Box of Secrets

By Kathryn Bea

Sarah Nevis is done with the big leagues. Going from being a successful crime reporter in Chicago to opening her own jewelry shop in her small hometown is quite a change, but she’s ready for the simple life. Her plans are turned upside down when she finds an old box in a secret compartment in her shop, though — a box with a diary full of secrets about the life, and perhaps the death, of a girl who lived in town fifty years ago.

Sarah takes the box to the police, where she encounters high school heartthrob Ryan Carter, now a detective. That should be enough, due diligence done… but turning off her reporter’s instincts is harder than Sarah thought. Her efforts to solve the case result in people invading her home and attacking her outside her shop. If Sarah and Ryan don’t find out who’s behind this crime, she’ll never be able to move on with her life… or her heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Nov 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094431475

Book preview

Chapter One

The shop was an unmitigated disaster. Grimy, outdated, and currently cluttered with precarious stacks of boxes and damaged display cases. It looked exactly like what it was: an old building that had been sitting empty and neglected for years.

But it was all mine, and I loved it.

I meandered around the room taking stock of every detail, down to the missing light bulbs and the giant hole in the back wall. Getting it fixed up and ready for business would take hard work, but I preferred character and history over bland and flawless any day. And it had plenty of both.

Over a hundred years ago, the space began its life as the general store for the people of Brookline, a moderately sized town about an hour outside of Chicago. Smack in the middle of the historic downtown, the store took up the first two floors of a four-story brick building sandwiched between a bank and a dry cleaner. The upper two floors had been offices, then apartments, and were now empty as well.

At some point in the late seventies, a chain grocery store had forced the general store out of business and a video store emerged in its place. A video store I had visited countless times as a kid, seeing it transition from VHS tapes to DVDs. Then in the early aughts, around the time I left for college, it became a kitschy pop-culture depot.

And in less than a month, it would be a shiny new jewelry store, full of my own personal designs, as well as consigned pieces from friends. Hopefully.

The owner of the building had rented it to me under great terms, one of which was permission to make any and all changes necessary, carte blanche. The place had been sitting empty for over three years when I decided to take it over, so in addition to the accumulated junk, mismatched fixtures, and layer upon layer of cracked and peeling paint, I had to contend with inches of dust, armies of spiders, and a vaguely musty odor permeating every corner. I had my work cut out for me, that was for sure.

Undeterred, I got to it. Humming the song that had been playing on the radio when I pulled into the parking spot out front, I maneuvered past the old shelving that was awaiting disposal and unloaded the five overflowing bags I had unceremoniously dropped on the long wooden counter. I pulled out my drinks and snacks first, then lined up the assorted cleaning materials I had brought along to make the shop habitable. With a deep breath, I grabbed a rag and a can of disinfectant spray and went to face my fate.

The morning flew by, and when my phone rang three hours later, I relished the break. I had already filled three garbage bags, swept every inch of the floor, and removed more cobwebs than I cared to think about.

I saw that the caller was Serena, my old co-worker and current best friend, and eagerly hopped onto the counter to settle in for our inevitably long conversation.

Hey.

So, how is it? Is it haunted? she asked brightly.

Undetermined. But it is now free from all six and eight-legged creatures, at least. I eyed the ceiling warily, unsure of the accuracy of my statement.

Gross. Seriously though, how’s it looking?

Not bad. I’ll be working non-stop for the next few weeks to get it ready, but I think I’ll make it. I have my assistant starting soon too, so that’ll help, I told her with a bit more confidence.

Oh, right. Yeah, that’s good. So, how is being back in general? I haven’t talked to you much since you officially moved into the house. Is it weird? Do you run into anyone from high school? Do they recognize you?

I laughed at her string of questions. We had been journalists at the same paper for over a decade and I realized I had missed her friendly interrogations. "It’s been good. I’ve seen a few people I remember, but I haven’t really talked to anyone. I’ve been so busy I haven’t gotten out much. It is kind of weird being back, but not in a bad way. So much has changed, it just doesn’t feel like home yet."

I’m sure you’ll get there. The most important question, though, is are there any hot single guys in that backwater town of yours? You could use some help with the heavy lifting, if you know what I mean. Serena’s familiar giggle floated through the speaker.

I have no idea what you mean, you are far too subtle, I said drily. And I have no idea. Like I said, I haven’t seen many people yet. I wouldn’t hold my breath though. Any of the hot ones got out long ago, I’m sure. Not that I care. My focus is on the shop, and I’m nowhere ready for that yet.

Oh please. You and Jake were over long before the papers were signed. You’re ready. I’m not saying lower your standards and take the first guy that comes along, but if you run into an old boyfriend or unrequited love, take advantage. Have a little fun.

Sure, I’ll get right on that. I decided not to tell Serena that my high school dating life had been as barren as the building I was currently sitting in. I had been quiet and borderline shy back then, not to mention a bit of a nerd. I had done my homework, participated in a few clubs, and hung out with the same three female friends for all four years. My first real boyfriend hadn’t come along until college. And my second boyfriend became my husband, unfortunately.

As for unrequited love, I did vaguely recall having a few minor crushes and going to dances with two different nice boys that sadly hadn’t turned into anything. But the face that flashed through my mind at her words was of someone else entirely. Someone so far out of my league that it didn’t even count as a crush. Everyone crushed on the most popular guy at school, it was practically a requirement. But it was equally meaningless.

You do that. I want a report of something other than building repairs next time we talk, Serena said, pulling me back into the conversation.

I’ll do my best. But since my life is so boring currently, anything new there?

We spent another fifteen minutes talking about the paper, and my replacement, and all the reasons why she hated him. Hearing about it sent a pang of regret through me. I missed it so much. I always would. But I had made the right decision, I was sure of it.

Eventually we ended the call to get back to our respective duties, promising to talk again soon. I doubted I would have anything worthwhile to tell her next time we talked either, but I was okay with that. After the last two years, uneventful sounded appealing.

Section Break

Returning from a lunch break spent on the bench in the tiny park across the street, I stood in the middle of the room, debating what to tackle next. There was a ton of laborious but practical stuff that should be done first, logically, but I was feeling impatient. I’d spent months sketching out the final product in my mind, and now that I was getting close, I wanted to see some visible progress. Two or three weeks felt too long. And there was one obvious update that would make a significant impact.

I had settled on this building primarily for the location, but also for the original dark wood flooring, trim, and shelving. It was opulent and elegant, or would be when sanded and polished, but in combination with the dingy gray walls, the room felt dark and depressing. Reasoning that I’d work better once the shop was the lovely and mood-lifting shade of light purple I had carefully selected, I decided to knock out the painting first.

Unfortunately, I had to prep the walls before getting to the good part. I had hours of cleaning and peeling to do first. Not wanting to waste any time, I dove in. I pulled out the ladder and gathered my supplies. I opted to start with the section behind the counter, since it was the smallest and easiest. I began tearing off strips of the hideous gray, as well as the pea green below, and sanded down what I couldn’t pry off.

I got so lost in the repetitive motions I nearly missed the crack hiding under the top two layers of paint. As I uncovered it, I found a line that was about a foot long, and narrow. Too narrow to be seen from down on the floor. I never would have noticed it if I hadn’t been at eye level with it. I dismissed it as a natural effect of time and moisture until I noticed the second hairline crack running perpendicular along the bottom. The cracks made a perfect square with the corner and ceiling. Those lines were ruler straight and defined. Not natural.

Huh. It’s a door, I mumbled. It was odd. It was too high to be an access panel to any utilities.

Curious, I scraped away the old paint, clearly outlining the edges of what I assumed was some kind of compartment. I tried to pull it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Hopping down, I found a screwdriver in my box of tools, then climbed back up. It took nearly five minutes, but after much sweating and swearing, the panel creaked and popped open an inch. With an excited whoop, followed by a cough from the disturbed dust, I pulled the little door all the way open.

Retrieving my phone from my back pocket, I turned on the flashlight and peered inside. It was indeed a hidden compartment, roughly the size of a microwave, and mostly empty. Empty except for a single box pushed against the back wall. I tentatively reached in and pulled the box out. After making sure I hadn’t