Free The Bourbon Street Ripper (Sins of the Father, Book 1) by Leo King

a lot away from his warmth.
    “Sam, I’m sorry.” Jacob’s voice had softened. “I’m not laughing at you because I think light of your situation. I just find it amazingly ironic that you, after all this time, want to be taken seriously as a writer.”
    As Jacob’s hand left hers, the gauze scratching her skin, Sam gave her friend a wry smile.
    She had met Jacob when she was only twenty years old, in a creative writing class. He seemed to take an interest in a short story she wrote about a young girl hitching rides across the country on trains and nearly falling out of one of those trains, only to be saved by the ghost of her dead companion. Up until then, no one had ever paid attention to her writing before.
    They had continued to talk throughout the semester until Halloween, when Jacob had invited her, a recluse, to go to a Halloween Vampire Ball hosted by a famous New Orleans author.
    Sam had originally declined, but Jacob was so earnest in his insistence that she’d enjoy herself, she eventually told him she’d go to this one party if he promised to never ask her out again. Jacob agreed, and so she went dressed as Elvira, and he went dressed as Gomez Addams. Three highballs and a sorry attempt at dancing the tango later, they were becoming close friends. Ever since then, Jacob had sort of looked out for Sam, even going so far as to vouching for her writing ability to Caroline.
    Sam came back from the nostalgia and looked down at her hand. Jacob’s bandage had scraped her skin, leaving white marks. She thought that he must have really hurt himself to be wearing such thick bandages.
    “It’s okay,” she said. “I know I’ve been a real pain in the ass to the Picayune all these years. I miss deadlines all the time, my work has to be heavily edited, and I seem to go on a sabbatical every time I near a story’s completion. I really am a bad investment.”
    To Sam’s surprise, Jacob shook his head. “No, you’re not a bad investment, at least not as a writer. Sam, I’ve read your stuff. You’ve got good ideas, you just lack organization. It’s amazing that you’ve lasted this long. Don’t you take notes on your stories?”
    “Of course. I just don’t organize them very well,” answered Sam, looking guilty. “I think… ” For a long moment, she sat there and thought, her brow furrowed with effort. “Honestly, I don’t think I go into my stories with a good plan. I just sort of wing it.”
    With a nod, Jacob leaned back and sipped his café au lait, only to make a face indicating that the coffee was now cold. Putting the cup down, he shook his head and said, “Well, Sam, I can’t make you get more organized. But I can tell you that Caroline wants something by tonight.”
    “Or I’m sacked?” asked Sam point-blank.
    Jacob nodded. “Pretty much. But that may not be a bad thing. I mean, come on Sam, you’re independently wealthy. Your father may not have been well off, but your grandfather left you wi—”
    “Stop right there,” Sam snapped at her friend, who withdrew hastily. “Never suggest I live off of that man’s inheritance. I’d rather live on the streets than touch a dime that bastard left me!”
    Sam soon realized that her outburst had gained the attention of almost a dozen people. Her ears burned as she turned back to her beignets, realizing that she had been mashing one against the powdered sugar this entire time, rendering it an inedible mess. Embarrassed, Sam wiped her fingers clean and washed them off in the small water glass near her plate.
    “Sorry, Sam, I know how you feel about him. But if you don’t start producing, you may not have a choice.”
    Finishing wiping off her fingers, Sam nodded in disgust, saying, “I know. Believe me. I know. It seems that no matter how hard I try, though, Grandfather’s ghost won’t let me be.”
    Now it was Jacob’s turn to get silent. As he pondered, Sam stacked all the dirty plates to the side for a busboy to take away. She had an