Tag: The Boaz Schoolteacher

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

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

Book Blurb

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

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

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

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

Chapter 51

By 5:30 a.m., Ryan, Fulton, and Danny were on the eighth floor of the University of Alabama’s Medical Tower waiting outside the Critical Care Unit.  They had left Boaz within twenty-five minutes of Justin’s call from Marshall-Medical Center as he and Tiffany climbed aboard the helicopter that was air-lifting a near-death Warren to Birmingham for more specialized and intensive medical services.  Justin had been the first and only person Tiffany had called at 3:00 this morning after she heard the muffled explosion from two floors below where she was sleeping; Adams was simply the first name in her Contacts list.  The hospital staff in Boaz had valiantly attempted to stabilize Warren but the wounds were simply too serious for their facilities and expertise.

Ten minutes after first sitting down, Fulton was the first of the three to see Tiffany, Justin, and Kathy McRae exit the elevator directly across from their waiting area.  Tiffany’s face, except for her eyes, could easily match the whitest snow.  Her normally blue eyes were now deep-set, black, and were accompanied by the darkest of circles.  She clearly wasn’t wearing makeup, but it would have been unable to conceal the sadness and bewilderment beaming across her face.  Kathy, Tiffany’s best friend in all of Boaz, by luck, fate, or God, was already at UAB with her cancer-ridden mother when Tiffany had called upon arrival.  The way she was touching Tiffany’s arm, even how she held her head, revealed a leadership courage a virtual widow needed at such a time.  Justin, absent his usual smile, appeared even more stoic than normal, nonetheless his hand-wringing indicated he was at least minimally rattled.

After an exchange of hugs and sincere sympathy, Kathy and Tiffany receded to the far back corner of the waiting area.  What to many should have been a simple task of saying her husband was in surgery, had agonized Tiffany and nearly triggered a panic attack.  The four men retreated to an opposite corner, feeling it best to give the two women a semblance of privacy.

“What the fuck happened?”  Ryan exerted his best efforts to whisper loud enough for Justin to hear.

“About 3:00 or so this morning Tiffany was awakened by a loud noise.  First, she thought it was a dream.  She hadn’t gotten out of bed when she heard it again, another explosion she called it.  It was then she speculated she had heard gunshots but was confused over how many she had heard.  Warren wasn’t in bed but that wasn’t unusual.  Often, he slept on his couch in the basement, more so here lately.  Tiffany rushed to check on the kids and then descended two flights of stairs to investigate the source of the blasts.  There, she found Warren in a pool of blood, totally unconscious.  Two of the large floor-to-ceiling windows had been shattered.  She called 911 and then me.  After I arrived, she kept saying, ‘I don’t understand why the alarm system isn’t blaring.’”  Justin said standing in front of his three friends, all seated side-by-side.

“He probably forgot to activate the system.”  Danny added.

Ryan sat on the edge of his seat and said, “Justin, this ain’t the game Jeopardy.  How about telling us how bad Warren is.  Where was he hit?”

“One bullet just missed his heart.  It seems the second one pretty much destroyed one of his kidneys.  He lost a lot of blood.  The surgeons are trying to stop the internal bleeding and explore the full extent of the damages.”  Justin said, now sitting in a row of chairs across from the other three.  “Word is, he could die any time.”

As though Fulton had just heard his biggest banking customer explain the intricacies of a football strategy, he said, “Cindy Barker and Katie Sims come clearly to mind, but I’m not sure.  For some reason, it seems too aggressive for them, especially after Cindy got caught spying just a few days ago.

“People can surprise you.  Cindy’s lost her husband, maybe she’s suspicious of us.  Hell, maybe she’s figured out it was us who killed Steve.  Tipping point.  I think that’s what they call it.  When someone reaches the point their anger and determination for revenge overcomes their fear and normal inhibitions.”  Fulton continued applying his logical mind.

“The bitch is also carrying around a bastard child.  Shit, not just an illegitimate child, but one conceived by rape.  I’d say she’s got every reason to tip over.”  Ryan said, sounding more intellectual than usual.

“Don’t forget the second bitch, Katie.  Wouldn’t you all say she’s experienced enough to be double or triple-tipped?”  Danny asked, continuing to whisper like all the rest.

“Okay, enough.  We’re wearing out the tipping point metaphor.  Whoever shot Warren, this incident raises an important issue.  Where is the tape, the altered tape that the idiot Katie gave us?  Warren likely would have kept it somewhere in his basement, maybe locked up in his safe.  She, Katie, screwed up when she included that clip of Patrick Wilkins.  We all know we can use that against her if push comes to shove.”  Fulton said.

“I think there’s no doubt we’ve been shoved.”  Ryan said as the elevator doors opened. 

“It’s the surgeon.”  Justin said as he got up and walked to join Kathy and Tiffany who looked like she could barely move as she struggled towards the doctor.

“Given the circumstances, I have good news.  We were able to stop the bleeding.  We removed Warren’ left kidney.  Fortunately, both bullets exited the body.  He was fortunate with the one that came closest to his heart.  A quarter inch lower and he would be dead.  Good news certainly doesn’t mean he’s home free.  There’s even the possibility he will never wake up.  No doubt, he’s still in very serious condition.  But, for now, he’s stabilized and in recovery.  Tiffany, you can see him in about an hour, but only for a few minutes.  He’ll be brought back down here.  His two doctors will keep you updated.”

“It’s not here.  It can’t be.  We’ve searched every inch.  Whoever shot Warren, robbed him first.  The safe is still open.  If I had to bet, he had the tape, along with other valuables, there.”  Fulton said to Ryan.

The two had left Birmingham at 3:30 p.m. to return to Boaz.  Warren’s condition had remained stable and Justin and Danny were spending the night. 

Fulton and Ryan had arrived at the parsonage just as the crime techs with the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences were concluding their investigation.  One tech had said that, “no doubt it was a robbery/murder.  The broken glass is the give-away.  It was broken by gunshots from inside the basement.”

That statement and the missing videotape combined to be another give-away.  They were now certain that Cindy or Katie, or Cindy and Katie had somehow persuaded Warren to let them inside. 

Fulton and Ryan sat at the round table after retrieving each of them a beer from Warren’s bar.

“Cheers my friend.”  Fulton said as he held out his beer towards Ryan.  “It’s not every day we encounter someone as ruthless and cunning as the infamous Club Eden.  We might as well celebrate.  Tomorrow, we might not be able, just ask Warren.”

I had to wait over an hour to see Cindy.  I’d heard Wayne had made a lot of improvements after becoming Sheriff two years ago.  I’d have to encourage him to focus on new-inmate processing.

I was glad I had my notepad.  It was something I was rarely without.  A lingering habit developed early on by all serious writers.  Cindy refused to talk to me about what had happened.  But, she would exchange written notes.

After a couple of minutes of me asking her how she was feeling and especially about her blood pressure, she wrote her first note.

“I promise I will do everything I can to protect you.  That’s what friends are for.”  Cindy wrote, and slid the three by five-inch sheet of paper over to me.  I was thankful we were sitting across a table from each other and not separated by glass.  I doubt if Cindy would have said much at all through a jail-house phone.

I picked up the only pen we had from the center of the table and wrote: “I know about Warren.  I don’t know if he is alive or dead, but I know he’s been shot.  Have you heard this?”  I was hesitating to be direct.  I could just imagine a deputy storming in and seizing mine and Cindy’s written notes.  I laid the pen back on the table.

Cindy picked it up and wrote on the backside of her earlier note.  “I haven’t heard about that.”  After I read her note I wondered if she was being coy or simply acting truthfully.  I doubted it was the later.  She probably hadn’t heard about the shooting from radio or TV news, but I suspected she had seen the whole scene in vivid color.

“I don’t know how much time we have together, just write out what you want me to know.”  I wrote and slid my paper over to Cindy.

“You don’t have to worry anymore.  The silly tape your Creative Writing students made of Nancy Fletcher was destroyed in one of their most recent scenes.”  Cindy wrote.

At first, I was confused, but then, after looking into Cindy’s eyes, and seeing her head move in a slight affirmative nod, I realized she had written code for “the clip you stupidly included on your altered videotape is no longer a potential problem.”  I wrote, “I understand.  Cindy, you need an attorney.  Have you thought about that?”

At that point, she surprised me.  She answered me verbally.  “Before the deputy brought me here he let me make a call.  Matt Bearden should be coming to see me this afternoon.”  I didn’t know Mr. Bearden personally, but had heard nothing but good things about him.  He had practiced law in Boaz for as long as I could remember.

  “That was smart.  Other than taking care of your children, what can I do?  You know I will do everything I can.”  I said, desperate to know the full details of what had happened early this morning at Warren’s, but I knew Cindy wasn’t about to disclose anything incriminating.

“Tell my kids I love them.  Can you stay with them until my mother arrives?”  Also, I need my blood pressure medicine.  I meant to put it in my purse this morning, but I forgot.”

“Your mother?  Cindy, I can take care of your children.  I know how you feel about your family.”  I said, not truly realizing the full extent of the responsibility I was accepting.

“I didn’t have any other choice but to ask Mother.  She promised to come by herself.  I can’t put the full weight of my kids on you right now.  That will come if I die.  You know we’ve already talked about that.”  Cindy said.  I wasn’t sure if she was making a generalized statement or if she was revealing some sort of premonition she had experienced.

“I respect your decisions, but please know if that doesn’t work out, I’m more than willing to help any way I can.”  I said.

“Just bring me my medication, please?”

 “I’ll go get it and bring it back.”  I said.  “Anything else?”

“Bring me the two novels beside my bed.”  Cindy said, as though she had nothing to think about or worry her as she planned a summer afternoon beside her swimming pool.

“Okay.”  I said as a young deputy came in and said our time was up, unless Cindy intended on missing her lunch.  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours with your medicine.  Also, if you see your attorney maybe you could authorize him to talk openly with me.  You think?”

“I agree.”  Cindy said reaching over to hug me but being restrained by the deputy.

“Miss, press that buzzer and another deputy will come get you and escort you out.”  The deputy said as he led Cindy away.

While I was waiting on my escort, I sat down at the table and pondered the surreal moment I had just experienced.  Cindy in an orange jumpsuit, shackled like a serial killer.  Shackles around her ankles with an attached chain ascending to and connecting with cuffs securing her hands.  Three months of our indescribable pleasure co-teaching English and Creative Writing now juxtaposed alongside a nonfictional criminal, was more than I could stand.  The words, ‘serial killer’ rang in my ears as I thought I would suffocate before the deputy delivered me to freedom inside the crowded waiting room with double doors leading outside to the parking lot.

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

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

Book Blurb

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

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

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

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

Chapter 50

While I sat in the interrogation room, I dialed Cullie several times.  It was probably my fifth call before she answered.  I told her what had happened and that I would be home as soon as I could but that it might be a while.  I figured it would be at least 8:00 or 9:00 a.m. before the city attorney would set Cindy’s bail and I could find a bondsman.  I doubted the City would allow her to leave on her own recognizance.  All of this was delayed because of the Thanksgiving holiday, which I had forgotten.  It seemed the city attorney was out of town and the jailer was having trouble reaching him.  It was almost 9:45 a.m. before I learned the real problem in the delay over Cindy’s release.  

The jailer returned to the little room that was growing smaller by the hour.  It was a different jailer this time.  This one, a tall, older gentleman who was grossly overweight but with a pleasant smile and a calming disposition, apologized for the delay and said, “Ms. Barker is being transferred to the Marshall County Jail in Guntersville.”  I voiced my confusion, confessing my layman’s understanding of the law.  I sensed he wasn’t supposed to tell me, but he explained that municipalities in Alabama didn’t have jurisdiction over felonies, that’s reserved for district and circuit courts at the county level. 

After I expressed my belief that first-time charges for drunk driving were misdemeanors and not felonies, he surprisingly agreed.  He then said, “sorry, it seems Ms. Barker’s fingerprints relate to an outstanding case.  The County Sheriff and District Attorney will have to sort this out.”  I don’t remember but I figure I just sat there for a while.  Finally, he said I could continue my visit at the county jail.  He escorted me out of the interrogation room, down a short hallway, through a small office with the dispatcher busy manning the switchboard, and through the front door of the police department.

When I walked outside there were two officers standing between their police cars parked right in front of the station.  The parking lot was nearly as small as inside the police department causing me to walk close enough to them to smell Old Spice aftershave on one or both young and fit men.  They greeted me politely and continued their talk after I had passed.  I was still within ear shot when I heard one of them say, “it’s getting pretty bad when someone wants to kill a preacher.”  I almost turned and asked what they were talking about but continued forward and across the street to a larger parking lot and my car. 

Before I had driven twenty feet, my mind, seemingly without effort and automatically, retrieved Cindy’s statement, one I had attributed to the two beers she had drunk.  “I hope I killed him, I hope I killed him.”  I fought back anger, fear, and hopelessness and turned left on Highway 205.  It made little sense, but I extended my return trip home by driving to Sparks Avenue and First Baptist Church of Christ.  There, in the smaller east side parking lot, along the street, and in the driveway to the parsonage next door were parked two Boaz police cars, three Marshall County Sheriff’s cars, and probably a half-dozen unmarked, black SUV’s.  There was so much commotion two police officers were directing traffic.  As I eased past the church and approached the parsonage I rolled down my window and asked one of the young officers what was going on.  “There’s been a shooting.  This is a crime scene.  Please keep moving and allow others to pass.”

As I drove home there was no doubt in my mind that Cindy had been involved.  It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that somehow she had gotten hold of a gun and had come here to do what she could to square things with Pastor Warren, the man I knew and certainly Cindy knew, was responsible for the death of her dearly departed husband.

Wayne called as I was heading home from Cindy’s.  After leaving the church I had driven home, picked up Cullie, and taken her to spend the day with Alysa.  I wanted to go home, quickly shower, and head to Guntersville to meet with Cindy.  I had to know what she had done.

“Katie, is now a good time to talk?”  Oh Wayne, just skip the damn politeness.

“It is.  I’m glad you called.” 

“Baby, brace yourself.  I have some bad news.  I might as well tell you straight up.  Cindy Barker has been arrested for the kidnapping and murder of Patrick Wilkins.”  Wayne’s words hadn’t come as a shock, but they were shockingly painful nonetheless.

“What on earth do you mean?”  I said.

“She was arrested early this morning for drunk driving in Boaz.  The short of it is her fingerprints matched one of the ones retrieved from the 2005 Nissan van found in Dekalb County.  You know, the one sold by Jeff’s Car Sales in Leesburg.”

“I remember you telling me.”

“After Cindy was arrested, Boaz printed her and submitted them to the National Database.  We have a computer system that constantly runs and attempts to match unknown fingerprints with those that have been newly added.  I received a text alert this morning at 8:25. It’s a good system.  Now, we know Cindy Barker was in that van.  Hopefully, she will confess and disclose who helped her kidnap Mr. Wilkins.  I suspect she is also responsible, partially at least, in his death.  From what we’ve learned during the investigation of her husband’s death, Cindy was after some vigilante justice.”

“Wayne, just when I had thought things couldn’t get worse.  I hear what you’re saying but I can’t for the life of me see Cindy doing such a thing.  She is so sweet and loving.  Such a faithful Christian.”  I said, unable to know what to say.

“Sometimes it’s hard to figure.  The ones you would never think capable of horrendous conduct can truly surprise you, no matter how strong their faith.”

“Changing the subject, but what is going on at First Baptist Church of Christ?  I just came by there and saw a bunch of police cars.”  Hopefully, Wayne wouldn’t think it odd and incriminating for me to ask this question.

“If the County didn’t already have more crimes to investigate than ever, more than we can say grace over, now we have another.  Sometime last night or this morning, we’re not sure, someone shot Warren Tillman, pastor Warren Tillman.  I’m headed there now but from what my deputies are saying, someone shot him through a wall of glass windows down in his basement.  So far, we know very little.  He’s in critical condition in Birmingham.  I think at UAB.  He’s bad.  I suspect this will become another murder investigation.”

“Oh, my goodness.  ‘It’s getting pretty bad when someone wants to kill a preacher.’”   The young officer’s words, said standing outside the Police Department, just rolled off my tongue.  Then, just as automatically, I said, “Of course, it can be the other way around.  It’s getting pretty bad when a preacher does something to cause someone to want to kill him.”

“Katie, I wish all of my deputies were as sharp as you.  You seemed to always see beyond the obvious and into the real world.  As much as I hate to, I must go.  I’ll talk with you later.  I am so sorry about Cindy.”  Wayne said.  I knew he meant what he said.  No doubt, his job was difficult at best.  He truly cared about people, but he also was fully committed to upholding the law. 

After showering and dressing, I drove to the Marshall County Jail to see Cindy.  On my drive to Guntersville, all I could think about was how Wayne would feel when he discovered the remaining unknown fingerprint belonged to me.  Our relationship obviously would be over.  And, that wouldn’t be the only thing that ended.  My life, my life as teacher, mother, and aspiring writer, would be lost forever.

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

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

Book Blurb

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

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

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

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

Chapter 49

At 4:30 Thursday morning I was more eager to crawl out of bed and start my day than I had been in a long time.  I think it was because it was finally Thanksgiving and Wayne was coming.  My eagerness was diluted when I remembered there would only be two of us to share the fully-traditional meal I had planned.  I still hadn’t decided if I would tell him I hadn’t cooked a thing, that I had bought the complete meal from Pirates Cove in old downtown Boaz.  A private meal, alone with the man I had recently shared two passionate kisses on the patio just outside my back door, should have been enough to buoy me above the most treacherous ocean, but it hadn’t.  As I walked to The Thread, all I could think about was yesterday’s surprise classroom visit from Cindy, and Cullie’s scheduled first-visit tonight at the home of her father, the adorable Ryan Radford.  My sarcasm was up and active even before the first hint of daylight.

Someway, maybe because of my hallway prayer petitioning God to help me focus on my fiction writing, over the ninety minutes, I was able to create an impressive chapter for Real Justice.  Stella was inching closer and closer to discovering the true threat the Jaybirds posed to her well-being.  One scene depicted her budding relationship with Aiden Walker, the pastor of First United Baptist Church.  What started as a once a month meeting at the newspaper to discuss the church’s ads and marketing plans, had accelerated into a once per week rendezvous at a wilderness cabin outside Cherry Log, a small unincorporated rural town ten miles northeast of Ellijay.  What was still unclear to Stella was how much of Aiden’s pillow-talk she could believe.  The man was an enigma to say the least.  He both loved and deplored the other four members of his secret club.  But, the thing Stella found most baffling was how, almost in the same breath, after their lovemaking, he would pray for God’s forgiveness and verbalize, “we still on for next week?”  The second scene of my chapter, one that seemed to sprout so easily, dealt with the growing threat from Nancy Fletcher, Noah Fletcher’s wife.  The more I brainstormed and wrote, the more I descended into a dark ethereal world.  I was surprised at the peace I found the more I wrote about Nancy’s intensifying anger over something untrue, Stella’s intent to steal her husband.  Again, once again, I had this eerie feeling I was bouncing around in a world where fact was fiction and fiction was fact.

As I exited The Thread, Cindy returned, the thought of Cindy, yesterday, sitting across my desk in my little office at school.  She had shown up at 10:30 a.m., the beginning of my planning period.  I will never forget her first statement.  “Half of me hates you.  The other half loves you.  I’m in the struggle of my life to determine which side wins.  I wanted you to know this.  I also want to ask you to try, try real hard this time, to keep a promise I’m asking you to make.  Think of it as another chance to be my friend.  I’m asking you to promise you won’t try to save me ever again, like you did when you broke your promise and told Steve my secret.  Let me sink or swim by my own choices and actions.  Can you do that?” 

Looking back, I wish that I had not agreed.  How can one honestly promise her best friend she won’t interfere ever, even if it is to save her friend’s life?  That promise was so fucking stupid, just as insane as including the clip of Patrick Wilkins in the back of mine and Cindy’s van, on the altered videotape I had given Warren Tillman at Wells Fargo Bank.  It was probably stupid enough to have switched out the tape to begin with.  But, I now feared the Flaming Five were gloating in their good fortune.  I had given them a virtual confession that I was responsible for the disappearance of the criminal asshole Wilkins.  My stupidity was driving me straight to prison. 

As I walked into the kitchen, I was still confused over the one other thing Cindy had said.  Something about the many calls she had discovered on her cell phone that occurred after her altercation with Paula and while she was in the hospital.  Cindy knew they were made and received by Steve.  I recalled that Steve had told me he had left his cell phone at home.  There were no voice-mail messages but only two phone numbers and she didn’t know whose they were.

If this wasn’t bad enough to lock down my mindset before breakfast, my concern for the most important person in my life did the trick.  As I poured my second thermos of coffee, I again swung a big stick at my head.  I was the idiot who had agreed, if Cullie agreed, for Ryan to have a first-visit with our daughter, as he had put it.  I had been both surprised and hurt that Cullie had elected to spend Thanksgiving afternoon at the home of Ryan and Karla Radford.  Hurt, because it felt like a betrayal.  Why wouldn’t Cullie hate Ryan as much as I did?  It seemed only normal that she felt as I did about my father, the man I never met, the one man out of five who had helped create me but whom I would never know.    

Wayne arrived at 4:30 p.m.  We had planned on him arriving a couple of hours earlier but, as usual, something had come up at work and he had to go to Guntersville.  Our meal was excellent.  Wayne slathered on the compliments over everything.  He particularly liked how I used just a little extra sage in my cornbread dressing.  After nearly an hour of expressing his thanks and how wonderfully blessed he was of finding such a wonderful woman who can cook a carrot cake as good as his mother, I could no longer live my lie.  By now we were seated on the couch in the den.  I confessed and told him if I had cooked our meal he would probably already be at home laying across his bed with a queasy stomach.  The eternally kind and respectful Wayne had reached for my hand and stood us both in front of the fireplace, in front of the fire that he had built when he arrived, and gently pressed his lips into mine.  “You are still a wonderfully gifted woman.  Most any woman can learn to cook, given sufficient effort, but only one in a zillion can draw me in to a story and hold me for four hundred pages and then, when the tale had ended, make me want more.”  Wayne had impressed me.  He had finished reading my first and only book, Out of the Darkness. 

The heat became unbearable.  The heat from the fireplace.  I cast away all inhibitions, took his hand, and pulled him away from the fire’s intense heat.  I led him to my bedroom and the passion that erupted between us was just as hot as the fireplace, but totally bearable.  After ten minutes of standing beside my bed and exchanging kisses like I never had with anyone, Wayne, the kind, respectful, and shy Wayne, unbuttoned my blouse.  I helped him with my bra and pants.  He didn’t offer any help with his clothes allowing me to take my time.  Our serious march towards our first sexual union was interrupted only by his request we turn down my covers.  Apparently, the gorgeously beautiful and well-equipped Wayne was more comfortable and confident beneath the sheets.  I no doubt acquiesced. 

His shyness vanished as we lay side-by-side kissing passionately and exploring each other’s bodies.  I was so happy that he loved foreplay.  He also knew how to bring me to the perfect moment, to the place I hadn’t experienced since Colton, hell, never.  Even though Wayne was surprisingly enduring, it wasn’t enough, even though our mutual climax surpassed every love scene I’d ever experienced through the written word.  As we lay on our backs side by side I was dreaming about and hoping for Wayne’s quick recovery, when my cell phone in the den rang.  I normally had it set to vibrate but with Cullie’s visit I didn’t want to take any chance I might miss her call. 

At first, I stayed in bed.  I even rolled on top of Wayne and told him how wonderful he was and how I didn’t want our time to end.  No doubt I wasn’t fully convincing.  He undoubtedly sensed my anxiousness and said, “it was even more wonderful for me and I want more and more of your love, but don’t you think you might want to check your phone.  It might be an important call.”  The kind and respectful Wayne had been so attentive during our Thanksgiving meal as I had described to him Cullie’s visit across town.  I was glad he hadn’t asked any questions about mine and Ryan’s relationship fifteen years earlier.

By the time I reached the den and my phone I knew it was Cullie.  Call it a mother’s intuition.  Her voice-mail message was clear.  “Mom, please come get me.  Ryan and Karla have been nice, but I hate Riley Radford.  Please, please come now.”  I returned her call and promised I was on my way.

Wayne rode with me and offered assurance Cullie and Riley would find a way to work out their differences.  I wanted to agree but could not think of anyone except Alysa and Cullie and what should have been happening right now.  Cullie and I should be at Cindy and Steve’s with all three of their children eating a wonderful meal, not store-bought, but one painstakingly prepared by as good a cook as I had ever seen.  Cindy, my dear Cindy, now a widow, now missing the near-perfect husband who was now dead because of me.

Cullie wouldn’t talk on our way home.  It might have been because of Wayne, even though it seemed she worshiped him.  As soon as I parked beside the patio, Cullie fled into the house.  It was only then that I saw the envelope taped to the back door.  It was from Cindy.  I wasn’t positive when she had brought it.  On our rush to go pick up Cullie I could have missed it.  She might have brought it while Wayne and I were making love.  Had she knocked?  Had she thought I had refused to come to the door?  I walked into the kitchen and lay the letter on the bar.  The last thing I wanted was for Wayne to learn something about the woman he had just made love to and who he thought was one in a zillion.  I would read it later.  Right now, the man of my dreams was rekindling the fire and wanting me to come engulf him in my arms.  At least that’s what I hoped he was thinking. 

Before I was halfway to him, he reached in his back pocket for his damn cell phone.  No doubt it had vibrated.  And, no doubt, it wasn’t good for me.  “I have to go back to Guntersville.  Same issue.  Baby, I’m sorry.  I’ll call as soon as I can.  Maybe we can share another slice of that carrot cake when I return.  Okay?”

After Wayne left, I opened Cindy’s letter and sat down across from the fireplace.  “Katie, my life is over.  Steve was my world.  I know I have three beautiful children, but I will never be what they need.  There is such a void in my life.  And, I have hurt you so badly.  I’m sorry for all the hateful things I have said.  I wish there was some way I could make you know how much I love you and have enjoyed our friendship.  It’s been real.  I have one other request: I am asking for another promise.  If something were to happen to me, would you take care of my kids?  They love you like a mother.  I know this is a lot to ask.  If the worst happened to me, I want to know I have taken care of things.  You are named both executor and primary beneficiary in my new will.  Everything I own will go to you in trust for my kids.  This includes my share of the money at Wells Fargo Bank.  I love you and I know you are promising me that you will do what I’m requesting.  Again, I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.  I will never forget all the wonderful times we’ve had at school.  Now, there’s something I must deal with.  Our six red apples project is not yet finished.”

I reread her letter three times.  I could reach only two conclusions.  And, both were clear.  Cindy was anticipating her death, and she intended to do everything she could to mete out revenge on the Faking Five. 

Cullie finally came out of her room at 10:00 p.m.  She had calmed herself enough to talk.  How openly I wasn’t sure.  It seemed that after a rather pleasant Thanksgiving meal, Riley had asked Cullie to hangout in her bedroom.  This is where she verbally attacked Cullie for ruining her world.  “Now, I doubt my life will ever be the same.  Daddy will dote over half of his affections on you and push me down to living like an average girl.”  Cullie also shared how Riley accused me of fabricating the whole story, that of her father being Cullie’s father.  She said Riley had said, “your mother is just a fucking whore and got what she was after.  There was never any rape.  Next thing we’ll know is her Stella girl will be fucking Aiden Walker in Cherry Log, Georgia.”

I’m not sure I heard anything else Cullie said.  She could easily recognize when I entered the zone, as she called it.  She knew it was a world beyond her world, one I often chose to enter and one I just as often had to be forced into.  This time was one of the later.  How in the hell did Riley Radford know about Stella and Aiden and their ventures to Cherry Log?  The only other person in the world who knew about this other than me was Cindy.  Yesterday, when she had dropped by my office, during a few minutes while we returned to a semblance of our previous normalcy, I had shared with her what my imagination was prompting me to write in the Real Justice project.  I doubt Cindy would have told anyone.  I wasn’t even sure she had been listening to me close enough to relay these facts.  In my gut, I knew that Cindy had not divulged my writing intentions.  I also knew that none of the five creative writing teams had included any such detail in any of their outlines.  It had been my responsibility all along to create and write scenes that dealt with Stella’s interactions with the five Jaybirds.  The only logical conclusion was that Riley had overheard yesterday’s conversation with Cindy.  Hell, Riley couldn’t have looked over my shoulder this morning in The Thread as I had described the Cherry Log scene.

It was after midnight before I went to bed.  I had finally given up on reaching Cindy by phone.  My belief and desire that Wayne would return for another slice of cake had prevented me from driving over to her house.  If Cindy did not return my call by morning, I would drive over before going to school.  At 4:15 a.m., I learned I wouldn’t need to do that.

Alysa called fifteen minutes before my alarm was set to ring.  She sounded concerned.  She was only semi-panicked.   She was not frantic.  “Katie, mother has been arrested.  She just called and wanted me to call you.”

“Oh baby, what’s happened?  Where is she?”  I said, wondering what in the hell Cindy had done to get arrested.

“She’s at Boaz City Jail.  You won’t believe this, but she was arrested for drunk driving.”

“Oh my gosh.  Cindy doesn’t drink.  Does she?”  I asked.

“No, never.  She would pitch a fit if Daddy drank one beer.  She wouldn’t even let him bring it into the house.  Of course, Daddy probably only drank four or five beers per year.  Always after an extraordinary day of fishing.”  I was amazed at Alysa.  She had astounded me and the crowd at her father’s funeral.  As controlled, professional, entertaining as a Sandra Bullock would be in a similar scene on the big screen.  Now, here she was, again not acting, but living like the young woman any mother would covet.  Cindy wasn’t leading the badly damaged family, but the fifteen-year-old Alysa was.

“Okay, don’t worry.  I’ll go now, and I’ll call you later.  Why don’t you and Anita and Alton stay home from school today.”

By ten minutes before five I was sitting with a semi-conscious Cindy in a private interrogation room at the Boaz City Jail.  At first, she wouldn’t say much, just that after she couldn’t find me she had written the letter and taped it to my door.  Then, she had bought a six pack of beer and driven to Nanny’s place, now my place, on Bruce Road and had sat for hours.  She said she had drank a little over two beers and was feeling a buzz for the first time in her life.  I kept asking her why she had done this since she had never drunk.  She kept shaking her head and saying, “I hope I killed him, I hope I killed him.”  As I completed my third attempt to persuade her to explain what she was talking about the jailer came in and said my time was up.  As he removed Cindy from the room I heard him say, “my shift just ended, and I still haven’t fingerprinted you.” 

I sat back down, but not until my mind flashed a picture of a 2005 tan-colored Nissan van across my eyes. The van was super small, or the outline of a thumb-print was super big.  I wasn’t sure which.  Either way, I felt someone had pushed me over the edge of Noccalula Falls and I was tumbling towards a certain death.

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

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

Book Blurb

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

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

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

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

Chapter 48

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

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

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

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

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

“Katie, is now a good time to talk?”

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

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

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

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

“I remember.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Alleged hookers?”  I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book Blurb

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

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

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

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

Chapter 47

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book Blurb

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

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

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

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

Chapter 46

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book Blurb

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

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

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

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

Chapter 45

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened next?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book Blurb

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

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

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

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

Chapter 44

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?  Tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Know what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were the guns recovered?”  I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book Blurb

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

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

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

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

Chapter 43

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”  I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book Blurb

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

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

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

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

Chapter 42

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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