Category: The Boaz Scorekeeper

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

I don’t know if it was Fred’s justice or the fact it was Halloween night, but I didn’t sleep well at all.  I got up and came into the kitchen for coffee just as Karla was leaving for school.  She kissed me and as she was walking out the side door told me Kaden was with Lewis, that he had gotten home around 6:00 yesterday afternoon and the two of them were taking a long weekend to fish and relax at our cabin in Guntersville.

I had purchased it last winter.  It was owned by a client who was brighter than most when it came to pre-divorce planning.  He said he believed it was inevitable that he and his wife divorce but he was going to postpone it for two years or so to extract some assets from their marital estate.  The cabin on Guntersville Lake was something I would not have intentionally sought after but I bought it for about half what it was worth.  Now, standing at the sink with my coffee, Karla backing out of the garage, I realized that I had done a smart thing making the cabin’s seller sign an acknowledgment that he had come to me for only a consultation and that I could not be his attorney in any upcoming divorce action.  The seller never got a chance to file a divorce action against his wife.  She beat him to the punch last month.  I didn’t know much about their case other than what was published in the Alabama Public Records database, but I did know that she was accusing her husband of absconding with over a million dollars.  Yet, he hadn’t been served a copy of the complaint.  It seemed no one knew where he was.

I walked to my closet and pulled down an old laptop computer and mini-printer that I had used to load the ransom files on from my office computer, the one I had disposed of just in the nick of time to avoid the unpleasant but natural result of the search warrant a few weeks ago.  After setting them on the round table in my study I drafted a ransom note to Fritz, and Fred’s wife Phyllis.

It read:

“Fred has been kidnapped and is dead.  Under normal circumstances you, as Fred’s loving family, would not be motivated to pay a ransom.  However, this situation is anything but normal.

Unlike you, I know a few things that can help you protect a large portion of the sizable estate you have been able to illegally accumulate.  First, you have no choice but to follow my directions.  Exactly.  You may have some knowledge that John’s family didn’t comply with the requests in my letter.  This disobedience cost John his life.  In your situation, if you fail to comply perfectly, not only will you lose your life, but also the lives of Fred’s two children, Fulton and Stella, will come to a dreadful end.

Here’s what you must do to retain life:

1. Before Saturday, November 4, 2017, wire transfer $4,000,000 to Fidelity Bank Limited in Grand Cayman, Cayman Islands.  This bank’s physical address is: Cayman Financial Centre, 36A Dr. Roy’s Drive, Grand Cayman, KYI-1103, Cayman Islands.  The bank’s Routing Number is 063012136.  You are to have these funds deposited to Account Number 90003070.  Please note that I do not care whether you withdraw these funds from the Billingsley estate or Club Eden.

2. Contribute $500,000 towards the project that is under development on the old Boaz Spinning Mills property.  See Micaden Tanner.  He represents a client who has recently purchased this property from the Radford family.

3. Assist U.S. Attorney Greg Gambol with his investigation of the City of Boaz, Club Eden, Wade Tillman, James Adams, and all other members of Club Eden.  Mr. Gambol, as well as Micaden Tanner, have been made aware of the sex trafficking scheme that has been going on in Boaz for the past five years.  These two attorneys worked together years ago in Atlanta.  Mr. Gambol is open to granting you full immunity in exchange for your full cooperation.  He will be contacting you very soon.

4. Testify, if asked by either the prosecution or a criminal defense attorney for James Adams, that you witnessed him threaten to kill both Fred and Wade.  You should know that several meetings between you and other members of Club Eden were recorded and that I have a copy of such tapes. 

Of course, you can involve family, friends, police, and other authorities with this situation.  That is completely up to you.  However, you are bright enough to realize such involvement will not be in your best interest, nor that of Fulton and Stella’s.”

I put on a pair of latex gloves, printed out the two letters, and addressed two envelopes.  One to Fred’s wife Phyllis, and the other one to Fritz.  I folded and inserted the letters into the envelopes, and sealed the flaps using an Aqua Ball.  I affixed two stamps to the envelopes being extra cautious not to lick them.  I then inserted these two envelopes into one manila folder and was about to leave for the Gadsden Post Office when Gina called.

“Micaden, the scorekeeper.”

“I’m outside in your driveway.  Can I see you?”

“I’m about to make a quick trip to Gadsden.  You want to ride along?”  I said without any thought at all.  What could it hurt?  Surely, no one would see us.  What if they did?  I am Gina’s attorney.

I gathered up my briefcase and the manila folder containing the two envelopes and walked outside.  Gina was leaning against her nearly new Impala in blue-jeans and a sleeveless flowered blouse.  Her formerly blonde hair, now black and curly, with gray streaks, was pulled back behind her head.  I couldn’t help but notice how good she still looked at 63.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

I left him there and went for my four-wheeler.  I had brought it on a small trailer behind my truck.  Fred was a little smaller than John but still a big challenge to get him stood up, leaned over, and strapped to the four-wheeler. I had bolted a half-sheet of thick plywood crosswise and installed six hooks to use bungee cords to keep Fred in place. I also cuffed Fred’s hands.  I grabbed my duffel bag out of the cab of my truck and set off toward Aurora Lake.  I drove past the cabin glancing to my left to see the fire pit and tent still in tack.  I wondered whether the sons of the Flaming Five had stepped into the shoes of their Fathers spending their weekends here with chosen females, those from in and out of town.  I crossed the little creek that was fed by the runoff from the dam and headed northwesterly up our hiking trail.  I had to stop three times to remove dead or dying trees from my narrow path.  During the last 150 yards or so a streak of fear raced through my mind.  I was now knee deep in the most dangerous of all my Flaming Five missions.  It was daylight.  In effect, I was cornered.  My truck and Fred’s Camaro were setting by the cabin for anyone to see if they drove through the unlocked gate and down Club Eden’s driveway.  I was in possession of a semi-unconscious body strapped down with cuffed hands.  Someone could be out on the lake or hiking around it.  I concluded that I was taking too great a risk for any possible benefit that might someday arise from disposing of Fred here at Club Eden. Within fifteen minutes from the time I had tasered Fred, we were at the southwestern shore of Aurora Lake, about 100 yards from the dam and forty feet or so from my aluminum boat. 

I walked to it and pulled back all the limbs and brush I had piled on it.  I then slid it over to the shore’s edge.  I returned to Fred and started to get him up but decided to leave him lying there on his back.  He was beginning to moan just a little.  I took two small fold-out chairs and my duffel bag I had strapped to the front of the four-wheeler and set the chairs about five feet from Fred.  I sat down in one and unzipped the duffel bag and started laying out the contents on the other.  I had brought a high-quality tape recorder and camera. I had also brought my depth finder for my boat and a small notebook that contained a list of questions I had for Fred.  I now waited for him to return to planet Earth.

It was almost 4:30 p.m. when Fred turned his head toward me and said, “where’s Wade?”  For a first statement from one in physical custody, lying flat on one’s back, I thought Fred would have said something like, “what the hell are you doing?” or maybe “Tanner, you have lost your mind, let me loose.”   I told Fred that Wade was not coming and that he was headed to the bottom of the lake unless he complied with my requests.  I watched his eyes look around and lock onto the boat that was barely visible from the angle he lay.

I stood up and walked over to him and told him that I would let him sit up in a chair if he would behave.  He nodded his head.  I removed the bungee cords and helped him up and off the plywood deck. I sat him down in the chair I had been sitting in and pulled a lightweight set of chains and shackles from my duffel bag.  I alternated putting them on and removing the handcuffs.  I looped an extra chain around a six-inch diameter pine tree that was directly behind where Fred was sitting and used a small pad lock to secure it to the chain between his two shackled hands. 

“Why are you doing this Tanner?”

“Are you going to play that lame card?  You know exactly why.  But, I’ll play along for a bit.” I flipped on the tape recorder and told Fred he had to answer me out loud when I asked him a question. “Do you remember our High School graduation party we had here at Club Eden?”

“Yes.”

“What crimes did you and the other members of the Flaming Five commit that night and early Saturday morning?”

“I had nothing to do with any of that.  You know me and Wade stayed with you at the fire pit while James, Randall, and John took the girls and left.”

“Fred, playtime is over.  Here is how this is going to work.  I ask questions and you tell the truth, the full truth, unshaded in any way.  If you lie to me, and I certainly will know when you are lying, I will smack you across the face with this shovel.”  I pulled out an Army surplus shovel with a two-foot foldout handle.  I mimicked how I would strike him.

“I am as guilty as anyone for what happened that night.  After we all took turns raping Wendi and Cindi we realized we had to have a plan and the plan gave no option for them to survive.  Please know we had not planned on raping them.  In our arrogance, we believed they would willingly consent to having sex with us.  We were wrong.”

“So, do you admit raping and murdering Wendi and Cindi Murray the night of May 25, 1972?”

“Yes, but I didn’t actually kill them.” Fred said.

“And, who killed their parents, Bill and Nellie Murray?”

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know anything about that.”

I used about a quarter of my strength and swung the shovel I was still holding.  It struck the right side of Fred’s face and his chair tipped over while his body leaned against the edge of the plywood.  I set him back up and noticed a rather shallow cut running from his right eye down to his chin.  It was bleeding, but not badly.

“Okay, enough of the shovel.  We all met two weeks or so before the beginning of your trial and created a plan.  One part of the plan was to offer a million dollars to settle.  You well know that offer was rejected.  The other part of the plan was to get rid of the Murrays.  John and Randall came up with the idea.  David and Walter carried it out.”

For the next thirty minutes Fred gave me details on how the Murray’s were killed, how David and Walter broke into their house Friday night while they were at the prayer meeting.  How David and Walter had waited on them, how they surprised them, tied them up, injected them with the cyanide, and placed them in their bed.

Fred also told me about how Club Eden had carried out three other murders, all by ancestors of the Flaming Five.  He told me the stories of murders taking place in 1901, 1926, 1946, and 1973.  All men who were threatening the status quo that had to be maintained at all costs.  In 1901, it was Leroy Jones and his son Toby, the son and grandson of an ex-slave.  Leroy and family had moved to Boaz from Gadsden.  In 1926, it was David Howsley and Baynard Reed, a homosexual couple who had moved from San Francisco to Boaz to operate a flower shop David had inherited.  In 1946, Fred shared the story of Vincent Prader, the decorated war hero that Harold Maples had told me about.  The man who threatened to build a Volkswagen automobile dealership.  The final murder Fred confessed to was Shawn Taylor and his father.  Shawn was probably the only reason I was not convicted back in 1973.  This young boy had been brave enough to tell my jury that he had seen James, John, and Randall with Wendi and Cindi at the Dairy Queen, and drive off in their little blue Plymouth.  Fred told of how David Adams and Raymond Radford had compromised the brakes on Shawn’s father’s car.  This led to their crash and the death of this father and son, which, in effect, wrecked the prosecutors murder case against the Flaming Five.

Fred also admitted, after I showed him copies of several bank account statements, the Club’s illegal business activities including payoffs to several local businessmen.  After another shovel blast to his head, Fred told me in detail how the Club, with help from four select Boaz Police officers, were seizing and selling pretty Hispanic girls to the Russian mob.  I suppose it was the threat of the shovel laying across my lap that made Fred volunteer some things I hadn’t even asked about.  He told me how the Flaming Five and their fathers had rigged Deacon elections at First Baptist Church of Christ and City Councilmen elections for the past fifty years or so.

At 5:45 p.m., I gave Fred a drink of water from my canteen.  I let him stand while I took about thirty or forty pictures from several angles and multiple distances.  I then repacked the duffel bag and secured it, along with the two chairs, back to the front of the four-wheeler.  I placed the shovel into the boat.  I then unlocked the extra chain and removed it from behind the tree.  I ordered Fred into the boat after I had pulled it into the lake.  At first, he refused, but then I reached for the shovel and he stepped over into the boat.  I had Fred sit at the back of the boat while I pushed it out into the lake climbing in as the water deepened. 

After rowing a few hundred yards, I found my spot.  I had strapped the depth finder to my waist as I had secured the duffel bag.  Two weeks ago, when I had delivered the boat I had found a spot about 150 feet from the dam.  The water was 80 feet deep.  When I stopped rowing, I asked Fred if he wanted a quick death or one more like what Wendi and Cindi suffered from the force of a shovel.  By this time Fred was resigned to his death.  He knew there was no need in begging me.  While rowing to this spot I had told him about how John and Randall had died.  I even described in some detail how John looked after my fifth and final shovel blow.  “Shoot me, make it quick.”

I did.  With my 45 and my silencer that I also had removed from the duffel bag.  It seemed there was always something I hadn’t planned for.  I had brought six cement blocks with me when I delivered the boat.  Securing them to Fred’s body wasn’t difficult at all.  But, getting him out of the boat into the lake while not tipping over was a challenge.  I finally figured it out.  After I crammed his body into a body bag I had purchased online, I attached three life jackets to his wrapped body and, with considerable strain, pushed him into the lake.  I then could secure the six cement blocks with chains to his body.  Finally, I cut away the life jacket straps and his body immediately sank.

I rowed the boat across the lake to Jeff Marks’ property, got out and pulled it onto the shore.  I then hiked back down to the dam and across to where I had left my four-wheeler at the edge of the lake.  I loaded everything and headed back down the trail to the cabin at Club Eden.  By 6:30 p.m., I had the four-wheeler loaded on the trailer behind my truck.  I backed into the turning around spot and felt the second wave of terror stream through my body.  I had failed to removed Fred’s car keys before I dumped his body.  My once dangerous mission had now transformed into extremely dangerous territory.  I put on gloves and searched Fred’s Camaro.  No extra set of keys.  But, there was a cell phone on his console.  I activated it and noticed he didn’t have it secure.  No password required.  There were three missed calls.  All from his wife Phyllis.  I was glad there were no calls from Wade or James.

I thought about keeping his phone but realized what a mistake that would be.  Phones were now highly traceable.  I returned it to the car’s console.  I had no choice but to leave Fred’s red-hot Camaro setting right where it was.  No doubt it would be discovered in, at best, a few days.  Hopefully, police and investigators would not look for Fred’s body at Aurora Lake.  Idiot me, who was I kidding?  There would be an extensive search of this area and no doubt someone would discover many clues, such as the trees that had been thrown back from the hiking trail. The indentations in the grass where Fred and I sat in folded chairs having our little conversation.  Blood droplets would no doubt be on the ground right behind where the four-wheeler was parked.  I was confident that divers would be brought in and the lake would be searched.  It would be just a matter of time until Fred’s body was found.

I left in a hurry and raced to Oak Hollow, dropped off the four-wheeler and trailer and connected to the boat trailer.  I drove back to Jeff Marks, loaded the boat, and returned to Oak Hollow to drop it off.   It was almost 8:00 p.m. when I returned to the office, changed clothes, and drove toward Hickory Hollow. Then, a daring idea sprouted in my head.  I knew what I had to do.

I drove on past the turnoff to Hickory Hollow and on to Dogwood Trail and turned right.  I opened the gate at Oak Hollow and drove to the barn and backed up to the sixteen-foot flatbed trailer that was under the shed on the left side of the barn.  I connected the trailer to my truck bumper and grabbed two come-a-longs and a thirty-foot chain hanging on the wall in the center of the barn. My actions this day were now approaching the stupid zone.

I drove back to the cabin at Club Eden.  The gate on Shady Grove Road was still open.  When I was rounding the final curve, my headlights caught the front of the cabin and the door stood wide open.  For a few seconds, I thought my heart would stop.  But then, I recalled that Fred had been on the front porch when I arrived at 3:30.  My headlights then caught the red Camaro.  It was still here and for now at least, it looked as though it had not been discovered.  I turned into the driveway and backed up towards the rear of the Camaro.  It took me nearly thirty minutes to connect the chain around the Camaro’s axle and winch it up onto the trailer. It took longer because I was unable, without a key, to put the vehicle into neutral.  I secured the car to the trailer using both come-a-longs.  I slipped on a pair of gloves and removed Fred’s cell phone from the Camaro’s console.  I then walked to the cabin and, using my flashlight, took a good look inside to make sure Fred had not left anything, even though I didn’t believe he had come inside.  I walked back on the porch, locked and closed the door, and drove off. 

My sudden idea had not matured into a plan containing a destination for Fred’s Camaro.  Now, driving down the long Club Eden driveway, I had to think fast.  I pulled onto Shady Grove Road and stopped, went back and locked the gate, and raced back to my truck.  It was already headed south so I drove in that direction.  I drove until intersecting with Highway 179.  I turned north and drove until I reached Fairview Cove Road on my left.  Turning westward, I drove several miles and turned right on Bud Umphrey Road and continued north until intersecting with Little Cove Road.  I turned left and within a minute or so reached the same little road that Randall, James, and John had used.  It was a hundred yards off Little Cove Road where they had first come to dispose of Wendi and Cindi and their blue Plymouth.  I tried to find the exact spot where I recalled my Wendi and her sweet sister had met a cruel and violent death.  I spotted it up ahead and then remembered I was headed in the wrong direction.  I couldn’t unload the Camaro behind me and be able to get my truck and trailer out of this narrow and overgrown lane.  I wasn’t very good at backing a trailer but finally was able to.  This took me precious time that I didn’t believe I had.  Finally, I was back onto Little Cove Road pulling up and backing down the lane.  I had to be extremely careful not to angle the rear of the trailer down into the ravine on the west side of the lane.  I also started worrying about scratching Fred’s Camaro thinking that might give investigators a lead towards concluding that the vehicle had been transported here.  After another twenty minutes, I was backed up nearly as far as I could to be able to have a big enough spot for the Camaro to rest.  I was fortunate to have a tree close enough behind the trailer to tie to, and pull the vehicle off the trailer.  I couldn’t help but think that there is no way for a criminal to properly plan a crime.  There are simply too many variables to contend with.  No wonder most crimes are solved.  At least those that don’t involve the five prominent, well-connected families from Boaz.  After disconnecting the chain and the come-a-long I returned to the cab of my truck, put on another set of gloves, and removed Fred’s cell phone, and returning it to the Camaro’s console.  While driving here from Club Eden, I had thought about taking his phone to another location but decided if a jury ever had the opportunity to review this case they would more easily believe that Fred had been here with his Camaro if his phone was found right here too.

I raised both trailer ramps, secured them, and drove to Oak Hollow.  Approaching the gate, I noted another mistake I had made.  I left the chain gate down, unlocked.  I drove slowly to the barn and even more slowly backed the trailer under the shed.  I drove back to the law office, showered and changed into a clean set of clothes, and finally, this time, drove all the way home.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

I was doubtful Fred would appear.  After mine and Gina’s goldmine discovery, she had the idea of creating three fake Gmail accounts, one each for Fred, Wade, and James.  She said she had gotten the idea from a book where the wife became suspicious of her husband.  The wife set up a Gmail account descriptive of a secretary’s name where the husband worked.  The wife also set up a fake Gmail account for her husband.  Over the course of the first half of the book the secretary and the husband, with the ready assistance of his wife, carried on an email relationship with each always discouraging the other from any type of physical action for that could disclose their true feelings. 

During one of our meetings, Gina had gone into detail showing me exactly how she had set up these accounts.  She showed me how to log onto each account and even how to create a false message.  Fred’s account was “fitz101972@gmail.com.”  The ‘10’ was Fred’s basketball jersey number and 1972 was the year he graduated from High School.  Wade’s account was tillman121972@gmail.com.”  And, James’ account was “adams131972@gmail.com.”  Gina showed me a copy of an email she had created and sent from Fred to Wade, “Wade, I just prepared a cashier’s check to Gina for $10,000,000.”  Gina laughed and said, “I can only hope that you will settle my divorce case for at least this much.”  I too laughed and told her she better lay off the meds for a while.

Yesterday, I had used Gina’s creation to attempt to lure Fred to Club Eden.  I, as Wade, had emailed Fred’s actual email account asking him to meet Halloween afternoon at 3:30.  Wade had told Fred it concerned James and not to reveal this meeting to anyone.  Wade also told Fred in the email that their secrets, safety, and slush funds may depend on this meeting.  Also, I, as Fred, had emailed James’ fake account requesting he come to the Club Eden cabin.  Finally, I logged onto James fake account opened the email from Fred’s fake account, read it, and replied.  I, as James, stated that I would be there but it might be as late as 4:00, but I would be there.  I knew that no one except Fred would read or know about any of these emails, at least for now.

I had parked across the road beside the convenience store thirty minutes early, waiting and watching for Fred to arrive.  At 3:20 p.m., he pulled off Shady Grove Road up to the gate, got out, unlocked it and then drove his red 2017 Camaro up the dusty trail to the woods and onto the cabin.  As his car disappeared into the woods I drove through the gate.  When I drove up behind Fred’s vehicle he was on the cabin’s porch about to unlock the front door. He turned and saw me getting out of my truck.  The look on his face was priceless: surprised, no, shocked, bewildered.  I even saw a hint of terror.  He started walking down the steps towards me and I said, “Fred, Wade is on the way. He wants us to make a deal and stop James from destroying us all three.”  This too surprised Fred but also relaxed his guard.  I had a notebook in my hand that hid my taser.  We reached the back of his Camaro at the same time.  With his back facing the cabin I looked over his shoulder and said, “what is she doing here?”  This was enough of a distraction for Fred to turn his head to look back towards the cabin.  I then plunged my taser into his chest.  He fell to the ground, getting his thousand-dollar suit covered in dust.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

It was Halloween and only the second time I had returned to the Club Eden cabin at Aurora Lake since the life-changing graduation party on May 25, 1972.  Two weeks ago, I had come to deliver a 16-foot aluminum fishing boat to use with Fred’s disappearance.  That day I hadn’t gone to the cabin for there was no way to deliver a boat to the lake from there.  The cabin was accessible from Shady Grove Road through a locked gate on down a half-mile cherty driveway that wound through a forest of pines and poplars.  The Club’s property backed up to Aurora Lake but there was no way to transport a boat from the cabin to the water’s edge.  The only thing that passed for a road from the cabin to the lake was the hiking trail the Flaming Five and I had carved out, and it would barely support one four-wheeler at a time.

I had delivered the boat from across the lake via Lawson Gap Road on the north side.  That Thursday, I had driven my truck along with boat trailer and boat to Jeff Marks property.  I had decided on this access after several trips to the Etowah County Records Department when I was in Gadsden for court appearances.  Marks lived in Memphis but had bought the property in late August.  I had conducted some simple online research and learned he worked at Kellogg Company and was listed on their employee roster as Vice-President of Distribution.  A White Pages search disclosed he was 70 years old and had family in Gadsden.  A Google search of, “Betty Marks and Gadsden,” revealed an obituary in the Gadsden Times stating she was 94 years old and was survived by two sons, Jim, deceased, and Jeff.  I concluded he had most likely purchased this property for his retirement years.  The property didn’t have a formal boat access but my boat was light, not having a motor, and I was able to get within twenty feet of the water’s edge.  After the boat was afloat I tied it off and moved my truck and trailer across Lawson Gap Road a hundred feet or so down an almost hidden logging trail.  I returned to the boat and rowed it across the lake to the spot the Flaming Five and I had swum on many occasions almost half a century ago.  Then, it was just a large pond, years before the Aurora Lake Reservoir was built.  I got out and pulled the boat on shore and into a stand of Loblolly pines.  I walked west along the shoreline a hundred yards or so to the lake’s dam, then across it and into the final grove of trees before accessing Lawson Gap Road.  I walked east to where I had hidden my truck and boat trailer.  I traveled east to Mountainboro Road, turned north, crossed Highway 431 and continued to Hickory Hollow.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Before Gina had made the goldmine discovery from her audio-recorder, I had pretty much decided that Wade Tillman would be my next target.  I guess I became greedy believing that I needed to keep Wade as a resource.  Who knows what Gina and I might eventually discover.  I had to leave him alone for now.  That left Fred and James.  For weeks, I had alternated between Wade and James as my last target.  I couldn’t find a reasonable trail to follow along towards an acceptable conclusion so I decided to postpone that decision.  Fred, by default, became my third target.

Like John and Randall, I spent three weeks planning and stalking.  And, this wasn’t the only routine I had fell into.  On the morning of ‘D Day,’ my mind returned to High School.  For some reason, my motivation to mete out justice found needed resources in otherwise simple events that had taken place almost half a century earlier.

To me, Fred had always been the oddball Flame.  To say the least, he was extravagant, especially with his clothes. From the time I tutored him in Junior High I had always noticed that he wore the most expensive or highest quality items of anyone I had ever known.  And, on top of that, he bought things he didn’t even need.  I would rarely see him wear the same shirt more than once.  Before his senior season he made a big deal out of the team’s uniforms.  Fred argued that they were too cheap.  Fritz finally convinced Coach Pearson to have a New York company design a new uniform using silk.  Fritz paid for them.  After this, rumor was that Fred’s parents put him on a budget, but I could never tell it influenced how he dressed.

Extravagant as Fred was, it certainly didn’t negatively impact his ability as a point guard.  Out of the Flaming Five, Fred was the best ball handler, dribbler, and passer.  He truly was the team’s leader, bringing the ball down the court and initiating offensive plays.  Just like James and Randall, Fred was good enough to play at a major college.  But he didn’t.  Rather, he chose to focus on banking and finance knowing that he could someday afford anything he wanted once he directed First State Bank of Boaz and Club Eden.  In this regard, Fred was wise beyond his extravagance.

Just as Fred handled the ball the most of all the Flaming Five, he also handled the lead role in the Senior play.  Fred was the perfect leading man.  The Drama Club had chosen The Wind in the Willows.  It had been half a century since the play so I went online to refresh my memory.  Here was the best quote about the wonderful play that I could find:

“As the eccentric owner of Toad Hall, Mr. Toad has never been held accountable for anything. He buys himself a horse-drawn caravan and decides, willy-nilly, to explore the countryside. When nearly run off the road by a motorcar, he becomes enamored and abandons his caravan to purchase his own motorized vehicle. In a short period of time, he crashes six different cars and has paid a ridiculous amount of money in fines. His extravagance and irresponsibility eventually end up costing him Toad Hall, which he must fight to reacquire. One would think such a loss would have a sobering effect, but the end of the story sees Toad throwing a sumptuous banquet for his friends, once again, the master of ‘the finest house on the whole river.’”

In the High School auditorium Fred and the rest of the cast flawlessly performed all three showings of The Wind in the Willows.  But, things didn’t go so well for Fred when he and the other actors put on the presentation for the Boaz High School student body the following Monday.  For years this had been a tradition.  It was meant to be a comedy no matter how tragic the subject matter.  Mr. Martin, the Drama Club director, sat back and let the actors pretty much improvise any way they wanted to. 

Unbeknownst to Fred, the whole crew had done a little pre-presentation planning.  James Adams would become the leading man.  In the actual play James had been Mr. Toad’s (Fred) subdued servant sidekick.  In the reconstituted play James, as Mr. Snake, would parody Fred.  James had even arranged for the Sand Mountain Reporter and both radio stations to be present.  The Monday morning presentation of The Wind in the Willows made history.  It is still known, at least around Boaz High School, as the funniest play ever presented by the Drama Club.  Throughout the play, James wore one of Fred’s outfits, clothes that Fred’s parents had allowed James to borrow.  It seems James conned them into believing that once Fred saw how unimportant James was in Fred’s clothing that he would learn the needed lesson that clothes in fact do not make the man.

But, looking back, I’m convinced that Fred got the final word.  Near the end of the play, as Mr. Toad was barking out orders to his sidekick (Fred) about the big banquet he was throwing, Fred walked to center stage and said, “James, for the rest of your life you can wear identical clothes as I do but you will never lead the offense like I did.  Whatever role you hold in the future, I will be Mr. Toad and you will only be my sidekick.”

Fred had another rival of sorts.  Wade had always been extremely jealous of Fred.  Of all the Flaming Five, Wade was the worst off financially.  Even though his father, Walter, earned a good income as pastor of First Baptist Church of Christ, it was only enough, at best, to finance an upper middle-income lifestyle.  It was not until Wade was an associate pastor at First Baptist Church of Christ that he learned that his Father had tons of money from his share of Club Eden.  Yet, he chose to conceal it while living a humble life before his flock.  Growing up, all Wade knew was that he was not near as well off as Fred and the other three members of the Flaming Five.

In addition to Wade, James wasn’t so fond of Fred.  Off the court, James despised Fred, but someway could be a team player on the court.  I think James harnessed his jealousy and whipped it into a race to be the best shooting guard Boaz had ever seen.  I also think James believed he out ‘extravagantized’ Fred when he accepted a basketball scholarship to Auburn University.

My mind had had enough of Mr. Toad.  It was ready to give Fred a new set of clothes.  Again, ones he would wear only once, but this time he would wear them forever. 

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Wednesday night after dinner Kaden and I were in the barn trying to build two window boxes for Karla.  A year ago, she had shown me a picture from Pinterest and asked me to make her two.  She even gave me the dimensions and what materials to use.  As Kaden carefully routed the final decorative support, ‘Gina’ vibrated in my pocket.  I had tagged the burner phone ‘Gina’ the day I bought the matching pair at an EagleMart in Pell City when I was there for a court hearing at the St. Clair County Courthouse.  I removed the phone, walked outside, and answered “Micaden the scorekeeper.”  This was Gina’s green light.  If ever I didn’t answer this way she would know she could not talk openly.

“We have to meet.  You will not believe what I found.”  Gina was shouting.

“How about tomorrow here at Hickory Hollow?”

“What time?”

“Two-thirty okay?”

“Yes.  Before I go, here’s you a morsel to feed on.  Club Eden is in bed with a few select Boaz police officers working to discourage, what they call, Hispanic citizenship.  I got to go.  Bye.”  Gina whispered.

On Thursday at 2:30 p.m., Gina and I sat down at the round table in my study. 

“Before I tell you about my discovery let me set the stage.  You may know some of this but let me paint a full picture.  I have gathered this information over a lifetime with Wade.  Club Eden was responsible for starting the local poultry industry.  Somewhere around 1920 or 21 the grandfathers of the Flaming Five had gone to Butts County Georgia for a family reunion of sorts and learned what a group of their distant cousins were up to.  They were raising chickens in confinement, instead of simply the backyard or barnyard chickens the grandfathers were used to around Boaz.  Within a year after their return, Club Eden had set up Boaz Poultry, Inc.”  Gina said.

“Okay, that’s an interesting chicken story but what does that have to do with your case or our quest to weaken or destroy the five mighty powers?”  I said.

“Be patient.  I’ll get there.  But first, let me finish the history lesson.  Club members saw chickens as a way to make money off the backs of both farmers and Boaz citizens.  The Club developed a business plan that was almost futuristic for its time.  They contracted with farmers to grow the chickens in specially designed barns and they hired a man from Sweden to design and build an operation to process the birds once they were grown.  The Swede was an expert in meat production.  Boaz Poultry processed its first batch of broilers in 1924. There were 39 employees to start with.  The poultry industry was good to the Club even though they quickly had competition in Cullman.  Over the years, Boaz Poultry employed more and more people but the time commitment began to wear heavy on the Club.  In 1965, it sold the entire operation to an Atlanta conglomerate, Platinum Foods, but negotiated a 99-year lease on the processing plant location.  It appeared to be a sweetheart of a deal: total relief of all work and time commitments while still enjoying a guaranteed monthly income.  What the Club never negotiated or even anticipated was the revolutionary influence Platinum Foods’ employment practices would have on Boaz demographics.  By 1970, there were more than 800 Hispanics working in Boaz at the poultry processing plant.  Along with their families, but excluding those who lived outside Boaz City limits, there were nearly 4,000 Hispanic residents.  This fact did not mix well with the Club’s white race mentality.

“I bet you are going to tell me that the Club killed every one of them.”  I said.

“No, the Club, at least this time, was smarter than that.  They were also very subtle.  The Club handpicked four police officers, patrol officers, to make life difficult for Hispanics.  For a while, the officers simply targeted Hispanic drivers, stopping them just for being Hispanic but always having a pretextual reason, something like a broken taillight.  Yes, if they didn’t have a broken taillight when they were stopped, they would after the officer walked by the Hispanic’s car with his Billy Club on his way to interrogate the driver.  As time went on, and their ‘pay’ increased, the officers began planting illegal drugs and alcohol.  This has gone on for over thirty years and continues to this day.”

“Again, how do you know all this?”  I said.

“As I said, part of this I pieced together over the years Wade and I were married, but a lot of the details came from Wade’s office, the Club Eden’s bank statements, and a series of personal handwritten journals I found on bookcases stuffed behind Wade’s Bible commentaries.  Micaden, you could ask me right now what made me look for the journals.”

“Okay, why did you look for Wade’s journals?”

“Two weeks ago, Wednesday night of course, I was in Wade’s study and noticed that he had inserted the latest Club Eden bank statement into his folder.  There was a new type of transaction.  It was a wire deposit for $100,000 from a bank in Moscow, Russia.  This was all I had until I listened to my latest tape.”

“Tape?  Have you been recording Wade?”  I said.

“Yes, and more than Wade.  After I found this deposit I bought a high-tech audio recording system online and hid it in Wade’s study.  Not his home study but his church study.  I bet you didn’t know that behind Wade’s church office there is a private study that is only accessible through a hidden door, one behind an automatic bookcase behind Wade’s desk.  It was by accident I discovered it but that was several years ago and a whole other story.  Anyway, after I received my order, I installed it in the secret study during lunch while everyone was out of the office.  The recorder is voice activated and automatically sends a transcript to a designated email account you set up if it has a Wi-Fi connection.  Here is the transcript of a meeting last Wednesday night.”

Gina slid a typed document over to me.  I read it twice. There were four speakers.  Gina also let me hear the audio.  The transcript was a perfect match to the words spoken.  It was clear that the meeting was to discuss Fred and Wade’s decision to implement the latest phase of what the Club had dubbed its Clean-Up Boaz campaign.  From the tape and transcript, I learned that Fred and Wade had authorized their select Boaz police officers to start secretly seizing the most attractive Hispanic females during their illegal traffic stops.  James Adams had expressed his strong disagreement, saying “sex trafficking?  Other than your Triple M murders, this is the most dangerous and insane thing the Club has done in fifty years.  You are going to bring in the Feds and send the rest of us to prison.”

“What on earth are the Triple M murders?”  Gina asked.

“A more specific question.  Do these murders include Bill and Nellie Murray?  I bet they do.  I’ve known it all along but have had no way of proving it.”  I paused for a moment and said, “oh my gosh, the third M is Harold Maples.  I just know that too.”

“He died of old age.  Wade conducted his funeral.  I was there.”  Gina said.

“He certainly died old.  He was 92 or 93, but I would bet a million dollars he didn’t die because of old age.” 

We returned to Gina’s audiotape.  Over the next five minutes or so tempers continued to rise.  Finally, during a particularly heated exchange between James and Wade, James said: “If you two don’t stop this immediately you may find yourselves at the bottom of a lake just like Randall and John.”  Fred responded, “sounds like you are admitting to killing our two brothers.”  James then said, “absolutely not, but I’m mad enough right now to kill the two of you.”  After a minute or two of silence the meeting ended with James threatening to expose Wade and Fred to the full membership.  The last statement before the meeting disbanded was James saying, “you two need to reread the Club’s bylaws.  You do remember taking an oath almost half a century ago where you swore never to divulge Club ‘business or non-business, or anything even remotely related to the Club.’  Don’t you two remember what the punishment is for breaking your oath?  Let me quote, ‘punishment includes the branding of a cross on the forehead, and the option of death by hanging but only by unanimous decision.’”  Wade then made a smart-ass remark, “King James, I’ll be sure to note all this in my diary.”

“It seems all is not well within Club Eden.” Gina said.

“Let me keep this transcript.  Also, can you send me a copy of the audio recording?  I want to try to figure out how we can use this.  Good, good work Gina.”  I said.

Gina left and I just sat staring out the window.  I almost thanked God for such a wonderful blessing, a goldmine discovery.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

I decided against sending a ransom demand to the Radford family.  This twist would give investigators good reason to ponder whether the disappearances of Randall and John were related.

However, I did decide to communicate with the grieving family in a different way.  Three years ago, Raymond and Randall had purchased the old Boaz Spinning Mill property from the City of Boaz.  The rumor was they were going to consolidate the four current locations of their hardware and building supply business into one giant facility.  But, a feasibility study by an Atlanta firm had shown only minimum increases in sales versus a phenomenal increase in initial investment and ongoing operating costs.  The Radford’s, all astute businessmen, canned their plans and put the real estate back on the market.

My plan was risky but also astute, even remarkable, or so I believed.  I contacted realtor Bruton Silvers and told him I represented a client who was looking to build a miniature Gatlinburg in Boaz, but with one unique twist.  It would have a recreational facility including Olympic size pool, tennis and basketball courts, a health care spa, and a small but five-star hotel. Surrounding this facility would be an assortment of small clothing and craft boutiques, along with at least three specialty restaurants.  And, if this wasn’t enough, I convinced Bruton that now was a perfect time after the citizens of Boaz had just last fall approved the sale of alcoholic beverages, telling him that my client intended to build and operate a brewery and pub to feature and sell six brands of his ‘southern shine.’

Less than two months after posing the idea to Bruton, including some delay to deal with the non-disclosure of the buyer’s name, he had convinced the City to instruct its attorney to draft a Letter of Intent to approve plans for Sparksburg, a name I had coined.  The letter was not ironclad, but conditioned final licensing upon approval of architectural drawings and a detailed business plan.  However, the letter was sufficient to motivate the Radford family to enter a sales contract subject to the City’s final approval.  On November 18th, I wrote a $50,000 check from the Law Firm’s trust account to Silvers Realty for a down payment on the $350,000 purchase price.  An astute use of the attorney-client privilege.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Here’s why Randall Radford became my second target.  In late August, on a Thursday morning, Karla had called me at 6:30 a.m.  She always left for work around that time.  A storm had come through during the night and had caused a dying tree to fall across our long driveway.  I was still in my study working on a short story that was transforming into an epic novel.  I quickly dressed and grabbed my chainsaw from the garage.  When I got to Karla the saw wouldn’t start so I had to get the tractor and a chain and pull the tree back enough for her car to pass.  That afternoon I took my chainsaw to Radford Hardware and learned it was dead with a cracked cylinder.  I bought a new Husqvarna Model 359 and walked outside toward my truck.

Right when I was about to open my door I heard loud talking coming from the far side of my truck.  “Tell him not to fuck with me, if he does he might feel a bullet in his head.”  I knew the man’s voice.  It was Randall Radford.  I just stood there where they couldn’t see me. I couldn’t see them either. “Randall, you need to deal with him in the right way.”  I wasn’t familiar with the woman’s voice.  “I’ll call you tonight.”  The door slammed and through my truck cab I saw Randall stand up beside the car and lean back down.  Like he was bending his tall frame over to look inside the car window.  I got in my truck, started it, and backed out while Randall walked in the opposite direction back towards the store’s main entrance.  He never looked my way.

When I reached the edge of the parking lot I looked back over my shoulder and saw the woman backing out and heading out in the opposite direction.  I decided to follow her.  She drove to Albertville to a house on Pecan Avenue.  I remembered what the New York Times reporter, Nate Baker, had told me, “Randall Radford goes either on Monday or Tuesday to a house on Pecan Avenue in Albertville to see Cissy Sprayberry.” The woman I was following had to be Cissy Sprayberry.  I pulled into the driveway of the house directly across the street and killed my engine.  I got out and walked over behind a tree without Cissy seeing me.  She seemed to linger in her car before she started getting out.  By the time she walked into the open door to the garage a man met her.  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but no doubt he was unhappy.  I stood there five minutes or more and their conversation became more and more heated.  I guessed the man was Cissy’s husband and he had found out about her and Randall’s affair, and naturally was not too keen to it.

As I was driving home, I concluded Randall had to be my next target. I started conceptualizing a plan. Why not use this fiery seedbed as an opportunity to give Randall a full dose of justice?  After I got home, I changed clothes and enjoyed cutting up the fallen tree.

All during the night I rolled and tumbled.  All I could think about was Randall Radford and how he had always been a bully, at least for as long as I had known him.  A silly lunchroom scene from High School kept jumping into my thoughts.  Randall was at a table eating with, I think, James Adams.  There were two or three others that I cannot recall at his table.  Dessert that day was coconut cake.  I remember Randall getting up when he saw Harlon Danford walking by with his food tray heading to a table across the aisle.  As Harlon sat down Randall walked over and said, “Queer Harlon, I need your cake.”  Everybody at Randall’s table shouted out laughter. Poor Harlon was powerless as Randall scooped the cake over onto his plate.  Randall returned to his table with Harlon’s plate and started eating again.  Randall then looked over at Harlon and said, “what are you waiting on?  Here’s your lunch.  Come and get it.”  Harlon just sat there looking down as nearly everyone in the lunchroom laughed at him.  This scene was so typical of Randall.  He used his huge size to bully everyone around him.  When he saw something he wanted, he took it.  He certainly had an entitlement mentality.  As the night passed and my rolling and tumbling continued I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Harlon Danford.  I also wished that I had had the guts back then to stand up for Harlon, to test Randall, even if I had to take a beating.

People don’t usually change.  Here, in 2017, Randall is still the same bully.  He wanted Cissy even though she was married.  Before going to bed I had conducted some research.  Cissy and Talmadge Calvert had married in 1991. He was a lineman with MUB Electric and had no criminal record.  From all appearances, he was an honest, hard-working man.  I assumed Cissy didn’t work since she seemed available to Randall on Mondays and Tuesdays.  I didn’t know how Cissy and Randall had met.  She was nearly 15 years younger.  One thing I did know.  She was just another piece of coconut cake to Randall.  He saw her passing by and had to have her.  I was determined that this time would end differently.  I was going to stand up and defend Talmadge, unlike what I had done for Harlon.

For the next three weeks, I tracked Randall every chance I got.  This included his weekly work with Upward Bound at the Family Life Center.  John’s night had been every Monday.  Randall’s was every Tuesday.  Unlike John, Randall walked to the Center.  He would leave the hardware store and arrive by 5:30, entering the same side door that John used.  A few minutes before 9:00 he would exit by the same door and walk through Gethsemane Grove, across Sparks and south on Elm, all the way to Thomas Avenue.  He continued until he reached the store’s north side parking lot where he always parked next to the back entrance of the appliance department.

I would do it tonight.  It was September 11th, the week after Labor Day.  The Center was closed over the holiday weekend or I would have executed my plan a week ago.  Today, I realized it was the sixteenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks in New York City.  I felt uneasy as though that was a bad omen.

I was hiding out in the Grove when Randall came outside and locked the Center’s side door.  It was 8:59 p.m.  I waited until he walked across Sparks before I eased from tree to tree until I was standing by the sidewalk on Elm.  I could see him cross Elm and onto the sidewalk heading towards Thomas Avenue.  I darted across Elm to my truck that I had parked behind the same house I had used before to hide my bicycle when abducting John.  I was hurrying now.  I didn’t have but a small window of opportunity.  As I approached Randall, he turned and looked at my truck.  He didn’t do anything, except turn back around to keep on walking forward.  I pulled on 30 feet or so ahead of him and put the truck in park and got out rushing back towards Randall.  I told him to get in the truck.  He didn’t appear frightened even though I could have been the most dangerous serial killer in the world.  He didn’t say anything but started towards me.  Then, I think, he saw my gun.  He spun around and started towards the dark shadows of an adjacent driveway.  I shot once, hitting him in the shoulder.  He fell to the ground.  I walked over to him and again told him to get in the back of the truck.  He said he wouldn’t.  I then pointed my gun to his head and asked did he want to die right now.  It took him several seconds to get to his feet as I backed away.  He walked to my truck and I had him open the back window of my camper and lower the tailgate.  He crawled inside.  I walked over and closed the tailgate and shot Randall between the eyes.  I closed the camper window.

I drove to Oak Hollow thinking of how satisfied I felt.  Not about killing Randall, but about how well the silencer had worked.  I was amazed at how quiet the two shots from my Glock 45 had been.  When I arrived, I backed my truck down to the first open grave.  The horses were all clustered up next to the barn.  I walked to them and picked one at random.  I stood the old gelding in between my truck and the open grave.  I injected him with 50 mg of Diazepam as a sedative.  In less than five minutes he was laying down on his side.  I then injected him with 120 ccs sodium pentobarbital.  Within a few more minutes the old gelding stopped breathing.  

Over the next hour and a half, I followed the same routine as I had with John.  Randall’s body first, then three to four feet of dirt on top, then the horse—again using the come-a-long.  I then finishing filling the grave with dirt.  The only difference this time was the bloody tarp from the back of my truck.  I had pulled it out and thrown it into the grave on top of Randall’s body. 

I pulled my truck to the barn and flipped on the lights.  I inspected the back of my truck with my flashlight and didn’t see a drop of blood.  The tarp had done its job.  I flipped off the lights, drove to the other side of the gate, locked the chain, and continued home.

Just like the night John lost game one to justice, I tossed and turned in bed for an hour reliving the events of the past few hours.  I was glad I had abandoned my idea of framing Talmadge Sprayberry.  That would not have been right.  He was an innocent victim, just like Harlon Danford.  I could imagine both satisfied that I had given Randall a dose of giving instead of taking.  I then slept soundly the rest of the night.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Over the next two weeks I worked on an appellate brief to the Alabama Supreme Court trying to convince it to overturn the Alabama Court of Criminal Appeals’ decision refusing to grant my client, Edward Sanderson, a new trial.  In addition, I coached, counseled, and conferred with Gina about her case and the probability that Wade would settle and avoid trial.  She also conducted two snooping sessions of his Church office turning up nothing but an extra friendly ‘Thank-You’ card from Stella Bridgestone, the Church’s music director. Gina didn’t read anything into Stella’s expressions saying that she was generally effusive and forward with all older men.

On Thursday afternoon, July 20th, I was in the conference room meeting with a new auto accident client when Tina stuck her head in and motioned for me to come out into the hall.  When I did she, said that Detective Darden Clarke and Sheriff’s Deputy Clyde Vickers were in the waiting room with a warrant to search the office.  Etowah County Detective Pete Morrow was also with them.  I walked to the front and asked them what this was about and they showed me the warrant.  It was signed by the newly appointed Circuit Court Judge Tyler Broadside.  He had been appointed to fill the remaining term of soon-to-be-retiring Judge Allen Naylor who was forced to step down because of declining health.  Republican Governor Shawn Applegate was from Gadsden and had received the unanimous support of the Flaming Five and their families. 

Since John had disappeared in late April, I expected the issuance of search warrants and possibly even an arrest.  As the days ticked by, I became more and more surprised with the absence of these almost certain events.  Until, I heard through the lawyer rumor-mill that Judge Naylor, the Marshall County presiding judge, had refused to issue the warrants.  He argued that just because I had been framed by the Flaming Five and their families over forty years ago was not probable cause that I had abducted John Ericson.  To Naylor, that was too tenuous a connection.

This all changed upon the concurrence of two events.  The appointment of sympathetic Judge Broadside, and the discovery of video footage from a flagpole on the west side of the First Baptist Church of Christ’s parking lot that pointed directly to the Family Life Center’s side door.  It was closest to where John always parked his car in parking spot 275.  My mistake.  In all my reconnoitering, I had missed this camera.  I had been careful to scour the Family Life Center building itself.  I was certain there were none there.  However, I failed to even consider a camera could be mounted inside the flagpole on the other side of the parking lot, right up against Gethsemane grove.

I wasn’t the only one who had missed it.  The Boaz City Police and the Marshall County Sheriff’s Department deputies and detectives also missed it back in late April when they conducted their initial investigation after finding John’s car still parked by the Family Life Center.  It was not until the security company that supplied the Church’s cameras and security system contacted the Church’s maintenance director that there was a problem with this camera did he realize John’s abduction could have been recorded.

This recording converted a once tenuous connection between me and John’s abduction into probable cause that I was involved with the crime.  It was Judge Naylor’s missing link.  Judge Broadside never hesitated.  Once he was shown the video and briefed on my early, but highly controversial, relationship with John Ericson, among others, he issued the warrant to search my Boaz office.  He also conferred with law enforcement and Judge Grant in Etowah County, who investigated and issued a warrant to search Hickory Hollow.

It was not like the video showed me lying in wait for John, nor of me using my taser when he reached his vehicle, and it didn’t show me forcing him into the back of his Chevrolet Traverse.  However, it did show a man in black, including a black-faced toboggan–with my height and build doing all these things.   Without more, something specific to me, this would not have been enough.  The reasonable argument would say there are truckloads of other men who fit the height and build of the perpetrator.  But, Judge Broadside was appointed by our Republican Governor who owed favors to the Flaming Five and their families. 

It took a small army of deputies and police officers over three hours to search my office.  At the same time, Hickory Hollow was under a similar siege.  Law enforcement found nothing incriminating but they did seize my computer.  I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that I had come close to making my second mistake in the disappearance of John Ericson.  I had disposed of my office computer only two weeks ago.  If I had not, the District Attorney’s computer specialist would have found my ransom note and the letter to the Sand Mountain Reporter.  That would have been the smoking gun that put a face on the man in black caught on the hidden flagpole camera.

While the office search was being conducted, Detective Darden Clarke asked if I would submit to a formal interview.  I quickly agreed.  We sat in the conference room while two deputies inspected shelves loaded with over a thousand case books.  Darden asked most all the commonly used ‘setting the stage’ questions.  After he failed to score any points with the actual abduction and disappearance of John, he asked me if I knew anyone who might want to hurt John and or his family.  I told him I did not other than myself.  He looked surprised and asked me to explain.  I told him that finally it appeared that one of the ones who were directly responsible for the deaths of Wendi and Cindi Murray, and possibly their parents, had received a real dose of justice.  He said, “so you yourself wanted to hurt John?”  I responded that I did but that I could myself only do my damage with the law and that so far, all my efforts in that regard had failed.

The interview ended with me signing a statement of one sentence: “I did not kidnap John Ericson and I have no knowledge of who did or of his whereabouts.”  After Detectives Darden and Morrow, and Deputy Sheriff Vickers, and their crew left, I drove home to reassure Karla and Kaden not to worry about what they had just experienced, that it was routine for law enforcement in such a high-profile case to investigate almost everyone who even knew the victim.  I further assured them the searches found nothing because there was nothing harmful to find.

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 Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

The July 4th Celebrate Boaz concert was successful beyond imagination, at least that of every local resident.  The Boaz Police Chief had to call in favors from his fellow chiefs in Albertville, Guntersville, and Arab for police reinforcements, mainly to direct traffic.  Karla, Kaden, and I took three lawn chairs and a cooler filled with low-spirit drinks and enjoyed three hours of old and current Blues, Country, and even a little contemporary gospel.  I must say, Shania Twain was phenomenal.

Kaden could hardly sit for more than 15 minutes so we put him in charge of hiking back and forth to the multiple food trucks that had inundated the celebration, bringing to us small samples of most every item they offered.

I took Wednesday, the Fifth, off to help Karla finish framing four of her paintings she had sold.  The customer was coming from Chattanooga Friday morning to pick them up.  Karla had taken up both pencil sketching and painting several years earlier to relieve stress and to discipline her to use her hands and fingers.  Two medical specialists had told her this type activity was one of the best ways to significantly postpone the almost inevitable loss of dexterity in her hands from her Rheumatoid Arthritis.

Just before 4:30, and as we were clamping the last frame in place to rest until the glue dried, my cell phone rang.  I didn’t recognize the number.  I answered and the lady said, “Micaden, is this Micaden Tanner?”  I affirmed it was and asked who was calling.  It was Gina Culvert Tillman.  I quickly learned that there was at least one citizen in Boaz who had not joined the unity wagon train encircling the Flaming Five and their fathers.

Culvert was her maiden name. Gina was a former high school classmate and attended the infamous 1972 graduation party.  She was also one of four Boaz High School cheerleaders who had testified against me at my 1973 murder trial. To the surprise of all who knew her, Wade Tillman, the defacto pastor of First Baptist Church of Christ, had married Gina in August 1972.  Gina asked if we could meet today.  I told her I had taken the day off and was busy.  She pleaded with me to meet her at my office at 7:30 tonight.  She said that it was urgent and could be greatly beneficial to my investigations.  I finally told her to tell me exactly why she wanted to meet or I would postpone my availability until tomorrow.  “I am divorcing Wade and need an attorney.  I also have information about Club Eden that you may find interesting and helpful.”  I told her I would see her at 7:30 tonight.  She asked if it would be okay for us to meet at Hickory Hollow.  “I need to keep this very private for now.” 

Gina arrived a few minutes early and we settled at a round table in my study. 

“Micaden, I want to say again how sorry I am for how I greatly mistreated you at your trial in 1973.  I will never be able to repay you and hope that you will know how sincere I am.”

“That was over forty years ago.  I suspect you are no longer a naive teenager.”

“I’m certainly no longer a teenager but it’s up for grabs whether I’m any wiser.  As I said on the phone, I plan on divorcing Wade and I need an attorney.  I want to hire you and please know this is not an attempt to repay you for mistreating you so long ago.”

“Okay.  I’ll accept that.  In fact, I’ll take this approach concerning you.  I’ll believe what you tell me, take it as the truth, until I learn that you are lying.”  I said.

“Sounds good but I will not lie to you, ever again.”

“Now, I’m going to sit here and listen to you for a while.  Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?  I’ll interject questions for clarity or mere curiosity.”

“I suspect you know that mine and Wade’s marriage in 1972 was, as they say, a shotgun wedding of sorts.  It was Mom’s idea in total.  Myself, the young and dumb blond went along with it because I was stupid and lazy.  I never did like school, and thought it was a way to avoid having to get a college education and work for a living.  I did like Wade and all but I truly didn’t like the idea of trying to become a preacher’s wife.  I guess you can do about anything if you set your mind to it.”  Gina said.

“From my vantage point it seems you have done quite a good job.  You graduated from the University of Alabama and you have been the poster girl of a serious and faithful preacher’s wife.  Of course, I acknowledge how little I truly know.”

“That last comment is how I remember you, kind of funny while always fully serious.”

“A man has to survive.”  I said.

“My life with Wade has been good.  At least until 1997 when Wendi and Cindi were found.  We had two beautiful children.  However, I do admit that I was either too dumb or blind to not realize who Wade truly was.  He convinced me early on that he had nothing to do with the disappearance of the twin girls.  It was not until their bodies were found in 1997 that I realized I had been deceived by myself and others.”

“What role does the recent Sand Mountain Reporter letter have on your desire to divorce Wade?”

“It is the final straw.  But, you’re jumping ahead too much.  Let me fill in some gaps that you most likely don’t know about.”  Gina said.

Before she continued I asked if she wanted coffee or something else to drink.  She asked for coffee.  I excused myself and went to the kitchen and brewed a pot and brought back two cups with sweetener and cream on a tray.

“Thanks.  In 1998, I became an investigator of sorts.”

“Now, you’ve got my attention.”

“It was after Matt took my deposition in the Murray’s wrongful death case.  You were there.”

“I recall.”

“That night I went home and demanded that Wade tell me the truth.  I’m sure he sugarcoated it a lot but he did admit that John, Randall, and James had killed and hidden Wendi and Cindi and that their fathers, along with Walter and Fitz, had concealed the truth for all those years.  Wade pleaded with me to not reveal anything he told me.  He said since we were married that I could not be made to testify against him.  The marriage privilege he called it.  During this time frame, there were a lot of rumors circulating about what all you and Matt were uncovering and going to use at the Murray’s trial.  He also said that he and his Father had settled their cases with the Murray’s.”

“That part wasn’t true.  Only Walter settled.  Wade was not a part of any settlement.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.  Wade, I’ve learned over the past twenty years, is a master liar.”

“What else did you discover?  As an investigator?”

“Wade had always handled our finances.  Other than a household checking account I never knew about anything.  Maybe that the church had a retirement plan.  But, after I learned he had not been truthful with me in 1972 I began to ponder whether he might still be lying.  So, I started snooping around.  Wade had become very confident in my loyalty and faithfulness.  That was a mistake.  His confidence led him to be a little sloppy if he truly was trying to keep secrets.”

“Tell me more about your snooping.”  I said.

“One night, I think it was the Wednesday night after the Murray’s had been discovered dead at their home.  Wade was at church.  I went to his study and looked in his desk.  He had left it unlocked.  I really don’t know if he ever locked it.  I never went in.  The closest I came was standing just inside the doorway telling Wade to come to dinner or something like that.  I just thought it was where he studied and prepared or reviewed his sermons.  Anyway, in a file drawer on the bottom left side of the desk was a file labeled “Mission Money.”  It was a thick file, one of those that had multiple sections each with top prongs for fastening documents.  I found copies of bank statements in one section.  They were for a church bank account at First State Bank.  The account title was something like ‘Cooperative Program,’ or ‘SBC Cooperative Program.’  The most recent statement was on top and it reflected a $15,000 deposit and an identical $15,000 withdrawal leaving a small balance in the account.”

“Okay, that seems to only reflect that Wade had a copy of the Church’s statement where it collected and remitted the standard 10% of donations to the Southern Baptist Convention’s Cooperative Mission’s Program.”  I said.

“That’s what I thought also until I looked at the next section in that same folder.  In it there was also a stack of bank statements.  These were for a different account at First State Bank of Boaz.  This account was titled ‘Club Eden.’ The top statement contained a $15,000 deposit and it was dated the same date as the withdrawal from the Church’s Cooperative Missions account.”

“Let me jump in.  If you concluded that someway Wade was stealing Church funds for Club Eden then you have yourself jumped way out on a limb.”

“Micaden, give me a little credit.  I’m not that dumb.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that.”

“Attached to both sets of bank statements were copies of checks and deposit slips.  The $15,000 Coop check was made payable to ‘SBC Missions.’  I knew banks didn’t typically deposit checks to accounts where the check didn’t bear the right account name.  So, I flipped to another section in the big folder.  There, I found another account, ‘Saved by Christ Missions.’  The top statement revealed a $15,000 check from this account to Club Eden.  I matched up the dates and went back through several months bank statements for all three accounts.  I then concluded, probably unknown to everyone except Wade and other Club Eden members, the Church was faithful in paying 10% of its receipts to the Southern Baptist Convention’s Cooperative Program, except that such funds were being diverted to an account controlled by Wade which then was transferred directly to Club Eden’s pockets.”

“You might be correct, but I’m still hesitate to commit to your position.  When did you learn about Club Eden?”  I said.

“Gosh, that goes back to our High School days.  Don’t you remember all the rumors about the Flaming Five’s secret hideout?  From the many times that I went there, black-hooded of course, I just assumed that’s all it was, a place out in the woods Wade and the others carried gullible girls.”

“I know a lot more about Club Eden than that.  My knowledge came during mine and Matt’s investigation during our preparations for the Murray’s case.  Club Eden goes way back.  It was formed in the late 1800’s by the forefathers of the Flaming Five.  It is a legal organization and has been the recipient of embezzled funds from the City of Boaz.  I won’t go into details now about what I learned.  For now, I’m more interested in hearing about your snooping.”  I said.

“At first, I believed I was wrong, concluding Wade could be taking the mission’s money.  Then, I thought, ‘what if Doris the financial secretary was totally in the dark?’  She prepared a monthly check to SBC Missions and gave it to Fitz Billingsley the Church’s treasurer.  He could have switched out the attached envelope to SBC in Nashville before giving the bills and checks to Rita the music secretary that always dropped the mail off by the Post Office on her way home.  If Wade and Club Eden had a secret post office box they would retrieve the check and deposit it at First State Bank not triggering any alerts since the deposit account was simply the fully written out version shown on the check.  I certainly may be wrong on the ‘how’ but I am certain 10% of the monies that all the loving and kind members were dropping into the offering plates every Sunday were winding up in the hands of Club Eden.”

“There might be another source for the money.  It just seems impossible that Wade could pull this off without being detected.  But, I admit, having Fritz as treasurer doesn’t hurt your argument.”  I said.

“There’s something else.  There were other transactions on the Club Eden’s bank statements.  There were copies of deposit slips that were confusing because they only included what appeared as an abbreviation or code as the source.  Repeatedly throughout the statements was a monthly deposit from a ‘BU.’  That’s all that was written on each deposit slip.  You’ll be proud of me.  I figured out that ‘BU’ is Boaz Utilities.”

“How on earth did you reach that conclusion?”  I said.

“From the checks.  There was a monthly check to Steven Carrington.”

“He’s the manager at Boaz Utilities.  Right?”

“He is.  It took me three attempts to figure out Wade’s system.  For the next two weeks while he was at Church I returned to his study.  I was lucky that the desk remained unlocked.  I finally concluded that Wade was paying Steven 15% of all the amounts he was sending to Club Eden.  After seeing the penciled in word, ‘commission’ beside a $2,278 check to Steven I concluded he was an investor.  Of course, he wasn’t investing his own money.  Steven was skimming Boaz Utility money and directing it to Club Eden.  I reached my conclusion by matching deposits from BU to checks to Steven.  For example, the $2,278 check to Steven was 15% of the related $15,186.67 deposit from BU.  Out beside this deposit Wade had scrawled the word ‘investment.’  I went online to learn what the monthly gross revenues were for Boaz Utilities.  For this period, they were averaging a little over $3,000,000 per month.  This was freely available from their website.  I did this calculation for several months and concluded that Carrington was skimming a half percent of gross revenues.”

“Let me summarize what I think you are telling me.  Club Eden has investors of a sort.  At least one.”  I said.

“Let me interrupt you before you continue.  Steven Carrington is only one such investor.  I also conducted the same analysis for several other investors, including Jarod Darlington at Quintard Pharmacy and Roger Venson at the EagleMart SuperCenter.  Now, you can continue.  Sorry.”  Gina said.

“I know for a fact that the current members of Club Eden are Wade, James Adams, Randall Radford, Fred Billingsley, John Ericson, and each of their Fathers.  For your information, I was the only other member of this Club other than these five prominent Boaz families.  And, I never owned any stock. I have never received a penny from Club Eden but apparently the stockholders are getting filthy rich from its operations.  All illegal I highly suspect.  And, in addition, the Club has multiple ‘investors,’ all making huge profits from misdirecting funds that they control.”  I said.

“I think you’ve got it.  But, there’s one thing I haven’t been able to figure out.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“Where Club Eden is spending all its money.  After paying off its investors the Club is writing checks to several other entities.  It doesn’t keep but around $25,000 in its account at First State Bank.  I calculated that the Club is taking in about $5,000,000 per year as of 1998.”

“Let’s shelve that question for now.  It’s getting late.  Why don’t you tell me why you want a divorce other than you’re tired of being married to a criminal?”  I said.

“Since 1998 my loyalty to Wade has diminished greatly.  I’ve not really sought out a special friend, even though I have met a few guys online and chatted.  I got to know one guy quite well but his interest waned after he learned I was a pastor’s wife.  Now, I don’t even have an online friend but I want my freedom.  I want out of this shotgun wedding and away from the crime boss Wade.  I want enough money to live a comfortable life, hopefully for many more years.”  Gina said.

“I’ll be honored to represent you even though it will add mountains of stress to my worship experience as Karla and I attend First Baptist Church of Christ.”

“There you go again with that wicked humor.”

“Actually, my skin has grown thicker than an elephant’s over the years as I have represented the Murrays and withstood the razor eyes of half the congregation as Karla and I remained frequent-flyers in the middle section.”

“How much of a retainer do you need?”

“For a contested divorce, I normally request $10,000.  But, I have an idea.  What if you worked off some of this?”

“That sounds a little seductive but I know you better than that.”

“Sorry, what I mean is, what if you do a little more snooping?  Here’s the kicker which you probably won’t like.”

“Spill it.”

“You continue to live with Wade for a while longer, just until we do a little more research.  This includes you not filing your divorce until you move out.  Do you think you could do this?”  I said.

“How much time are we talking about?”

“This is just a guess, but maybe a month or so?”

“Oh, hell yes.  What’s another month or two when I’ve been in prison for nearly fifty years.”  Gina said.

“For now, we won’t even sign an agreement for my services.  I’ll just have you complete our standard intake form.  But, we can do that later.  Is it okay with you if I buy us a couple of burner phones to communicate?”

“No problem.”

“As we walk out I’ll show you a fake fern on the side porch.  I’ll have your phone with instructions in a box there by this time tomorrow night.  You could come by any time after that and get it.” 

“I’ll call you once I have the phone.” Gina said.

I walked Gina out to her car, pointing out the fern, and told her I appreciated her confidence in my lawyering abilities.  She gave me a hug before getting into her car and driving off.