Tag: The Boaz Safecracker

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.  

The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind.  First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer.  And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.

Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected.  Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973?  Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well?  How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?   

What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.

Chapter 60

When I pulled up in the front yard of Martin Mansion, I saw the entire family, other than Dad, walking towards me on the narrow trail that led to my cabin.  Luke was in the lead.  I reluctantly stepped out of my car.

“Uncle Fred why would the cops want to search your place?”  Oh hell.  Oh hell no.  So that’s where the three squad cars were headed nearly two hours ago?

I said what any innocent man, or one acting innocent, would say.  “What?  They searched my place?  Why?”

By now the darling Deidre was within shouting distance.  “Lucky for you, they didn’t find anything.  What are you hiding down there?”

By the end of three more exchanges, I learned the search warrant had been issued by Marshall County Circuit Judge Broadside.  The six officers had searched both the barn and my cabin.  I couldn’t believe they hadn’t found anything.  Damn good thing I had created a false bottom to the ceiling in the kitchen’s closet.  Otherwise, they would have found Angela’s journals, Dad or Mom’s Smith & Wesson, and a few other stolen items.  I was elated I hadn’t delayed transporting the Rawlins’ stolen coins and jewelry to Colton in Huntsville.

As everybody was walking toward Martin Mansion’s front porch, I pulled Deidre aside and gave her the short version of what I knew.  She seemed oblivious to all things pertaining to Miss Mossie’s trust.  I think I got her attention when I told her that if Tyler were to be out of the picture, Caleb Patterson (and Rebecca if she was his puppet master) would have strong motivation to kill her.

I visited with a tired and groggy Dad a few minutes after Gabby insisted he join the rest of the family on the front porch.  Less than three hours later I slipped into my bed, anxious to end a long Sunday.  I was exhausted.  Especially after a flying trip to Huntsville to meet Vanessa at Pints & Pixels and deliver my two other Smiths. 

What made my tiredness almost pleasurable was revisiting the long phone conversation I had with Bobby during my return drive.  He was the real deal, a true friend.  My confession didn’t faze him, nor did my request he call in a long-existing favor he was owed by the oldest member of the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences Ballistic Division. 

Grayson Bolton was seemingly a man of impeccable character.  I had never met him in person but had a couple of phone conversations over the years concerning cases I was working.   I couldn’t imagine what Bobby had on him.  It didn’t matter.  Grayson had the ballistic reports for every cold case that hovered over Boaz like an eternal fog.  I lay back and realized that when I started repeating myself, the day must end.

At midnight, Rebecca slipped out the back door of the Hunt House.  She smiled as she imagined the satisfaction she would receive when the sign on the front lawn was changed to Aldridge Place.  She eased down the steps and across the wide back yard, through a neighbor’s flower garden and into the parking lot of First Baptist Church of Christ on Snellgrove Avenue.  She passed through a small grove of Blue Hollies and down the step stairs to the basement of the church’s parsonage.

Rebecca couldn’t help but reminisce the many times she had descended these stairs when Wade Tillman, the then teenage son of former pastor Walter Tillman, occupied this house.  Those trysts were a lifetime ago.  Oh, the tragedy of life in a small town, especially one with as many secrets as Boaz, Alabama.  Walter had died in a brutal shootout, Wade was in prison somewhere in Georgia for killing his wife, and poor, but young Warren Tillman was dead, killed just inside the basement, by violence spawned during a home invasion.

Caleb was waiting on the far side of the patio opposite the stairs, and the doorway into the man-cave he had inherited when he became pastor.  He never smoked.  He was smoking.

“Rebecca, I’ve changed my mind.  I can’t do it.  So, save your breath.”  Caleb said between coughs and gasps for air.

“Young man (Caleb was in his mid-forties), you will do exactly what I say, exactly what we agreed on last Thursday.  You’re obviously not very bright.  How in the hell do you think your million-dollar gambling debt will be resolved?  Surely, you don’t think because you’re a man of God, that a miracle will cause it to evaporate.”

“I don’t care.  I can’t and won’t be a part of murder.  Hell, two murders.  No way.  I don’t know what I was thinking the other day when I agreed.”  Rebecca walked over to Caleb, took the pack of Marlboro’s he was holding and lite one for herself. 

“Sit down.”  Rebecca knew she had the gun powder to persuade the two-sided pastor.  Caleb acquiesced and joined Rebecca in the other lawn chair sitting across from two old garbage cans not used since Warren’s death.

“Caleb, it’s high time you’re honest with me.  Angela, God rest her soul, and I know you have been using your sticky fingers with Sunday’s collection plates.  How long do you think you’ll survive when that’s discovered?  Much less, the fact you owe quite a sum up in Tunica?  Answer me truthfully, do you want to continue pastoring?  Anywhere?”

“You know the answer.  There is no more powerful feeling in the world than sharing the Gospel.”  Caleb said.

“Even if you know it isn’t true?”

“That’s a different issue.  It doesn’t matter that it’s a myth, people gain so much peace and comfort from simply believing it to be true.”  Caleb had it figured out.

“Enough of that.  We both have goals here.  You have no choice.  My plan is your ticket out of debt and the only way for you to retain your little hobby.  But, pastor, and a good one you are, let me put it to you even more bluntly.  If you don’t get on board, I will fucking kill you and your family.  You are not going to get in the way of me accomplishing a lifelong goal.  I can’t do this without you.  You and Deidre have a legal right to half the Mosler fortune.  You know Deidre is not motivated to share it with me.  Hell, I wouldn’t want to be partnered with her anyway.”

“You’re forgetting one important component.  Tyler Eubanks.”

“No, I’m not, but maybe you are.  He’s your responsibility.  And Deidre is mine.  This way, let’s just say, we both have a large insurance policy on each other.  A powerful reason to keep our mouths shut.”

“Okay, but leave my family out of it.  And hear me clearly.  After this is over, you stay the hell away from me.  Do you understand?”  Caleb sounded as though he wasn’t afraid of Rebecca.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

Without responding, Rebecca lit another cigarette and walked away, clearing the stairs two at a time, leaving Pastor Caleb holding the half-empty pack of Marlboros.  He read out loud:  “‘Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health.’”  He stood and threw the pack towards the two old garbage cans.  “So is gambling.  So is murder.  Oh God, help me.”

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.  

The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind.  First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer.  And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.

Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected.  Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973?  Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well?  How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?   

What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.

Chapter 59

I didn’t have time to mope about.  Connie had sent me a text as I was coming out the front door of Martin Mansion.  She was now at home.  She said that Rebecca had wanted some time alone.  I shoved my loot onto the top shelf of the kitchen pantry beside Angela’s three high school journals and showered.

I met two Boaz, and one Marshall County patrol cars as I topped the hill beyond Possum Holler on my way to Highway 431.  Exceeding the speed limit and with no sirens blasting, from my experience, usually meant they were headed to make an arrest or to conduct a search.

Connie was extraordinarily frisky.  She no doubt was a fast learner.  She met me at her front door in a see-through pink negligee that eleven times out of ten would normally have caught my complete attention.  Today, I was the one who manipulated the quickie.  As we lay back, exhausted for two sixty-plus geriatric-bound seniors, Connie became verbally inquisitive.  She had already learned a few of my moods.  “Fred, don’t you think we’re at the point in our relationship we should be completely honest with each other?  I know something major is going on and has you fully distracted.”

It was an opportunity I wasn’t expecting.  Good thing I was donning my attorney hat.  As always.  I insisted we leave our love nest, dress, and sit at the dining room table.  I needed to look directly at the lovely Connie.  Me, the expert on body language and voice tone.  I had to know, or at least make an educated guess, whether what I hoped to draw out of my girl was the truth.

Connie made us a pot of coffee while I sat silently, waiting and thinking in the dining room.  I knew if I confessed something private, even incriminating, she would have more motivation to be open and vulnerable.  That’s what I needed.  After burning my tongue on too hot coffee, I said, “I’ve got myself in a mess pursuing my little hobby.”  As expected, Connie asked for more information.

I set the stage admitting to cracking Rebecca, Angela’s, and the church’s Moslers.  I, for the time being, withheld having discovered Connie’s safe, hoping she would admit what she was hiding.  I almost didn’t tell her about my second trip to Debbie Street and the second Smith & Wesson pistol in my growing collection.  I didn’t get within a mile of the Martin Mansion safe.

Bingo, Connie possessed an honest set of genes mixed among those that had mutated at an early age.  “Fred, I need to be more open with you too.  I truly believe that a faithful and loyal relationship cannot long sustain itself without truth and openness.  I care for you and want us to make it.  I’m asking for us, now, to take the next step forward.  Vulnerability allowed, even required, but no judging.  Okay?”

I doubt if I would have agreed if Mother hadn’t gotten my attention.  I had no doubt how I felt about Connie Stewart.  I loved the woman and couldn’t see us being apart.  But, it was like another little demon had raised its head and was driving me to discover the full truth.  Had my mother killed Johnny Stewart, or someway been a contributing factor in his death going on fifty years ago?  “No judging.  Vulnerable.  Agreed.”

It took Connie a while to reach the top of the mountain.  I kept feeding her morsels to energize her journey.  After I confessed to having stolen the coins and jewelry from Elton and Rebecca’s safe, Connie said, “kind of serves her right.  She stole them from Uncle James.”

I blurted out, “I thought Elton and Doug were the key suspects?”  After I shared a little about how I had reached that conclusion, Connie seemed to relax.

“Fred, I have been a fool many times in my life but the worst thing, other than overstaying my welcome at First Baptist Church and stealing the coins and jewelry to start with, was aiding and abetting Rebecca and Angela in their lifelong quest to con Elton and Doug.”

“What do you mean?”  It was a naturally appropriate question.

“Oh, I forgot, and their real mission to square the corners with your sister.”  Connie added after my interruption.

“Again, what do you mean?”

“Before my handsome and athletic cousin discovered your little sister, Rebecca and Angela had the hots for him.  If anyone that knew them had to guess, they would say that Angela was a few yards ahead of Rebecca in her desire for Romeo.  But, that wouldn’t be true.  It was Rebecca.  Elton and Doug liked to play games with the younger girls.  They introduced Rebecca and Angela, girls ten years their junior, to Ludes, you know, Quaaludes.  They were popular at the time and Doug being a pharmacist had easy access.  The two idiots thought they were gods, manipulating the minds and bodies of their underlings.”

“Did the two perverts take advantage of Rebecca and Angela?”  I had to know.

“That would almost make the story more acceptable.  They preferred the boys.  They preferred my cousin.  But, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”  Connie was setting the pace.  I kind of liked that.

“How did Elton and Doug pull this off?  It seems to me they had to have a near-perfect opportunity.  They couldn’t just show up at Rebecca’s or Angela’s houses and say, ‘let’s party.’”

“You’re right.  It was after Wednesday night Bible study, at the Lighthouse.  Pastor Randy had fell for Elton and Doug’s ‘love my Jesus’ line and trusted them fully.  After he presented the lesson he would skip out and leave the shop to the two perverts.  Seems like Rebecca and Angela fell under their spell.”

“I suspect you are going to tell me they invited a few others as time went on?  Right?”

“They did.  It was three football stars: my dear cousin Johnny, Allan Floyd, and Tommy Jones.  The party became Rebecca and Angela’s heaven on earth.  You can probably paint your own picture.”  Connie said, smiling with that curled up and sexy lip.  I thought she might pull me back under the sheets.

“Let me guess.  Then all hell broke loose.”  I was confident in my prediction skills.

“Yep, and don’t ask me how it happened.  Your little sister stayed past her bedtime one Wednesday night.  I suspect she had caught the eye of either Elton or Doug, maybe both.  They wanted to see her perform or be performed on.  You get it.  Oh, Johnny boy fell for sweet Deidre and the hate seeds sprouted.”

“So, what triggered a lifelong plan to square the corners as you say, was nothing but good old jealousy?”

“It’s one of the most powerful emotions yet discovered.”

“A while ago you mentioned Rebecca’s and Angela’s goal of conning Elton and Doug.”

“If the introduction of Deidre to the party wasn’t enough to sprout revenge, cancellation of their tickets was a guarantee.”  Connie said, still blowing coolness on her hot coffee.

“You’ve confused me.  Tickets?”  I wanted it framed in simple terms.

“Rebecca and Angela were no longer invited.  They weren’t allowed to stay for the party.  This was the point my two friends, God help me, drove a stake in the front lawns of both the older perverts, and committed they would die before they, here we go again, squared the corners.  Of course, as always, things have evolved over fifty years.”

“Can I guess?  The two marriages were both part of the con?”

“Oh, hell yes.  Elton and Doug had no choice.”

“Explain my dear, I’m lost.”

“I may have misled you just a little.  Elton and Doug were bisexual it seems.  When the stakes were driven, Rebecca and Angela started their snooping and spying.  It wasn’t long until they witnessed Elton and Doug kidnap a young Hispanic girl after a hometown football game.  I can’t think of her name.  Esmeralda, I think.  No, that’s another story.”

“So, many years after that, the two forced Elton and Doug to marry them.  Correct?” 

“Yes.  Don’t ask me why they waited so long.”  Connie said, refilling our coffee cups.

I finally confessed to discovering the three Smith & Wessons and divulged my desire to determine if either of them was a murder weapon.  We listed the five unsolved murder cases that hovered above Boaz like an eternal fog: Johnny Stewart, Allan Floyd, Tommy Jones, Ricky Miller, and Randy Miller.  The latter murder coming a good fifteen years after the cluster of the first four.

I interrupted Connie when she repeated something Rebecca had said this morning.  “That sounds like Rebecca blamed Angela for taking Johnny away.”

“I’ve never seen Rebecca so pissed.  What seemed so strange, it was only a few hours after Angela’s body had been discovered.”

Even though I knew quite a bit about Carson Eubanks and the intended flow of Miss Mossie’s money after her death, I let Connie tell me all she knew.  My mind wandered back to the times Noah and I had spent with Ricky Miller.  I loved the man because he was my hero, unafraid of facing the cold, harsh reality that Christianity was a myth.  When Connie said, “Their trip to Cincinnati changed everything.”

“Sorry, I missed that.  Who’s trip?”

“Fred, are you getting tired?  You want to take a break?”  Connie’s lip curled.  I was still exhausted from our last workout.  

“No, I’m fine.”

Connie then shared how the snooping and spying Rebecca and Angela had learned the truth about Deidre and her two babies.  Connie wasn’t sure when they learned how wealthy Miss Mossie really was.  Someway, Connie knew the exact language from Miss Mossie’s trust.  I’ve been shocked before, many times, but what Connie said next sent lightning up my spine. “Fred, here’s what I think is going on, but I don’t have any proof.  I believe Tyler and Deidre are in danger.  As we just discussed, Miss Mossie’s trust leaves everything to Carson.  Now, he’s dead.  That leaves Tyler.  He seems fine, but if you consider what would happen if he weren’t alive it could bode bad for Deidre if there is a snake in the oil.”

“The lightning had turned south and was now traveling down my spine.  But, I played it cool.  “I’m not sure what you mean, even though the canvas before me was all blue clouds and sunshine.

“What if Rebecca and Caleb or just Caleb for that matter, plotted to get their hands on the money.  Again, if Tyler is dead, Miss Mossie left all her millions to Caleb and Deidre.”

“There’s another possibility.  What if Caleb and Deidre knew how Miss Mossie’s trust worked?”

“You could be right but my best guess ties Rebecca and Caleb.  Gosh, you are the attorney.  What if I told you Pastor Caleb has a gambling problem?  Would that change your guess, especially now that you know the hatred Rebecca, and Angela for that matter, had for your sister?”

“That does seem to paint it differently.”  Right as the words left my lips my iPhone vibrated.  I had sat it on the table, face down.  I turned it over and looked.  It was Deidre.  “We’re home.  Dad is so tired.  I’m a little worried about him.”

I showed Connie the text and dismissed myself.  “I’ll call you later.  I wish I could stay but feel I need to warn my sister.  I also need to see Dad.”

“While you’re doing that, I’m going to try to find Tyler.  Something has me worried.”  Connie said, giving me a quick hug and telling me she loved me before I walked out her front door.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.  

The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind.  First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer.  And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.

Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected.  Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973?  Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well?  How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?   

What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.

Chapter 58

As I rolled the baby Mosler out of its little alcove, I pondered how Dad ever got it down those stairs.  Although it wasn’t the behemoth the T20s were, no man could come close to carrying it across a level and unobstructed surface, much less down a steep staircase.  I concluded it had most likely been deposited down here during the time of the second renovation of Martin Mansion.  The one-room cabin, which Dad used as a library, was part of the original structure.  Great-granddad Stonewall had added on not long after Granddad Fredrick moved to Cincinnati in 1919.  Then, in the early fifties, when Dad and Mom moved to Boaz to take care of Stonewall, another, more elaborate, addition and renovation took place.  The last is a U-shaped structure built around the existing rectangular dwelling.  It was odd, no doubt, Stonewall’s way, the cabin’s back wall remained exposed to the outside, leaving the original back door.  I reminded myself my conclusions were often wrong, and that I often possessed less than all the relevant facts.

It wasn’t a key Dad had hung on a tiny nail driven into the back side of a stair riser.  It looked like a piece of old cardboard.  The safe’s combination was scrawled in heavy pencil in large numbers on the card hung nearly a foot above my head.  I almost didn’t see it.  I guess Dad thought there was little chance anyone would find out about the hidden door to the cellar, much less see the card that was virtually the same color as the pine board it was attached to.

I reviewed and memorized the Mosler’s combination and bent down to turn the dial.  Just as I completed the third spin, my cell phone vibrated.  I stood and removed my iPhone from my left-hand pants pocket.  It was Bobby Sorrells.  My first choice was to ignore the call and lean over and pull open the old Mosler’s heavy door.  With the news of Angela’s death, one I was framing as mysterious, I chose to answer.

“Hey Bobby.”

“Can you talk?  In private?”  He asked.

“Yes, I’m alone.”

“I just returned from Dayton, Ohio.  I had to fly back up to meet with the defense attorneys I’m working for.  Once again, I had a lull in my schedule and decided to drive down to Cincinnati.”  Bobby paused.

“What prompted you to do that?”

“You know me.  When I’ve started a new painting, I can’t quit until the canvas is complete.  Every picture tells a story.”  I could hear something in the background.  Music.

“Did you learn anything interesting?”  I ignored the music.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.  I just report what I discover.”  The music faded.  Bobby must have turned down his radio if that’s what it was.  I suspected he was driving.

“Okay.”

“You remember hundred-year-old Lessie Bouldin?”

“Wasn’t she Miss Mossie’s neighbor?  Lived across the street?” 

“Yep.  I spent the best part of yesterday morning with her.  The old woman has a mind like a steel trap.”

“What did she catch?  That’s relevant to me?  I was feeling the need to finish my exploration of the old Mosler and skedaddle back upstairs and out the back door of Martin Mansion.

“It’s a small world.  Your friends, Carson Eubanks, Rebecca Rawlins, and Caleb Patterson, all came for a visit Thursday afternoon.  Miss Lessie didn’t know them but seems she used an iPhone 10 to make some pretty good pictures.  I’ve confirmed it to be those three.”

“That’s really strange.  I could see why Carson would visit his mother, but what brought the other two along?”  I asked.

“Great question.  It gets stranger still.  Miss Lessie said around 4:00 that afternoon, Carson left in a taxi and the other two, she had to be referring to Rebecca and Caleb, stayed.  Keep in mind Miss Mossie was very sick.”

“Not any longer.  You didn’t know she died?”  The look on Tyler’s face at the pond when he shared the text he received from his father was still clearly impressed on my mind.

“No, I finished up about five yesterday afternoon.  I’ve been driving back ever since, except for the half-day I spent sleeping at the Day’s Inn south of Nashville.”

“I’m not sure when Miss Mossie died.  Tyler, Carson’s son, learned about it yesterday.  I don’t know when his father found out.  Now that you know this, does it strike you as just a little strange she died shortly after the three of them visited?”  I asked.

“I agree, but what makes it more suspicious to me is that Carson left Rebecca and Caleb at his mother’s alone.”  I heard a dinging sound.  “Hey, let’s talk later, I’ve got to unload some coffee.”

“Okay, I need to go too.  But quick.  You know Carson is very sick.  He could have gotten to feeling really bad and had to leave.”

“That sounds reasonable, but why wouldn’t all three of them leave at the same time?”  I heard Bobby’s car door slam.

“I didn’t think to ask Miss Lessie how the three of them got to Miss Mossie’s.  I just assumed they drove.  All together.

“Take care of your business and let me know if you think of anything else.  Thanks for calling.”

After ending the call, I bent back down and pulled on the Mosler’s heavy door.  I heard a fifty-year creak.  It was a term granddad Fredrick had taught me during my summer visit to Cincinnati in 1972 after I graduated high school.  He had said, “if a safe door hasn’t been opened in half a century, it will croak like a frog.”  I concluded this baby had been left to sleep quite a while.

Another shock.  This time bigger than when I had stumbled upon the old Mosler a few minutes ago.  Laying on top of a box with dimensions about the size of a sheet of letter paper, lay a pistol.  I removed it, using my handkerchief.  I already knew it was virtually identical to the other two Smith & Wesson’s I had recently discovered, both, also safely secured inside a beautiful Mosler.  My gut stood up and spoke, announcing this was my third time to step into a pile of you know what.  By now, I was down on one knee.  I laid the pistol on the floor to the side of the Mosler, careful to protect it with my handkerchief.

As I removed the rectangular box, I knew it contained, or originally contained, stationary.  Until now, I had failed to notice the box was a lightly-shaded mauve color.  The lid was tight, and I almost had to tear back the four corners to lift it off the underlying box.  Inside, given the weight, I had expected to see nearly a full box of unused paper, mauve-colored just like the letter Luke had shared with me at Martin pond yesterday morning.

Instead, I saw a typed letter addressed to Julia Stewart.  At the bottom, it was signed, “Harriet Martin.”  It seemed Mother had written at least two letters to Connie’s aunt, Johnny Stewart’s mother, and had refused to mail them both. 

For some reason, before reading, I removed the letter, laid it beside the pistol, and saw a photograph laying quietly in the mauve-colored box.  I couldn’t have been more surprised if Dad’s voice had suddenly shouted down to me from the top of the stairs.  I had no doubt the camera that had made the picture was once mine, a gift from Dad on my seventeenth birthday, August 13, 1971.  The camera was a Polaroid, it’s first generation of instant cameras.

The real shock came from what the camera had captured.  It was an X-rated photo.  I could make out Deidre, Rebecca, Angela, a Hispanic-looking girl, and Randy Miller.  They were all skimpily dressed, laid back on two couches that formed an L.  There was also an extra leg sticking out on the floor from behind the left side of the couches, and an extra arm and hand on the right side.  So strange.  Who were those two?

How on earth did Mother, if it were Mother, snap this photograph?  I could understand how the sound of the camera wouldn’t have alarmed any of the half-crazed bodies.  I tried to put myself in Mother’s shoes.  Not only would she have solid reason to dislike, even hate, the philandering Johnny Stewart (Deidre was laying in his lap.  I suspected she was naked under that old Army jacket spread across her midsection).  But, Mother would also have a strong reason to despise Randy Miller.  Seeing him in this scene must have shocked Mother.  She loved him and had full faith in his quest as youth pastor to guide her daughter and all the Church’s young people down the narrow pathway towards Heaven.

My memory pushed forward the word “Ludes.”  And, the closer I examined the photo, the clearer my memory became.  It was taken inside the Lighthouse.   If taken by Mother, how had she pulled this off?  An even closer look at the photo suggested that it wasn’t Randy Miller.  It was Ricky Miller.  The two brothers were virtual twins.

Things became crystal clear when I read the note scrawled across the back of the photo.  “Deidre’s world is a disaster.  She’s ruining her life.  I won’t have it.”  Mother had initialed the photo and dated it.  October 12, 1973.

I exchanged the photo for Mother’s letter.  I started to read and was quickly confused.  It was addressed to Julia Stewart, but the salutation was to Bill, Julia’s husband.  The letter was confusing at best, but one thing seemed obvious.  Mother and Bill Stewart had a plan to teach their children a lesson.  I remembered Mother had served on the Church’s finance committee during my senior year.  Bill had served as chairman for as many years as I could recall.  The two must have connected someway.

The letter was dated Wednesday, October 10, 1973.  The letter was written as though Mother was the leader.  She told Bill to meet Friday night behind the ice house alongside the railroad track.  Mother even emphasized that Bill wear dark clothing.    She said “the kids won’t see us, but we can see them as they come from the football stadium in Johnny’s old Bonneville.  After they pass, we’ll walk to the Safe House.”  It was then I started to sense I understood the context of what I was reading.  The letter was written two days before a football game.  My gut told me it was the Albertville/Boaz game, the very night Johnny and his two friends were murdered.  I became semi-nauseous when I read Mother’s final sentence: “I’ll bring a pistol, you bring the rope.”

My growing anticipation I was about to need a bathroom persuaded me to skip my usual pondering.  Yet, out of habit, I did turn the letter over.  On the back, printed in pencil along the bottom was, “Original, copy to Bill.  Things didn’t go as planned.” 

I quickly made the decision not to return the items to the safe.  I laid all items in the mauve-colored box, including the pistol, careful not to touch the old Smith.  I closed the Mosler, spun the dial, and raced upstairs to the closest bathroom.

Instead of throwing up, my bowels opened.  Strange how emotional shock can trigger such violent physical reactions.  As I sat on the toilet in Mother’s tiny bathroom right off the kitchen, I couldn’t help but ponder what I had just discovered.  I knew I was jumping to conclusions, but it certainly appeared Mother and Bill Stewart had something to do with the death of his son Johnny.  I knew it was a leap but, “I’ll bring a pistol, you bring the rope,” was more than mildly incriminating, especially since the word was, Johnny was both shot and hung.  Finally, Mother’s note that “Things didn’t go as planned” to me at least, was even more damning. 

Twenty minutes later walking towards my cabin uneasily toting the loot I had lifted from Martin Mansion, it began to rain at the same time my iPhone once again vibrated in my pocket.  I shifted the box from my left hand to my right and pulled out the little beast.  It was Noah.

“Yep.”  My greeting was short as I questioned why I had even answered.

“I’m fighting fires and don’t have any time for questions.  Just wanted you to know that Carson Eubanks is dead.”

Right as I was halfway through asking Noah when Carson had passed away, the call ended.  I tried calling him back but received his voicemail.

I walked up the two steps to my porch and felt like I was stepping off a cliff.  My world, things happening to me and around me, were more out of control than at any time in my life.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.  

The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind.  First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer.  And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.

Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected.  Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973?  Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well?  How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?   

What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.

Chapter 57

Sunday morning, I woke to an empty bed, not my own.  Sunlight was streaming along the edges of the closed, natural oak blinds.  Connie could never stay in bed this late, even for a repeat intimacy lesson.  Wow, Connie sure was a fast learner.

Just as I was pulling on a pair of running shorts, shame I wasn’t a runner, Connie came in her master bedroom looking like she had a different take on last night’s session.  “Angels a dad.”  I shook my head.  I was only half awake.  My ears must have been still asleep.  Connie saw my face, my confusion.

“Fred, listen.  Concentrate.  Angela is dead.”  

She walked closer.  “Did you understand?  Angela is dead.  Mr. Hayes across the street shared the news.  We both were outside fetching our newspapers.”

“How, what happened?  She looked healthy as a horse.”  That was a little disrespectful.

“Owen said he had heard it at McDonald’s.  You know, old men love coffee and gossip.”

“So, it might not be true?”  I was still a little mentally wobbly.

“Seems it is.  I’m calling Rebecca, she’ll know.” 

I walked to the kitchen and poured a large cup of black coffee.  After Connie motioned me away, I returned to Connie’s bathroom for a shower.  As I walked by her giant closet I almost entered to take another peak inside her old Mosler.  I changed my mind and ambled out to the sun room while she completed her call sitting in the den.

A few minutes later, Connie joined me in the sun room’s swing.  “Rebecca said she received a call from the Boaz Police Department this morning that Angela Barber had called 911 a little before 3:00 a.m. saying she was dying.  The police found a note saying she, Angela, couldn’t live with herself any longer, now that Doug’s gun had been stolen.  The note asked the police to call Rebecca and tell her she was sorry.”

I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the strange coincidences.  If someone wanted to kill themselves, why would she call the police and run the risk of them thwarting her plan?  Also, I was curious how, and when, Angela had discovered the gun was missing.  Doug’s gun.  Even that, saying the gun was Doug’s felt odd.  “Not to be too morbid, but did the police say how Angela died?  What killed her.”  I had to ask.

“Overdose.  When the police arrived, she was lying on her couch.  There was an empty bottle of Ludes.  I hadn’t heard that word in years.  The real term is Quaalude or Methaqualone.  It’s a drug, I don’t think it’s a barbiturate, but still, it depresses the central nervous system.  It was popular back in the late sixties and early seventies.  Doug must have kept a stash of them.”

As I was listening to Connie’s long description, my gut took a nose dive.  My conclusion wasn’t close to scientific but every time in the past this had happened, I knew I was on the right trail, the one that would lead to a truthful discovery.  Vanessa’s statement paraphrases her mother, “Elton Rawlins dies in that mysterious car wreck in Foley, and then Doug Barber is murdered.  There’s got to be a connection.”   My gut was telling me the deaths of the two bastards Noah and I learned to hate as high school football players, was somehow connected to Angela’s suicide.  Unsurprisingly, I felt my lawyer hat sit tighter on my head.  Suicide?  Who says Angela died by her own hand?

Connie wouldn’t have it any other way.  While I pondered her Birmingham News, Connie showered and dressed.  Ten minutes later, she stuck her head through the door and announced she was headed to Rebecca’s.  “We’ve lost our best friend.  Sorry, but we have to bear this burden side by side.  I’ll call you later.”

By six-thirty, I was inside Martin Mansion.  No security system to deal with.  Dad had given me a key when I moved to Boaz in 2014.  Even without it, Dad, and his dad, and probably his dad, had always kept a front door key hidden, hanging on a nail inside the old well-house.

It was the weekend of the family’s annual pilgrimage to Panama City Beach, Florida.  Ever since I had moved back to Boaz, I had joined Dad (mother when she was alive), Deidre and Ed, and their kids and grandkids for a long and relaxing four days and nights at the Beachside Resort.  But, this year was different.  There was simply too much family tension for me to endure.  Now, standing, pondering the same smells, silent sounds, and furniture arrangement in the grand living room, I’m reminded of Dad’s plea on Thursday for me to come along to Florida.  I felt so damned selfish.  A sinking feeling washed all over me; this could be his last trip to the Gulf, or, anywhere outside Boaz.  Mother’s death, and probably mine and Deidre’s ongoing rift, was wearing him down.

No doubt it was Luke’s discovery, that mauve-colored letter he had read to me during our last time fishing, that triggered the little demon’s prodding.  What else might I find inside Martin Mansion?

I walked out of the living room, through the kitchen, and down a long narrow hallway to Dad’s study, a converted little room in the center of Martin Mansion that was the front room of the original cabin great-granddad Stonewall had built in the late years of the nineteenth century. 

I sat at Dad’s old oak desk, a gift from his father before I was born.  The middle drawer was locked but that didn’t deter me.  Dad would never carry the key around with him.  He hung keys on nails.  I walked over to a closet with a rugged pine door oddly built.  With a eight to ten inch wide board across the top to give the door the needed height.  It was like the builder, Stonewall Martin, didn’t have long enough vertical boards.  Or this was just his way.

I opened the door and saw several of Dad’s old coats and pants, clothes he used working outside in the garden.  I felt along the inside of the door frame thinking this was a good place to hang a key.  I pushed Dad’s clothes back to the right.  No key on the left wall.  Then, pushed them back to the left.  No key.  But, there was another door.  Similar to the oddly built closet door.  Strange.

I stepped over several pairs of Dad’s boots and turned the white marble-looking door knob.  It easily turned but I had to put a little shoulder into forcing the door open.  I almost lost my balance when the door suddenly swung forward.  If the light from Dad’s westward facing windows hadn’t been at the right angle I would likely have stepped off into an open stairwell. 

I activated my iPhone’s flashlight, and eased down the stairs.  When I reached the bottom, I pulled a string attached to a simple, one-bulb socket.  It dawned on me I was standing in the original cellar of that first log cabin built when Stonewall, wife, and litter of kids arrived from Wadley, Alabama in the mid-1890’s.  I could recall only one time I had ever been down here.  In front of me was a set of shelves holding a few old jars of canned peaches.  On the lid was scrawled 1974.

I turned and walked toward the rear of the cellar, what would be the rear of Dad’s overhead library, around a giant hand-cut post holding up an equally giant hand-cut beam.  I couldn’t have been more shocked if I had seen a mountain lion.  She was nestled under the staircase and semi-hidden by a wall of horizontally nailed pine boards, probably from the same stack of wood Stonewall had used to build his oddly constructed doors.  The safe was the smallest version the Mosler Company had built until a few years ago.  A baby compared to all the Model T20’s that I knew were popular in at least three local residences and one church. 

I had been a member of the Martin family for almost sixty-four years.  How was it that I had never heard there was a Mosler buried in the bowels of Martin Mansion?

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.  

The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind.  First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer.  And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.

Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected.  Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973?  Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well?  How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?   

What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.

Chapter 56

At 4:20, I shot up out of my recliner like I had been stung by a wasp.  Angela was at Rebecca’s.  It was a long shot but one I had to take.  For weeks now, my mind had been feeding me subtle urges to return to Debbie Street to determine whether the virtual twin to the pistol I had removed from the church’s basement was still resting in its original box.  I didn’t believe my uninvited visit would prove productive.  I knew the Sand Mountain Reporter had not printed anything about a burglary at the Doug and Angela Barber residence.  But, I also knew Angela couldn’t help but know.

I grabbed my burglar bag from the kitchen pantry and was out the door in less than a minute.  During the drive, I pondered how odd it was that my mind was always working behind the scenes.  I didn’t know where I was when the thought arrived that I needed to approach Angela’s house from a different direction.  Last time, walking up Debbie Street from a not-so-good parking spot along the edge of the golf course, was simply too risky.  At work last week, out of the blue, I had looked at Google Maps on my iPhone and saw that the gods had truly smiled on me.  Debbie Street backed up to a patch of woods.  Clear Creek and the railroad track cross these woods.  Further back is Fox Run Apartments.  The plan that mysteriously appeared last week, was to drive to Coosa Road and leave my car parked in the residents parking lot at Fox Run Apartments.  I would hike through the small patch of woods, cross the railroad tracks and Clear Creek, and appear in Angela’s back yard with hardly a chance anyone would see me.  Piece of cake.

Other than a heavy-set older man walking an equally heavy-set bulldog, I didn’t see anyone as I entered the Fox Run parking lot.  I passed the front two buildings and parked in one of two empty spots along the south side of the six-apartment building along the rear of the complex.  It was only fifty feet or so to the edge of the woods.  I pulled on my black toboggan after crossing the railroad track.  The creek was mostly dry, thus resolving the only issue I felt I might incur in the woods.

As always, burglars, criminals, fail to anticipate all relevant variables.  It shouldn’t have happened.  I had forgotten the tall wooden fence around the Barber’s pool.  I saw it when I reached the edge of their back yard.  The fence spanned almost the full length of the sprawling ranch house forcing me to tiptoe through a neighbor’s yard until I reached the front of a detached garage that I didn’t remember. 

Ignoring known facts was also a common career flaw for many burglars, including me.  Reason and logic would say I shouldn’t be here.  I already knew it was unlikely that Angela would still be using her old Mosler.  Heck, someone, yours truly, had burned a rectangular-shaped hole in the back of the safe.  I assumed it would still be in her garage but be empty.  I couldn’t recall exactly what my little demon had said during my drive over.  Something like, “I just talked with a still arrogant Doug.  He’s watching and daring you to return.”  I had always liked a challenge, and I had my own dare for the asshole Doug: “fly on down here.  I can still invade the world that rejected you.  I’ll be in and out before you arrive.”  I was becoming more delusional by the day.

I was a little surprised Angela hadn’t installed an alarm system, especially after my prior burglary.  But, I was glad I had brought Noah’s device, what he referred to as Eagle Eye.  Not only could it detect the presence of any security system, it now could discover gold and silver.  Bloodhound nose.  Noah’s term.  When I relayed my idea a few days ago of returning to Doug and Angela’s, he had confessed he had tweaked his little patented, but not-yet-promoted, toy.  He had said the best security systems used either gold or silver to cast the internal, most sensitive cogs and levers.  “All I had to do was install a nose.  The damn thing already had two eyes.”  I hadn’t asked any questions. 

Almost effortlessly, after an easy breach of Angela’s back door, I found the near-perfect pistol box on the top shelf of her bedroom closet.  Fortunately, the old Smith & Wesson was resting soundly on the soft velvet liner inside the original container.  I was almost back out in the hallway when Eagle Eye pinged.  It sounded more like a sniff.  I almost laughed out loud.  I removed the cell phone like device from my pocket.  Noah had asked me to bring him a souvenir, thinking Angela might have a solid gold or silver ring or watch.  The latter is what he hoped for—something else for him to dissect. 

The ping and sniff grew louder when I turned toward an old mahogany wardrobe, armoire, I think their called.  I pulled open the two tall doors and saw nothing but clothes hanging across a rack.  The pinging sniff grew even louder.  I laid Eagle Eye Bloodhound Nose down underneath the clothes and started feeling around behind several hat boxes according to the pictures.  Just as I started to remove my hand, my mind had sent a sensation of a giant rat trap tripping and slicing through my left hand’s middle finger, I felt something hard wrapped up in what seemed to be a silk scarf or handkerchief.  It was neither, maybe a cut out piece of an old dress.  The item was a silver locket.  Inside, was the smiling face of the woman I had lived with for nearly forty years.  The woman who, I guess like the rest of us, kept at least one secret.  I didn’t dare linger looking at her gorgeously sexy body. 

All I could think about as I turned left on Coosa Road exiting the apartment complex was how Angela (and probably Rebecca) had been able to access Connie’s house, which had a decently sophisticated alarm system, and remove the silver locket which seemed to be trying to tell me a story.  Crossing Highway 431, I kept wondering if Connie had left the locket sitting on her nightstand, or maybe the kitchen counter for anyone with sticky fingers to grab, or whether the two little witches had magical powers to open old, but reliably secure, Mosler safes.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.  

The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind.  First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer.  And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.

Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected.  Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973?  Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well?  How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?   

What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.

Chapter 55

Ever since returning from my meeting with Vanessa two days ago, I had avoided Connie.  Two could play the game she had been foisting on me since Aunt Julia’s funeral.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with her, even the damn quickies were satisfying to a desperate man.  It was that lifelong feeling I acquired every time I knew someone, especially someone I cared about, was lying to me.  I now knew, didn’t I?, that Connie had been involved with the burglary of First Baptist Church in the Fall of 1973.  Damn, I had visible proof of that.

But, I needed equally reliable proof of something else.  Why in the hell would I be up at 3:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning getting ready to crack another safe?  No doubt, I was close to crazy.  The answer wasn’t one specific thing.  Even before Vanessa had mentioned her mother and what she had shared with her from the Sand Mountain Reporter articles and hearsay (reconstituted rumors to the near deaf Clara Reed), I had a growing suspicion about Rebecca Rawlins and Angela Barber, but especially Rebecca.  “Elton Rawlins dies in that mysterious car wreck in Foley and then Doug Barber is murdered.” Vanessa had said, paraphrasing her mother.  The younger Reed had also said, I thought it funny when she said it, joking about her ninety-year old mother’s hearing, “Whether cars or cannons, the Aldridge girl (Rebecca’s maiden name) gets the job done.”  I had asked Vanessa what she thought her mother had heard, and what this statement meant.  Vanessa was clear, “rumor is, and it could be one mother rebuilt as she heard it, Rebecca got rid of her husband and Angela’s.”

This, plus a bunch of other clues from Angela’s journals, from Rebecca herself, accidentally or intentionally revealing the sordid news about Deidre, and her fiddling with her damn locket that now seemed to match one that my dear Susan had earned, was why I had to revisit 208 Thomas Avenue and explore a second safe in the Rawlins home.  Not to mention some things that one or both mysterious women might have done: the theft of the Smith & Wesson from Noah’s parents’ house, and the reappearance of the coins and jewelry in my barn loft.  All of this had awakened my little demon, the one who didn’t understand no.  I was thankful Connie had mentioned yesterday in a text that Rebecca and Angela were in Tunica, Mississippi feeding a newly developed habit.

Right as I put my burglar bag in my trunk, I felt my iPhone vibrate in my front left pocket.  Who the hell is calling me this early?  It was Connie.  It was only 3:10. Something was wrong.  Damn, I had to answer.

“Connie, what’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry Fred for calling this early.  Nothing is wrong except my conscience.  I really need to talk with you.  Now that you’re awake, please?”  She sounded so desperate.  And sweet.  And sexy.  No way I could resist the lovely and lying Connie.  I’m ahead of schedule.  I’ll talk a few minutes and continue my mission.  I gently closed my trunk lid and eased around and into the driver’s seat. 

“No problem, baby.  I’ve been thinking about you.”  This was true.

“Please know this is not going to be easy for me or you.  Here goes, because I believe we are working to create something special, at least to me, and I feel I can trust you.”

“You should know by now how I value open, even blunt, communications.”  This was also true I thought, well, mostly.  “I have to admit it took something monumental to provide the courage to have this conversation.”  No doubt, Connie was struggling, and hesitant to jump in the pool. 

“I’ve discovered a locket of mine is missing.  Oh, that didn’t come out right.  I’m not at all thinking you took it, God no.”

“Baby, relax.  Let me say something before you pain yourself any further.  Connie Stewart, I love you.”  This was true.  “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for some time but have been a scared cat.”

“Thanks, dear, I feel the same, okay, I can say it.  I love you Fred Martin.  And damn (I’d never heard the lovely Connie say a single curse word), that’s what is making this so hard.”

“Baby, listen.  I’m giving you the green light.  Spill the beans.  We can deal with the mess.”  My words sounded encouraging.  I didn’t know what a mess awaited us two lovebirds.

“This may sound strange but I’m unsure where I last left my locket.  To be truthful, it really wasn’t my locket.  It was one, let me say for now, that I acquired by less than honorable means.  Fred, I so regret this, but the locket contained a naked picture of your dear Susan.”

For some reason, Connie shared with me a story virtually identical to the one Deidre had poured down my throat just a week ago.  By now, I had come back inside the cabin to sit in my recliner.  I just listened.  I again felt so rejected and deceived by the woman I had spent over forty years with, dating and married.  Finally, Connie said, “Baby, I’m sorry.  I know how shocking this must be.”

“Don’t even worry about it.  This isn’t new news.  Question, isn’t it possible you’ve just misplaced the locket?  You did say you weren’t sure where you last left it.”

“I’m nearly certain it was locked in my safe, but I have to admit, I’ve taken it out a few times, since we started dating.  My sensitive conscience alive and, I guess, demanding I consider whether I should share the damn locket with you.”  Connie was becoming more human.

I came within a hair of assisting Connie with her investigation.  I could have told her the damn locket wasn’t in her safe ten days ago.  I resisted the urge.  “Maybe it will show up today, just keep looking.”  I could be encouraging.

“No, I’m positive somebody has taken it.  And, that’s the other thing I wanted to get off my chest.”

“The green light is still burning.”  I said, liking the word picture, reminded that Noah, too, would enjoy the phrase.

 “Ever since Aunt Julia had her stroke, and all during her sickness, death, and funeral, it’s like I’ve been living in another world.  A world I’ve spent over forty years trying to forget.”  Connie paused, still, no doubt, reluctant to be fully open.  “What I’m about to tell you might surface at some point.  Fred, I don’t want anything to come between us.  Finally, I’m nearly sixty-four, and I’ve found the man I want to be with.  He just happens to be the wrong man from so many angles.”

“Thanks for finding me so special, and so,” I paused, “so wrong.”

“No, again that didn’t come out right.  What I meant is that you, innocently, and unknowingly, are so close to some deeply buried secrets that might someday be torpedoing to the surface.”

“My dear, you’ve got me fully confused.  I feel like I’m in the wrong courtroom.

“Here goes, again.  Johnny Stewart, my sweet but manipulative cousin, God rest his soul, and I did a very stupid thing many years ago.  You may recall a burglary that took place, you were probably in college at Auburn, but it was well publicized.  First Baptist Church of Christ was the victim.  Johnny and I, along with his two best buddies, overstayed our welcome one Wednesday night.  We took some coins and jewelry from the church’s safe, down in the basement of the old sanctuary.  I’d rather not say how we got the combination.  Anyway, it’s a long story and I’m willing to tell you everything I know, if you want to hear it, which I doubt you will since you will now leave me since you’re aware I’m a thief, and, come to think of it, a liar.”

“Hey baby, slow down on your conclusions.  A stupid mistake when you were still a kid is, quite frankly, irrelevant to who you are today.  And that woman is who I love.”  Damn, here’s my chance.  “Baby, I’d like you also to slow down in another department.  Connie, will you let me show you how two people in love make real love, and enjoy real intimacy?”

“Gosh, you are the master at changing the subject.”  Connie semi-forced me to give her a step-by-step description of what I desired under the sheets.  I was a little surprised she was fully willing to give it her best shot.  Who says I could ever lose my persuasive charm.

Several minutes ago, I had noticed it was approaching 3:50 a.m.  I needed to be leaving soon to keep my planned schedule at 208 Thomas Avenue.

I wasn’t the only one who could jump subjects.  Connie, no doubt, assumed I had all the time in the world.  It was Saturday morning, early.  “Honey, if it wasn’t for Aunt Julia and Uncle Bill, I might have spent ten or twenty years, maybe more, in prison.”

“Confused again.  Explain?  Quickly?  I can barely hold my eyes open.”  I really needed to be going.

“I don’t know exactly what Uncle Bill knew or did.  You know he was Chairman of the church’s Finance Committee during that time?”

“I think I recall that.”

“Johnny finally told him and Aunt Julia.  Either way, the two of them had the ability to make us cousins comfortable with confessing our crimes.  We knew they loved us with all their heart.  I was like a daughter to them.  Long story short, by the way I’m getting sleepy too, Aunt Julia took the coins and the jewelry to her brother, my Uncle James in Fort Payne, for safe keeping.  At least that was the plan.”

“Did the plan go awry?”  From Connie’s tone, I was certain the story was about to get messier.

“Oh hell, did it?”  Wow.  Connie could cuss.  “Less than two hours after Aunt Julia and Uncle Bill dropped the loot off at Uncle James’ and left, he was robbed by two men wearing black ski masks.  They roughed him up and forced him to hand over the coins and jewelry.  They never asked for the cash.”

“What cash?”  I already knew the answer.

“Oh, I forgot, sorry, to mention that us burglars found a shit pot full of green stuff during our little venture.  Honest that we were, Johnny and I gave it to Uncle Bill and Aunt Julia, along with the coins and jewelry.”

“What became of the green stuff?”  Why did I ask another question?  I was now fully behind schedule.

“After the robbery, Uncle James didn’t want any part of the crime.  Someway, he delivered both the cash and his old safe to Aunt Julia and Uncle Bill and told them he’d keep quiet but to never involve him again.  After Uncle Bill died, Aunt Julia made me take the safe.  Damn, what a task to move that behemoth.  I hired a company out of Atlanta to move it, in the dead of night I might add.  It cost me a small fortune.  Fred, I guess you won’t be able to excuse me because of my dumbness as a teenager.  I still have the cash.  It’s still in my safe.  Now, for sure, you will jump ship.”

“Don’t say that ever again.”  I had no choice, late as I was, but to ask one other question.  “Did the police ever discover who robbed Uncle James?”

“You idiot.  Sorry, that slipped out unintentionally.  You’re not an idiot.”

“Go on.”

“The police were never called.  That would have been too risky for me and Johnny.  All of us.  Here’s the deal though.  I told you the story gets messy.”

“You did.”

“I’m too tired to go into a lot of details here, but Rebecca, Angela, and I concluded it must have been Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber.”

“I want to ask how you three knew that but for now, promise me you’ll fill me in later.”

“I will.  But, to give you one more messy pile, that was the initial straw that instigated for Rebecca and Angela the conn they would try to pull.”

“What in the hell does that mean?”  Damn questions.

“Later, after Johnny was killed, Rebecca and Angela believed Elton and Doug had done the deed.  Again, long story short, my two girlfriends weren’t killers, but they had an insatiable desire to even the score.  These events and probably a few more, committed the two women to meting out their version of justice.  The first step was conning the two men into marrying them.  I hate to say, they’ve been working their plan for going on half-a-century.  I’ll leave the full story until after you deliver my first lesson between the sheets.”  Connie giggled.

“Maybe I could have my lesson plan ready by tonight.  What do you think?”  If there was one thing that could compete with my little demon, it was the thought, maybe certainty, that I could experience a couple of enjoyable, exploitive hours exploring Connie’s exotic body.  I almost shared my alliteration with her.

“I was going to invite you over, but it’ll have to be later.  You know tonight’s mine, and Rebecca and Angela’s, night to get our Oh-So-Good BBQ fix?”  Her words shocked me.  Then, I realized that Rebecca and Angela would be back in town in time for the three of them to go to Oneonta.

“What time do you want me to come?”  Something didn’t seem right.  How was I confused?

“Is 7:00 okay?”

“Yes, but that seems early.  You girls normally make a late night of it.

“Usually, yes.  They had a change of plans and got back in from Tunica late last night.  We’re going to leave around 4:00.”

“How was their trip?”  I was feeling relieved that I hadn’t made a horrible mistake in showing up at an occupied Hunt House.

“I really don’t know.  I haven’t talked with them.  Rebecca sent me a text last night around 11:30 saying they were back.  Angela was so sleepy and tired she was staying, so tired she didn’t want to drive home.”

I ended our call by expressing my joy and excitement about our upcoming date.  Certainly, the often sexually unaware Connie would realize I wanted us to continue our journey towards. Well, I’m not sure.

I walked outside, removed my burglar bag from the trunk of my car, and tucked it beside Angela’s journals on the top shelf of the kitchen pantry. 

I sat back down in my recliner and finally dozed off as the sun was coming up.  Thankfully, unbeknownst to her, Connie had protected me from being discovered as the Boaz Safecracker.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.  

The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind.  First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer.  And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.

Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected.  Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973?  Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well?  How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?   

What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.

Chapter 54

“Have you ever stopped to think how an entire life can be changed by the tiniest of things?”  Angela asked Rebecca as she sped up to avoid stopping at the busy Boaz-Walmart/Highway 431 intersection.

“I guess, but let’s don’t play your silly little game.  What’s cooking in that pea brain of yours?”  Rebecca could always speak some truth through her smart-ass remarks.

“My life and yours would most likely have been radically different if it hadn’t been for a young Connie Stewart overhearing her Aunt Julia’s end of a phone conversation where she said, ‘Cincinnati?’”  Angela said, with nervous hands and feet, wishing she had insisted on driving.  Ever since the Foley, Alabama wreck that took the life of Elton Rawlins, Rebecca’s reaction was to drive more radically.  Odd.

“What about another angle.  If we hadn’t been in color guard together during Connie’s senior year, we wouldn’t have become good friends.  Then, she wouldn’t have shared with us that lead.”  Rebecca was right.  Everything seemed to spawn from a long-line of preceding causes.

“Now that I think of it, if Connie’s Aunt Julia and Rachel Roden hadn’t been such good friends, then there would have been no such conversation between the two secretaries who worked for the two best doctors in Boaz.”  Angela pulled on her seatbelt as Rebecca drove at least twenty miles over the speed limit and was darting in and out of cars.  “Slow down, it’ll be okay if we’re a few minutes late.”

“Shut up and let me drive.  I hate not being on time.  I used to believe in miracles.  But, the call from Dr. Vickers in Cincinnati to Dr. Calvert concerning Deidre’s past medical history was the real clue.  I’m just thankful Rachel was cunning enough to open the sealed envelope and discover Dr. Calvert was mailing dear Deidre’s medical records to an obstetrician in Cincinnati.  She was sly, resealing the envelope and dropping it off as usual at the post office on her way home.”  Rebecca slowed when she saw the Boaz squad car with lights flashing buzz by like they were sitting still.

“I still think I’m right.  All that stuff could have gone on without ever affecting our lives the past, nearly fifty years.  I say if Connie hadn’t shared, we would never have learned where the damn bitch Deidre Martin had moved right after Christmas our senior year.”

Rebecca now was driving ten miles under the speed limit.  “And, we would have never learned that she had twins and best of all, that one of them, our dear and precious Carson, God help his soul, had the good fortune of being adopted by the wealthiest woman in Cincinnati.”

Angela fumbled in her purse and found a tube of Maybelline’s Baddest Beige lip color she had discovered during her and Rebecca’s latest trip to the Gold Strike Casino Resort in Tunica two weeks ago.  “Girl, our forty-five-year-old plan has evolved.  Who would have thought what started as a sick but justified plan to destroy the Deidre bitch would transform into a potential goldmine for the two lonely ladies who both lost their beau?”

“I’ll girl you.  Without the full cooperation of the double C’s, we sure as hell won’t strike gold.”  Rebecca added, turning right on Highway 75 in Albertville.

“The sweet Carson’s days are numbered.  That’s a done deal.  The other C, Pastor Caleb Patterson, the current guiding star of Boaz, I predict, won’t be as much of a problem as you’re thinking.  He needs the money badly.  Man has a bad gambling habit.”  Angela, mostly hair-brained, could spin some solid logic when she was thirsty.

“He also is addicted to his stellar reputation.  You may be right.  He might cooperate to protect his community’s standing.  We’ll see.  I hope the hell they are here.  Rebecca said, turning down an old logging road past the late Dr. McCrory’s Animal Clinic.

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.  

The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind.  First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer.  And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.

Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected.  Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973?  Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well?  How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?   

What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.

Chapter 53

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

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

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

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

“Yes.  It is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.  I’ll answer if I can.”

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

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

“Thanks Sheriff for calling me.”

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

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

I wasn’t productive the rest of the day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.  

The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind.  First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer.  And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.

Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected.  Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973?  Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well?  How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?   

What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.

Chapter 52

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I like a good story.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.  

The Boaz Safecracker, written in 2019, is my seventh novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fred Martin, a 1972 graduate of Boaz High School, returns to his hometown after practicing law and living in Huntsville for over thirty-five years with two goals in mind.  First, to distance himself from the loss of Susan, his wife of thirty-seven years who died in 2013 of cancer.  And second, to partner with his lifelong friend, Noah Waters, to crack the safes of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber, two men who got under their skin as high school football players.

Little did Fred and Noah realize the secrets the two old Mosler safes protected.  Who murdered three Boaz High School seniors in the fall of 1973?  Is a near-half-century-old plan to destroy Fred’s sister and steal the inheritance from a set of 44-year-old illegitimate twins still alive and well?  How far would Fred’s mother go to protect her family?   

What starts out as an almost innocent prank turns life-threateningly serious the more Fred learns and the more safes he cracks. All the while, he falls in love with Connie Stewart, his one-date high school classmate who may conceal a secret or two herself.

Chapter 51

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost all the time.”  I said.

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

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

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

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

“Twins.”  Tyler added.

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

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

“Can you keep a secret?”  Luke said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

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

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