No Peace, No Quiet: A Crime Thriller

By Harper Shaw

Jessica Morrison’s parents were murdered sixteen years ago. Now the killer is coming for her.

Looking back, Jessica had a picture-perfect childhood, but that was all ripped to shreds when her loving parents were killed. Eventually, the case went cold and Jessica realized the police barely investigated. She was too young to do anything about their inaction, so she concentrated on growing up as fast as possible under the care of her uncle.

But life had never been the same after that day and her uncle never opened up about the details of her parents death.

And he never will because now he’s dead.

Jessica recognizes that the killer used the same signature as her parent’s death. It has to be the same killer and once again the police don’t want to investigate. There’s something suspicious going on and Jessica begins to understand why her uncle never talked about her parent’s murders–to protect her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Jun 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781094460635

Harper Shaw

Harper Shaw is an emerging author of thrillers living in central Florida. Her hobbies include watching crime thrillers on TV. She watched Gone Girl and was hooked on writing thrillers except work and family always got in the way. Then she realized that if she spent an hour writing after dinner every night she’d have a book in no time. Nowadays she waits until her family goes to sleep to begin to write her psychological thrillers with twisty endings. She doesn’t let her kids read what she writes so as not to scar them for life.

Book preview

1

"D o you see the people?" Jessica asked her parents, not looking up at them as she twisted her neck to the quickly disappearing heart of the zoo, chock full of animals, music, and food.

Yeah, there are tons, her father answered, his voice velvet against her ears. They came to see the animals we just saw.

Animals, Jessica repeated. She had gotten to feed giraffes and see stingrays, but the people were enough for her. She was hooked in a sort of trance—one she couldn’t escape but didn’t want to leave anyway. As they exited the park, they still swam through the sea of people. She felt her parents hold her hands tighter.

Some scenes always had colors that were electrifyingly alive, colors that rose and jumped out higher than the Empire State Building. These scenes were visceral, made Jessica’s heart beat fast in a good way, one that made her feet drag against the cement path. She was eight, so she didn’t know much about the zoo besides seeing the animals there.

Her sneakers sported rhinestones and blinking lights interspersed at the toes. Her hands were clasped tightly on both sides, one holding her father’s scuffed palms, and another being brushed by her mother’s perfectly manicured fingertips. Her eyes looked straight but darted side to side every few seconds.

There was so much to see, so many people to take in. It was all too much for her brain to handle, but she tried to process all she could in the haze, a cotton-candy-thin film over her vision as she saw tall people like her parents and small people like her and those in between. All these people were enough reason to go to the zoo.

She found herself wanting to stay and watch the procession of humans on their way to see the animals, but her parents were tugging her away. After a moment, she gave in and let them pull her along. With his free hand, her father ruffled her thick, strawberry blonde hair. Her father sported a similar shade atop his own head, and people were always telling her they had the same hair.

Having a good day, Jessie? her father asked, pulling at her feet as they crossed the street into the parking lot. Her mother was walking in step with them and took Jessica’s hand again.

Mmhm, Jessica answered. Do people come to the zoo every day?

Yes, there are always new people.

And we’ll have these memories forever, Jessica’s mother piped in, holding up the plastic bag, which contained everything they bought from the gift shop. Ten—even twenty years— from now, you’ll remember the day you, your dad, and I went to the zoo! Isn’t that nice?

It’s awesome, Jessica’s dad said. He placed her back on the ground, and they piled back into the car.

As they began the drive home, her mother turned the radio on to some pop station. At first only she and her mother were singing, but soon her father joined in too. She could feel the tickle at the base of her throat from screaming the words at the top of her lungs. The smooth beat soon turned harsher, into a synthetic buzzing and flickering ring.

Jessica’s eyes shot open. She gulped as she sat up straight in her bed, her eyes frenzied as she grasped at the real world and waited for her vision to become clear. She turned to her bedside table and saw that her phone was ringing.

The number wasn’t in her contacts, but she knew the area code. It was from her hometown where her Uncle George still lived. He was the only one there, as her parents died while she was still young. He had raised her after that dark point in her life. Maybe he was calling from someone else’s phone or had gotten a new number recently.

Glancing at the clock, she decided it was a bit early for him to call. After all, it wasn’t even eight yet. Was something wrong? She picked up the phone, breathing out the last of the good feelings that dream with her parents brought her as she clicked the green button to answer.

Hello? she said, her voice hoarse. She slid back under her covers as a yawn forced its way out.

Hi, is this Jessica Morrison? a voice asked.

I…who’s asking? She knew this sort of gave away that it was her, but she was starting to feel confused whether this was morning brain or something else she didn’t know.

This is the Lake Trent Police Department.

Lake Trent, yeah…um, what—how can I help you?

I’m calling because we need you to come claim a body. Your uncle, George Morrison, has passed away, and you’re the only one listed on his emergency contacts.

George Morrison?

Yes, ma’am.

No, that can’t be right. You must have the wrong person.

She had just spoken to her uncle yesterday. Even though she didn’t live there anymore, they were still close, and she kept in continuous communication with him. He hadn’t been sick or anything, so that couldn’t be right.

I don’t think so, ma’am. Would you be able to get down here today?

No, you don’t understand. My uncle wasn’t sick. He can’t be dead. I spoke to him yesterday.

I’m sorry, but the time of death is more recent than that. You know, this is a bit harder to do over the phone. Would you be able to drive down? We can give you all the details when you get here.

Jessica was silent. She wanted to tell the man no, but it seemed that wasn’t doing any good. He couldn’t be dead, though. He just couldn’t. Why drive down there if he wasn’t dead?

Her Uncle George had been wanting her to come back home. In the past year, he had been bearing down on her, and she had finally bought a house on the outskirts of town, nowhere near her childhood home or where she used to live, though.

Ms. Morrison, are you still there?

Y-yes, I am. I really don’t think you have the right number or person here. I just talked to him yesterday.

I understand that, ma’am. I know it’s a lot to take in right now. But we need someone to come and claim the body, and you’re the only one who can do that.

I’m all he has.

Had, yes.

He was…

He was all she had, too. There’d be no one else if he was gone. She still didn’t believe it. Her dream felt realer than right now.

This isn’t right, she said again. You guys got it wrong. This isn’t right.

You know, things do happen sometimes. We can even be sure, and things happen. We’re still getting the dental records, but they’re pretty sure. You know?

They’re wrong.

Just drive down and come identify him for us. I’m really sorry.

Did he have a scar on his shoulder? My uncle has a scar on his shoulder from when he played baseball when he was in high school. Was that scar there? If it wasn’t there, it’s not him.

The voice on the line went quiet.

Hello? Was it there?

I believe so, ma’am.

Oh.

I’ll let them know you’re coming down to claim the body. I’m so sorry for your loss.

Thank you.

She hung up the phone, and her bottom lip trembled as she threw it across the room. They had to be wrong. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t. They were wrong.

Stumbling out of bed, she went to the kitchen, a fog descending over her brain. Her throat was hurting, burning. She needed water or something.

Jessica pulled one plastic cup out of the cupboard, and soon after all of them came tumbling out and onto the floor.

She crouched to try and pick them up, but her fingers weren’t working. She clawed at them with no use before just taking one of them and going over to the sink. She turned on the faucet and filled the cup halfway with water. The cold liquid spilled down her face and neck as she tried to get a sip to calm herself.

There wasn’t even anyone she could call. At this moment, she regretted not keeping any friends over the years. Her uncle was it. He always had been since her parents died. But now that left her with no one.

They have to be wrong, she said to herself, dropping the cup in the sink. She ripped herself away but then jabbed her side on the dull edge of the counter. She cried out, holding her side.

They’re wrong, she kept saying, even though she knew they were right. Her uncle was dead.

Her legs stopped working, and her knees gave out. She landed on the kitchen floor, her tears spilling over in a deluge. Every few minutes, she would try to suck it all up and make it end.

But they didn’t stop.

2

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Nothing was right. Nothing.

Jessica was supposed to move back, but she wasn’t supposed to be moving back alone, and she wasn’t supposed to be doing so without her uncle. She wondered if denying things in her mind would bring him back and make things right again.

If only life worked like that, she thought.

The move was scraping memories back to the surface that Jessica had been trying hard to suppress over the years. Feelings that she had been holding deep inside of her had found their way out, painful tendrils wrapping around her heart and squeezing.

The memories hurt.

Sighing, she pressed a hand to her forehead. She turned and gazed at all of the taped-up and stacked boxes. She was leaving here and going back. She’d never been happy about the fact that she was moving back home, but she had been excited to be closer to her uncle again so she could see him more often. She didn’t even know if returning was worth anything anymore.

The doorbell rang and Jessica spun around and scampered over to the door. After undoing the latches, she opened it. On the welcome mat stood a tall man in navy blue Dickies with a smudged name tag.

He smiled.

Hi, you must be the movers, she said, stepping back from behind the door.

Yes, ma’am. I’m Jerry. He held out a hand to shake. She hesitated for a moment but eventually gripped it.

Nice to meet you. I have everything packed up already. Some of the stuff will be staying with me in my car, and I have those separate.

Perfect. If it’s fine with you, the guys and I will start loading the truck for you. Furniture is staying here. Right?

Yes. That’ll be fine. Thank you. She knew she sounded stilted, likely even a little weird. But Jessica felt she had the right to feel weird about all of this. After all, she wasn’t just returning home, but going back to the hometown she had fled. It had been one thing to travel there to buy the house and set it up, all without letting her Uncle know.

It was another thing to actually be moving there. And with her Uncle now gone.

While she stood awkwardly in a corner, the movers whistled and chuckled and chatted amongst themselves as they made quick work of all of the boxes she had packed. As she watched them take everything, Jessica realized she didn’t have nearly as much stuff as she’d thought. It made her feel bare.

Soon the moving men were bidding her farewell and on their way to her new house with her things. Jessica still had a few of her personal boxes to take with her. She settled those into her car and found herself lingering in her soon-to-be former house. She didn’t know why she was finding it so hard to leave.

Thoughts of her parents plagued her. They had been for a while, but since her uncle died, and with the move, she was starting to think of them more often. Her sleep had basically been sliced in half since these memories kept her up at night, and something about them made her eyes constantly feel as if there was something behind them.

She knew most of what was happening to her was psychosomatic—a state she knew well of thanks to her PhD in psychology and professorship in the psychology department. Applying the concepts she knew about psychology to herself would sometimes help ease her anxiety.

If she knew all the fancy words and nuances of nightmares and worry, she could distance herself from them enough to function when it was needed. Lately, though, dark thoughts and painful memories were ruling her life in such a way that she couldn’t distance herself anymore.

She felt as if she were nailed down to them, and whenever she looked in the mirror at her hair and skin and blue-green eyes, she saw the indelible mark of her dead family. Sometimes she wondered if she would miss her parents less if she didn’t have her father’s hair and mother’s eyes, if she would miss her uncle less if his jokes weren’t always ringing in her head.

As she got into her car and finally got onto the road, she found herself reminiscing about her life when her parents were alive. She had been so happy then. There hadn’t been any memories to block or tears to choke back on at night.

Such a life seemed so long ago that she couldn’t imagine what it felt like anymore. The pain had been there long enough that it was numb most of the time, but she always had a few flare-ups. This latest one was lasting much longer, though, and she felt its impact heavy on her chest.

Stop dwelling…stop dwelling, she told herself as she drove closer and closer to the town. Dwelling on things would always make it worse. Since her uncle died, she had been trying to make the dwelling stop. It was like her mind was punishing itself, never blocking the nostalgia.

Memories of the past were always so much more painful when one was forced to contrast them with the present. She was alone in a car. And while the silence was killing her, she knew it would only hurt worse if she turned the radio on and reminded herself of the singing she and her parents had done on the way home from the zoo.

Think future, Jessica, she said. Think future. What will you do when you get there?

It wasn’t as if she was going to meet up with anyone. There would be no housewarming party or even neighbors to greet for that matter.

She had chosen a secluded house toward the outside of the town. Her thought when she bought the house had been that she wouldn’t go into the town proper more than she needed to and wouldn’t have to see anyone she didn’t want to. It was tucked on the edge of a forest with no neighbors in sight.

As she drove up the path and parked her car in front of the house, she saw the garage open and all of her boxes stacked inside. It seemed the movers had already come and gone, their work with the house finished.

Jessica quickly took the remaining boxes from her car and settled those with the others. She knew she wanted to settle in as soon as possible, but she didn’t feel up to starting much of the unpacking process right now.

By the time she finished setting the last of the boxes down, everything was beginning to be too much. On one side of her was the forest and on the other a road that led to town. She knew she would have to go soon to buy some things, but she determined she would wait until it was absolutely necessary.

Looking down at her watch, she knew it was getting toward the time of the day that she usually had lunch. She wasn’t hungry, though. In fact, the thought of food made her stomach twist in addition to the wringer anxiety was already putting it through.

The house was purchased completely furnished, so it wasn’t too bare as she walked inside and inspected the place. Homey was almost the word to describe it with the lights tinged yellow and the space close but not stuffy.

As she walked down the hallway, she made her way to the guest room. She had been making it into a room for her uncle as a surprise. The plan had been to have him move in with her once she was here.

She knew she would never be able to live in her childhood home again, but this was supposed to be a new start for her and her uncle. It would’ve been beautiful.

She dropped onto the bed and kicked her shoes off. This room might have been a guest room, but it was only for family in her heart.

She wished she could just burn it down and use the rest of the house so she didn’t have to look at it anymore.

Curling up onto the bed, Jessica relived memories of her and her uncle. She reminisced about trips they had made together, conversations they’d had at the dinner table, his jokes, the car he bought her for her sixteenth birthday, the tight hug he’d given her when she saw him last.

The part of the room that made her chest throb the most was the picture on the bedside table of her and her uncle. She couldn’t remember who was holding the camera or where they had been that day. She just saw that they were outside with the red and orange of fall behind them. She tried to match her own smile on the photograph, but her face crumpled instead as the sobs came up from her chest. She could barely breathe, choking on pure emotion.

Jessica cried again, cried harder than she had in a long while.

She cried until she was too drained to stay awake and then fell asleep.

3

Ascratching sound woke her, and she went from dead asleep to sitting upright in a millisecond.

What the hell? Jessica yelled, looking around the unfamiliar room and trying to get her bearings. She’d fallen asleep with the lights on, adding to her disorientation. It took her a moment to remember where she was.

Her new house. Her new house in her hometown. The one she had moved into that afternoon. The one she had bought to live in with her uncle.

Her uncle who was now dead.

Uncle George was dead. She was in the new house, and her uncle was dead.

Grief had a cold grip on her heart as the realization hit her that her Uncle George was dead. The scratching was momentarily forgotten as she felt the tears threaten.

Then the scratching sound, the sound of nails on glass, reached her again. Jessica looked around, unable to control her heartbeat as it spiked from fear that started deep in her chest. Her heart pounded as she tried to pinpoint where the scratching was coming from. Her palms grew sweaty as the fear took hold and the scratching grew louder and louder.

She looked around desperately, needing to pinpoint where it was coming from.

It was coming from the window in her bedroom.

Without hesitating, she stood and slammed the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. She strode to the dark window to see what was making the sound. To see who was fucking with her. Nothing was outside, nothing making the sound, and she no longer heard any scratching at all. The trees on the edge of her property blew in the wind, but nothing was against the window.

It was dark just outside—dark and empty.

That didn’t make any sense. The scratching had been real and loud just moments before. No way could someone scratch at her window and then run away without her having seen them. Jessica was sure she had moved fast enough once she’d figured out where it was coming from.

But no one was there. It was quiet outside, almost too quiet. As if everything else that inhabited the forest outside her house knew what was happening, but Jessica wasn’t smart enough to figure it out.

It was just a dream, she said aloud, desperately trying to convince herself. Quickly, with her hands trembling, she grabbed the string for the blinds and started to close them even though she knew it was just a dream.

No one’s out there, she said as she closed the blinds.

She tried so much to convince herself, but that noise, those nails on the chalkboard, somebody scratching on her window—it wasn’t a dream. She knew she wasn’t dreaming.

She locked her bedroom window and went to the living room to close those blinds and lock those windows.

Just in case.

She was still terrified and completely unnerved. So, when a loud knock sounded on her door a minute later, she jumped right out of her skin. She shook her head, not even wanting to approach the door. She just hugged herself in the center of the living room.

You’re being silly, she said out loud again. But she didn’t move. She stood frozen, fear gripping her heart as she stared at the front door.

The doorbell rang, and Jessica jumped again.

What the hell?

She must have had quite a nightmare if she was this scared because of someone ringing her doorbell.

Focusing, she forced her feet to move and managed to walk to the front door and look through the peephole.

Andy Stacks stared back at her.

Her heart thundered as she stared at the guy she hadn’t seen in a long time. Andy used to be her neighbor, and she had always had a crush on him. Something about him…his calm demeanor as he stood on her stoop that made her second guess just leaving him out there.

He was standing like a cop. And it took Jessica a second to realize he was, in fact, wearing a police uniform.

What the hell? That was the theme of her life right now, and, with a sigh, she unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

Jessica? Andy said, looking her up and down and holding out his hand. Jessica took it, her heart fluttering as skin touched skin, and she chastised herself.

Now was not the time to have a heart flutter at Andy Stacks.

Wow, I didn’t think you were actually back in town.

Jessica waited

Reviews for No Peace, No Quiet

[Whitney Snead · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I am listening to this book, so perhaps that colors this review. The reader was always breathless and whispering- it was annoying. Not everything, every interaction is a thriller. But so many sentences are repeated. “My parents murdered! My uncle murdered!” It was dumb. And the romance is labored. And “Jessica” is written too much. There is never another woman in this thing and so it’s useless to keep writing, “Jessica”