Exclusive preview of my upcoming mystery novel, The Ditty Box

A small island. Family secrets. A mysterious ditty box.

When Nora Nash inherits an old house from her aunt Bea, she decides to renovate it into a bed-and-breakfast. As she begins the remodel, some would do anything to stop her like Hattie Smith, the owner of a beauty salon, who’s been eyeing the three-story house with the intent of converting it into a day spa.

Nora soon discovers the house has a few secrets of its own; strange noises that wake her up at night, objects that have been moved without her knowledge, and a faint lingering smell of tobacco which all seem to point to an intruder. Could all these strange happenings be linked to the ditty box found inside the house’s walls?

As she digs for clues, Nora begins to suspect her aunt’s death might not have been an accident but cold-blooded murder. She quickly realizes that she needs to solve the mystery before she becomes the next victim.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sereni-Tea offered tea, coffee, sandwiches, bite-sized quiches, and pastries. Parking my tricycle on the sidewalk out front, I entered the tea shop.

“Welcome to Sereni-Tea.”

The youthful woman behind the counter was medium height and slender. A black scrunchy restrained a thick curtain of wavy, rust-colored hair, bangs swept to the side across her forehead. An ankle-length apron covered her snow-white blouse and jeans.

Behind her, glass shelves displayed colorful canisters of tea, from common Earl Grey to lesser known blends like Cloudberry tea and Chocolate tea.

“Good afternoon,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “It’s not as warm as I thought out there.”

“The sun can be misleading this time of year. What can I get you?”

“A hot cup of tea and a blueberry scone would be nice.”

“Are you new to the island?” she asked, retrieving the scone with a pair of plastic tongs.

“I’m Beatrice Montgomery’s niece, Nora Nash.”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard about you. Welcome to Ocracoke. My name is Fern Bascomb. Would you care for a cup of Yaupon tea? My treat. Sort of a welcome gift.”

“Thank you, Fern. That’s very sweet of you.”

“Have you tasted our local brew?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

The earthy scent of Yaupon tea wafted across the counter as she poured.

“Yaupon trees are native to the Outer Banks. They look a bit like holly trees. The leaves are dried, then brewed into an energy-boosting beverage rich in antioxidants. It’s a win-win in my book.”

“I think I’ll order a blueberry scone for here and a dozen chocolate macaroons to go. I’ve been so busy running errands, I forgot to stop for lunch.”

“By all means.”

I looked around at the empty tables. “I seem to have the place to myself.”

“You just missed the midday rush.”

I took my tea and scone to a small table near the window. I’d barely taken a seat when Hattie Smirch breezed in. Bundled in a cashmere coat, her hair loosely covered with a printed scarf, she exuded an air of poise and quiet authority.

“Two chai lattes to go.”

I quietly sipped my tea, hoping she wouldn’t notice me. Just then my phone pinged. Her head jerked around.

“Nora.”

She strode towards me, eyes narrowed, a brittle smile on her cherry-red lips. I felt like a mouse corned by a hungry cat. I wondered if she would toy with me first just to watch me squeal and squirm or swallow me whole.

“I heard you’re converting your aunt’s house into a bed-and-breakfast.”

I nodded.

“Good luck with that. There are two magnificent hotels along the harbor and three elegant B&Bs along the waterfront. Another inn seems a bit redundant, don’t you think?”

I wasn’t about to engage in an argument with her. “Maybe.”

“I hope you’ve done your homework. Most family-owned businesses fail within the first year. Owners spend so much on remodeling and supplies that they can’t recover the loss even if they are fully booked all season long.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

Clutching my phone, I glanced at the messages in a show of indifference. Maybe if I ignored her, she’d go away.

“I’d hate to see you burn your inheritance on such a risky venture.”

There was a message from John. I opened it.

“I hope you know my offer is still on the table,” Hattie persisted.

“Well look at that,” I said with a toothy smile. “Building permits just came through.”

Hattie snorted. “I guess some of us have to learn the hard way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She turned and stomped back to the counter.

“Add it to my tab,” she said, snatching up the drinks on her way out.

I watched her retreating form through the shop window, doubt niggling at my mind. What if she was right? I was sinking a considerable sum of money into the renovations, hiring new staff without even one single entry in the reservation book. What did my bed-and-breakfast have to offer over the waterfront lodgings with their spectacular accommodations, guest facilities, room service, and proximity to shops and businesses?

“I’m sorry about that,” Fern said, setting the box of macaroons on the table.

“About what?”

“Hattie. She had no business confronting you in my shop. I should have interfered.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault that she has no manners.”

She gave a short laugh. “How’s your tea?”

“Different but not in a bad way. Yaupon tea reminds me of green tea but with an earthy flavor.”

“That’s a good way to describe it. Some love it, others hate it.”

Fern hesitated. “Mind if I join you for a minute?”

“Please do!”

She took a seat across from me. “I wrapped your box of macaroons in two plastic bags so they won’t get ruined. Looks like it might rain any minute.”

I glanced out the window. Large slabs of charcoal-grey clouds scudded across a granite sky. In the harbor, moored boats bobbed and swayed on frisky waves. It still amazed me how quickly the weather could change on the Outer Banks.

“Your aunt was one of my favorite customers,” Fern said, drawing the dish of packaged sugar towards her. “I’m going to miss her.”

“Were you close?”

“I knew Beatrice from her frequent visits to my shop.” Fern removed the packets of artificial sweetener, then tucked them behind the packets of sugar. “She always took the time to ask me how I was doing and what was going on in my life. She and my grandmother were best friends.”

I glanced at her over the rim of my cup. “Who’s your grandmother?”

“Ruth Littel.”

I could see the resemblance now; the high cheekbones, the ocean-blue eyes, and full lips.

“I just saw your grandmother at All Booked Up. She had a book on order.”

Fern’s lips curved into a smile. “That woman would rather starve than suffer one day without a book to read.”

“At least she has a healthy hobby. I noticed she’s struggling with mobility these days.”

Fern nodded, a crease furrowing her brow. “We’re all concerned about her living alone. My parents, my siblings, and I take turns stopping by her house in the mornings but she could fall between visits and none of us would know until we checked on her the next morning. Dad calls her every evening as well. Half the time she doesn’t answer. He’s run over to her house more than once, assuming the worst, only to find she’s fallen asleep in her chair.”

“It’s hard when parents get older. Is there a chance she would agree to assisted living?”

Fern shook her head. “She’s mentioned it but the cost is prohibitive. Besides, she’d have to go to the mainland and I don’t think she’d do well cut off from family and friends. Her house is the only home she’s ever known.”

I took another sip of tea. Tasty but not on my list of must-haves.

“It seems my aunt was struggling with her memory and mobility as well. Did she or your grandmother ever mention anything to that effect?”

“Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. I’ve been reading her diary and she mentioned that she’d started forgetting things and misplacing items. You know, the typical older age memory fog.”

“On the contrary, your aunt was spry for her age. As a matter of fact, she’d started seeing someone.”

My head jerked up. “She what?”

The words spewed from my mouth, sounding loud even to my own ears.

“Every other Tuesday she’d show up here at 9 a.m. A few minutes later, an older gentleman would come in and join her for tea. They’d sit over there.” She pointed to a table nestled in the far corner of the room. “They’d stay an hour or so, chatting and laughing, then leave.”

“Do you know his name?”

“I heard her mention the name Allan several times. Other than that, I don’t know much about him.”

“Can you give me a physical description?”

“Average height, short brown hair. Wish I could tell you more but that’s about all I know.”

Another topic Aunt Bea had failed to mention in her weekly emails. I thought we’d been open with each other yet all the while she’d been keeping secrets from me. I took another sip, trying to ignore the tightening in my chest.

“It’s getting dark. I’d better turn on the lights.” Fern pushed to her feet.

Outside, a brew of dark clouds boiled in a lead sky. I drained my cup.

“I’d better get going. Looks like the clouds are about to break. If you have a business card, I’ll pin it on the bulletin board in my foyer. Send a little business your way.”

“That would be marvelous.” She rooted around behind the counter, then handed me her business card.

“Would you be willing to put out a few brochures about the upcoming bed-and-breakfast?” I’d discovered that shop owners have a hard time saying no when you’ve done them a favor first.

“I’d be glad to. Have you come up with a name yet for your place?”

“Aunt Bea’s Bed-and-Breakfast.”

Fern clapped her hands to her cheeks. “How special. Your aunt would have loved it.”

“Thank you. How much do I owe?”

By the time she’d rung me up and I’d paid, the skies had turned black.

“Good luck with your bed-and-breakfast,” she called as I hurried out.

Placing the bag of macaroons in the basket, I straddled the bike.

I didn’t notice the man dressed in camo and army boots until he stepped from the doorway of The Tackle Box.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled, attempting to maneuver around him on the narrow sidewalk.

Instead of stepping aside, the man seized the handlebars, his bony fingers surprisingly strong.

“You’re Beatrice’s niece.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“I am,” I said.

His brash behavior along with his bristly face and long, greasy hair unnerved me. My mouth went dry.

He let go of my bike and moved closer, lowering his face near enough to make me wish I wasn’t standing downwind. Red and white bobbers dangled from his forest-green hat, brushing against my forehead.

“About three months ago, yer aunt was taking pictures down to the docks.”

“And?”

“Didn’t notice she was takin’ pictures or I’d a cleared out right quick.” His ash-grey eyes narrowed. “Told her she should ‘a warned me first. I asked her to show me the pictures she’d taken but she wouldn’t let me touch her camera.”

A fat raindrop landed on my head. “My aunt passed away a couple of months ago. It doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

“You never know. You could try to make a quick buck by sending some of her photos to a magazine or some travel website. You better make sure I ain’t in any of those photos or I’ll be comin’ after you next.”

I pushed off, pedaling as fast as my legs would go. Rounding the lake, I headed north along the narrow lane to my house. Another raindrop plopped on my nose. I tried to shake off a growing chill as I pumped my legs in a feverish rush to get home.

I’d come face to face with my share of homeless people on the streets of New York City but this guy’s behavior was a tad eccentric. It was not just the fact that he knew my identity which was unnerving in and of itself, but he’d threatened to come after me.

It suddenly hit me that someone might have witnessed that exchange between him and Aunt Bea. I’d have to ask around. Who was he anyway? Why was he so obsessed with staying clear of the public eye? A recluse who wanted to keep a low profile? Or someone with a past life and secrets worth killing for?

© Author Renee Vajko Srch, October 2022