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Shona Jackson- The Complete Trilogy
Shona Jackson- The Complete Trilogy Read online
The Complete Trilogy
Shona | Meet Me At 10 | The Beach House
Vicky Jones
Claire Hackney
Copyright © 2019 by Vicky Jones and Claire Hackney.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
About Vicky Jones
About Claire Hackney
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Also by Vicky Jones and Claire Hackney
Also by Vicky Jones
Shona
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Meet Me At 10
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
The Beach House
Part 1: August 1958
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part 2: April 1960
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Part 3: September 1964
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
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Acknowledgments
Our Team
About Vicky Jones
Vicky Jones was born in Essex, England. She is an author and singer-songwriter, with numerous examples of her work on iTunes and YouTube. At 20 years old she entered the Royal Navy. After leaving the Navy realizing she was drifting through life with no sense of direction, she wrote a bucket list of 300 things to achieve which took her traveling, facing her fears and going for her dreams. At the time of printing, she is two-thirds of the way through her bucket list.
One item on her list was to write a song for a cause. Her anti-bullying track called “House of Cards” is now on iTunes to download.
Writing a novel was on her bucket list, and through a chance writing competition at her local writing group, the idea for Meet Me At 10 was born. Vicky hopes she can change hearts and minds due to some of the gritty themes of the book.
Vicky is a keen traveler, stemming from her days traveling the world in the Royal Navy, and has visited around 50 countries so far. She has also graduated from The Open University after studying part time for her degree in psychology and criminology—another bucket list tick! She is currently writing a book about her bucket list adventures, entitled ‘Project Me, Project You’, alongside planning and writing more fiction books and book marketing guides for self-published authors.
She now lives in Cheshire, splitting her time between there and visiting her family and friends back in Essex.
For more information on upcoming book releases, to tell us what you think of the books, or just to say hi, click on the icons below:
About Claire Hackney
Claire Hackney is a former English Literature, Drama and Media Studies teacher who, after attending a local writing group with Vicky and writing several of her own short stories over the years, has now decided to focus her career on full-time novel writing.
She is an avid historian and has thoroughly enjoyed researching different aspects of the 1950s for the ‘Shona Jackson’ trilogy of novels.
Claire is very much looking forward getting started on the many future writing projects she and Vicky have in the pipeline, including the up-coming ‘D.I Rachel Morrison’ thriller series and several standalone novel
s.
For more information on upcoming book releases, to tell us what you think of the books, or just to say hi, click on the icons below:
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Also by Vicky Jones and Claire Hackney
The Burying Place: Book 1
One high-profile case. No leads. No witnesses… And no body. Amanda Walker’s mother is missing. Detective Inspector Rachel Morrison has no leads on the case and time is running out. Amanda appeals to the public, but when no one comes forward, she chooses to immerse herself within a murderous underground group she believes is responsible for her mother’s disappearance. But will the group believe Amanda’s cover story? Or is time running out for her as well? Click on the book cover to order.
Also by Vicky Jones
Bucket List Book 1: Project Me, Project You
“Writing this book changed my life. Reading it could change yours.” Back in 2011, suffering depression after leaving the Royal Navy, author and songwriter Vicky Jones embarked upon a life-changing bucket list, including 300 things to tick off over the course of the next decade of her life. This is the story of how this list came about, how it has helped her combat her depression, and how it can help you too. Click on the book cover to order.
Shona
Chapter 1
“Get the goddamn hell outta here, you filthy varmint! Before I put my boot through your ass.”
It was sunset and the humid Mississippi heat was waning as Shona Jackson shrank down to her haunches behind a parked car, startled by the man’s shout. Peeking through the gap between the fender and the wheel arch, hardly daring to breathe, she watched as the screen door to the house flew open and a stocky, greasy-haired, forty-something man wearing oil-stained work pants and a grubby undershirt appeared at the top of the porch steps, his bloated face red with fury. He took a swig from his bottle of Budweiser and scratched at his unshaven chin, his eyes scanning the area below him for any signs of movement. Large magnolia trees lined the wide street as far as the eye could see, and each garden in the neighborhood was heavily fringed by shrubs just beginning to flower again in the late-March climate. Shona slowly crept out from the car and hid behind the rotting wooden slats of the fence at the side of the man’s property, taking advantage of the cover provided by the overgrown bushes.
As the opening theme tune of This is Your Life drifted from the house, tempting him back to his TV, the man’s eyes narrowed when he noticed that at the end of his garden path, his trash can lid was lying upside down. A shadow beside it became the sole focus of his interest. He picked up a piece of grit and threw it at the can, yelling again.
“What you pitchin’ a fit for, Bob?” a shrill voice rang out from inside the house.
“That damn stray again,” Bob replied, casting his gravelly voice backward over his shoulder towards his wife.
“Well, don’t let it get your feathers ruffled. Get back in here. Ralph’s about to bring out Reverend Tucker,” she hollered.
“Comin’,” Bob grunted, taking one last look around.
Shona ducked out of sight again. She pulled her burgundy pageboy cap down over her eyes and peeked through the slats and weeds, waiting for Bob to disappear back into his house. After making sure the coast was clear, she slung her satchel over her shoulder, crept over to next door’s trash can and lifted its lid.
“Whoa… You gotta be kidding me,” she whispered to herself.
In her twenty-two years of life, she’d rarely smelled anything more repugnant. She rested the lid on the ground as quietly as possible and began sifting through a heap of sweet potato peelings and fish heads. Next to them, she spotted a hunk of bread and some fresh-looking dinner scraps. After picking them out, she flicked off the bits of debris clinging to them. She slipped the food into her pocket, swept back her long blonde bangs and tucked them underneath the peak of her cap. Rolling up the sleeves of her dark brown jacket, Shona rifled deeper.
She spotted a glint of silver on the ground. She reached down to pick it up but, in her urgency to find out the coin’s value, her boot struck the lid and sent it crashing to the sidewalk. Startled, her blue eyes widened, seeing the neighbor’s porch light illuminate. Stooping low, she swiped up the coin and scuttled back behind the fence. After a few heart-pounding moments, the light clicked off and Shona relaxed her shoulders. Remembering the coin now pressed inside her clammy palm, she unclenched her fist. With her eyes shining as brightly as the Franklin half dollar did in the dim amber glow of the streetlight, she flipped it over, then ran her fingertips along the 1955 date stamp, the Liberty Bell raised proudly on its reverse side. Shona grinned. It was brand new, minted only a year ago.
“In God we trust indeed,” she whispered to herself, tucking the coin into the top pocket of her blue denim overshirt. Scanning the quiet street, Shona stood up and stretched out, brushing the powdery dirt off her taupe khaki pants. She was already filthy from her long journey, but habit was habit.
Following the signs towards town, hoping to find a grocery store still open, Shona began to notice in more detail the deprivation of the neighborhood she’d somehow wandered into. For the most part cars were parked neatly in driveways, but some, in various states of disrepair, had been left languishing in front yards, rusting and redundant. Clotheslines were hanging by bent metal poles and some front gates were hanging by only one hinge. It wasn’t the sort of place Shona wanted to hang around for long in and so she quickened her pace, her body beginning to shiver as the darkness of the evening started to surround her. She walked as quickly as her leaden legs could carry her, nibbling on the corners of the stale hunk of bread, with only the cold gravy pools it had previously sat in softening the crust. After a mile or so, Shona saw a large painted sign: WELCOME TO RIVERSIDE
A little further on was a crossroads where the town’s truck repair garage sprawled its vast area across one corner. The paint on the dark green weatherboarding was pristine, the concrete forecourt scrubbed spotless before the solid wooden doors had been closed for the night. Given its appearance, Shona couldn’t help but smile as she mouthed its strange, incongruous name. Wreckers? She raised an eyebrow at the irony before continuing her walk along the main road into Riverside.
The noise emanating from Chasers, a darkly lit saloon across the road about fifty yards away, caught her attention and, as she looked over, she located the grocery store adjacent to it.
Seeing the light go off inside, she forced her aching legs into a run, watching helplessly as the owner stepped outside to lock up for the night. Oblivious to the figure approaching quickly behind him, he placed his keys back in his pocket and began whistling as he strode away.
“Damn it,” Shona panted. Pressing one hand against the wall and the other on her growling stomach, she grimaced and clamped her eyes shut. Composing herself, she opened her eyes to assess her new surroundings. Between the grocery store and Chasers was an alleyway and, with no better idea of where to shelter for the night, Shona trudged down it.
There wasn’t much around to make a bed, but it certainly wasn’t the worst place she’d ever slept in. Spotting a pile of flattened cardboard boxes lying on the dirty ground about halfway down next to a green dumpster, Shona traipsed towards them. Kicking the bits of broken glass and rotting vegetables off the largest piece of cardboard, she slid her back down the wall and pulled one of the flatter pieces over her legs. She wanted to stay alert but began to lose her battle, her eyelids too heavy to hold open any longer. Every few seconds, with every slight sound, she jolted back awake. Sitting bolt upright, fighting to stay vigilant, Shona wrapped the cardboard around her for warmth as effectively as she could and sat quietly, resting her head against h
er satchel and watching the entrance to the alleyway like a hawk, wishing she could just melt into the bricks behind her.