The Blue Satin Diary

By Melissa Saari

The Blue Satin Diary

Casey Davison struggles to take care of her mother, who’s suffering from Alzheimer’s, and still make ends meet as a music teacher in a Boston school. When Casey gets worher grandmother, Jane, has passed away and she has inherited Jane’s house on Silver Lake, she sees it as an opportunity to get away from her troubles.

Taking over the ancient house, Casey discovers valuable antiques, but in the attic, she discovers a blue diary with a satin cover. Opening it, she finds out that Jane lived a far more exciting life than she ever let on. As Casey uncovers her grandmother’s dark secrets, she realizes that she might never escape Silver Lake alive.

Do you dare to discover the secrets hidden inside...The Blue Satin Diary?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whimsical Publications
• Release date: May 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781634950077

Melissa Saari

MELISSA SAARI grew up in Butte, Montana, which is Evel Knievel’s hometown, and Montana is the setting of her romance novel Mystic Lake. She graduated from Southern New Hampshire University with a Master of Arts and Literature, with a concentration in screenwriting. Melissa loves animals and has taken care of many cats and dogs, including her two current dogs, Marla and Leo. She loves dogs because of their loyalty and protectiveness, which are traits of the characters in Melissa’s young adult novels Curse of the Lion People and Curse of the Black Dragon and her horror novels The Red Satin Shoes and Blue Satin Diary. Melissa currently lives in Central Washington, where the wild and mighty currents of the Columbia River flow past her door with an air of power and mysticism that further informs her writing.

Book preview

The Blue Satin Diary

Melissa Saari

Smashwords Edition May 2017

The Blue Satin Diary is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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 prior written permission from the copyright holder and the publisher of this book, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. For information, please contact the publisher.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright © 2017 by Melissa Saari

All rights reserved

Published by

Whimsical Publications, LLC

Florida

http://www.whimsicalpublications.com

ISBN-13 for print book: 978-1-63495-006-0

ISBN-13 for e-book: 978-1-63495-007-7

Cover art by Shyanne England

Editing by Melissa Hosack

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Acknowledgment

I would like to acknowledge all my teachers, advisors and editors that have helped me succeed on my path as a writer. I’d also like to acknowledge the teachers at Southern New Hampshire University, where I study screenwriting, as well as my dear friend Patricia McDonald, who has been a great support from the beginning.

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Dedication

This book is dedicated to Lloyd Wilhelm,

who always has a crazy story to tell me.

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Also by

Melissa Saari

The Red Satin Shoes

The Curse of the Lion People (coming soon)

Curse of the Black Dragon (coming soon)

Mystic Lake (coming soon)

The Legend of the Pirate Queen (coming soon)

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Chapter One

The cold gray sky over Boston reminded Casey Davison that not just Boston, but all of Massachusetts, was a very cold place in the winter. Even though it got warm in the spring and summer, the second summer went away, the cold returned.

Casey wrapped her Sherpa jacket around her neck, clipping the leather straps shut with the metal snaps, holding the thick fleece against her neck to keep her warm. The warmth began instantly, spreading across her body. The fleece caught her body heat and bounced it back to her. The solution was centuries old but more effective than any modern jacket she had tried on. With this warm jacket, Casey never had to wear a scarf, unlike most of the other teachers in the school where Casey worked.

She hated the cold. The wind seeped into the gymnasium, keeping the students cold during PE. Gusts of icy air crept inside the music room, chilling the air at night and causing all the brass instruments and the drums, especially the drums, to go out of tune. The wind, spurred by the icy ocean nearby and the endless winter storms that churned off the coast, even ran through the hallways, shrieking through the cracks in the doors and bothering the students’ hair as they tried to get their books.

Casey went into the music room and turned on the heater, warming up the room to prepare for the students. The huge ventilation ducts in the roof above her churned to life, and she saw them buck as the air pushed through them. She frowned at the ancient ductwork and started tuning the instruments.

She went around the room, tuning the instruments as she went, twisting the small nuts on the side of the trumpets to bring them to the correct tone.

After the trumpets and saxophones, she had to tune the drums.

Then she went on to the drums, twisting each peg around the drumhead until the perfect tone popped out when she struck them with the palm of her hand. Without the heat, though, she knew the instruments would soon go out of tune again. She felt enough heat pumping through the vents to get through another day of lessons, so once she got done with the tuning, she sat down and arranged her desk.

When the children arrived, everything was ready for them. They sat down at their chairs, and she started going through the scales. With the younger children, it was important to go through the scales every day.

Dress nice and warm, it’s going to be cool in here until the vents get fixed.

And when is that? asked one of the children.

When Maurice has time, Casey answered.

Now, class, said Casey, I want to hear a C major scale. All together now, one, two, three four— Casey raised her hands in the air, counting out the rhythm. Dozens of students tried to play the scale, but she noticed that some of them were still missing the notes.

Okay, class, that was good, but we need to work one at a time. Let’s start with you, Phoebe.

Okay, said Phoebe, picking up her violin.

So let me see your scales.

Phoebe placed her fingers on the violin and carefully played the C scale.

Casey raised her hand when she was done. Well, I have an idea, she said. Your fingers aren’t hitting the right places, so I’ll give you some guidelines.

Guidelines? said Phoebe.

Absolutely, said Casey. Just let me have your violin for a minute.

Phoebe handed her the violin. Casey carefully laid it down on her desk, remembering a trick her own music teacher had shown her years ago. She started pulling four small rolls of tape from the drawer, one each of blue, red, yellow, and orange. She recalled that the order was important because red and orange would blur, but blue stood out instead, so orange went after blue.

She took a short strip of the orange tape and carefully affixed it under the strings. That one’s A, on the G string, or E on the D string, B on the A string, or F on the E string. That way, you know exactly which note you’re hitting.

She did the same thing with the blue, red, and yellow tape, pointing out the notes she’d be hitting, and then she gave the violin back to Phoebe, who immediately started playing with the new attachments. Casey knew that only practice would bring her fingers to the correct notes, but the guidelines helped her as a teacher immensely, and Phoebe was far from the first student of Casey’s to benefit from the guidelines.

Now every time you want to hit the note, just put your finger right on the tape. It will make it a lot easier for you.

But what about the flat note?

Casey smiled. That’s right between the red tape and blue tape.

Oh! said Phoebe, instantly searching for that sweet spot right between the two guidelines. Within a few seconds, she was hitting it perfectly, after going back and forth between the two guide notes for a few seconds to center her pitch.

Wonderful work, Phoebe! said Casey. You’re really getting the hang of this!

Phoebe started playing the scale again, and this time she hit the notes perfectly. Casey smiled and clapped her hands, encouraging the other children to support her too. They were more than happy to encourage her, and clapped quite enthusiastically.

A loud hiss came over the intercom, and the outdated system did a passable job of clarifying the audio, but all Casey could make out was Time Capsule, and she was pretty sure that’s all the kids were able to hear too. She clarified it for them by clapping her hands, like she always did before she made a general announcement.

Dress warm, kids! Wear your gloves and your hats. We’re going outside to look at the time capsule!

Couldn’t we have done it in the summer? complained one of the children.

Did everybody bring a trinket for the new time capsule? Casey asked.

A chorus of Yes came back, but Casey reminded herself that a chorus was in harmony and time, and these children spoke up as they felt the need to.

History is very important, children, just as important as music or basketball.

The children stared back at her, saying nothing. Casey was offended.

Well, it is! History is very important. Now let’s get going! They’re just about to break open the time capsule!

After the mess of children made it outside, Casey watched the mason carve away the rest of the mortar and pull the bricks away from the corner of the Science Hall. Once his work was complete, he stepped aside, but Casey acknowledged them with a nod, even though no one else seemed to appreciate the stonemason’s hard work.

The superintendent, Samuel Hayes, was younger than the time capsule, but he shivered as he walked across the gravel playground to the corner of the historic hall.

Pausing for a moment to give the crowd a very serious stare and deep nod, Mr. Hayes reached inside and pulled the metal box out of the wall.

His stooped back took a few seconds to stand upright, but he walked over to the table briskly.

This time capsule was put away in 1940, fifteen years before I was even born. What’s inside? Mementos from children just like you, children that went to this school in 1940. Are you ready?

The children cheered.

Okay then, said Mr. Hayes, let’s open the box!

Casey watched the children’s faces light up as the lock gave way under the bright red bolt cutters. She wondered if the children knew the paint was just for show.

Samuel Hayes threw the lid back dramatically.

Inside, Casey saw lots of mementos—postcards, letters, bracelet charms, and other small memories from a long time ago. Nostalgia flooded over her as she looked at the carefully packed mementos. Before her on the table, history opened up and revealed itself, and she realized she had underestimated the importance of the moment as the entire crowd drew completely silent and reverent for several seconds before even coming over to the time capsule.

Phoebe pulled out a charm and a letter, and came over to Casey, because Casey was her favorite teacher.

Even though Boston had a large music scene, including two opera houses, the public school teachers in Boston were just as condescending to the artists as the rest of the school districts in America.

Casey didn’t mind, because the students were even more relieved when they discovered that Casey had a genuine passion for music and was really serious about teaching them.

Miss Davison, look at this charm! said Phoebe.

Ice skates, said Casey.

They looked so silly back then! said Phoebe.

Casey laughed, and then pointed at the handwritten note. What does it say? she asked.

Phoebe opened the folded note and furrowed her brows to see the note clearly in the gloomy Boston afternoon.

The letter says, Hello, my name is Sally. I hope to see my friend Jane when I go visit my grandmother Mildred in Newton. It’s so beautiful over there in the winter. I enclosed my beloved ice skating charm in the time capsule."

Phoebe looked up at Miss Davison with curiosity.

Isn’t that where you’re from, Miss Davison?

As a matter of fact, my mother did live in Newton when I was born, but she moved to Boston when I was very young.

All the children were talking to each other and looking at the mementos, so Mr. Hayes cleared his throat. All right, kids, let’s put our own trinkets inside the time capsule. Put those memories back in the capsule, too.

Phoebe went over to the time capsule with the rest of the children, and they went back inside to get warm. Casey stayed outside, still feeling slightly nostalgic, and after the mason started putting the bricks back in place, Casey wandered over to the table and noticed something shining on the gravel beside it.

She picked it up, recognizing the ice skate charm immediately. They must have forgotten this one, she said, stuffing the charm into her jacket pocket.

When the last school bell rang, Casey was happy to leave the music room, remove her ear protectors, and lock the door. Driving home, the reality of her small apartment became clear to her as she drove past fabulous skyscrapers to get to her apartment on the other side of the towers.

Her apartment was in a red-brick building, and she couldn’t find anything to distinguish her apartment from the rest of the blank, dark green doors in the hallway, so she’d left a yellow butterfly sticker affixed to her door, a welcome ambassador after a long day.

Casey went into her apartment, throwing a Hungry Man into the microwave and pouring a glass of inexpensive wine. It had been seven dollars, but the cheaper wine had been pulled off the shelves after some kind of arsenic scare, so now she had to spend more on her wine just to relax.

She pulled the dinner out of the microwave and sat down on the couch, trying to relax. She always felt more nervous on Friday nights because on Saturday she had to visit her mother in the nursing home.

Casey threw her hair back nervously, looking through her checkbook. The money kept going away faster than it went in. She got frustrated, and closed the checkbook, turning on the TV instead.

Slowly, she got tired enough to fall asleep. She woke up the next morning with the TV still talking to her. She switched off the TV immediately.

Chapter Two

Casey stepped out of her apartment on Saturday morning. She was on her way to visit her mother, Victoria.

Every Saturday, Casey made a trip through Boston traffic to visit her mother, who was falling victim to the nightmare of Alzheimer’s. Every Saturday she would buy a box with two cupcakes for her mother, because the smell would remind her of the past and bring back her senses from the jaws of the Alzheimer’s shark that threatened Victoria.

She pulled her jacket tight. She had to walk across the street and down the block to even get to the five-level parking garage her Kia was parked in. She wanted to stay nice and warm.

Every teacher’s worst nightmare was catching a cold. That’s why the expensive price tag on Casey’s Sherpa jacket hadn’t intimidated her at all. Warmth was a necessity for a music teacher, not a luxury.

Getting in her purple Kia, Casey slowly drove out of the parking garage. Once she was free of the underground maze, she headed down to Modern Bakery on Hanover Street.

Traffic was always terrible in Boston, but she managed to find a parking place only three blocks away, and it was on the street to boot. Casey had a feeling it was going to be a good day.

Modern Bakery advertised their wares on a fabulous sign that glowed day and night outside the bakery. At night, the doors would close to customers, but all night long bakers were busy making delicacies.

Casey wondered why they even had the bright sign. The smell of pastries pouring out of the bakery twenty-four hours a day from large smokestacks brought all the customers, not the flashy sign!

Every time Casey got near the Modern Bakery, the warm air and the strong smells of cinnamon and chocolate brought back wonderful memories of her mother bringing home chocolate mousse cupcakes from Modern Bakery

It also brought back memories of her grandmother’s kitchen, when Jane made the best gingerbread cookies in the entire town of Newton. That was the first time she ever met her grandmother, in that old house by the lake.

Casey pushed the memory aside, distracted by the fantastic smell of cinnamon buns that had just hit the ovens in the bakery. Cinnamon buns were her