely implications from all the leaves on the ground.”

“Did they come up the stairs and find you laying there?”  I asked.

“No, they went inside.  When I heard them silent and the door closed I slowly made my way back to my car.  Before I could get my door open, Paula was all over me.  Apparently, they hadn’t gone back inside and by the time they were up the stairs I was walking away.  They both followed me, but Warren hung back in the trees as Paula came for me in the parking lot.”

“The fight could have turned out much worse.  I was lucky Steve, my dear, came driving up.”  It was then that Cindy broke down.  For the first time since she had seen her three children in the hospital early Thursday morning, her emotions poured from her soul.  She cried and hollered and cussed God and screamed for His deliverance.  I held her the best I could, squatting down in front of the old rocking chair she was sitting in.  It was at least fifteen minutes before she continued.

“Steve saved me from the hellcat Paula.  I couldn’t manage with my left arm in a sling.  When he pulled her off me she was ready to start pounding my head.  She might have never stopped.”

“I hate to say this, but it now makes sense.”  I said pondering what Wayne had told me as we had driven separately to the hospital early Thursday morning.

“What do you mean?  Tell me.”  Cindy said.

“The scene, the crime scene at Paula’s.  I know this is hard to hear but you deserve to know.  Wayne is certain there was at least one other person involved.  He now doesn’t think Steve killed Paula and she killed him.  The autopsy showed both their wounds were made at close range.  Their bodies were found over twenty feet apart.”  I said not wanting to go too deep into what Wayne had shared with me.

“So, it sure looks like Warren and his gang were involved, probably killed my Steve and the bitch Paula?”  Cindy said.

“That’s what I’m thinking.  Also, from what you have said you heard from behind the brick wall, Warren and crew double-crossed Paula.  It was all a set-up.  They used her to get Steve to her house.”  I said.

“What I can’t for the life of me figure out is how they would do that.  Did Warren simply call Steve up at the hospital and maybe say with a disguised voice, ‘Steve, Cindy is pregnant with Patrick Wilkins baby and Paula is trying to kill her.’  That doesn’t seem right.”

I would rather have taken a bullet to my own head than tell Cindy the truth.  But, I knew I had to be honest with my best friend.  “Cindy, I have to confess, and it breaks my heart.”

“Katie, what’s wrong.  You’re crying.”  Cindy could tell I was about to die.

“I told Steve some things I now regret with my whole heart.”

“What are you talking about?  What did you tell Steve?”  Cindy was looking like she was headed toward a full explosion.

“While you were being x-rayed, he called me.  During the conversation he asked me what was going on between you and Paula.  He was concerned.  He had just seen the two of you about to claw out each other’s eyes.  I felt that if I told him just enough he would be satisfied and wouldn’t go off and do the thing that you feared.  I told him there had been rumors, and that Paula believed you and Patrick had an affair and you were pregnant with his baby.”  That’s all I could say before Cindy pushed me away, stood, and walked to the windows looking out toward the pool.

“You broke your promise to me.  I thought you were my best and dearest friend.  How could you have betrayed me like that?”

“Cindy, I did it because I love you, because you are the best friend I’ve ever had, and I didn’t want to lose you.  Paula had just attacked you for the second time.  She wasn’t going to stop.  No matter what Warren had promised.  Steve deserved to know.  He could protect you.”  I said recognizing that my good and solid argument wouldn’t persuade Cindy one bit.

“But, he couldn’t protect himself.  Your broken promise got Steve killed.  Do you see what you have done?”  This was worse than what I was expecting.  Cindy now blamed me for Steve’s death.

“I don’t want to argue with you, but I don’t think that’s what happened.  Steve promised me he wouldn’t go after Paula.  I truly believe he was sincere.  He realized how that could destroy the two of you and your family.”  I said.

“And, that’s exactly what happened.  He apparently sat by my side at the hospital until he could take it no longer.  Then, he went to Paula’s.  There, he died.  Because you told him.  Because you broke your promise to me.”  What was I to say in response.  Cindy was hellbent on her version of the truth.

“Think about it, you heard what Warren and Paula were talking about.  The man they didn’t mention by name was Steve.  Warren, and most likely, with help from the other four members of the Faking Five, lured Steve to Paula’s.  Then killed both and tried to make it look like it was a simple double-murder.”

Cindy’s next words were a shock.  I would never have dreamed or bet she would have made such a statement.  “Get out.  Now.  I want you out of my house and out of my life.  You are a lying bitch who killed my husband.”

I wanted to stay and try my best to persuade Cindy that she was not herself, that she was saying things she didn’t mean.  My efforts would have been fruitless.  So, I walked outside the pool house, back inside the main house to the living room and grabbed Cullie.

On the drive home, I never felt so alone.  I betrayed my best friend.  The damage was irreparable.  Cindy had just buried Steve.  He wasn’t the only one who was put in the ground.  All the way home Cullie kept looking at me, saying, “Mother, you look like you’ve just died.”

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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School .  Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie.  Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.  

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal.  In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget.  Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice.  And, eternal friendship. 

Chapter 44

“Katie, I have to take this call.  Is it okay if I call you later tonight?”  Wayne said as Cullie walked in the back door from Youth Group.

I was thankful Steve had brought her home from church.  Earlier, I had dropped her there before making a midweek run to Walmart.  Cindy too had missed the Wednesday night services.  I was also thankful that Cindy had changed her mind from what she had described and promoted during our lunchtime.  Then, she had somehow convinced me to go tonight once again to Warren’s and spy on the Faking Five’s meeting in his basement.  Her phone call at 5:30 had been more than welcome.  I hated she didn’t feel well but I was relieved we were not going to crawl up the embankment after Prayer Meeting to the retainer wall and peer through glass windows risking being seen.  Maybe she had come to realize that it was over, what she called our Six Red Apples plan.  Monday’s cash windfall, even with my string of promises, had been an acceptable resolution.  When Wayne called at 7:15, I knew neither Cindy or I were even remotely satisfied.  Money was such a poor substitute for real justice.

Cullie and I were sitting in the den fighting over whether to watch The Pickers or CNN.  We were sharing, once again, our mutual disdain for TV and the piss-awful number of commercials when my cell phone vibrated.  I noted it was 9:54 p.m.

It was Cindy.  “Hey girl, feeling better?”

“Katie, it’s Steve.  I’m using Cindy’s cell.  She is in the Emergency Room.  She’s not doing well.”

“Oh my God.  It’s her blood pressure.  Right?”  I knew she and Dr. Ireland had been battling this since the beginning of her pregnancy.  He had already increased her Methyldopa dosage two times, now to the absolute daily maximum.  Dr. Ireland had also strongly cautioned her against stress, saying that too much could cause her to have trouble sleeping, headaches, loss of appetite, and a tendency to overeat.

“Correct, but that’s not the only problem.”  Steve said as I heard voices buzzing in the background.

“What’s wrong?  Tell me.”

“She’s been in a fight.  After leaving Cullie at your place, Alysa and I drove back to church to pick up Anita and Arlon.  They had an extended music practice.  When I drove into the parking lot I saw two women going at it on the back side, over next to the parsonage.  At first, I couldn’t tell who it was.  Stupid me had left my driving glasses at home.  Alysa saw them first.  Shocked me to death.  Cindy and Paula Wilkins were swapping licks.”

“Oh my God.  How bad is she?”  I asked.

“Nothing too severe from the fight.  She held her own.  Even with her left arm in a cast.  She has a busted lip and a few scrapes and bruises.  I think they hit the ground a time or two before I got there.  The real threat is Eclampsia, I think I said that right.  It’s a life-threatening complication of pregnancy.  The doctor said the first signs Cindy has this are seizures or coma.  It usually starts with severe headaches, blurred or double vision, seeing spots, or abdominal pain.  She’s been complaining about all this.”  Steve said.  I was surprised he was able to remember all this and said it so clearly.

“Okay, I’m heading that way.  Tell Cindy I love her and will see her in fifteen minutes.”  I said, wondering how Cindy had explained to Steve her fight with Paula.  The bitch.  The bitch had to be dealt with.  I knew Warren was even a bigger pile of shit when he had promised me on Monday that Paula had learned her lesson.

“No, Katie.  Cindy has ordered me to stop you from coming.  There is nothing you can do.  She wants you to stay home.  She’s a little out of her head so don’t read too much into this.  She said to tell you, ‘to bring six red apples to school tomorrow.’  I knew exactly what she was talking about, but I wouldn’t tell Steve.

“She’s okay.  It’s just a little joke we have between us.  I’m still coming.  Cindy is the world to me.  You know that.”  I said.

“Katie, do me a favor and stay put.  I truly think it’s what Cindy wants.  So, do it for her.  One other thing, another favor for me.  What in the hell is going on between Cindy and Paula?”  I knew this question would surface sooner or later.

“Shouldn’t that be something you ask Cindy?”  I didn’t know how to respond.  I wanted to tell him the fucking truth, but I had promised my best friend I would keep quiet.  Damn promise.

“She won’t tell me anything.  When Alysa and I pulled up at church and got out of our car, I heard Paula screaming.  It didn’t make any sense.  I think I heard her right because Alysa said she heard the same statement.  Paula said, “I’ll kill you and Patrick’s baby.  You bitch.”

For better or worse, I had to respond.  “Steve, it’s a rumor.  Ever since Patrick went missing Paula has been accusing him and Cindy of having an affair.  When she found out Cindy was pregnant she assumed it was Patrick’s.  None of this is true.  You know Cindy.  She didn’t have an affair with Wilkins or anyone else.  I swear to you I know this for a fact.  She loves you with all her heart and is faithful to the end.”  I knew I had to tell Steve something.  Everything I said was the gospel truth.  I regretted not being able to tell him the full truth. 

“I believe you, but apparently the truth doesn’t matter to Paula.  She was madder than hell.  I’d say she’s dangerous as a wildcat.”

“I assume you broke up the fight.  What happened then?”  I had an incomplete visual of what Paula did.  Had she simply walked away?

“Just as I got the two of them separated, Warren showed up.  It was like he appeared from nowhere.  He calmed Paula down.  I saw them walk over to the back side of the parsonage as I was helping Cindy get into our car.” 

It finally dawned on me to ask myself the question, ‘what was Cindy doing at church, at the back side of the parking lot, over next to the parsonage?  No doubt, she had changed her mind and decided to go alone to do her spying.  Someway, Paula had seen her and started the fight.

I couldn’t quite assess the fact Warren had shown up.  I sensed it wasn’t just a coincidence.  His basement is quite a way from the spot Steve had described.  Furthermore, the basement is in an obvious hole, and behind a thick hedgerow.   I figured I better say something else.  “I agree, Paula is dangerous as hell.  Steve, you deserve to know just how dangerous she is.”  I couldn’t believe I had turned down this road.  I wasn’t being unfaithful to Cindy, but she was incapable of protecting herself.  I owed it to my best friend to get her some real help.

“Know what?”

“This isn’t the first time Paula has attacked Cindy.  The car accident.  Paula caused it.”  I said feeling like a traitor even though my mind said I wasn’t.

“So, Cindy lied to me?  Why?  Why on earth could she not tell me what was going on?  She should know, absolutely know, that she can trust me.”

“She was afraid you would believe the rumors, that she had an affair with Wilkins and now was pregnant with his baby, especially knowing that you had the vasectomy.”  I had now crossed the line.  There were no splitting hairs.  I was violating my promise to Cindy.  Was I justified? 

“God damn.  Forgive me Jesus.  I can’t believe I said that.  It’s been years since I said that and have had such horrible thoughts.”

“Steve, you are human.  Just stay calm and talk to Cindy when she is well enough.  I think you need to report Paula to the police.  Maybe they can put the fear of God into her and get her to back off.”  I said.

“I can put more than God fear in her.  Katie, I’ve changed my mind.  Can you come stay with Cindy?”  This was not what I needed to hear.

“No.  You can’t do anything.  The last thing you need to do is go see Paula.  You can’t go ballistic on Cindy.  She needs you to take care of her and you can’t do that from jail.”

“Why did you say ballistic?  Have you and Cindy been talking about me?  What happened nearly twenty years ago?”

“Please don’t put me in this spot.  Please.”  I was no longer half safe and half slipping.  I was now falling into the abyss.  And, there was no one to catch me.  Cindy would hate me forever.

“Tell me Katie.  I deserve to know the truth.”

“This is exactly why Cindy hasn’t told you.  She’s afraid you will do something that will ruin the beautiful life you all have.  Please don’t prove Cindy right.  Please don’t take matters into your own hands.  Promise me.  For Cindy’s sake, promise me you won’t go see Paula.”  I doubted my words would have any affect, but I had to try.

“Okay.  I promise.  I’ll wait on Cindy to tell me the truth.  I won’t do anything to damage what we have.  Thanks Katie, for being here for Cindy and me.  We’re blessed to have you in our lives.  I need to go now.  They’ve just brought her back from X-Ray.”

“I’m here.  Call me if there is any change.  Again, tell Cindy I love her.”

After the call ended I walked to Cullie’s room.  When I answered the phone, she had left me and The Pickers.

I filled her in on what had happened to Cindy.  I still didn’t know if my commitment to being open with her about everything was the best route to follow.  I was shocked with her response.  “Mom, that kind of explains what Riley said the other day.  She had asked Alysa, in front of me, how she felt about having a step brother or sister.  At first neither of us had a clue what she was talking about.  Then, she asked Alysa, ‘how does your Dad feel about your mother banging Principal Wilkins?’  I thought Alysa was going to claw Riley’s eyes out.”

It took me nearly thirty minutes to convince Cullie that Riley was horrible for spreading rumors and that’s all they were. 

I finally lay down at 11:30, disappointed my Walt Longmire hero had broken his promise.  It was 3:30 a.m. when I learned he had been delayed.  I knew immediately that something was wrong.  He had always greeted me with, “Katie, is now a good time to talk?”  This morning, it was “Katie, I have some horrible news.”

“Wayne, you don’t sound like yourself.”

“Katie, there’s been a shooting.  Brace yourself.”  He paused just slightly, long enough for my whole body to know something horrific had happened.  “Steve Barker and Paula Wilkins are both dead.”  He stopped there, with no explanation.

“Oh my God.  Tell me this isn’t true, that it’s a mistake.”  My body was literally shaking.  A clamminess engulfed my hands like a pair of gloves.  This can’t be happening.  This has got to be a dream.  But, it wasn’t.  Once again, Wayne repeated the horrible news.  Then, I knew I had awakened to a living nightmare.

“Dispatch received an anonymous call a few minutes after midnight that there was an altercation at 1565 Lindo Drive in Boaz Country Club.  When officers arrived, they found the bodies inside the living room.”

“You’re positive it is Steve, Cindy’s Steve?”  I said, my heart literally beating out of my chest.  I was standing beside my bed trying to maintain my balance.  My world was spinning.  All I could think about was Cindy and the three children.

“No doubt.  I’ve just left there.  I’m heading to tell Cindy.”

“I’m not sure she’s at home.  At 8:30 she was in the Emergency Room.  Wayne, I need to be with you when you tell her.  We are best friends, and this is going to destroy her.”

“Okay, can you meet me at the hospital?  I’ll swing by and we’ll tell her if she’s there.  If not, we’ll go to her house.”  I had not changed into my gown before I had laid across the bed.  I kept Wayne on the line as I wrote Cullie a note, hoping she wouldn’t wake up to read it.

As I started my car and drove onto Sardis Road I asked Wayne, “what really happened?  It’s hard for me to understand how they both died.  Seems a little strange.” 

“You are perceptive.  I thought the same thing when the first deputy on the scene called me.  When I arrived, our crime team was already there.  It’s not official but Ted, the lead tech, said both Paula and Steve were killed with the same gun.  Their wounds were almost identical.  The other thing that seems odd is that Steve had many facial wounds, like he had been in a fight.  You know Paula wasn’t a big woman.  It’s hard to figure.  Steve probably outweighed her a hundred pounds or more and was at least a foot taller.”

“Were the guns recovered?”  I said.

“No. That’s another thing that has us puzzled.  Katie, right now I’m thinking there’s a lot more going on here than a two-person argument that got out of hand.”  Wayne said, not knowing how right he was.

Wayne and I continued to talk as we both drove to the hospital.  I was glad Cindy had been admitted.  If there was a good place to tell someone the love of her life was dead, that he had been shot, it was a hospital.

Cindy took it better than I expected.  Wayne let me deliver the news.   Of course, she cried.  I had been fully open with her, not withholding anything other than the unusual nature of the scene.  She never shouted or burst out with any words, harsh or semi-unpleasant.  No doubt she was in shock.  No normal person would hear and digest such horrible news and not immediately fall apart.  She was even kind and respectful when she asked Wayne to leave.  Before he walked out I asked Cindy what she wanted to do with the kids.  Steve had apparently left them alone at home when he went to Paula’s.  I needed to go to them, but I also needed to stay with Cindy.  Ultimately, we decided for Wayne to get Cullie and have her go with him to deliver the news to the three fatherless children.  I called Cullie and was amazed at her strength and courage.

The remaining time before daylight crawled by.  And, it was filled with heartbreak.  Wayne and Cullie brought Alysa, Anita, and Arlon to Cindy’s hospital room and the screaming and sobbing barely subsided before the first rays of sun came through the lone eastward-facing window.  I was glad Cindy had allowed her emotions to spill forth.  Surely, it hadn’t been just an act for the kids.  For some reason I had trouble fleeing the thought that she was now hellbent on revenge.  What I couldn’t figure out was why.  Paula was dead, as was Patrick. 

Cullie and Wayne stayed all day at our house with Cindy’s three children.  I spent the same time in Room 333 with my best friend, a woman who had lost the love of her life, a woman who, at thirty-nine, was a widow pregnant with a child fathered by her rapist.

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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School .  Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie.  Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.  

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal.  In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget.  Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice.  And, eternal friendship. 

Chapter 43

Surprisingly, the remaining four school days were pleasant and enjoyable, if I ignored two things:  that I was a cold-blooded killer and that I was about to be a caged, cold-blooded killer.  Someway I found the grit and determination to focus on my schoolwork.  I spent three hours each day after school on the Real Justice project.  It helped that Cindy let Cullie go home with her and Alysa every afternoon.  I reviewed and edited the first draft of Act I.  I also brainstormed a half-dozen scenes injecting Stella Gibson’s reactions to the first plot point which was a believable result of both the inciting incident and key event.

The weekend fog clouded my focus.  The gray soup was both literal and figurative.  The visible fog reminded me of Our Mutual Friend, a novel by Charles Dickens.  I hadn’t read it since high school, but I recalled how I had loved the author’s ability to transport me inside his writing and make me feel I was walking beside his main characters.  Dickens had used a historical event to shape his story.  The truth is, for five days in 1952, fog had blanketed the British capital.  It seemed two things converged to produce the perfect storm that became known as The Great Smog of London.  A cold snap on December 5th, and sulfur particles mixed with fumes from burning coal (almost everyone heated their homes with the filthy rock) combined to produce a yellow fog that smelled like rotten eggs.  The Boaz fog didn’t include the color or the smell of London’s fog, but it was as thick and smothering.

The metaphysical fog was not unlike Dickens’ novel. Just as he described how blacker the fog became the closer one came to the center of London, clearly his metaphor illustrated how corruption caused by wealth was destroying the heartbeat of the city.  In my anticipation of Monday’s scheduled meeting with Pastor Tillman, I could not help but speculate how my life would never be the same after he deposited over a million dollars to mine and Cindy’s newly created account.

The Great Fog of Boaz kept most everyone locked in their homes all weekend.  To me, the gray soup was mysterious, a cover to further obscure the cloak and dagger plotting by the Faking Five.  The fog was like a curtain separating truth from lies.  One thing the thick cloud of tiny water droplets didn’t conceal was the real reason Cindy was having so much trouble telling Steve the truth.  The fog had kept us from visiting each other all weekend.  It was simply too dangerous to get out and about.  But, it hadn’t prevented us from talking.

Saturday afternoon, while Steve and their Triple A’s were having a Monopoly marathon, Cindy had escaped to the pool-house where she occasionally attempted to transcribe a story of her own.  I soon discovered that Cindy was more in need of talking than writing.

“Katie, can you talk?”  Cindy’s voice was hoarse, like she was in a well. 

“I can.  Cullie’s taking a nap.  We just finished watching “Stepmom” on Netflix.”  I was still nearly crying.

 “Hilarious, but heartbreaking.  I cried for a week after Alysa and I watched that movie.”  Cindy said.

“It’s the perfect movie, or so I hear, when life for mother and daughter is jerking you around like a roller coaster.”

“And, when our daughters need to know that everything will work out okay.”  Cindy added.  I’m glad you and Cullie watched it.  It’s a little uncanny.”

“What do you mean?”  I asked.

“Because it is the perfect segue to why I called, what I need to get off my chest.”  Cindy sounded relieved and troubled.

“I’m listening.  You know you can tell me anything.”  I meant it knowing that I had found such relief after I had told Cindy my deepest darkest secret.

“It’s about why I can’t tell Steve the truth.  You need to understand why I keep resisting.  Katie, I need you to stop pushing me to confess the truth to the man I would die for.

“Cindy, you may not believe it, but unloading the sack of rocks you’re carrying around can be mentally and physically rewarding.  I am your friend and I will support you no matter what.  You do know that don’t you?”

I could hear some chatter in the background.  “That’s the radio.  I don’t want anybody eavesdropping.  Katie, Steve and I have a big secret.  It’s one that I must share to protect him, me, and our lives.  When Steve was young, maybe nineteen or twenty, he killed a man.  Steve and I had been dating a few months.  He was accused of murder, but the State could never prove its case.  Steve killed the drunk driver who had killed his father and sister in a horrible car wreck.  The man was a football coach at Albertville High School.  He was a good man.  When he wasn’t drinking.  He also was well-connected.  Even though the accident was the coach’s fourth DUI he was given a sweetheart deal by the District Attorney.  A felony guilty plea with a ten-year prison sentence.”

“That doesn’t sound too sweet.”  I interjected.

“Here’s what happened.  The man never went to prison.  A few days before he was to be transported to Kilby Prison, the Judge amended his sentencing order and granted probation.  Steve went ballistic.  Less than a week later the coach was found.  Beaten and shot.  Long story short, Steve was arrested and stayed in jail for nearly a year awaiting trial.  Fortunately, Steve’s mother hired him a great lawyer, Matt Bearden, who persuaded a jury to vote not-guilty.  I’m the only one Steve confessed to.    Katie, if I tell Steve what Patrick did to me and what Paula is trying to do, he will again go ballistic.  The year he spent in jail nearly destroyed us.  Now we have three children.”

“And, another one on the way.”  I added, still hoping against hope Cindy might yet see a way to trust Steve, realizing he was older and wiser.

“That baby is Steve’s.  I told you that’s what he now fully believes.”

“Cindy, I want to be clear.  I love you, but I still believe you are wrong to not tell Steve the truth.  But, I will honor your request and back off.  I’ll stop trying to persuade you to come clean.  Also, it goes without saying that I will never disclose what you have just told me.”  I don’t know if Cindy received much benefit from confessing her secret to me, but I know I did.  Not that I needed it, but her willingness to tell me something so potentially damning to her, Steve, and their children, showed the depth of her love for me and that she trusted me nearly as much as she trusted God.

“I never doubted I could count on you.  Other than Steve, you are the best friend I have ever had.  God continues to bless me far beyond what I deserve.  He always has.”

“Hey baby, short nap?”  Cullie had walked in and I didn’t want to tell Cindy I couldn’t talk anymore, secretly at least.

“I take it Cullie is with you?  I’ll let you go.  Take care and stay home.  Don’t you dare get out in this fog.”  Cindy said as the radio chatter surrounding her ceased.

“I won’t.  You either.  We’ll talk later.”

After Cullie warmed the spaghetti leftover from last night, we sat at the kitchen bar and talked for nearly two hours.  It seemed “Stepmom,” and possibly her nap, spurred her to talk openly about her father.  I was happy that both of us had recovered from the screaming match we had earlier this morning after I had shared with her my talk with Ryan.  Then, she had been crystal clear, she would never submit to any attempts he made to get to know her.  It was the ‘visitation’ word that had sent her into orbit.  Now, she had compromised a little, agreeing to meet with him one time at a neutral location with one caveat.  Riley Radford had to be present and had to apologize for how she had been treating Cullie.  After our talk ended, I realized that Cullie was more mature than I was.  The lawyer I had consulted said child support and visitation go together in the law unless it is not in the best interest of the child to be around the non-custodial parent.  My arguments, rooted in events from December 2002, had fallen on deaf ears.  It seemed Ryan’s criminal conduct almost fifteen years earlier would be forgotten if he was a fit parent today. 

By Monday morning, the fog had lifted.  At least the visible fog.  Warren was waiting for me at Wells Fargo Bank at 11:00 a.m.  He and Jeff Sims, the bank manager, were standing outside his office when I walked inside.  Jeff motioned me over and suggested we sit at his round table in the corner of his executive-size office.  After Warren and I sat down, Jeff handed me a deposit slip and said, “I’ve verified the wire transfer.  The funds are good.  The amount on the deposit slip is yours to do whatever you choose.  Warren shook Jeff’s hand before he walked away.

I then looked at the piece of paper Jeff had handed me.  It truly was a deposit slip.  One showing one million two-hundred fifty thousand dollars had been transferred into the account Cindy and I had set up at Wells Fargo Bank just last Thursday.

“Katie, we’ve kept our part of the deal, now where’s the videotape?”  Warren got right to the point.  He knew that I obviously understood the ‘we’ he was referring to.

“It’s in my safety deposit box here at the bank.  I’ll go get it.”  He nodded, and I walked out and found Jeff.  We talked a few minutes trying to figure out if we were related.  We failed to reach any conclusion.  He led me down a long hall and into a vault where the lock boxes were kept.  After Jeff and I had used our two keys to unlock my box, and after he had stepped ten feet away, I was relieved to see two videotapes.  The original one I had found in Darla’s suitcase and the copy Cindy and I had made four days ago.  Last Thursday when Cindy and I were here we had removed it and gone to her house.  She had kept both tapes until Friday when I returned them.  I was too afraid to take them home with me, speculating I might not be so lucky to escape a fire from Wayne’s house in Smith’s Institute.  I grabbed the original tape that the Faking Five had recorded during their gang-rape in December 2002.

After I was again seated across from Warren he said, sliding a single sheet of paper towards me, “Review this.  It’s our confidentiality agreement.”

I read it twice.  I figured it had been written by an attorney.  The document was clear and didn’t include anything I hadn’t promised.  In exchange for the money I would hand over the original tape and forever promise to never divulge anything about what the tape clearly revealed.  The only thing not mentioned in the document was Paula Wilkins.  I asked Warren why this wasn’t included.

“Our lawyer said we had no way to guarantee what Paula did.  Katie, I promise you I have talked with her.  She assured me that she learned her lesson last week.  Yes, I’m talking about the car accident.  I truly believe Cindy doesn’t have anything else to worry about from Paula.  She seemed shaken and relieved that Cindy wasn’t hurt any worse than she was.”

“I understand what you are saying.  Paula is her own person and you can’t make promises on her behalf.  But, let me be clear, there will be serious consequences if Paula even sneezes on Cindy.  Do you understand?”  I said, trying to muster up the confidence I had on the phone last week when I called Warren to make demands.

“I hear you.  Now, are you ready to sign?”

“I am.”  Warren stepped out of Jeff’s office and motioned for him.  Jeff came with one of his tellers and she notarized my signature.  She left to make copies and Jeff started describing the Bank’s services and how I might want to develop an investment plan for the money.  I endured the sales pitch until the teller returned.  I thanked Jeff for his assistance and walked out of the bank with two copies of an agreement that I sensed were someway incomplete or foreboding.  I didn’t glance at Warren.

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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School .  Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie.  Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.  

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal.  In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget.  Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice.  And, eternal friendship. 

Chapter 42

After returning home from Cindy’s I had gone straight to bed but after nearly an hour rearranging my pillows, I had committed the cardinal sin.  I opened Facebook on my iPad swearing I would stop leaving it on the nightstand.

My first group to visit was my tenth grade English class.  I reviewed tonight’s comments related to my earlier vocabulary word post.  The word was divination.  It meant “prediction; prophecy; forecast.”  Everyone seemed to be equating my sample sentence, “Possessing the gift of divination, she warned her husband of the evils that would result from his journey to Greece,” with their outlier version of Real Justice.  Ben Gilbert wrote, “Pastor Walker’s divination powers were unique; they also worked in reverse.”  Four comments later, Joanie Kittle wrote, “Stella’s past venture down vengeance lane would haunt her in Ellijay.”

For the next hour I read every comment in every Facebook group, those officially sanctioned by me and the two unofficial groups created by my tenth and eleventh grade English classes.  The common buzz was that Stella Gibson had moved to Ellijay from Alma, a small town in Arkansas.  There, the story was, she had been accused of murdering five people, all who allegedly had raped her daughter.  I knew none of this had been mentioned in any of the outlines from any of my five Creative Writing teams.  But, I had given them the liberty to modify and adapt their story’s plot.  Each of the five outlines were maintained online at the official group’s site.  I entered the password and noted that Teams 2 and 3 had made recent updates to the back-story section of their outlines.  I read them both two times.  It seemed that Pastor Aiden Walker discovered Stella Gibson’s past and had shared it with his four friends.  Their intent was to use this as leverage to persuade the gorgeous newspaper editor to become the first female member of the Jaybirds.

Throughout Monday at school, my mind’s go-to thought dealt with my growing confusion and concern that my own life was somehow infiltrating the Real Justice project.  My internal dialog always ended with the question, “how is this happening?”

I had never been so happy that a school day was over.  The 2:40 bell rang after my Creative Writing students and I ended a thirty-minute brainstorming session on what information Pastor Aiden Walker might discover from an investigation into Stella Gibson’s Arkansas past.  As the last student walked out into the hallway I retired to my little office and dialed Wayne.  He had left a voice-mail message at noon, just as my AP American Literature class had begun.  He said it wasn’t urgent but to call him when I could.

“Wayne, I’m sorry I’m just now returning your call.”  I said as he answered on the first ring.

“No problem.  How’s Katie?  Are you better?  I felt so bad you got sick on my account.  Next time no seafood.”

“Thanks.  Yes, I feel much better.  And, I wanted you to know I had a wonderful time Saturday night and hated it so bad that I had to end our date when I did.”  I said, not wanting to sound desperate but also wanting him to know the night had not ended like I had intended.

“I’m sorry but I’m in a hurry.  My trip to Leesburg has gotten me behind schedule.”  I didn’t know what he meant.

“Okay.  Leesburg.  That’s over towards Centre.  Right?”  I said, knowing more about Leesburg than I could ever divulge.

“I called to give you an update.  It’s a potential break in the disappearance of Patrick Wilkins.”  Wayne said.

I didn’t respond.  I just waited for him to continue.  My stomach reminded me how I had felt Saturday night.

“Jeff Chandler called our Hotline yesterday afternoon.  He has a car lot in Leesburg.  He had heard our WQSB radio ad seeking information about a tan-colored van.  I knew it was a long shot but after Terri Logan reported her boys seeing this vehicle I thought it was worth a try.”

“What did this Chandler man say?”  I needed to sound interested in Wayne’s news.

“Said a few weeks ago he sold a 2005 Nissan Quest van, tan-colored, to two women from Atlanta.  He was sure they were hookers or wanted him to think that.  He said they certainly dressed the part.  Said he couldn’t figure out why they both had on blond wigs but wasn’t really concerned since they paid full freight for the van without trying to chew down his price.”

“To me, and I’m sure no detective, but that doesn’t sound like much of a break in Wilkins’ disappearance.  I don’t see the connection.”  I said, ignoring a long list of obvious connections that I would keep to myself.

“I’d agree if that was all.  I’m still amazed how things work out.  Sometimes, you go months on a case without a single clue and then suddenly, the dam breaks.  The dam broke this morning.  My dispatcher called me during my drive this morning to Leesburg saying Sheriff Harris from Dekalb County had called and reported finding a tan-colored van.  Apparently, two deer-hunters found a matching van abandoned down an old logging road just south of DeSoto State Park.”

“This is sounding like a puzzle of sorts.  Are you going to tell me the van the hunters found is the same one sold by Jeff in Leesburg?”  I shouldn’t have said Jeff.  Had Wayne said Jeff’s Car Sales?  I was confusing what I had experienced with what Wayne had just told me. 

“Katie, you may be more of a detective than you admit.  Perfect deduction.  Now, here’s the key link.  Jimmie, my friend Sheriff Harris, said a search of the van turned up a dog tag.  It was pretty much hidden under a seat railing.  The two rear seats of the van had been removed.  Since I called and left you a message around lunchtime, I’ve confirmed with Paula that the dog tag belonged to Patrick.  She said that he always wore it.  She gave it to him a couple of years ago.  Harris later confirmed that it is exactly what Paula described.  It is an Armor of God Dog Tag Necklace.  It’s inscribed with Ephesians 6:11: ‘Put on the armor of God, that you may be able to stand firm against the schemes of the Devil.’  I’ve always liked that verse.”  If Wayne said anything else, I didn’t hear a word of it.

Several seconds must have gone by.  I was nearly in shock.  Cindy and I thought we had conducted a thorough inspection of the van before we left it parked in Nanny’s barn.  When we transferred it to Dekalb County I didn’t even think to scour it one more time.  I doubt if Cindy had thought about it either.

“Katie.  Katie.  Are you there?”  Wayne said, finally gaining my attention.

“Uh, I’m sorry.  I was just thinking, just speculating, what must have happened.  My thoughts are horrible.  I assume you haven’t seen the van?”  I asked.

“No, that’s why I’m kind of in a hurry.  I’m about to drive to Fort Payne.  Harris had it transported to the County’s impound lot.”

“Has he said if he found anything else?”  I asked, now convinced that Cindy and I probably had left a few photos of ourselves kidnapping Wilkins, maybe one or two of us pushing him into his grave.  It sure seemed Cindy and I had been that stupid.

“Nothing visible.  But, I’m hoping the Alabama’s Forensic team will be able to discover and extract some fingerprints, maybe even some DNA.”

“That would be helpful.”  I said, contemplating whether I should just go ahead and confess.  Cindy and I were in some deep shit and it was getting deeper.

“Sorry, but I have to run.  I just wanted to keep you updated.  Take care and I’ll call you later.”

Just as the call ended, Cindy walked in.  Apparently, by just looking at my face she could tell something was horribly wrong.  We spent the next thirty minutes half whispering as Cullie and Alysa raided my fridge and sat in my classroom talking about how they would like to poison Riley Radford.  I ignored their conversation, chalking their trash talk to innocent teenage rivalries ignoring the fact Cullie was dealing with the recent discovery that Riley was her stepsister.  But, I didn’t ignore Cindy, who was trying to explain why she hadn’t fully confessed to Steve.  I only half-listened to her describe how she convinced Steve she was pregnant, and it was his.

Driving home, Cullie asked me, “have you ever thought seriously about killing someone?”  As the good mother that I am, I told her, “sure baby, it’s only natural.”

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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School .  Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie.  Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.  

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal.  In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget.  Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice.  And, eternal friendship. 

Chapter 41

“She’s the queen of all bitches.”  Cindy said, literally tossing her book bag onto the credenza across from my desk.  She didn’t turn to look at me but just stood and looked out the lone window in the tiny office behind my classroom.

“Can I assume you are referring to cat-faced Paula?”  I knew there was no one else in Cindy’s world who could come close to winning this honorable title.

“Please shoot me if I don’t find a way to quit the Young-But-Maturing club.  Once again, after Sunday School, she was in the Ladies restroom and virtually attacked me.  Said she knew I was pregnant with Patrick’s baby.  Katie, I know she knows.  She’s been spying on me.”  Cindy had calmed from explosive to volatile which was about like saying she was no longer a carrot-top; she had transformed into a redhead.

“Did she say how she knows this?”  I feared what was coming.  Spying can’t be good.

“Out of the blue she asked me how Dr. Ireland was doing.  How the hell does she know I’ve been seeing an obstetrician?”  Cindy asked, finally calming.  In a way I wished I had been more faithful.  She had asked me to go to Sunday School with her.  I hadn’t. 

I really didn’t know how to answer but I tried.  “Maybe she’s been following you.  Maybe she has a friend who saw you, or one who works at Dr. Ireland’s office.  It could be a lot of different things.”

“What do you think she is going to do?  Now, she knows I’m pregnant.”  Cindy asked, leaning back in her chair and reaching for her book bag.

“Legally, I’m not sure she has any rights.  She’s not like a grandparent.  I’m not a lawyer but the only two people with custody rights would be you and Wilkins, and he’s dead.”  I said realizing this wasn’t exactly what Cindy feared.

“I’m sure as hell not worried about custody and visitation issues.  I’m worried that the bitch is going to broadcast this all over town and you know who will find out.”  I had never seen Cindy more worried.  Her blood-shot eyes, normally light-green, seemed widened apart, revealing both surprise and fear.

“Maybe it’s time you had that talk with Steve.  Cindy, he loves you.  Hearing this awful news from you will be a world better than him stumbling into it at work.  Even worse at church.”  I said, wishing I had demanded that Cindy be fully open with Steve when the rape first happened.

“I know you’re right, but I just can’t seem to take that first step.  How do you push the most important person in your life off a cliff?  That’s what it would be like.  His world would never be the same.  I’m afraid he will crash into a million pieces.”  Cindy said reaching into the pocket of her matching navy-blue jacket.

“Oh, I forgot.  Pastor Warren gave me this after church.  You know, as Steve and I walked through the firing line.”  Shaking hands with the pastor was now nearly as painful for Cindy as it was for me.  She handed me a folded canary-colored envelope with my name handwritten above his own name, one familiarly printed.  His was crossed out.  No doubt, the same envelope Cindy and I had taped to his basement door last Wednesday night during Prayer Meeting.

“Oh my God.  This can’t be good.  It’s a response to our demand.”  I said, lowering my head and shoulders readying myself for surrender.

“That’s what I figured.  I started to open it but obviously it’s intended for you.”

I had to use scissors to slide through the tape Warren had layered across the envelope’s seal.  I unfolded the single sheet of white paper.  The message was short.  Three lines:

“We can work this out.

We will pay but need your promise, and all recordings.

Call me to discuss.  256-390-3053.”

The note was unsigned.  I read it twice and handed it over to Cindy.

After a ten second pause she said, “Funny, he didn’t request an in-person meeting.”

“Do I just call him up?  Right now?  You know he and his four buddies have something up their sleeve.  They definitely want the videotapes.”  I said.

“Funny.  Did you hear yourself?  Tapes?  Remember, there’s only one.”  Cindy said, holding the letter up toward the fluorescent light overhead as though it would reveal a secret watermark, one that would guide us.

“I hear you.  Why not make a copy of my videotape and arrange to give it to them in exchange for say, half the money?”  I said.

“That might get us half the money.  I doubt if it will get the other half since we don’t have another tape to bargain with.” 

It came over me like a tsunami.  I hadn’t had this feeling in nearly fifteen years.  It was anger so fierce I could bite through a steel rod.  As Cindy was repeatedly asking me, “What’s wrong?  Are you having a heart attack?” the thought kept rolling around in my head, ‘I’m the one who was fucking raped.  Why am I even considering how to negotiate with these bastards?  They will fucking do what I tell them to do.’  And then, I reached for my iPhone and dialed 256-390-3053.

Cindy stood as I was dialing, to see who I was calling.  She shouldn’t have had to wonder.  I selected ‘speaker.’

After three rings, “hello, this is Pastor Warren.”  The bastard answered his fucking phone with pastor?  My next call I will answer, ‘hello, this is Virgin Mary.’

“This is Katie Sims.  You asked me to call and discuss.  Let me be clear, there will be no discussion.  Here’s the deal.  You and the other four criminals will deposit the money, one million, two hundred fifty thousand dollars into a bank account of my choosing.  Once the deposit is made and verified I will give you the one and only videotape of you five bastards raping me.  I will also give you my written promise to maintain complete confidentiality.  I will retain the arson videotape as my insurance.  You give me or Cindy Baker any trouble at all and that tape goes to Sheriff Waldrup.  Do I make myself clear?”  Sweat was rolling down my face as I ended my demand.

“Katie, you didn’t address one issue.  In your letter to Ryan you demanded he pay two thousand dollars per month until Cullie is twenty-one.”

Warren started another sentence, but I stopped him.  “That demand remains.  I will promise to not divulge the circumstances of my pregnancy.  Ryan Radford is Cullie’s father and I’m her mother, these roles carry a heavy lifetime responsibility.”  I said anxious to end the call.

“I understand.  I suggest you and Ryan talk this out.  Now, when do you want your money?”  Warren said as though we were closing on a real estate transaction.

“Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon.”  I said.  And then it dawned on me.  Pastor Warren was responsible himself, responsible for Cindy’s problem, nearly as much as Wilkins was.  “I have one other demand and it too is non-negotiable.”

“What is it now?  You’re beginning to wear out my patience.” 

“You bastard, you could have helped my friend Cindy when Patrick Wilkins was abducting her.  But you didn’t.  Now, you will deal with his wife.  She’s abusing Cindy, thinking she’s pregnant, by her late husband.”   I said wishing I could recall what I had just said. 

“Katie, I know, as well as Paula knows, that Cindy is pregnant.  One thing I don’t know is that her husband is dead.  Why don’t you share what you obviously know?” 

Does the whole world know that Cindy is pregnant?

Warren continued, “If he’s not dead then where is he?  He’s been missing going on a month.”  I had to change the subject.  This was the one thing I didn’t want to be discussing.  Hell, now I was in a discussion with the phony pastor.

“I’m not asking again.  Deal with Paula.  Do what you need to do, but my deal is contingent on her staying the hell away from Cindy.  Do you understand?”  I was surprising myself.  I had never been so controlling.

“I’ll do my best.  Now, back to the money.  A million plus dollars is quite a sum.  We need a month.”

Again, I interrupted.  “You have a week.  I’ll call you the account number.  Meet me at Wells Fargo Bank on Billy Dyar Blvd., at 10:45, Monday morning the 13th.  That gives you one week.  When I arrive, the money better be in my account.”

“I’ll do my best.”  Pastor Warren said, repeating himself.

“And, if you’re best fails to timely deposit the money, my best won’t fail to release your little videotape.”  I said, impressed with the fire and the results hellfire anger can cause.

“I’ll be there with the money.  November 13th.”

I ended the call.

For the next hour Cindy and I failed to escape the tangled web curling our lives.  After our argument over whether we had asked for enough money and whether money pain was real justice, we ignored my faint call for us to engage in lesson-planning.  As we walked across the parking lot towards our cars, Cindy promised she was headed home to have a heart-to-heart talk with Steve.  “It’s time.  I have to tell him the truth.”  I was proud of her.  I knew it was the right thing for her to do.

Less than an hour after arriving home to Cullie asleep on the couch, my phone vibrated.  It was Steve.

“Katie, it’s Cindy.  She’s been in a car wreck.  We’re at the Emergency Room, Marshall Medical Center.”  I could tell he was shaken.  I’d never heard him cry, never heard his voice so low, slow, weak, and desperate.

“Oh my God, how is she?  Tell me she’s going to be okay.”  I was nearly shouting.  Cullie woke up and walked over to me standing by the kitchen bar.

“I haven’t seen her.  She’s being x-rayed.  A nurse said she was banged up pretty bad, but her injuries weren’t life-threatening.”

“Oh, thank you Jesus.”  The words just poured out of my mouth.  For a second, I wondered if Jesus was responsible for protecting Cindy.  If so, why hadn’t he prevented the accident?

“Katie, I hate to ask you, but would you mind going to our house and staying with the kids?”

“I was about to ask about them.  Cullie and I are headed there right now.  Please keep me posted.”  I said while motioning Cullie to follow me out the back door.

It was nearly 7:30 p.m. before Steve led Cindy through the sliding door from their deck.  She looked awful and had a cast on her left arm.  The right side of her face was almost black.  She had a bandage across most of her forehead.

“I look worse than it is.”  Cindy said, clearly in pain.  Her eyelids fluttered as she sat down in her chair in the den while Alysa, Arlon, and Anita all crowded her stealing touches, hugs, and kisses.

She explained in detail how the accident had occurred.  Within ten minutes Steve had dismissed himself and headed to Walgreen’s to pick up a pain pill prescription for Cindy.  For some reason she was hungry for pizza.  Steve promised to pick up her favorite, a large Supreme from Pizza Hut.  After he left, Cullie and Alysa went to her room and Arlon and Anita sat glued to the TV.

Cindy struggled to get out of her chair.  “Follow me.”  she said motioning me back towards her and Steve’s bedroom.    The room was a wreck.  The bed was unmade, and clothes climbed out of open drawers, and clung to the backs of two rocking chairs that faced a balcony overlooking the swimming pool in the backyard.  This didn’t include two laundry baskets of what I hoped were clean clothes awaiting folding.

She sat down in one of the rockers.  “Here, sit.”  I willingly complied with her directions.  “Katie.  It wasn’t an accident.  It was the bitch Paula.  She ran me off the road.  After I left the school I noticed her behind me on Martin Avenue.  I ignored her and kept going.  But, she kept coming.  After I turned left on Highway 431 she got right on my bumper.  I always turn right at Huddle House onto Bruce Road until it intersects with Beulah Road.  She stayed on my tail for a mile or so, until she could see past me enough to pass.  She gave me the middle finger as she drove past and raced ahead.  Right as I was coming around the curve a half mile or so before the vet’s place, Dr. Creel, I saw her barreling back towards me in the center of the road.  She was coming at me head on.  I didn’t have any choice but to hit the ditch.  Unfortunately, it didn’t move.”

“You are lucky she didn’t kill you.  Cindy, you must report this.  I’m calling Wayne.”  I said determined that Cindy wasn’t going to stop me this time from protecting her from herself.

“Wait.  I promise I will after I tell Steve.  Obviously, I haven’t had a chance to tell him the full story.  On the way home from the hospital I subtly indicated that I had something important to tell him.  I think he thought I was a little out of my head from the medications because he didn’t press me.”

The rest of the night, until after the ten o’clock news, the three of us ate pizza.  The kids were full of all the junk I had let them eat while we were waiting this afternoon.  At 9:00 p.m., an hour before the news began, I had wanted for Cullie and me to leave but Cindy had insisted we stay.  It was like she would do anything to avoid being alone with Steve. 

At 10:45, I finally told Cindy I had to get home to bed.  My 4:30 a.m. writing time would come soon enough.  As I walked out onto their deck I whispered to Cindy, “tonight’s the night.  Jump off the high dive.  I know Steve will catch you.”

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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School .  Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie.  Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.  

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal.  In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget.  Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice.  And, eternal friendship. 

Chapter 40

Five sealed envelopes were taped to the outside door to Warren’s basement Wednesday night when Fulton Billingsley arrived.  He had walked over from the church after Prayer Meeting and, as he walked down the stairs onto the patio, noticed them, thinking they were arranged in the shape of a heart.  None of the five envelopes contained a return address.  The names were handwritten.  His was on the top right, opposite Justin Adams’.  Then, on the right side was Danny Ericson.  At the bottom tip was another canary-colored envelope with the name Ryan Radford, written, this time, in blood-red ink.  On the left side, was an envelope addressed to Warren Tillman.  Five canary-colored envelopes, five arranged in a heart shape.  Fulton removed his envelope, noticing for the first time the faint outline of an arrow, drawn with what appeared to be pencil, with the arrow’s imaginary feathers splayed on the top left side of the door, running downward, and from behind the heart, bursting through and continuing on across, ending on the lower right side of the door in an sharply-accentuated arrowhead.  He walked inside Warren’s man-cave, leaving the other four envelopes alone.

Within ten minutes, while pondering the contents of his letter, Fulton saw Warren, Ryan, Danny, and Justin descend the stairs and react to the decorated door.  They didn’t linger.  Warren removed all four envelopes, semi-shouted, “this can’t be good,” and herded the other three through the glass door.

“I bet each of you a thousand bucks your letter is the same as mine.”  Fulton said, gulping the last sip of a Bud Lite.

“What the fuck?”  Ryan said, jerking all four of the envelopes from Warren’s hand while Justin and Danny were grabbing at Ryan as though he was withholding their candy.

“Calm it and sit down.  No need to get flustered. Everyone gets a prize.  Fulton said.  His best attempt at humor, reeling from the bomb that had exploded when he had opened his envelope.

In less than a minute, four similar bombs ignited.

“So, Katie Sims wants $250,000 from me for child support.”  Danny said.

“She wants that from me and another $2,000 per month until Cullie is twenty-one.”  Ryan said, throwing his wadded envelope into the glass window towards the patio.

Warren and Justin repeated Danny’s statement.

“That’s $1,250,000 in cash.  Warren said, finally sitting down at the round table with the other four.

“Mine says I’m Cullie’s father.  How the hell does she know that?”  Ryan said.

“Read on Brother Radford.  In mine, towards the bottom, she says, ‘even though the paternity tests reveal Ryan Radford as Cullie’s father, each of you engaged in the same criminal conduct.  Then, all chose to play.  Now, all will pay.  You don’t get to choose.’”  Fulton said.

“Listen to this, ‘your little fire didn’t destroy the videotape revealing you gang-raping me in 2002.  It also didn’t destroy another rather-revealing videotape.  This one recorded at 5583 Bruce Road, at the home of Beverly Sims.  Don’t worry, both tapes are safe and secure and under the control of an out-of-town attorney.’”  Warren said. 

“She can’t prove that.  There’s no way she has any evidence we torched that old shit-hole place.”  Ryan added, sitting up straighter as though gaining confidence in his ability to handle the wily Katie.

“Read the second paragraph on the second page.  ‘I guess you didn’t plan on Nanny and me having a state-of-the-art motion-activated camera while you were pouring gasoline.’  Looks like she has more videos.  Our asses are grass my friends.”  Fulton said opening his second beer.

Warren stood again and walked to the glass windows.  “The audacity of Katie coming down here and taping these envelopes.  Who does she think she is?” 

“She answers that in her letter.  Look at the P.S.  ‘You bastards killed my mother, my grandmother, and our dear friend, Sammie.  Just think of me as the avenger.  You five are going to pay.  The child support money is just the beginning unless you pay by November 15, 2017.’  Damn that woman.”  Justin said looking at Ryan.  “It’s your damn fault.”

“What the hell are you talking about?  You raped her just like I did.”  Ryan said, slamming a fist on the table.

“I’m not talking about the rape.  I’m talking about letting Darla find that damn videotape and then the stupid way you got rid of her.”  Justin said to Ryan as though he was a prosecuting attorney.

“Gentlemen, enough of that.  We are in this spot, together, and we will get out of it, together.  Question, Ryan, tell us what Sheriff Waldrup had to say after you finally got to talk with him?”  Fulton asked.

“He was just fishing.  He obviously doesn’t have any real evidence.  All he has is circumstantial.  Even that points just as much to Cynthia as it does to me.  He thinks because she and I both had a motive to get rid of Darla that that’s what we did.  The bad blood between Darla and Cynthia puts her more in the dock than me, especially when you bring in Cliff Thomas and now the murder of Nathan Johnson.  I think we’re okay.”  Ryan said, not convincing anyone but maybe himself.

“I think we’ve got bigger problems than Sheriff Waldrup.”  Fulton added.  “You can bet your last dollar that Katie Sims and Cindy Barker are cross-pollinating.  They’re sharing everything.  Thus, Katie knows about Cindy’s pregnancy.  By the way, good work Justin on verifying this news.  As for Cindy, if my theory is correct, she knows about Katie, what we did to her in 2002, the paternity testing, and no doubt, these money demands.  I say we can’t take a chance any longer that Cindy, that Cindy and Katie, won’t spill the beans to dear old Steve.  Katie is right, money isn’t our biggest problem.  Steve is the type to make us bleed, slowly bleed out until we’re all dead.”  Fulton, next to Warren, was always able to put things in proper perspective.

“Money may not be the biggest issue, but sweet Katie has given us a deadline.  What do we do?”  Danny asked.

“What if we negotiated a little?”  Warren asked.  What if we offered a little extra money in exchange for the videotapes and her confidential agreement promising to end her vendetta?”

“I think you may be forgetting Steve and the problem I suspect he has with his wife carrying Wilkin’s baby.  Don’t forget, no doubt Cindy saw you pastor and you didn’t do anything to help her when our dearly departed Patrick was kidnapping her.”  Fulton said, keeping clarity from getting ignored.

“This is getting expensive but that just means we have to reach an agreement with the Barker’s also.”  Warren said.

“We better be doing something pretty quick.  I have a bad feeling about leaving the blood-thirsty Steve on the loose.”  Danny said.

“Just say the word and I’ll deal with him just like I dealt with the Texas idiot.”  Ryan added.

“Enough for the night.  We all need to go do a little soul searching.”  Warren said, folding his two-page letter and stuffing it into his pants pocket.

Saturday night, it finally happened.  Wayne and I spent almost six hours on our long-delayed Huntsville trip.  It was a date.  I will never forget what he said when he picked me up, “Katie, you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen.”  Even though he was stretching the truth quite a bit, I was still, even in my mid-forties, a head-turner.  An hour-glass figure tends to do that.

We ate at The Bottle on Washington Street.  We shared a chicken and mushroom curried soup, followed by an arugula, pear, and candied walnut salad, and finally: sea scallops and grouper main dishes. It was the most romantic meal I’ve ever experienced.  We had one of the best tables in the house, in the far back corner, the furthest from the lights of the kitchen.  Our single candle was just enough for us to make out our food and for me to see the rugged beauty of Wayne Waldrup.

After a leisurely ninety-minutes at The Bottle, we went to see November at the Touchstar Cinemas at Madison Square.  I guess it was fitting since it was now the month of November.  Thirty minutes into the movie neither Wayne or I could figure out why we had chosen such a weird show.  I suspect it was the word romance plastered along the bottom of the marquee outside the theater as we were pondering.  Werewolves have never interested me.  The two main characters, a young farm girl named Liina, and Hans, a village boy she is hopelessly and forlornly in love with, did do for us one thing I thoroughly enjoyed.  Wayne held my hand after the two lovers exchanged their first kiss.  I was afraid he would release my hand when Liina turned into a werewolf from her longing for Hans.  I’m glad he ignored his best chance to pull away when Liina jumped into an ice-cold pond.  I was impressed.  The kind, gentle, and respectful Sheriff remained handily engaged, which gave me hope he would later have the desire and the skill to move his hands over every inch of my body.  The two glasses of wine from The Bottle were no doubt loosening up all my remaining inhibitions.

During the return trip home Wayne updated me on his investigations.  I hoped they wouldn’t distract us from what I was wanting.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any good news to share concerning either of your cases.  If I had to guess, and I don’t like guessing and you can’t repeat me, I’d say Cynthia Radford is responsible for Darla’s death.  Concerning the fire and the deaths of Beverly Sims, your grandmother and her caretaker, Sammie, I’d have to say it has something to do with the two recent arsons over in Cherokee County.  Of course, that’s a big leap.  I don’t have a single shred of evidence to support my guess.”  Wayne said reaching for my left hand as he drove us over the big river bridge in Guntersville.

“Changing the subject, but have you learned anything new about my assistant principal, Patrick Wilkins?”  I said, thinking it would be appropriate to show my concern over a missing co-worker.

“Actually, I do.  Again, Katie, you must promise you will not divulge this to anyone.  We’re withholding this information for now.”  Wayne said.  I hoped he didn’t sense the sweat popping out on my left palm.

“I promise.  I hope you know you can trust me.”  I said.

“Absolutely.  Yesterday, I received a call.  At first, the woman tried to remain anonymous, but finally, after I relayed her name from the caller ID, she confessed fear of getting involved.  Terri Logan said her two boys and a friend of theirs saw a tan-colored van.  Since it was Fall Break, the boys had camped out Sunday night in a tent across the road.  Terri’s house is on Tanner Road, about a half-mile from the stop sign where it intersects with Aurora Road.  According to Paula, Wilkins’ wife, Tanner Road is part of Patrick’s early morning running route.

Terri said the boys had walked across the road back towards the house when they saw a van stop a few hundred feet from them, back towards the stop sign.  Apparently, they didn’t linger and had walked on to the house.  That’s not much but it’s given us a lead on a certain area to search for additional clues.  That’s all I know but will keep you posted.  I know this doesn’t involve you directly, but you did work with the man.”

“Thanks.  I appreciate it.”  By the time Wayne pulled up at my back door my romantic feelings and my sexual desires had transformed into a fear-generating sickness that had my stomach predicting a near-certain eruption.  Wayne clearly wanted to come in, but I had to beg-off, telling him that it wasn’t the first time that seafood had made me sick.  I apologized profusely and hopefully made him realize that I was truly disappointed.  I forced myself to kiss him semi-passionately but promised him that we would have time soon to cuddle on my couch.

After he left, and with Cullie at Cindy and Steve’s, I spent the next two hours with the TV blaring and me trying my best to ignore the thoughts of doom that were dancing around in my head.

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 Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School .  Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie.  Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.

Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.  

For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal.  In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget.  Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.

Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice.  And, eternal friendship. 

Chapter 39

“It’s Ryan Radford.”  I said as Cindy walked into my office. 

“Smells more like Tuna.”  She was nearly an hour later than normal.  Another trip to the dentist I suppose, although two weeks ago ‘dentist’ had been code word for doctor.

“Not my lunch.  Cullie’s father.”  I said, expecting her to stare at me in disbelief.  Instead, she sat across from me and started unloading her lunch box.  “Did you hear me?”

“I did.  Katie, I suspect this has you rocking and reeling.  After almost fifteen years you finally learn what will be life-changing news for Cullie.  Are you okay?”  Cindy was such a mix of things.  My favorite side was how caring and compassionate she could be. 

“I’m adjusting.  Cullie is too.  I told her last night.”

“The results came yesterday?”  Cindy asked.

“Yes.  When I got home there was a notice in my mailbox from the Post Office that I had a certified letter.  I knew what it was, at least that’s what my gut was saying.  I went for it immediately.  After I signed for the letter I walked outside and stood with it by my car.  I almost didn’t open it.”

“Can I ask you who you thought it was.  You did have a favorite, didn’t you?”  Cindy asked, returning from my refrigerator with a bottle of Italian dressing for her salad.

“I wouldn’t use the word favorite, but I had somehow decided it was Pastor Warren.  Funny thing is, ever since our conversation Tuesday, I had been subconsciously plotting a way to both embarrass the preacher man while at the same time forcing him to pay a million dollars in past-due child support.” 

Cindy had pulled a little notepad from her book bag and started flipping pages like my statement had reminded her of something.  She said, “Good thinking, you just have to substitute Ryan for Warren.  It’ll work the same.”

“I need to ask you something.  It’s a question that woke me up during the night.  “Do you think God is trying to tell me something?”

“Probably so, but I’m not following you.”  Cindy said, pouring out two dozen Wheat Thins from a box she kept inside my credenza under the window behind where she was sitting.

“You know I’ve told you how Darla never knew who my father was.  She didn’t want to know for some strange reason.  It was May 25, 1972 at her high school graduation party.  The Flaming Five had sex with her and three other Boaz cheerleaders that night.  One of them, as you know, was Randall Radford, Raymond’s son.”

Cindy interrupted me.  “I know, I know.  Now I know what you are talking about.  You are wondering whether Raymond some way found out that Randall was your father.  He felt guilty and responsible.  Therefore, he helped Darla and Nanny all these years?  It’s almost as though God made this happen.”

“It’s difficult for me to see the wisdom in that.  It’s easier to see humor, wicked humor.  Surely, God is not wicked.”  I said.

“God works in mysterious ways.  Question, if Randall Radford was your father, is Cullie your sister?  Sorry, I had to ask.”  Cindy said.  I couldn’t decide if she was continuing to pursue our wicked humor discussion or was serious.  It had to be the former.

“She’s my daughter.  Her father would be my step-brother, you idiot.” I said but felt a tingling up my spine as though incestuous lice were crawling from my cells as though they had been locked up and hidden away all my life.

“You mentioned it, but I assume you are going to ask for child support?”  Cindy asked, pulling a paper sack from her book bag and lining up five red apples in front of her along the edge of my desk.

“I have to guess your apples are symbolic and they have something to do with the timeliness of your question?”  Cindy’s mind was always working.

“Earth to Katie.  Can’t you see the opportunity my sweet hunk of a man has given us?”

“Steve’s sleuthing skills produced the perfect segue into your extortion plan?”  I knew what she was thinking.

“Yes, but it’s even better than pure criminal.  You have a legal right to ask for child support from Ryan.  Oh, my crazy thought just arrived.  What if we took a little liberty with your newly discovered news?”  Cindy’s care and compassion had been folded away nice and tidy in the paper sack she had nearly collapsed inside her book bag.

“Tell each of them, separately I assume, they are Cullie’s father?”  I asked.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like it at all.  It seems to be insulting Cullie.  I’m unsure how to describe the feeling.”  I said.

“Okay, forget that.  But, so far, the best idea we have for punishing the Faking Five is through their pocketbooks.”  Cindy no doubt was not going to keep those five apples at the forefront.

“Other than their breathing those five guys love nothing more than their money, their power, and their stellar reputations.”  I said, thinking how throughout history what men (and women for that matter) valued the most therein lay their weakness.  I wasn’t interested in interfering with their breathing, but I was fully committed to gutting them with words, words that would scare the holy hell out of all five of the bastards.

“I agree.  Let’s change the subject, between the smell of your Tuna, and stench of the five assholes, my stomach is turning somersaults.”  I was surprised Cindy wanted to talk about something other than getting revenge.

“What did the dentist say?”  I could play with words just as good as Cindy.

“Smart ass, you don’t miss a thing.  Dr. Ireland is troubled.  He’s saying that I’m at much greater risk of complications from my pregnancy since I’m approaching 40.  He is concerned about peripartum cardiomyopathy.  It’s a very serious condition that occurs when there’s damage to the heart.  It affects its ability to properly pump blood.  My lungs could fill up with fluid.”

“Does he think you have this condition?”  I asked, thinking what on earth would happen to Steve and the kids if Cindy died.  I was overreacting and would never have voiced this thought.

“No.  Not really.  I think he’s just trying to scare me into following his orders.  Which consists mainly of laying around all day.”  Cindy said, raising her eyebrows and closing her eyes like she was falling asleep.  “I’ll submit to bed rest if I have to, but surely to God that’s way down the road, a week or two before delivery.”

“Cindy, please take Dr. Ireland seriously.  We all need you to be happy and healthy.” 

Without responding, she stood, closed her lunch box, and headed through the doorway into my classroom.  Halfway to the incoherent student rumblings from the hallway, she turned and said, “If something were to happen to me, would you marry Steve and take care of my kids?”  I almost fainted.  I did cry.  But not until I had run over to her and held her in my arms.

“Oh Cindy, you can be so funny and serious at the same time.  You’re going to be fine.  But, you must put your health first.  Your family needs you.  You’re the only one for Steve.”

“Second thought.  You couldn’t satisfy my man.  You’re not a redhead.”  Cindy said turning away.  She was no doubt the most beautiful redhead I had ever seen.  I suspected no one, redhead or not, could replace the unflappable Cindy.

“No doubt she’s pregnant.  This is the second time in less than three weeks.”  Justin Adams said, sitting in his car in the parking lot of Top Dollar Pawn looking across Patterson Street toward the office of Dr. Malcolm Ireland, Obstetrician.

“Interesting she’s using an out-of-town doctor.”  Warren said, pushing back his chair from his open Bible and the round table in his hidden study on the third floor of the Church’s Administration Building.

“No doubt trying to keep it quiet as long as possible.  It’s not Steve’s.  You know he had a vasectomy.  He reminded us of that at the last Sunday School social.” Justin said.

“We’ve got to find out if my hunch is right.  I would bet it’s Wilkin’s.  I just don’t see Cindy having an affair.  Warren said looking down at the Church’s side parking lot as two boys rode bicycles.  He wondered why they weren’t in school.

“Warren, this situation is giving me a very bad feeling.  If Steve Barker finds out, and he most likely will, we are in deep shit.”  Justin said turning down the air-conditioning on his new Suburban even though it was the coolest Fall day so far.

“I agree.  Steve can be a badass.  He’s killed before.”  Warren said.

Justin had driven left on Patterson and was sitting at the red light at Gunter Avenue.  “That’s probably true but it was never proved.”   

“Losing your father and your sister to a drunk driver would bring out the worst in all of us.  It sure was convenient for Steve and his mother that the drunk turned-up dead.”  Warren said, still looking at the two teenagers on bikes, wishing he was a kid again and thinking how he would just take his own bike and leave town.

“The drunk wasn’t an old helpless man.  It was a football coach from Albertville, Watkins, Walters, something like that.  Man was beaten half to death before he had his throat slit.”  Justin said turning right headed to Burger King.

“I wish to God Cindy hadn’t seen me the night Wilkins raped her.”  Warren added.

“You fucked up for sure that night.  Man, she saw you.  You’ve admitted that.  You know you should have rescued her.  No doubt she believes you condoned what Wilkins was doing.”  Justin said feeling like the ceiling of his big vehicle was pushing down on his head.

“I know I know.  Something else I’m thinking and feeling right now.  His disappearance.  Steve has something to do with Patrick’s disappearance.  I feel it in my bones.  Cindy has told Steve everything.  The rape.  Her pregnancy.  Steve has abducted and disposed of Wilkins.  Probably did to him what he did to that coach.”  Warren said returning to his chair and his Bible.  Something drew him to the last verse he had read before answering Justin’s call, ‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; Fools despise wisdom and instruction.’  Proverbs 1:7. He told himself, “if I were a kid again I would fear God and avoid becoming such a fool.”

“I’ve got to run.  We need to deal with this next Wednesday night.  Wilkins may have disappeared, but he’s left a shit-pot full of trouble in our lap.”  Justin said walking into Burger King.