The Killer Jack Mystery: A J.D. Pierson Case File, #1

By C.H. Sessums

A trip to state prison puts Jenny on the trail for a stolen necklace and right into the path of a killer…

The lights are just about to go out for good in my father's PI office when I get an unexpected call from the state penitentiary. My mother's only brother was sent up for robbery years ago, and now he needs Dad's help to get his daughter out of trouble. It's impossible for me to be sure that the pendant around Cousin Betty's neck is stolen, but one thing's for sure—she doesn't want to talk about where it came from. When my cousin gets gunned down walking home and the necklace disappears, I realize I'm not only looking for a thief . . . I'm dealing with a murderer.

Can I track down the identity of a man named Jack in time, or will he disappear into the shadows, only to kill again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cactus Rose Press
• Release date: Apr 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393281047

C.H. Sessums

C.H. Sessums is a pen name for USA Today Bestselling Author Olivia Hardin. While Olivia writes all manner of romance, C.H. scribbles out cozy mysteries set in her beloved state of Texas. Whether exploring urban legends from all over the lone star state or solving capers set in far off times, mystery meets history in all of her stories. In real life, C.H. lives in gorgeous East Texas with her hubby and their two rescue dogs. Every weekend all four of them pile up into their bunkhouse to watch classic movies and listen to old-time radio.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tyler, Texas – Fall - 1936

The speedy tap-tap-tap-tap-zip of our Underwood typewriter acted as a sort of hypnotic melody in the background as I focused my attention wholly on the task before me. In honesty, I despised being a typist, but I was good at it, and at the moment, I needed every dime I could earn to keep from starving to death.

Attorney Dale Fletcher officed three floors up from us and had asked if I could give him some ancillary help this week. It turned out his business had also seen a downturn in the last few months—whose hadn’t, with the Depression on—and he’d decided to let his long-time secretary Edna Pomeroy go.

I might have felt bad for Edna, but the day I saw her leaving the building with a cardboard box containing her few desk belongings, she’d confessed that she’d wanted to retire years ago. She had only stayed on because he’d begged her.

I have an older sister down near Houston. Never get to see her anymore, and she’s gettin’ up in age, you know, she’d told me, and since I was sure Edna was at least in her mid-sixties, I could only wonder how old her sister might be. Anyway, she’s been wantin’ me to come live with her. Soon as Mr. Fletcher broke the news about laying me off, I started packing my things. I’ll be on the bus first thing tomorrow morning.

So, for the last three days, I’d been hunkered down in front of this typewriter, preparing miscellaneous legal documents for him. Tap-tap-tap... I paused after hitting the carriage return, looked over my work and flinched when I saw the error I’d made a few words back. With a little tsk, I turned the platen knob with one hand while I pulled out the eraser shield with the other. There was nothing worse than correcting multiple carbon copies.

I grumbled to myself again about how much I hated typing and also inwardly fussed at my father for putting me in this position in the first place. Of course, I couldn’t entirely blame him. If not for his office, I might have ended up a full-time typist years ago, anyway. And then I might have even ended up like Edna, laid off due to the hard times.

Holding the eraser shield between my teeth, I reset the papers while I wriggled my sore backside in my seat. Just as I was about to begin again, a knock on the door drew my attention. I glanced at the shadow behind the frosted glass.

Come in, I called out, standing and forcing a smile.

Good afternoon, Miss Pierson, Attorney Fletcher said as he took a few long strides towards the desk. Pardon me for bursting in on you like this.

Oh, it’s all right, but I’m sorry I haven’t quite finished with the last file. Uhm. I glanced at the name on the papers. The Tillman wills.

Fletcher waved a hand, then raised it to scratch at his balding head. His tie was loose around his collar, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a few days. I assumed that was probably true since I was aware he was preparing for trial next week. No apologies, Miss Pierson. But I do need to grab the Cartwright file from you before I head home. I’m supposed to run out to Edom to meet them tomorrow morning.

Yes, I nodded, then rummaged through nervously, stacking up the projects I’d completed and handing them to him. Tillman is the only one I’m still working on.

Fine, fine, he muttered, then reached into his pocket. He passed me an envelope with my name on it, and I could tell by the jingle that it was probably my pay.

We hadn’t talked specifics about what he would give me for my work. After all, beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers. Besides, I knew Dad thought Mr. Fletcher was one of the most honest men he’d ever met, especially for a lawyer. So I had to assume he was paying me what he could afford.

Thank you again for your help, Miss Pierson, he said as he shuffled toward the door, his arms laden with files. I know you must be busy with your father’s work, so I really appreciate your time.

Not at all, Mr. Fletcher. I reached for the knob and held the door open for him. I’m happy to help. I’ll have the Tillman wills to you tomorrow. And if you need me again, please just call.

With a frown, Fletcher stopped and turned, scanning the office as if for the first time noticing how silent it was. Where is J.D., anyway? I haven’t seen him in ages.

I swallowed down the truth and stretched my lips into a wider faux-grin. He’s out of town on business. I’m sure you’ll see him next week.

Fine, fine, he said again, then made his way down the hallway. Tell him I said H’llo.

When he was gone, I took another glance at the Tillman Last Will and Testament sticking out of the typewriter and weighed how much patience I had left to finish the project. Pouring out the contents of the envelope Mr. Fletcher had given me, I stared at it with disappointment, then finally made my decision. Seven dollars and fifty cents wouldn’t pay the office rent, but it was a start.

With a sigh, I picked up my purse and grabbed my jacket from the coat tree, peering at our quiet office one last time before flicking the lights and starting down the hallway.

Pausing just before turning the corner, I glanced back at the door, peering at the black words on the opaque glass: J.D. Pierson Investigator. I’d told Mr. Fletcher that my father would be back next week. I only hoped I could keep things afloat for him while he made his way through his latest bender.

Chapter 2

Imanaged to pick up several more days of work from Mr. Fletcher over the course of the following week, and by Thursday, he’d given me another three dollars and twenty-five cents pay. I wanted to deposit part of my week’s earnings into the savings account I’d opened up for us, but the truth was I was dog tired, sullenly depressed, and just plain ready to get home and kick my shoes off.

So instead of going to the bank, I walked across the courthouse square to the Brookshire’s Grocery store to get some provisions before heading home. I’d bartered for some eggs the day before with Mrs. Lewis down the street from our house. I figured I could put some of the money towards our store bill, then get some bacon and tomatoes to make a light dinner. I might even be able to manage a few sundry other necessities.

I was pleased a few minutes later when I left the store with three dollars and some change still in my wallet. Added to that which I’d managed to save over the last few weeks, I’d be able to make our rent payment next week.

The clouds had threatened rain that morning, and though downtown was close enough that I could walk from our house, I’d decided to take Dad’s Model A to the office. I hadn’t seen my father before leaving the house at nine or so and hoped he would stay in bed sleeping off the booze he’d spent the previous day imbibing.

Dad? I said loudly as I opened the door and dropped my handbag onto the table just beside the door. I’m home, Dad!

Carrying the bag with my groceries into the kitchen, I called out to my father one more time while I started to unload them. After a few minutes, I heard the door to his bedroom open, and he trudged into the room to offer me a smile. He had a week’s worth of scraggly growth on his chin, and there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. The shirt he wore was splotched with stains, and I was sure that if I went into his bedroom, I’d find empty bottles of bootlegged liquor throughout. Thankfully, I also knew he should now be out of liquor and money in his wallet to buy more.

H’llo, Jenny, dear, he said in a surprisingly chipper tone, scrubbing a hand over his chin. Can’t believe I slept the day away like this. Did I miss anything important?

I bit my tongue and pretended not to have heard him. It was getting to be harder and harder to maintain my patience with him over his utter disregard for our livelihood. Still, when I peered at him over the refrigerator door, sympathy managed to creep up into my heart.

That hollow look that came into his eyes sometimes when he looked at me cut me to the core. I knew I resembled my mother, though I was not nearly as beautiful as she’d been. My mahogany hair was thick and naturally wavy. I also had her wide hazel eyes with long dark eyelashes. Still, my chin was a little strong, an attribute inherited from my father.

At moments like these, when I was in the kitchen playing the domestic role, I felt it reminded him too much of her. And as badly as I missed her, I knew he did even more. I figured it was why he turned to the bottle as often as he did. More and more often lately.

You hungry? he asked, seeming to have startled himself out of whatever morose thoughts had started to overtake him. Let your old man make some dinner, eh?

I inclined my head in agreement, taking a few eggs out of the box and setting them out for him, while I found a sharp knife to slice one of the tomatoes. Within just a few minutes, we were both sitting at the small table out on the back porch, plates of scrambled eggs, fried bacon and tomatoes before us.

We didn’t say much, just ate silently as we watched the sunset beyond the trees along the back half-acre of our property. My mother’s garden looked sad now, unkempt in the years since she’d died.

That first month or so, I’d been too bereft to even try to keep it up. Later, I’d realized I didn’t have the heart for it. When we had the money, I would sometimes hire Mr. Potter to clean the weeds out of the beds. A colored man who did odd jobs around Tyler, he had at one time worked alongside my mother to keep up her roses, hydrangeas and azaleas. And if I let him, he would recount to me little stories of her and how she liked to have things done while he did his work.

I didn’t let him often, because I was afraid those memories might be too much to take.

She liked it here, Jenny, Dad said suddenly, drawing my attention. Good ol’ Model 115. Picked it out herself, you know, with some small modifications.

I’d heard the story many times, especially while she was still living. Mom had even kept the original Sears Roebuck plans they’d purchased. The little house was perfect for a young family just starting off, with a parlor, kitchen and three bedrooms. Later, when they became assured that I would be their only child, the smallest of the bedrooms became a study for Dad.

Now my father continued his musings, a faraway look on his face. When she was carrying you, I’d find her sitting here, watching the sunset just like this. Should have come home earlier in those days, not gone away so much.

I didn’t know how I should respond, so I just sat there, staring at the orange glow along the horizon. I knew he carried guilt. So much guilt about my mom, about their lives together, about her death. The ghost of it haunted me, too, and I was so afraid of getting lost by it that I just kept it bottled away most of the time.

But