The Christmas Kettle Caper: A J.D. Pierson Case File, #4

By C.H. Sessums

Christmas festivities are swinging into high gear, but it's the arrival of a stranger connected to their past that has Jenny worried about J.D.'s tenuous sobriety.

 

The year 1937 has been full of ups and downs for my dad and me, but I can look back and see far more good than bad. Still, with holiday revelry comes liquor, and I can't help feeling catastrophe is waiting for us. I'm startled when a mysterious stranger mistakes me for my dead mother, but it's the far-off expression on Dad's face that really frightens me.

 

Will the ghosts of a particular Christmas past threaten our chance for better days in 1938?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cactus Rose Press
• Release date: Jan 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201507541

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

DECEMBER 24, 1937

I’m so glad your schedule changed, J.D.  It means a lot for us to all get together like this, Alfred Killough said as he raised a cup of coffee to his lips.

Oh, yes, his wife spoke softly, her sweet round face almost taken up entirely by a wide smile. I believe this time of year it’s especially important to remember the people in our lives who mean so much.  And Alfred has been so blessed by J.D.’s friendship.

I thought it was my father who’d been much more generously blessed by Mr. Killough but only inclined my head to agree with her. 

At first, we’d been forced to turn down Mr. and Mrs. Killough’s invitation to the Christmas party hosted by the Masonic Lodge because my father had been scheduled to testify in a court case down in Bexar County.  But thankfully the defendant—a fire bug who’d torched a building owned by a customer of Lone Star Mutual—had decided to accept a plea deal so Dad was able to return to Tyler early.

You leave tomorrow, then? I asked Mrs. Killough now, cutting off a bite of cherry pie with my fork.

Yes, the train pulls out early.  I’m so excited to see Lynetta.  And do you know little Bea is almost three years old now?  They grow so fast.

The couple were off for what she’d told me was their annual Christmas trip to see their daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter in Prattville, Alabama.  If she’d said it once, she’d said a dozen times that the two of them had very much wanted to have a holiday meal with us before shoving off for two months in the Cotton State. 

I’ve never been to Alabama.  What is it like there?

Oh, it’s very similar to East Texas, really.  But it has a fine history that is truly a wonder.  Lynetta and Burton live very near the old cotton gin, and I love to take walks to see the water along the creek. You know, Jenny, that color green is so fetching on you.

I felt my cheeks warm a little as I glanced down at my attire.  My father had purchased the frock for me a few years ago, but it was virtually new since I mostly only wore it for the holiday.  But I’d added one of my mother’s knit sweaters over the top, fastening the collar with a fine cabochon brooch in blood red.  Why thank you, Mrs. Killough, I touched the glass stone.

Would you like some more coffee, Jenny dear? my dad asked as he raised his cup to a passing waitress so she could warm his up.  I shook my head, putting my palm on top of mine.  Unlike my father, who’d become a day-long coffee drinker, I knew that any more would keep me up well past a reasonable hour. 

Still, I was pleased as punch to see him jovially partaking of the brew of the bean instead of some other sort of brew.  A large group of revelers were near the club’s bar, chortling and joking over beer and liquor.  If Dad was tempted, I wouldn’t have guessed it.  His eyes and his attention remained solely on our hosts.

Thank you. Mr. Killough nodded as the girl in a black dress with a white apron topped his mug off, too.  It was a marvel to me how easy and comfortable the two men were, as if they’d been the closest of friends for many years.  And I supposed, in truth, since they’d fought in the Great War together, they had been friends for a long time, though they hadn’t spent regular time together until just this year.

My father had been sober now for almost nine months, and I laid the thanks for that sobriety solely on Mr. Killough’s shoulders.  I knew he would demure about such praise, but until he’d started meeting with Dad weekly, our home had ping-ponged between long liquor binges and short spurts of abstinence.  I wasn’t sure what the men talked about at their lunches—and occasionally dinners—but whatever it was had worked marvels for J.D.

I have a little something for you, my father said now, pulling a small box from his coat pocket and passing it to Mr. Killough.

Oh, now J.D. you weren’t supposed to do that.  We agreed, didn’t we?

Now see here, Alfred. He wagged his finger. You’ll notice this package is wrapped in plain brown paper.  This is not a Christmas gift.  This is just a little something that made me think of you.

I watched as the elder gentleman unwrapped the package, then lifted the paper lid.  The contents would be as much a surprise to me as to Mr. and Mrs. Killough, given my father hadn’t even told me about the gift. 

Mrs. Killough and I both leaned forward, peeking inside.  The older woman gasped softly, putting her fingers to her lips.

Why it’s... oh, my. Alfred Killough carefully picked up the miniature brass object, its beads making a soft tinkling sound as they clacked against one another. It’s a miniature abacus.  Where on earth did you ever find such a thing, J.D.?

While we’d been distracted by the gift-opening, Dad had pulled out a cigar and