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 30

Once again, after lunch, I chose not to join the family gathering on Martin Mansion’s front porch.  I was too close to ballistic with Deidre.  Just one more turn of the knife she had been wielding could trigger my attack.  I didn’t want that.  Instead, I walked home, changed clothes, and pushed back in my recliner.  My goal was both rest and to generate the courage to call Connie and see if I could sit with her at church tonight.

I had just dozed off when Noah called my iPhone.  “Nancy Frasier still amazes me.”

“Who?”  My mind was having problems becoming alert.

“Librarian Nancy, the one with a near photographic memory, especially of every book lining her shelves.”

I figured Noah had a point to make but I wasn’t interested in hearing more about the old, but sweet, woman who had maintained the Boaz Public Library since I was barely out of diapers.  It was Mother who had taught me to read years before I began first grade at Boaz Elementary, and it was Mother who carried me to the library to check out one book per week from Drew Nelson’s series on “Bible Characters to Emulate.”  “She must be in her nineties.  I saw her the other day.  She looked fit as a fiddle, but what’s your point?” 

“I dropped by the library yesterday to pick up a book Nancy had ordered for me through the interlibrary loan service.”

“Was it a coloring book or The Three Little Pigs?”

“No, asshole, it was A History of Electronic Security Systems by Ben Applegate.  It’s a classic.”

“I pity Lorie, she must get pretty bored with your infatuations.”

“Listen, I don’t have all day.  Matter of fact, Lorie and I are leaving for Mentone in an hour or so.  Just a little getaway.”

“Thanks for calling and letting me know.”  I said, really getting frustrated with Noah.

“While at the library, Nancy asked me if I had the contract for Doug Barber’s security system.”

“Why did she ask that?”  I asked.

“Seems like she has had an interest in a certain pistol that went missing over half a century ago.”  Noah said.  To me it shouldn’t take this long to say what he’d called to say.  “When I told her that I did maintain Doug’s system at the pharmacy, she asked if I knew what type pistol was used in his murder.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her that I had heard it was probably a 38 caliber, but I didn’t know for sure, since Doug’s autopsy hadn’t been completed.”

“Did she say anything else about the missing pistol?”  I asked.

“She seemed a little confused, like she was considering whether the pistol that was used to kill Doug was the same one that was stolen from Randy Miller back in 1973.”

“Was she referring to the former youth pastor?”  I’m sure I already knew the answer.

“Nancy’s daughter, I can’t remember her name, had been a member of Miller’s youth group back in the seventies and was also a kid reporter for The Pirate Times, you know, the high school newspaper.  Apparently, Gail, that’s her name, had written an article not long after the gun went missing.”  Noah’s story was growing weirder by the sentence.

“It seems kind of odd that a youth pastor would have a pistol.”  I said, noticing I had just received a text from Connie.  “Hurry up, I’ve got better things to attend to.  Connie just sent me a text.”

“Oh boy, quick, go get an ice pack.  You don’t need to get overheated.”

“Funny.  Looks like she’s solved my problem.  She wants to know if I’ll go to church with her tonight.”

“Fred, you sound like a girl, a teenage girl at that.  I don’t need to know any details about your sex life.”

“Don’t even go there.  I need to respond, so, please finish up your little story.”

“One final thing.  Nancy asked me about Doug’s home-security system and whether I knew if the rumor was true.”

“What rumor?”  I asked.

“Whether there was a pistol taken from his safe during the burglary, you know, the one you conducted.”

“I damn hope you have scrambled this call.”  It was unlikely, but it was too risky for Noah to be saying such things.”

“Don’t worry man, I’ve got us covered.  Lorie’s calling, so I’ve got to run.  I just wanted to call and tell you not to hock that Smith and Wesson you have in your barn loft.”  Noah said almost bursting my ear drum with his overloud laugh.  “Oh, one other thing.”

“I thought you had to go?”

“I almost forgot.  I ran into Tyler’s father the other day.  You know, Luke’s friend, the one you’ve been telling me is leading your nephew into a life of sin.”

“That’s not exactly how I would put it, but what about Tyler’s father?”  I asked.

“He works for Boeing in Huntsville.  We’ve just signed a contract to upgrade the security in his department.   He’s a nice fellow, Carson’s his name.  Did you know he grew up in Cincinnati?”  Noah asked.

“I’ve never met the man.”

“Well, he seemed to know a lot about your grandfather.”

“What?  That seems unlikely.”

“From what he said he must have grown up in the same neighborhood.  Said he graduated from Seven Hills High School.  Hey, isn’t that where your parents went?”

“Yes.  The two of you certainly had a long conversation.”

“It was nearly an all-day meeting with him and several of his associates.  I think when he learned I was originally from Boaz, it just sparked an interest, especially since he and Tyler are living here.”

“I still find that kind of strange.  Can I go now, I don’t want Connie to think I’m ignoring her.”  It had been a long time since I had played the game of privately being one-hundred percent interested in knowing a girl, and publicly acting as though I didn’t care one way or the other.

“Catch you later.”

After our call ended I immediately responded to Connie’s text telling her I had already planned on calling her to ask about church tonight, but that Noah had called. 

When she responded with, “pick me up at my house at 6:30,” I almost laughed out loud.  Connie was certainly not passive and timid.  This was a little surprising from what I remembered about her in high school.

I spent the next few hours without interruption laying back in my recliner.  But, I didn’t sleep.  All my mind wanted to do was rotate its thoughts between the long-missing Smith and Wesson pistol, and how in the heck did Carson Eubanks know my grandfather?

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 29

I was glad I had changed my mind.  Last night around 10:30, Connie had called and invited me to Sunday School.  She was an active member of the Singles Department and thought I might enjoy fellowship and study with men and women, young and old, from the area who were never-married, or single from either divorce or death of a spouse.  I had, without thinking, agreed, and promised to meet her at 8:30 a.m. outside the old but well-kept house beside the church where the Singles met.  It had been a correct decision to call her at 7:00 this morning and tell her I would take a rain check.  I hated lying, but I knew it would make for a potentially bad scene for me to be a Bible student.  It had been hard enough sitting in Doug’s ‘Death’ class, but that was not strictly a Bible subject.

Instead of formal Sunday School, I opted for my old standby.  Almost since I had moved back to Boaz I had arrived twenty or thirty minutes before the Worship hour and sat in the balcony awaiting services to begin.  It was my way of observing and pondering, from afar, the smiles, handshakes, nods, and other interactions of folks who came to First Baptist Church of Christ every week and who truly believed in the supernatural.

This morning I couldn’t help but think about mine and Luke’s discussion yesterday while fishing.  I had two competing thoughts.  What if something happened that was a dead giveaway that God existed?  Maybe, God, a real human-looking figure, appeared in the sky?  And, He said, where everybody on earth could hear Him, “I am God, Jehovah, the Beginning and the End, the one who has always been.  Believe on me and receive a mansion in Heaven that is built and awaits each of my followers after his or her death.”  Or, something similar.

The opposite thought was that something happened that just as clearly revealed there was no God.  Maybe, scientists, cosmologists, found Heaven and it was empty.  That was silly.  No, let’s say the body of Jesus was discovered.  He was found where a few of the disciples had buried him.  Someway, scientists were able to do two things: determine this was the one and only Jesus, the one spoken of in the New Testament, and second, they determined His DNA was no different than any other human. 

This opposite thought left me with the certainty that it wouldn’t change anything for any of the people milling around downstairs.  First, they wouldn’t believe it, but second, and more importantly, even if they someway said it was true, the discovery was just God testing them.  No doubt, their lives wouldn’t change in any significant way; church attendance would remain the same.  This was the hallmark of delusion.  As Pastor Caleb took to the pulpit I brainstormed what on earth would have to take place for folks to seriously and sincerely examine the real evidence.  I almost laughed out loud when I thought it was a miracle every time a die-hard Southern Baptist fundamentalist Christian rejected his or her faith.  I couldn’t think of that happening in a long, long time.

Sunday lunch at Martin Mansion was back to normal, well, as normal as it could be without my dear, sweet mother.  Deidre and Gabby made sure the family stayed together, that we didn’t forsake our long-held tradition.  I couldn’t help but admire Deidre and all the effort she had made to prepare a meal that at least looked like one of Mom’s.  No one, including me, said a thing about how different everything tasted.  It was all good but Mother had such a way with food.  She could make green beans taste as good as homemade ice cream.

“I’ve got a suggestion to make.”  Deidre said looking over at me after asking me about her green bean casserole.  She kept looking at me as though she was waiting for my response.

I finally said I was open to a suggestion.

“Since you and gorgeous Connie Stewart are now a thing, why don’t you invite her to our Sunday lunches.  I hope this doesn’t hurt your feelings, but I suggest she sit in Susan’s chair.  Don’t you think it’s been empty long enough?”  Deidre smiled and then started passing the mashed potatoes.

I offered a half-hearted laugh and said, “I may have missed something.  I often do, but I wouldn’t characterize one date with the lovely Connie as creating a ‘thing’ as you describe it.”

“Fred, you can be so dense.  Sometimes I wonder how you were smart enough to become a lawyer.  You two have been a thing for nearly half a century, well, at least to Connie.”  Deidre was making absolutely no sense.

“Since you know so much, why don’t you educate me?”  Sometimes I was too curious.

“You must have pushed Connie’s buttons when you two went out on your one date in high school.  What was it?  When you were in the tenth grade?”

“Something like that.”  Deidre was exactly right but I didn’t want to appear too interested in the details.

“Connie, your own Susan called her cunning Connie.  She tried her best to drive a wedge between you two.  Even talked her sweet cousin, Johnny, into making his best move on the innocent Susan.”

“Sister, you are deluded.  How could this have been going on without me knowing it?”

“Maybe you and Mr. Noah were too focused on football and fiction.”

“What does that mean?”  As soon as I asked the question I figured out what Deidre was saying.

“Fiction, as in listening and believing the tall tales Ricky Miller was sharing at the Safe House.  While you two were immersed in him, you were ignoring your girlfriend.    Of course, their little fling was pretty much a secret, but you know girls share more than boys.”

“Well, that was half a century ago.  I guess I shouldn’t blame Susan for straying just a little.  Bottom line is she married me.”

“And now Miss Connie has you where she’s always wanted you.  Wrapped around her little finger.”  Deidre could be, should I say it, such a bitch.

“Pass the biscuits and pause the bull.  If you don’t mind.” 

As things quieted down, I realized that Sunday lunches would never be the same without Mother.  I honestly didn’t believe she would have allowed Deidre to intimidate me like she had done.

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 28

It was just a dream but at the time I didn’t know that.  It seemed so real.  It had to be early.  Someway, probably with some exceptionally exacting high-tech camera or air-sniffing DNA nebulizer, the police had learned I was the man in the black suit inside the Rawlins mansion.  They were nice enough not to knock down my door, but they were still pounding and yelling.  That’s when I realized it was a dream.  “Uncle Fred, get up.  Let’s go fishing.”

I reached over and activated my iPhone.  It was 7:20 a.m., Saturday morning.  I hadn’t returned from Connie’s until almost 1:00.  “Hold on, I’m coming.”  I could barely speak, much less yell.  It certainly wasn’t from all the kissing Connie and I had done.  I got up, slipped on a pair of running shorts and walked to the door.

Not only was Luke standing there, but Dad also.  Both were smiling.  “You’re going to lose a crop.”  It was one of Dad’s favorite sayings ever since I was a kid.  He kept on smiling.  I had to be patient.  At least he was doing something besides moping around, going through Mother’s things, and sitting at the kitchen table crying.

“We spent the night with Papa.  He promised to take me fishing and thought you might want to come.  Do you?”  I couldn’t tell if Luke was play-acting just for Dad.  The kid was 14, no 15 years old, and could go fishing on his own.  No doubt, he loved his great-grand.

“Let me get dressed and grab a pop-tart.”  I so badly needed to go back to bed but I simply couldn’t miss this opportunity to be with Dad.  My going surely would reflect how much I cared for the grieving old man.

“Skip the food.  We have a ton.  Mama D got up and cooked us biscuits.  Mom helped but she sucks at everything but French Fries and Chicken Fingers.”  Luke was full of words today.  I wondered if he was on Ritalin or something.  Dad just smiled and kept his mouth shut.

After we arrived and set-up our fishing lines, Luke handed me a sausage biscuit and asked if I’d follow him around the pond.  He said he wanted me to watch him catch a big bass off the special lure his dad had given him.  My mind was still half-asleep, but I figured Luke had another one of his unending questions.  I tried to opt out for now and stay with Dad under the giant oak, but he insisted I go.

When we walked outside of Dad’s earshot, which wasn’t far given his hearing loss, Luke said, “Tyler is trying to get me to ask Brother Robert to provide some evidence that God exists.”  Luke sure didn’t waste any time.

“Do you think you’re ready for that?”  I said, casting Dad’s green frog lure towards the shallow end of the pond.

“What do you mean?  Ready for what?”

“Luke, it’s one thing to talk privately about your beliefs, especially about your doubts, but it can open a whole can of worms when you start asking the wrong questions, especially to your youth pastor.”  Vivid and not so satisfying thoughts jumped into my mind from my own youth where I had come-out as the saying goes.  Funny thing, I had shared my doubts with Brother Robert’s grandfather, youth pastor Randy Miller.

“You’re saying I’ll be labeled an atheist?”  Luke asked.

“Possibly, but for sure you will become a focus for prayer, restoration, and revival.  It might get embarrassing.  Isn’t that still how it works?  The straying sheep gets attention, special efforts to win the weak back to the fold.”  I knew the routine.

“For now, what do you think Brother Robert would tell me, that is, if I asked him to provide evidence for God?”  Luke was a good kid, having never given his parents, my niece and her husband Brad, a minute’s trouble.  I feared what earthquake could be coming.

“I suspect he would point to both the Bible and nature.  He would call these things, special and general revelation.  Probably he would say something like, ‘Luke, God has revealed himself throughout the ages and continues to do so today.  All you must do is look around.  All nature, plants, animals, humans, scream out that they are created.  That’s enough alone to know God is real.  But, God loved us so much He gave us His written word.  The Bible reveals the heart of God.  It is infallible and inerrant.’”

“Yea, I can hear him now.  It’s almost like you were reading from his memorized text.  Let me ask, if Brother Robert responded to you just like you said, what would you say?”  I was hoping the small bass Luke had just pulled in would divert his attention.  I didn’t answer him but kept easing along casting.  “Next one will be a giant.  I just know it.  Hey Uncle Fred, did you hear me?”

“I heard you.  Luke, I’ve been on both sides of the divide, believer and non-believer.  There is far more evidence for the absence of God than His existence.  Christianity is a myth, a story that someway got started.  There’s no real solid evidence there ever was a Jesus but even if there was, that doesn’t mean he was who the Bible claims He was.  A good myth, and Christianity is probably the best one ever, builds a made-up story around something that is claimed to be historical.  In my opinion, the Bible itself, how it came to be, with all its inconsistencies, strongly denies the existence of the Christian God.  Keep in mind we are speaking of only one god, there have been and continue to be tons of gods people believe in.”

“Like Allah.”

“Right.  I would also say, since you asked, that although there are a lot scientists who still don’t know, there is no reason from what is known to conclude God, or any god, is needed.  All we can really speak to is our own universe.  We know so very little about the cosmos, what’s beyond our own giant world.  It could be that the natural world has always been here.”

“That’s where Brother Robert would go crazy.  He would say, ‘that defies common sense.  Everything must have a beginning.  Scientists themselves tell us the world came into being at the big bang.’”

“I don’t doubt him saying that.  Even though scientists don’t know what happened before the big bang there is, again, no reason to say, ‘God did it.’  Another universe could have birthed ours.  Christians like to argue that God is the first mover, the initial cause.  They often say, ‘something can’t come from nothing.’”

“Except, God.  Brother Robert would say that ‘God has always been, there has never been a time when He didn’t exist.”  Luke was trying to free his line from one of the underwater trees Dad had placed in the shallow end several years ago.

“There’s no evidence for that.  You could tell your youth pastor that maybe the universe, even the cosmos, has always been.  Here’s the thing.  There is no doubt many people sincerely believe the Bible story.  They love to talk about the miracles.  Truth is, all of them are fictional but they do make for a great story.  Even if the miracles occurred, say, Jesus did turn water into wine, if the details were truly known, there would be a natural explanation.  I always found it odd, especially when I was your age, that Jesus someway stopped performing miracles.”  I said.

“Brother Robert would say that God, Jesus, is still in the miracle-working business.”  Luke, no doubt, was a good listener.  He had spent fifteen years being filled with the great myth, while being kept away from the other side, the side that had some real evidence.

“I agree.  He would say that, but he couldn’t prove it.”

“Maybe not but he would say ‘to be a Christian requires faith.’”

“Luke, have you ever really thought about that statement?  Faith is belief in the absence of evidence, even belief despite contrary evidence.  Do you think if you had proof of something you would need faith?”  I probably was saying more than I should.

“That’s interesting.  I’ve never heard that.  The church makes you believe faith can move mountains, and that we should constantly pray for more faith.”  Luke could be a preacher right now.

I heard Dad yell. I turned and looked back.  He was still seated and was struggling with a big fish.  “Luke, go help Papa.  He may have caught Jaws.”   As Luke handed me his rod and reel and jogged towards Dad, I recalled how the big fish myth in the Martin pond had started and grown.  Granddad had admitted it wasn’t true, yet I had believed it, probably still do.

I continued around the pond for another thirty minutes, not getting a solid strike.  Dad hadn’t caught Jaws but from my view it was a nice bass.  Thoughts of Connie sprang to mind every time I threw out my line.  It was a good analogy.  I had gone fishing last night too.  With Connie.  I hadn’t caught anything then either.  I had to get control of my urges.  Even though I was sixty-four, I still wanted sexual pleasure.  More importantly, I still needed intimacy of another sort, the kind that only comes from deep conversation, walks in the rain, and sharing chocolate cupcakes in the dark. 

After a great meal at Oh-So-Good Barbecue, we returned to Connie’s.  She invited me in for coffee.  We sat on her couch in the great room and looked at old high school albums.  We both were littered across the pages.  The photos made for some good laughs.  The highlight of the evening, at least for me, was when she walked me to the door and gave me a quick kiss on the lips before I left.  We both smiled.  I wanted to say thanks or something else stupid, but I kept my mouth shut.   I could still taste the sweet strawberry lip gloss she was wearing.

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 27

Time crawled by all afternoon.  After leaving Rebecca’s I had driven home and tried to sleep in my recliner. That hadn’t gone so well.  Instead, I returned to Alfa and fielded calls for Nell since she was tied up with a State auditor.  The other agents had been smarter than me by cold-calling for new prospects outside the office, something we all hated to do.

At 5:00 p.m., I drove home, took a shower, and dressed for my first date (other than with Susan) in almost fifty years.   Beginning a year or so after she died on 09/18/2013, Noah had tried to get me back on the circuit, as he called it.  I felt guilty even thinking about it.  Although Susan and I had, regrettably, lost the passion we experienced the first few years after we married, we were comfortable with the other’s presence.  No doubt we loved each other but there was a negative side of becoming comfortable. 

Driving to Connie’s it dawned on me she was the last girl I dated before marrying Susan on June 12th, 1976, a little over two weeks after the two of us graduated from high school.  I wasn’t exactly sure when it was, but I believe it had to be in the fall of 1969.  Susan and I were in the tenth grade and our relationship was more on and off than on forever.  That came a little later.  Pulling into Connie’s driveway I thought how fragile life really was.  Things, simple things, can redirect one’s life so easily.  Who knows, just one more date with Connie back when I was barely fifteen could have pulled me away from Susan and every experience we shared for half a century.  I guess it was a good thing I had been too scared to ask the beautiful and sophisticated Connie out for that second date. 

I walked to the front door and although it was cracked open like before, I rang the doorbell.  Connie could have forgotten she had left it open and didn’t intend for it to be a signal for me to come on in.  I was about five minutes early.  What if she was half-naked running across the great-room?  I couldn’t let my mind go there.

It took her a couple of minutes to answer my ring.  It was silly, but I had broken out in a sweat while waiting, imagining she had changed her mind.  Finally, she opened the door.  “Sorry, I was out back looking at my roses.  I slipped coming up the stairs when I heard the bell.”  She leaned over and I saw a bad scrape on her left shin.  I couldn’t help but notice she had on a rather low-cut flowered dress.  My suspicion that she was well-endowed was empirically proven.

“Oh, that must hurt.  Let’s get that seen about.”  Now, I was ready to play doctor.  What was my mind doing?  I was thinking like that fifteen-year-old teenager I was the last time Connie and I went out.

“I get a little woozy at the site of blood.  I’m going to the sun room and sit down.  Do you mind getting my First Aid kit?  It’s in the linen closet inside the master bathroom, at the end of the hallway on the right.”

“Let me help you sit down then I’ll get the kit.”  I took Connie’s left arm with my left hand and placed my right hand and arm behind her for stability.  We made it fine until we reached the sun room.  It was two steps down from the great room.  I stepped down ahead of her, turned and faced her, and took both her hands.  She made the first step with only a little wobble.  The second step worked perfect for me.  It was as though she fainted and fell forward into me.  I caught her without discriminating how I did it.  She didn’t seem to mind that my right hand had no choice but to grab whatever was available to prevent another nasty fall.  Her butt was round and firm.  Another hypothesis proved.

“I’m so embarrassed for you to see me this way.  I’m such a wimp.”  Connie said as I finally got her to the swing.  “I’ll be okay here.  If you will, go fetch the First Aid kit.  You may have to push some towels around to find it.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.  You sit still, don’t try to get up.  Promise?”  I wanted Connie healthy and mobile.  I sure didn’t want to spend Friday night at the Emergency Room. 

“I promise.”  She said, our eyes meeting for the first time since I discovered her bleeding leg.  They seemed a lighter blue than I remembered.  That might have been caused by her over-red face.  No doubt Connie didn’t like to reveal her vulnerability.

I turned and walked back into the great-room and down a long hallway passing a small library on my left, a half-bath on the right, and a guest bedroom on the left.  The master bedroom was on the right and it was a big one.  The room was furnished with expensive-looking antiques.  The bed was not made.  That surprised me.  But it wasn’t all tumbled up like my bed at home.  The covers on the left side were turned down and two pillows were backed up against the giant oak headboard.  She might have taken an afternoon nap.  Probably resting up for a hot date with the hot Fred Martin.  Settle down Fred, settle.

The master bathroom also was large, over-sized.   The linen closet was along the right wall as I entered.  Next to it was an antique washstand almost identical to Mother’s.  I opened the closet door and didn’t see the kit.  I moved some towels around on the shelf that was shoulder height.  No kit.  It must be on the next one up.  There was a step-stool on the floor of the closet under the first shelf from the bottom.  I pulled it out and stepped up, giving me another ten or twelve inches of height.  The kit was along the right wall of the closet.  I could read the lettering on the end of the plastic box.  I pushed a stack of sheets to the left and reached in and removed the kit.  As I was stepping off the stool it slipped out of my hand and fell to the floor.  I knelt on one knee.  That’s when I saw it.  A small sensor, like the type Noah used with his higher-end security systems.  I thought it was an odd place to hang the two inch by two-inch device.

I didn’t have time to ponder.  I grabbed the First Aid Kit and shoved the stool back inside the closet and returned to a smiling Connie.

“Do you mind doing the honors?”  She said, looking up at me but not smiling.  No doubt she was seriously allergic to the sight of blood.

“I’d be honored.”  My response made me feel like a drone, someone just tagging alone, virtually useless.  I looked around the room and saw a small table holding a single pot of a weird looking flower.  It looked almost like a jalapeno pepper plant.  I walked to it, set the pot on the floor and returned to Connie who was laying her head back against the top of the swing.  “Here, put your leg on top like this.”  As I instructed her I took her left leg by the ankle and lifted it across the top of the little table.

It didn’t take but a couple of minutes to open the kit and sterilize the scrap by daubing it with alcohol poured out on a thick piece of gauze.  I also sterilized my own right hand and spread some antibiotic ointment around and across the scrap.  I was glad the bleeding had stopped.  To be frank, I had, many times, worse places on my eyeball, as the old saying goes.  This thought led me to think maybe Connie was being overly dramatic just to get me to play with her leg.  As I firmly pressed the edges of a four-inch square band-aid over the wound I concluded I would be willing to play that game with the mysterious Connie anytime she wanted.

“Well, that’s about all the doctor can do for now.”  I said, hoping she hadn’t fallen asleep as I had given her the healing touch while I visibly explored the shapely and tanned legs of the woman who seemed to defy the aging process. 

Connie aroused quickly and within five minutes of me returning the weird flower to its perch while she refreshed her makeup we were in my car headed to Ft. Payne.  It had been her suggestion.  Oh-So-Good Barbecue had recently opened its second location.  The two-location chain had started in Oneonta, Alabama twenty years ago.  She shared how her, Angela, and Rebecca had for years eaten there once per quarter.

As we crossed Highway 431 headed towards Kilpatrick on Highway 168 I asked Connie how Angela was doing.

Connie hesitated, as though she didn’t hear me, or she was trying to frame just the proper response.  “Guilty, that’s how I would describe her.  And, that might not be totally accurate.”

“What would she have to be guilty over?”  I asked.

“I don’t know a whole lot, this was one area the two of them stayed mum, as though they held a closely guarded secret.”

“Who is they, you said the two of them?” 

“Angela and Rebecca.  You must have heard rumors about how their marriages came about.”  Connie said, placing her left elbow on the car’s console, touching my arm contending for the same space.

“No, I guess I haven’t.”

“Church scuttlebutt.  Elton and Doug fell for Rebecca and Angela’s advances.  The two men were still married.  This was less than five years ago.  You know Elton and Doug are a good ten years older than Rebecca and Angela?”

“Oh yes, I remember the two bastards from high school, hanging around trying to revive their former glory.”

“Woo sounds like you didn’t like those two.”

“I didn’t.  Back to your story.  How did Rebecca and Angela convince those two?”  I must have liked Connie’s description of the two bastards.

“Like I said, I really don’t know the inside scoop.  But, I do know that it was after the robbery.”  Connie said, now fooling with the air conditioner vent.  “My bad fall has me all hot, how do you turn up the air conditioner?”  My mind raced to the cesspool Mother constantly warned me about from the time I reached puberty.   Hot, hay, heaven.  With Connie, naked. 

I adjusted the temperature gage all the way to 60 degrees.  “What robbery?”  I asked feeling like I was a complete outsider to the community I had grown up in.

“First Baptist Church of Christ.  Five or so years ago.  The coins and jewelry Benjamin Ericson, well, his family after his death, gave to the church.  Stolen right out of an old safe.”

“Who was accosted?”  It was a confusing question at best.  I knew robbery and burglary were two distinct crimes.  Robbery was the forceful taking of property from another person.  Burglary didn’t include this element.

“Accosted?  Do you mean confronted?”  Connie asked.

“You could say that.  When you said robbery I automatically concluded the coins and jewelry were taken by force.”

“Sorry, I’m not a lawyer.  I should have said the items were taken.  No one was confronted.  I think it was a Sunday night after church.  Pastor Warren discovered the burglary the next morning.”

“I’m confused.  Refresh me, what does this have to do with Angela and Rebecca?”

“Again, I’m not sure but that’s when two couples started taking shape.”  Connie said, pulling a Kleenex from her purse and tamping it across her forehead.

“Are you okay?”  You seem uncomfortable.”

“I’ll be fine.  I think it’s just one of my hot flashes.  Either that or you’re sending out some vibes.”  She said and laughed a too-loud a laugh.

“So, Angela and Rebecca kind of conned Elton and Doug into marrying them?  Is that what you’re saying?”

“Maybe.  Remember, the three of us have been driving to Oneonta for barbecue for years.  It seemed they were more open and willing to talk when we were out of town together.”

“My guess is that the two ladies could have wanted to charm the older men.  Gain access to their money.  Isn’t that how it normally works?”  I asked.

“Do you think that’s what I’m doing now?  You are definitely older than me.”  Connie had a wicked sense of humor.

“By two years.  That doesn’t qualify.  And, I’m not loaded like I suspect those two were.”  I must really like ‘those two.’

“It may have had something to do with the money, but I think it was much more than that.  Angela and Rebecca can be, let me see how to put this.  They can be cruel.  I have a feeling they had something on the two old codgers and played their hand just right.”

This struck me as odd.  During my meetings with Rebecca I hadn’t noticed anything but sadness and serious looks of loss.  “Do you have any idea what the two ladies knew?”

“Again, I’m not sure, but you should know they, Rebecca and Angela, had every right to seek some revenge against Elton and Doug.  Those two were the ring leaders back in high school against Rebecca, Angela, and the other three aliens: Johnny Stewart, Allan Floyd, and Tommy Jones.”

“Those five were called the Aliens.  I’ve heard.  Did the Bible burning precipitate the bad blood between those seven?”

We continued to talk on the same subject all the way to Ft. Payne.  So far, the night hadn’t been much akin to a date.  As we walked into Oh-So-Good Barbecue, I hoped things could transform towards becoming friends and more.

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 26

Alfa’s underwriting department was either taking on Red Bull intravenously or I was becoming a master at selecting near-perfect clients, those individuals who posed the least risk for the company.  Rebecca’s policy arrived by courier late yesterday afternoon.  I had called her a little before 5:00 p.m. and gave her the news.  I had hoped to deliver the policy and have all day today to focus on my date tonight with the lovely Connie.  Even before asking her if I could drop by, Rebecca announced she was getting ready for a dinner at Angela’s house.  She asked if I could come this morning.  She had even said, “that will give us more time to talk.” 

 When I arrived, Rebecca asked me to follow her to the library.  From my earlier uninvited visit, I had seen the large dining room to the right of the front entrance.  On my drive over, I figured that is where she would want to meet.  It felt strange to return to the site of my first safe-cracking conquest, almost, I suppose, like returning to the battlefield where someway courage and bravery won out over fear and cowardice.

Rebecca motioned me to sit in a dark brown leather chair across from the giant oak desk that backed up towards a wall of bookshelves filled with a ton of books.  “This was Elton’s favorite room in this grand old house.  Every morning, early, he would come to this desk and either read or scribble.  He always wanted to write a book but, as far as I know, never could pull it off.  He had trouble keeping his butt in this chair long enough to write that much.”

I wanted to be considerate, so I said, “I want to say again how sorry I am for your loss.  I suspect it is lonely in this wonderful home without Elton.” 

“It is but what makes it even worse is not knowing if I’ll be able to stay here.  Elton was a wealthy man but most of his assets were in land and buildings.  Dalton is trying to sort it all out.  There is a little money but there’s some rather obtuse trust language he is trying to interpret.”

I had almost forgotten that I was carrying a check for $560,000 from Alfa Insurance payable to Elton Rawlins.  “Let me go ahead and give you this.”  I opened my notebook and removed the check.  When Rebecca took it from my outstretched hand she said, “I could still kill Elton.  He was supposed to re-title the coins and jewelry to me.  He kept promising but just never got around to it.”

“I wish he had.  I apologize for Alfa having to make the check out to Elton.  By law, they must pay the policyholder when there’s a claim.  In this case, the estate of the policyholder.”  I wish there was something I could have done to help you.”

“That’s sweet.  There is something you can do.  I would be most grateful if you would look at Elton’s will.  You’re a lawyer and most likely will know what it means.”

“I am a lawyer, but I no longer practice law.  I feel it’s probably best if you talk with Dalton and see what he says.”  I wanted to help Rebecca, but I also didn’t want to deal with the appearance of any impropriety.  Then, it dawned on me.  Why would Rebecca have Elton’s will?  Especially, if Dalton was handling his estate.  He would have the original document.  There shouldn’t be a copy in existence.

“You lawyers have this look.  I can tell you are confused and asking yourself why I have Elton’s will.”  Rebecca said.

“You definitely have a mind-reading skill.”

“Please don’t say anything about this but the will I have is a new one.  For some reason, when Elton and I were in Gulf Shores he had this idea of simplifying all his finances.  Other than the two trusts.  He had me drive him to a lawyer in Orange Beach.  Here, please look this over.  I really need your opinion.  I’m more than willing to pay you.”

“No need for that but just know I’m not acting here as your attorney.  I’ll look at it simply as a friend.  Agree?”  I had to make sure Rebecca understood exactly what I was offering.

She left the room.  “Give me a minute.”  When she returned and handed me the document, titled, “Last Will and Testament of Elton Frank Rawlins,” I immediately became suspicious.  At most, I was holding a two or three page will.  This was unusual for someone like Elton who owned a lot of real estate, and stolen coins and jewelry.  I was glad I was thinking and not speaking.

“Elton said this will leaves everything to me.  He did it because he felt guilty about not having kept his word over the coins and jewelry, and a few other unfulfilled promises.”

I took a couple of minutes and read the document.  It appeared to be authentic, from its face that is.  It was properly signed, notarized, and even had the optional affidavit attached that waives the executor’s duty of producing the witnesses at the time the will is probated.  Rebecca was correct.  Elton, by this will, left everything he owned to Rebecca.  “Just to be clear, you realize a will only dictates what happens to the decedent’s property, what he owns at death?  It wouldn’t cover, for example, properties owned by an irrevocable trust, or life insurance proceeds that were payable to a beneficiary other than the estate.”  I figured I lost Rebecca when I mentioned a trust.

“I know all that stuff.  I also know both of Elton’s trusts were irrevocable.  He placed quite a bit of his real estate in those trusts.”

“It’s none of my business, but may I ask who the beneficiaries of those trusts are?”

“That damn woman, Rita Battles, Elton’s first wife.”

“I hate to put it this way, but I thought she was dead.”  I said.

“You’re thinking of Ellen Cranford.  I don’t count her.  That one didn’t last very long.  Elton and Rita were married for nearly fifty years.  He grew to hate the woman, but I suspect she knew where the bodies were buried.”  I looked at Rebecca, shocked that she would say such a thing.  “I was only kidding.”

“Something else that’s none of my business, but I’ll ask anyway.  What assets did Elton own at his death?  Outright?”

“This house for one thing.  And some cash.  Of course, the coins and jewelry.”

“Now, I have a question.  Would I be better off forgetting this will and just being satisfied with the cash?”  Rebecca asked confusing me even more.

“The only way for you to become the legal owner of Elton’s property, what he owned at his death, is to have this will, his final will and testament, probated.  Please hear this carefully, Dalton, with the guidance of the probate court, will have to determine which of the two wills is valid.  No one can die with two wills.”

“Here’s possibly a critical point.  What if only I know about the cash?”  Now, I wished I hadn’t agreed to this conversation.

“What exactly do you mean?  The bank would know of the cash.  The account or accounts would be titled to Elton.”  I said, trying to avoid what I suspected was coming.

“The money isn’t in the bank.  Elton made sure of that.”  That was what I was expecting.  Elton Rawlins, for sure, wasn’t the fine deacon everybody thought him to be.  He was most likely doing deals and someway avoiding paying taxes.

“Rebecca, you should know it isn’t safe to keep a lot of cash lying around.  It can grow wings and fly away if you know what I mean.  It can also expose you to some unsavory people.”

“I appreciate your concern but it’s safe from both angles.  Its locked away in a grand old safe and no one besides me and you know the cash even exists.”  My mind raced back to that fateful night when I was here in this very room exploring that grand old safe.  Could I have missed the cash?  What a dumb question.  There was no way.”

“Here’s a thought.  It seems odd the burglars didn’t take the cash when they stole your, Elton’s, coins and jewelry?”  I said, feeling I needed to get up and walk away, but we still hadn’t discussed Rebecca’s long-term health care policy.  I had to get her signature on the Alfa receipt form.

“Good question, but the burglar, it seems there was only one according to Elton’s camera, didn’t know about it.  It’s apparently better hid than this one.”  I couldn’t believe Rebecca got out of her chair and walked over to the smaller bookshelf in the corner.  She reached behind a set of Thomas Jefferson biographies and flipped a switch.  Just like I had done.  The shelves swiveled and the grand old Mosler stood exactly where it was a few weeks ago.  “This is where the burglar found the coins and jewelry.  Elton was too smart to put all his eggs in one basket.  But, apparently, he was dumb enough to share the combination.  The burglar had to have it to access the safe’s contents.  I’m trusting he didn’t share with anyone about the hidden cash.”

My best efforts to redirect the conversation were successful.  I advised Rebecca to discuss the Orange Beach will with Dalton.  Neither of us was in much of a mood to discuss her new policy.  She was satisfied that it was issued as requested.  With the signed receipt in hand, along with a check covering the entire first year’s premium, I escaped the Hunt house, eager to talk with Noah about a newly discovered safe loaded with cash.  No doubt, I was out of my mind.

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 25

When I arrived at the office Nell directed me to drive to Gadsden and the Goodyear Tire and Rubber plant.  It seemed Ted Eubanks, another agent in the office, had also called in sick and couldn’t make his three o’clock appointment.  I didn’t have any choice but to comply.  Goodyear was our biggest account and once every month me or one of the other five agents in the Boaz office met with the new hires to discuss and enroll them in our supplemental medical plan that offered great coverages for catastrophic illnesses such as cancer and dementia.  It was Ted’s day, but I was backup.

During the drive down, all I could think about was Elton and Doug.  In a twisted sort of way, I entertained thoughts of being happy they both were dead.  It’s a little weird how things that had happened nearly half a century earlier were powerful enough to drive thoughts and actions today.  I’m not sure how I made it to the Goodyear plant because I certainly didn’t focus on my driving.

The first time I saw them was after football practice one day when I was in the ninth grade.  Both Elton and Doug were former football stars at Boaz High in the early 1960’s.  Thus, they were around ten years older than me.  When I first met them, they had already completed college.  I think Elton finished at Alabama and Doug at Auburn, in their School of Pharmacy.  What started my disdain for Elton was his eagerness to show off his athletic skills even though he had been out of high school for going on ten years.  That day, even though practice was over, Coach Hicks let the two talk to the team and demonstrate some pass-rushing techniques.  I don’t know why Noah and I were chosen.  We, lowly ninth-graders, and though good enough to make the B team, were still on the scraggly side of physical strength and fitness.  Neither Noah or I fared too well as we attempted to block Elton and Doug’s attempt to reach Coach Hicks standing in as quarterback.  Elton busted my chin with what I always believed was an illegal upper cut, and Doug twisted Noah’s right arm enough to cause a bad sprain.

If that had been the extent of mine and Noah’s observations and dealings with Elton and Doug, I likely wouldn’t remember it today.  But, it was much more.  Someway, the two fully infiltrated both the football team and the youth group.  Coach Hicks made them assistant coaches.  Youth Pastor Randy Miller willingly let the two be right-hand teachers and quasi-ministers.  Seeing Elton and Doug in two environments gave us a very mixed picture of who the men really were.  During football practices (they seemed to always be there), they were like most any other heathen, yelling and cussing, and occasionally (at least once per week) telling an off-color joke, either about a woman or a black person.  At youth group, they were virtually Jesus clones, meek and mild, humble and encouraging.

This went on during all my high school days.  Things got worse when Biology teacher Ricky Miller started the Brights club and his Safe House in downtown Boaz.  Elton and Doug attempted to shut both down.  Both men were community leaders and apparently well-respected.  Elton, after college, had joined his family’s long-established business, Rawlins Real Estate & Development Company.  Doug worked for Boaz Discount Drugs several years before starting the Neighborhood Pharmacy.  Elton, to no avail, tried to get the City to condemn Ricky’s building.  Doug constantly tried to stir up local sentiment, arguing that Robert was polluting the minds of our young people and eventually the City would become a Sodom and Gomorrah. 

The most file attack ever upon my favorite teacher was outlandish accusations Elton and Doug spread about the disappearance of Esmeralda Gomez.  At the end of my ninth grade, this beautiful, sweet, and athletic fourteen-year-old had moved to Boaz with her family.  She was mine and Noah’s age.  By the tenth grade she had made cheerleader and ranked number one in our class academically.  Also, less than a year after arriving in town, she was a faithful member of the Bright’s club.  She ran for class president in the eleventh grade and vigorously encouraged all students to become a Bright. 

I remember it as though it was yesterday.  It was after the Albertville game of my eleventh-grade year.  It was a home game.  After Noah and I had removed our sweaty and grungy uniforms and showered we came out of the field house and saw Elton and Doug in the end zone of the football field with several of the cheerleaders including Esmeralda.  For a reason I still to this day don’t know, as Noah and I walked outside the stadium he motioned me to hide behind the ticket booth right next to the entrance gate.  In a few minutes we saw Denise and Vanessa and Wanda pass through the gate, get in Vanessa’s car and drive off.  After what seemed like another ten minutes I whispered to Noah that I was ready to leave.  About that time, we heard Elton saying something like, “your parents may have to work later than they planned.  Doug and I can drive you to your house.”  I will never forget what Esmeralda said, “I’m not allowed that.”  Doug then said, “you sure don’t need to stay here.  It’s not safe for a pretty girl to be alone.”  It was like she was torn between wanting to obey her parents and knowing they would want her safe. 

The next day, Noah and I heard that Esmeralda had disappeared.  We told our parents what we had seen and heard, and they had made us tell Boaz police the same thing.  From everything Noah and I ever saw or heard, life went on just the same for Elton and Doug.  Except for their lying.  Rumors were, they had given a statement to Boaz police they had seen Esmeralda at the Safe House later that Friday night and that, as best they could tell, only her and Ricky were present. 

I arrived at the Goodyear employee lounge just as my mind wanted to dwell on the ordeal Ricky faced from being falsely accused.  It still made me mad how Elton and Doug skated past a criminal charge.  Of course, I didn’t know for sure, but my gut had always told me that Elton and Doug had kidnapped Esmeralda, probably raped her, and later killed her and disposed of her body.  I had wanted all my life for that cold case to heat up.

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 24

I should have woken up Wednesday morning feeling like a king.  But, I didn’t.  My head hurt, and my stomach was slightly queasy.  At 7:45 I called Nell at Alfa and told her I wouldn’t be in until after lunch. 

I rejected coffee and chose Coke instead.  I sat in my recliner and tried to doze off but couldn’t.  I finally got up and retrieved Angela’s ‘1971/Sophomore’ journal, returning to my recliner.  I was glad I had stuck my business card where I had left off a few days ago. 

It was Friday, August 27, 1971.  Angela wrote about marching at halftime at Sardis High School.  I was surprised I remembered the game so well.  It was mine and Noah’s senior year.  Angela was in the tenth grade and a member of the band.  I didn’t recall that.  She was upset with her performance, apparently having turned the wrong way, twice, while the band performed “Rocky Top” by the Osborne Brothers.  Angela didn’t seem too interested in recording anything about how my pass and Noah’s reception won the game.  She did spend several sentences describing in detail the moves Boaz sensation Johnny Stewart made alluding tackler after tackler in his long touchdown run right before the end of the first half. 

I was getting bored with Angela’s crush on Stewart and was about to move on to her next journal entry when my mind caught Susan’s name as I scanned Angela’s final paragraph.  I paused and read the full paragraph: “how do I get him to notice me as more than a friend.  Now I have Susan Morrison to worry about, if Deidre Martin wasn’t enough.  I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.  After the game and before we left the stadium, I saw Susan and Johnny beside the concession stand kissing and groping.  If it hadn’t been for Rebecca, I would have walked over into their shady little corner and kicked the bitch.”

What?  Susan was my age, a senior, the love of my life, and a co-head of the cheerleading squad.  What Angela wrote couldn’t be true.  At that time, Susan and I were going steady.  We had developed plans to graduate the following May and move to Auburn in the Fall.  Married.  I do recall that Susan’s father wouldn’t let her ride the band bus with the other cheerleaders.  He had a fear of bus wrecks.  I also remembered that Coach Hicks always kept us in the visitor’s field house until most everyone had left the stadium.  He never missed a chance to conduct a skull session. 

No doubt, such timing would have given Susan and Johnny an opportunity to secretly meet.  I reinserted my business card and closed the journal.  After five minutes of convincing myself Angela’s journal was full of shit, my cell phone vibrated on the end table next to my chair.  It was Noah.

“Make it quick.  I don’t feel so well.”  If nothing else, mine and Noah’s relationship could be described as blunt.

“Top of the morning to you.”  I went on to describe why I was at home and what I had just discovered in Angela’s journal.  We were like two school girls, talking about everything.

“Changing the subject but you will be proud of me.  I finally asked the lovely Connie for a date.”  I said.

“That’s super my man.  When?”

“Friday night.  She had a conflict Saturday night, something about Sunday School.”

“I hope things work out, given the news.”  Noah could, at any time, turn mysterious.

“Okay, I’ve been held up here all morning.  What news could affect my Friday night date?”

“You have been a recluse.  Doug Barber was found murdered late last night.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.  Where, how?”  I asked.

“He didn’t come home at his normal time from the pharmacy and Angela got worried.  She finally called Boaz Police around nine to ask them to drive by and check on Doug.  Less than thirty minutes later a cop car showed up at Angela’s with the news.”

“You seem to have the inside story.”  I said.

“I have my sources, some human, some electronic.  Here’s something strange.  Doug was shot one time in the middle of the forehead, seated in his office chair.  Nothing was stolen and there were no signs of a break-in.  It seems the killer hid out in the pharmacy until after closing and after everyone else had left.  It’s common knowledge that Doug was always the last one to leave every day.”

I really don’t know if Noah continued to talk.  My mind, instead of going blank or stale, maybe even frozen, spun into high gear.  It painted a virtual picture on the gray wall across from my recliner of two giant Mosler safes.  Both are open, and each contains an open-eyed, decapitated head.  One, no doubt, was Elton Rawlins.  The other was Doug Barber.

“Fred, you’re not making any sense.”  I didn’t even know I had been talking, much less describing what my mind had painted on the wall.  “But, I have to agree, it’s awfully strange the two men we hated with a passion and who were the focus of our ball-buster agenda have turned up dead after you cracked each of their safes.”  I knew Noah had to be talking on his secure line.  There was no way he would be so open and incriminating if he weren’t talking on that high-tech satellite phone he had bought in Paris, France, at a conference he attended in March.

“Let me get my footing.  I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”  I ended Noah’s call, got up and took a shower.  I had to do something, anything, but continue to sit.  I may have been afraid of what the gray wall might tell me next.

During my drive to the office, I couldn’t help but believe that someway, somehow, the deaths of Elton Rawlins and Doug Barber were connected.

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 23

Dad seemed more like himself last night than at any time since Mother’s death.  It may have been that Deidre’s all afternoon visit and their open and honest talk helped him understand a side of his wife she had kept locked away.  I had picked up supper at Pizza Hut and Dad and I had watched two episodes of The Walton’s on DVD’s Gabby had bought her grandparents last Christmas.  I wanted to hear details from Dad and Deidre’s talk but didn’t push him.  Walton’s Mountain did its job in carrying Dad to a simpler time, one where he could easily imagine he had the love of his life by his side.

Today, I was again tired.  After I had gotten back to my cabin last night, unsurprisingly, I had another email from Luke waiting anxiously for my reply.  I chose not to respond.  His two-part question asked why the Apostle Paul didn’t include anything about Jesus’ birth, life, or ministry, and why the Gospels didn’t include anything about Paul, what he experienced, and his widespread ministry.  After he asked his question, he had written: “These things seem odd since Paul wrote around the mid-fifties and the Gospels were written from the mid-to-late seventies all the way past the turn of the first century.”  Luke had a good point, but I was in no mood to respond.  Not to be denied, a few minutes before midnight my phone vibrated on the table beside my bed.  I didn’t recognize the number, so I didn’t answer.  Less than a minute later, my phone sounded the text notification tone.  The text read, “this is Luke.  I now have a cell phone, 256-390-3053.  I’d really like to talk with you.”  What was I to do?

I called and learned he had just today received a new iPhone, thanks to his dad.  I had never heard Luke angry about anything.  At first, he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise.  He kept saying, “it’s all a lie.”  And, “I’ve gone to church all my life, and not once have I ever heard the truth.  Not once have I ever heard a preacher address my two-part question.  I’ve been led to believe that all the stories of Jesus’ life and ministry happened as the Gospels state and then the Apostle Paul came along, and after his Damascus Road vision, he wrote, taught, preached, and set-up new churches.”  We talked for nearly an hour and by 1:00 a.m., I was convinced it was Tyler who kept poking the fire that was raging inside Luke’s head.

For a Tuesday, Alfa’s walk-in traffic was slow.  This gave me an opportunity to doze and to wonder if today I would be given the honor of working on Connie’s John Deere riding mower.  At 2:30, I received the following email: “Mollie’s gone.  I’m devastated.  But, I still hope you can come work on my mower.  Anytime between 4:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m. is good with me.”  I sent her a quick reply stating how sorry I was about Mollie and that I would be there around 5:00.  I was glad I had brought a change of clothes.

Connie was sitting in her garage beside her mower when I arrived.  It looked like she was reading something.  I parked and walked through the over-sized door into the giant garage.  I could tell she had been crying, probably a lot.  I shared, again, how sorry I was for her loss.  That’s all it took.  She laid aside her book and walked over to me with her eyes looking down.  I was surprised she wrapped her arms around my waist and laid her head on my shoulder.  “I’m all alone.  She was my world.  For fifteen years she was the mate and partner I never had.”

I didn’t know exactly what to say, but I didn’t want the moment to end.  There was no doubt Connie was hurting and no one would think I didn’t have a duty to provide what comfort I could.  It was the Jasmine or whatever the scent, virtually identical to what Susan had worn for the last several years of our shared lives.  Connie always smelled the same.  Now, close, close, I could also catch a faint whiff of her shampoo.  My mind said lilac, but I really didn’t know if I had ever known that scent.  It didn’t matter.  I had to work hard not to explore with my left hand that was gently resting against the middle of her back.  I was also careful not to hug her like I wanted to.  This scene was her creation and she was in full control.  I may have imagined it, but it seemed like she gave me a little squeeze right before she released me and stepped back.

A few words finally emerged from my physical freeze: “I don’t want to sound unsympathetic, but I think I can imagine how you feel.  When Susan died I thought my life was over.  In many ways, it was.  You can’t believe it now, but things will get better.”  As I said my last word I was hoping Connie wouldn’t be offended in any way.  It’s so hard to know what to say to someone who has suffered such a deep loss.

It turned out her mower problem was simple.  It was a solenoid switch that kept the engine from starting.  I promised I would find one tomorrow and come back and have her mowing before church fellowship Wednesday night.  It was the first gorgeous smile she had shared with me since I had arrived.  I was gathering up the tools I had brought when Connie said, “why don’t you come in and wash your hands.  I made a coconut cake late this afternoon.  If that won’t spoil your dinner, I could use the company.”  I was glad I had learned at an early age to always help anytime and anywhere I could.

Connie’s cake brought back memories of Mother.  The two ladies were both excellent cooks.  If it hadn’t been impossible, I would have sworn my dear mother had baked the cake Connie and I shared in her dining room. 

After two slices I was feeling like I needed to be making my exit.  I didn’t want to send any type signal to the lovely Connie that I was interested in making any type move towards a relationship.  I wanted her to drive this car if she wanted to go somewhere together.  I finished off my third cup of coffee (I never liked small coffee cups) and pushed back my chair.

“Can I ask you a question?”  Wonderful, she’s not finished with me.  This is good.

“Sure, I’ll answer if I can.”

“This may be more personal than you want to get but why did you never ask me out again?  You know, after our one and only date in high school?”

“Now there’s a question I can answer.  I didn’t think you liked me.  Our date was awkward.  I had a good time, but I sensed that you could have been just as happy, maybe more so, if you had stayed at home.  Connie, I hope this doesn’t hurt your feelings, gosh, I would never want to do that, but I always believed you were too good for me.  You were both the prettiest and the smartest girl in school, and that’s saying a lot.  Boaz High had some awesome girls.”

“Fred, that was unfair of me.  I shouldn’t have asked that question.  Sometimes, especially now, I feel like I’ve made such a mess of my life.  I’ve missed out on being married and having children.  Now, I’ve lost the most important person in the world.  Mollie that is.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, I guess I owe you at least one?”  Connie said, giving me her second smile of the night.

“Why did you not get married?  I’m pretty sure you have had quite a few suitors over the years.  I can imagine there have been lots of men pursuing you.”

“I have dated a few men over the years.  In the late seventies I was close to a man from Birmingham, but I later learned he was already married.  That taught me a valuable lesson.  Men aren’t to be trusted.  At least those you haven’t known for half a century or more.” 

Without giving me a chance to respond, Connie pushed her chair back, stood up, and gathered up the dirty dishes.  Still in a helpful mood, I followed her into the kitchen carrying the remainder of the coconut cake.

“Put it in the refrigerator if you will.”  I did as she placed each utensil, and both plates and coffee cups in her dishwasher.  It was something about how she leaned over.  I don’t want to say it was how damn good she looked from behind, but that might have had something to do with my boldness.

I slid the heavy cake onto the top rack and noticed several bottles of Jack’s Hard Cider on the door’s bottom shelf.  The thought, “Connie Stewart is probably an enigma, wholly full of surprises.”

I stood back up and turned around.  Connie was facing me, leaning against the kitchen’s sink.  “Thank you for coming tonight and looking at my mower.  I promise I’ll return the favor, especially if you get me back in the saddle by late tomorrow.”

“Sounds like the cowgirl has got some riding and roping to do.”  This was the lightest and funniest we had ever talked.  Thinking back, this might have been the catalyst that prompted my outlandish question.  “This may be way off base, but would you consider going out to dinner with me sometime, maybe this weekend?”

At first, she didn’t respond.  My heart raced for a few seconds, then it was as though it had stopped.  Finally, looking at me from across the kitchen with her deep blue eyes piercing my mind, she said, “Fred Martin, you are the slowest man on earth.  But, I must give you credit.  You asked me for our second date.  Yes, I would be honored to go out with you.”

I thought I would collapse onto Connie’s floor.  No doubt she could tell I was a little faint because she walked over and gave me another hug.  This one didn’t last like the first one, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. 

Driving home, at first, I felt guilty for feeling so good.  It was like I was betraying Susan, something I had never done.  When I pulled underneath my carport, I almost imagined Susan looking down on me and saying, “Fred, my love, you have my permission to go on with your 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 22

All day Monday I felt out of sorts.  Early morning, Dad had met me coming out of my front door wanting to show me a locket he had found while going through a curio cabinet Mother kept along the side of her clothes closet.  “Your mother took this from Deidre when she learned she had disobeyed her strict orders not to see Johnny Stevens.”

I knew Dad was in so much pain and all he knew to do was either talk about Mom or touch and handle her clothes, books, photos, jewelry, even the last towel she used to dry herself off the day before her stroke.  It was the only way he knew to be with her and to imagine her voice.

I didn’t get to spend the time with Dad I needed to.  Certainly, I wanted to but I had an 8:00 a.m. appointment and it was in Attalla.  I promised Dad I would see him later afternoon and that I would bring supper.  Just as I was walking off my porch and towards my car Dad grabbed me by my left arm.  “Look, this broke your mother’s heart.”

I didn’t have a choice.  I set my brief case down and laid my coat across a chair at the end of the porch.  Dad handed me the opened locket.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  Deidre.  Naked Deidre.  It was almost like those photos you have made at a fair, but this was a full-length shot of the tall and shapely Deidre.  She was standing in front of the Lighthouse.  Its sign was shown clearly above the door.  It looked like the photo had been made at night.

“At first your mother was going to let her keep it.  That was before she had ever looked inside.  I think it was the summer before Deidre’s senior year and Harriet had just learned the news.

“What news was that?”  I asked.

“Somebody, I think it was one of Deidre’s friends.  Might have been Angela or Rebecca, had told your mother that Deidre thought she was pregnant.  Turned out she wasn’t but the whole ordeal kind of forced Deidre to confess she had sex with Johnny Stevens.  Anyway, I found the locket this morning and that entire bad chapter flashed before me.  I had to get out for some air.  I really don’t know why I walked down here and showed you this.”

I was only five minutes late to my appointment.  My drive to and from Attalla was consumed with my mind pondering the mental image it now had of a naked Deidre and what had gone on between her and our mom.  If it hadn’t been for Connie’s call I probably would have thought the same thoughts all day.

She asked me to come tomorrow and look at her lawn mower instead of today because Mollie was still under the weather.  She was taking her to Dr. Adams.  I told her I hoped the vet could help Mollie, and that I would call her tomorrow.  She thanked me and hung up.  I could tell she was not herself.  I figured it was because of her baby.  Mollie was no doubt like family to Connie, who had no children of her own.

At the office I caught up on emails, mostly a back log of both technical and marketing information concerning a new homeowners policy Alfa was about to introduce.  At 11:15, Dalton called and asked if I had time to meet with him and one of his clients at 1:00 o’clock.  Dalton Martin is an attorney in town and is also my first cousin.  The two of us had never been close growing up, probably because he was several years younger.  But, since I had moved back to Boaz, he had asked me on several occasions to help him advise a client on proper insurance coverages.

I was out of Dalton’s office by 2:00 and thought about taking the rest of the afternoon off.  I was tired from a restless night tossing and turning.  My best but limited sleep had come right before daylight and included an extensive dream about bright lights.  Crazy how words invade deep sleep.  Driving from old downtown Boaz I was about to cross Highway 431 and head home.  Instead I turned left, twice, and wound up at the Boaz Public Library.  After last night I had a lingering compulsion to see if Ricky Miller’s club, the Brights, had ever made it into the Sand Mountain Reporter.

Once again Brenda Yates, the library’s media expert, guided me with her suggestions on the best query to use with their high-tech microfiche reader.  She said if I wasn’t careful, I would call up several years of unrelated articles because a Clarence Bright had been a reporter with the Sand Mountain Reporter for most all the seventies and eighties.

I found a few articles from the fall of 1969 that said the same things that Noah had told me about Ricky Miller and his desire to establish a Brights chapter at Boaz High School.  Two other articles provided updates on the controversy and even a couple of quotes from locals who had attended the emergency court hearing before Circuit Judge William Jetton.

I was about to change the date component of my query to 1970 when the last hit caught my eye.  I had already discarded it because of its title, “Local Leader Leaves Legacy,” which appeared to be wholly irrelevant to my search.  I couldn’t help but wonder why Brenda’s carefully structured query hadn’t easily eliminated such a non-Bright article.  I chuckled to myself.  For some reason, instead of clicking the ‘Delete’ button or modifying my query, I scrolled down and looked at the photo under the article’s title.

The description under the photo read as follows: “Franklin Ericson, along with his two children, John (age 16) and Angela (age 13), donate coins and jewelry on behalf of their father and grandfather, Benjamin Ericson.”  The article revealed that the older Ericson had died and left a sizable bequest to First Baptist Church of Christ.  The reporter, Clarence Bright (so much for Brenda’s highly refined query) wrote that although the elder Ericson had make a fortune in buying, selling, and developing real estate all over the county, his true love was sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ and that he wanted to leave something tangible to the church that had inspired him to pursue a higher calling.  In the next to the last paragraph, Mr. Bright wrote that Ericson chose to donate these items to honor his mother who had acquired the items almost a hundred years earlier, and to give something to his favorite church that might continue to increase in value.

I was so shocked I lost all interest in pursuing news about Ricky Miller’s club.  Although I didn’t know for sure, I had a deep feeling the donated items someway had disappeared from the church’s possession and found their way into Elton Rawlins’ old Mosler safe. 

I drove home wondering how on earth I would find out if the extremely valuable items sitting in a metal lockbox in the barn loft behind my cabin were the same as those Benjamin Ericson had bequeathed to First Baptist Church of Christ in late 1969?  I felt confident they were, but it seemed odd, outright risky, for Elton to have insured these items with Alfa Insurance Company.  I drove under my carport, suspecting that stranger things had happened.

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 21

After church, I walked out with Connie and almost asked her if she wanted to go to McDonald’s for a cup of coffee.  I declined after she mentioned Mollie was a little under the weather.  Instead, I drove home and pulled out Angela’s journals still wondering why Doug had mentioned them in his final remarks.

The one labeled “1971/Sophomore,” seemed the proper place to begin.  Before I started reading, I closed my eyes and looked back in time to August 1971.  That was the beginning of my senior year at Boaz High School.  Although Deidre was in Angela’s class, my mind wouldn’t spin up any memories of the two of them being friends.  Also, before digging into Angela’s words, I scanned the entire journal.  It was rather thick, containing 300 pages, each numbered in ink in the lower right-hand corner, no doubt by Angela.  It appeared she had written something for most every day of the school-year, more for school days and less for the weekends.

I buckled down and started to read.  Angela had beautiful handwriting.  By August 13th, the end of the first week of classes, I had learned that Angela and Rebecca Aldridge (now Rawlins) were best friends, and the two of them often flirted with her brother’s friends (John Ericson was Angela’s brother and his four friends were in mine and Noah’s class and were all-star basketball players, known around town as the Flaming Five because of how they set the nets on fire).  It was also clear that Angela and Rebecca were friends with three male classmates: Johnny Stewart, Allan Floyd, and Tommy Jones.  To me, this was sad to read because of my recent discoveries.  Little did those three guys know, that in a little over two years, before they ever graduated from high school, they would all be dead.

Angela’s August 17th entry, a Tuesday, was like opening the top hatch of a submarine while it’s still a thousand feet or more under water.  At the dinner table she had a heated argument with her parents, especially her father, Franklin Ericson.  He had forbade her from participating in a group Angela referred to as ‘the Brights.’  Apparently, seventh period, twice per month, was reserved for club meetings.  Mr. Ericson had said she had to participate in ‘the Believers,’ a club lead by First Baptist Church of Christ’s youth pastor, Randy Miller.

I could vaguely recall high school club meetings.  Since I played football I never got a chance to participate.  At the end of sixth period all players headed for the field house and Coach Hicks.  For forty-five minutes he would walk around our lockers while we were getting dressed for practice.  He was the master of holding meetings with small groups who all played the same position.  His aim in doing this, coaching while we were dressing, was to have us ready to hit the practice field the split second the final school bell rang.   All I knew about the Brights was it was a secular humanist club that Ricky Miller had started when I was in the ninth grade, the first year he came to Boaz High School to teach Biology.  I also vaguely remembered a huge controversy his club idea had sparked.

I decided to call Noah.  I thought his memory might be better than mine.

“Freddie, what a nice surprise.  What’s up my friend.”  Noah, for as long as I had known him, was upbeat and positive.  I couldn’t remember a time I had called and found him sad or depressed.

“Question.  Do you recall a high school club called the Brights?”

“Oh, hell yes.  But, if it weren’t for Naomi I wouldn’t know so much.”  Naomi was Noah’s sister, and she was two years younger, which placed her in Angela and Rebecca’s grade.

“Tell me about it.”  I said.

“Naomi wanted to join but Mother said hell no.  Well, she said no.  But, that didn’t stop Naomi, she did a work-around.”

“What?”

“She was a silent member.  She didn’t attend club meetings but was like an ex—officio member.  Angela and Rebecca kept Naomi up to date.  A way to avoid family problems.  From what I heard, Naomi wasn’t the only ex-officio.”

“I’m not sure that’s the correct term.  Tell me more.”  I said.

“Ricky Miller started the club during his first year.  That would have been when we were in the ninth grade.  You know he was the brother of youth pastor Randy Miller?”

“I do.  Keep going.  Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Hey, you called and asked.  Listen up.”

“At first, Boaz High School stopped Ricky from organizing the Brights, saying the school wasn’t an appropriate place.  The School, at least at first, thought Ricky was claiming he and whoever joined his club thought they were smarter than everyone else.  Naomi said that wasn’t it at all, it was just a word to identify those who didn’t believe in the supernatural, in contrast to the Believers who obviously do. Seems like Mr. Ricky had some real balls.  He got him an ACLU lawyer and within a couple of weeks, after a few back and forth letters and an emergency court hearing, the school had to relent.  First Amendment stuff, you know.”

“I suspect I know the problem but tell me anyway.”  I said.

“Freddie why are you wasting my time.  You should know all this shit.”

“Refresh my memory.  The only thing I have a clear memory of concerning Ricky Miller was Biology class in the tenth grade.  What I learned that year was the final nail in my Bible thumping coffin.  I still don’t know how anyone could believe in God if they have even a basic understanding of Biology and evolution.”

“There, you’ve pretty much summed up the Brights.  As I said, they have a natural worldview, meaning they believe, like me and you, that everything has a natural explanation and therefore there is no supernatural being or force.  That would exclude God.”  Noah said, giving me the big picture.

“By chance, do you remember if Angela Ericson was a Bright?”  I asked.

“That’s another story.  Her father and four other deacons, all whose kids were joining, or trying to join the Brights, got Randy Miller and Pastor Walter involved.  Best I recall, the church and a big part of the community protested outside the school, trying to get Ricky Miller fired.”

Who were the other four, if you remember?”

“Let’s see, Angela and Rebecca, and Johnny Stewart, Tommy Jones, and Alan Floyd.  I remember because they were like five peas in a pod.  Each of their fathers was a deacon at First Baptist Church of Christ.  Each of them, the students, not the fathers, basically told everyone to go to hell.  Not in those words of course.”

“For your information, I’m reading Angela’s journals.  You know I told you how they came to be in my possession.”

“Sorry man, I don’t know anything about that.”  Noah was trying to be funny.  And, to not say too much over the telephone.  He had a reason to be so wise concerning privacy.  The man was a genius when it came to security matters.

“I’m reading where Angela is in the tenth grade and is attempting to join the Brights.  I’m wondering why she wasn’t already a member.  Why didn’t she join during the ninth grade?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe it had something to do with biology class.  You said she’s in the tenth grade.  Well, that’s when we all took biology.”  Noah probably had a point.  I recalled how intelligent and persuasive Ricky could be, even without trying.  His approach wasn’t to say much at all about God, the Bible, and Christianity.  He really didn’t have to.  He simply taught the intricacies of living organisms, emphasizing the vast time it had taken for life to evolve.

“Maybe so.  Anyway, I’ll let you go.  Are we still on for lunch on Thursday?”  I asked.

“Right on.”  I almost ended our call when Noah jumped in and said. “Freddie, you do know that the Brights club led Ricky Miller to set-up the Safe House in downtown Boaz.  It was a little like evolution.  It was an evolving process.  While we were in high school was the time a foundation was being built.  Ricky couldn’t do everything at once.  But, by the time we graduated, the Brights had quite a few members and the Safe House made about as much noise as the Lighthouse across the street.  Of course, local churches and almost all the community hated Ricky Miller about as much as right-wing Christians hated Obama.  You get the picture.”

After hanging up with Noah, I read a few more of Angela’s August 1971 entries.  The only new subject she brought up was her growing crush on Johnny Stewart.  With that, I closed the 1971/Sophomore journal and walked to my recliner. 

My mind pondered wonder boy.  From what I had learned, Johnny Stewart was certainly a lady’s man, even as far back as his ninth-grade year.  I doubt, back in the day, my dear sister would have disagreed.