The Mistletoe Secret Read online

  I was almost done eating when Ray walked into the room. In spite of the cold he was wearing long shorts with knee-high socks and thick leather walking boots. He looked very German. He also had a brown leather satchel slung over his arm.

  He smiled when he saw me. “Mr. Bartlett,” he said. “Just the man I’m looking for.” He walked over and sat down at my table. He shrugged off the satchel, put it on the table next to him, then looked into my eyes. “I’m glad you are here, my friend. I need to talk to you.”

  He leaned closer and, in a more serious tone, said, “You know, the longer I live, the more I believe in heaven ordinant—­the Shakespearean edict that ‘there’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will.’” He leaned back and his voice relaxed. “So, did you find your LBH?”

  I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “Not yet.”

  I was about to tell him that I was considering aborting my search when he said, “I didn’t think so. Let me tell you why. I have a story to tell you.

  “Nine years ago I was at an art showing in Park City when a man asked me for some help. He was trying to get his elderly grandmother in a wheelchair down a set of stairs. I don’t know where the ramp was, but the stairs only had five steps, so I offered my assistance.

  “We’re just about down the last step when pop! something gives in my back. I ruptured a disk, L5-S1. It pinched off my sciatic nerve, so I’ve got no feeling in my left leg. Hurt like the devil. Two surgeries and a diskectomy later, I can walk without a cane. It’s like they say, ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’ ” He leaned forward until he was uncomfortably close. “You’re probably wondering why I’m sharing this story.”

  “It crossed my mind,” I said.

  “My back’s been sore ever since. So once a month I treat myself to a massage. There’s a wonderful, beautiful young lady in Midway with nothing short of magical hands. So the day before yesterday I was getting my monthly massage when it occurred to me that this young lady is not on your list, but she should be.

  “Her name is Lynette Hurt. Granted, it’s a bit of an unfortunate name for that profession, or maybe it’s ideal, I don’t know. She lives in Heber, which is why you didn’t have her on your list, but her parlor, or studio, whatever they call them these days, is only a few blocks from the park. She gets a lot of business during Swiss Days.”

  “How old is she?”

  “About your age. Maybe a few years younger.”

  “And she’s single?”

  “She’s been single and alone for a while now. Her husband was killed in a tractor accident just on the other side of the Homestead. What a tragic day that was for the community.”

  “And her family?”

  “She never had any children and his family moved away after their son’s death, so she’s very much alone. And lonely. She told me. I don’t know if she blogs, but I know she’s very active on the social media, Facebook and such.” He pointed a sausage finger at me. “I think Lynette’s your woman. She’s a sweet one. Lonely. Contemplative. Pretty, in a natural way, you know, not one to wear a lot of makeup. Doesn’t need it. Soft eyes. Soft-spoken . . .”

  “Does she have a middle name?”

  “I honestly don’t know. But I do know that her maiden name was German. Bucher. It means beech tree or something like that.”

  “Her father was German,” I said. “LBH mentioned that in one of her posts.”

  Ray nodded. “Yes, Lynette Bucher Hurt.”

  I looked at him. “Her initials are LBH.”

  “Yes, sir.” He reached over and patted me on the shoulder. “I knew that wouldn’t be lost on you. I’ll have Claudia ­schedule you an appointment for her next available opening.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He then took something from his satchel. “Here, I brought something for you.” He handed me a small cluster of dried flowers bundled together with twine. “It’s edelweiss. It’s an important symbol to the Swiss. Edelweiss grows high in the mountains on rocky soil, so if a young man wanted to impress a young lady, he would bring her edelweiss. She might not marry him, but it would certainly get her attention. I thought it might come in handy.”

  “It’s very strange that you would bring this to me.” I looked him in the eyes. “In one of the blog entries LBH wrote that her father told her to wait for a man to bring her edelweiss.”

  Ray smiled. “There you go. Just as I was saying. Divinity.”

  My breakfast with Ray had left me feeling a little confused. Had I really found LBH? I realized that there was a part of me that had actually doubted that I would ever find her. And, in consequence of my budding relationship with Aria, there was now a part of me that didn’t want to find her.

  Still, I had to see this through. I had to know. The fact that the woman was a masseuse was convenient. I could casually talk to her about her life without creeping her out or making her suspicious. I don’t know if it was divinity, as Ray claimed, but it couldn’t have worked out better.

  After breakfast I went back up to get ready for the day. I was shaving when my room phone rang. I wiped the shaving cream off my face and answered.

  “Mr. Bartlett, it’s Claudia at the front desk. I just wanted to let you know that I was able to get you a one-hour massage appointment with Ms. Hurt at two o’clock this afternoon.”

  “Thank you.”

  As I hung up the phone, I realized that after all the miles and all I’d been through, I might actually be meeting LBH. So why was it that I couldn’t stop thinking of Aria?

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-eight

  Before I left the inn, Claudia handed me the address of the massage studio. It was just three doors north of Main Street, in a small, single-story house. I passed the diner on the way there and I couldn’t help but look for Aria. I didn’t see her. I parked in the street, then walked up to the front door. A plastic sign read:

  Awaken Massage by Lynette

  Swedish • Shiatsu • Hot Stone • Deep Tissue • Reflexology

  9 a.m. – 6 p.m. / Mon – Fri / Walk-ins welcome

  I stepped inside. The home’s front room had been converted into a lounge area with a modern, bright red sofa behind a glass coffee table covered with magazines on massage therapy, health, and holistic healing. The space had a comforting ambience.

  I examined the room carefully, looking for clues. On a counter in the corner of the room was a scented candle whose fragrance filled the room with a pleasant pineapple-citrus smell. Next to the counter was a cabinet with a glass front. I walked over to inspect what was inside. There were small, amber apothecary bottles filled with different types of essential oils: lavender, frankincense, lemon, and at least a dozen others.

  I sat down on the couch to wait. My anticipation was growing, teased by a sign hanging from the door in front of me:

  Massage in Progress

  Please be quiet,

  I will be right with you.

  —LBH

  There it was. LBH. I checked my watch. I was early for my appointment. I had just started reading an article on the benefits of cupping therapy when the hallway door opened. I looked up to see an attractive young woman with short blond hair step out. She had wide, fleshy cheeks and soft blue eyes. Even though her maiden name was German, I thought she was more Swedish-looking. She was wearing a short-sleeved, dark blue smock.

  There was something very surreal about finally seeing her.

  “Mr. Bartlett?”

  I stood. “Yes.”

  She smiled. “No, please, sit. My client is getting dressed. She’s elderly, so it takes her a little longer. I’ll be right back to get you. Please relax and make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She disappeared back through the door. About five minutes later an older woman came walking out from the hallway. She was a little bent, with silver
hair that was slightly mussed from her massage. She was speaking to Lynette. “I’ll be out of town next week, and it’s the holiday, so I won’t need my usual appointment. But I’ll be back the next.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Up north,” she said. “Logan. McKenzie—that’s Barry’s second daughter—is marrying one of those Logan boys. On Christmas Eve, no less. I don’t know what she’s thinking.”

  Lynette walked out behind her, smiling. “Well, travel safe. And don’t forget to do your stretches. Fifteen minutes a night.”

  “You sound just like my daughter. She keeps trying to get me to go to one of those yoga classes.”

  “You should try it. I’ve seen it do wonders.”

  The old woman rooted through her purse for a moment, lifted out a hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to Lynette. “Thank you, dear. It’s the best hour of my week. And keep the extra. Christmas is coming.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “You deserve it. Have a merry Christmas.”

  The women hugged and the elderly woman left, furtively glancing at me. There was a brief pause, as if in deference to the woman’s departure, then Lynette walked up to me, extending her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Lynette.”

  I stood and took her hand. “I’m Alex.”

  “Thank you for your patience, Alex. Come on back.”

  As I followed her I said, “Thank you for getting me in on such short notice.”

  “You’re welcome. I always try to accommodate the local resorts. They’re my bread and butter.”

  She led me to an open door at the end of the corridor. ­Inside the room was a wide massage table covered with beige cotton sheets. The room was dimmed and light, Asian-sounding flute music was playing against a background ambience of nature sounds.

  “Go ahead and get undressed to your comfort level, then slide under the sheet with your face down. I’ll go wash my hands and I’ll be right back.”

  She shut the door. I took off all my clothes, folded them in the corner, then climbed onto the warm table, pulling the sheet over my back. I rested my head in the cradle. I wondered if Lynette’s hands would feel as good as Aria’s. My thoughts were interrupted by a light knock on the door.

  “May I come in?”

  “Yes.”

  I could hear the door open as she stepped inside. She dimmed the lights a little more, shut the door, and walked over next to me, gently putting her hand on the middle of my back. “Have you had a massage before?”

  “Many.”

  “Good. Do you have a preference today? Deep tissue, relaxation, hot stones . . .”

  “Just relaxation,” I said.

  “Are there any places you would like me to pay special attention?”

  My heart. “My scalp,” I said. “And my feet.”

  “Whatever you like.” She poured oil onto her hands, rubbed them together, and then lightly pulled the sheet down to my lower back. “Just let me know if the pressure is too much.” She ran her hand up my spine and began rubbing the oil into my back. Her hands were soft yet strong.

  She had worked my back for a few minutes when I asked, “Have you been doing this long?”

  “Almost six years,” she said. “You’re staying at the Blue Boar?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a beautiful inn. Have you stayed there before?”

  “No. This is my first time in Midway. Actually, in Utah.”

  “What do you think of it?”

  “I think it’s cold.”

  She laughed. “Where are you from, California?”

  “Florida.”

  “The other side.” She pressed on a tender spot beneath my right shoulder blade and I recoiled a little. “Sorry, you’ve got a knot here. Let me work it out.”

  Neither of us spoke as she rubbed the area.

  “Do you have a lot of stress in your life?”

  “The usual,” I said.

  She kept rubbing until the tension was gone.

  “You’re good,” I said. “Do you get a lot of business here?”

  “I keep busy. I do a lot of work for the resorts, Zermatt and the Homestead. In the fall there’s a festival here called Swiss Days. I’m pretty much nonstop those days and for several weeks after.

  “There’s a parking lot on the other side of this block, so there’s constant traffic and I get a lot of walk-ins. Sometimes I wonder where all those people come from.”

  I recognized those words from her blog.

  “There’s also a lot of new development going on around here. It’s not Park City with the celebrities and all that, but there’s still a lot of new money coming into the city. It makes the locals kind of crazy, these new people moving in with their own ideas. Some of these families have been here since the Mormon pioneers.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “I moved here eight years ago, but my husband’s family goes way back to the pioneers.” She paused. “Take a deep breath, then slowly breathe out.”

  I did as she said.

  “What brings you to Midway?”

  I hesitated. “Business.”

  “What kind of business are you in?”

  “I’m an assassin.”

  She was quiet for a moment, then said, “Do you get health benefits with that?”

  We both laughed. I liked this woman.

  After a half hour Lynette had me roll over onto my back. I looked into her face and she smiled. She had a kind smile. I could imagine her writing the kinds of blog entries that had brought me three thousand miles west.

  “Do you do much on the Internet?” I asked.

  “I try. I have a Facebook page and an Instagram account. Nothing big, a few hundred people, but for a town this size, that’s not bad. I also have a blog, but that’s just for personal things.”

  “I’d like to read it.”

  She looked uncomfortable. “It’s kind of embarrassing. It’s just my thoughts. I write for self-therapy. I’d hate to actually meet someone who read it.” She took a deep breath. “How do you feel?”

  “I feel great,” I said. “You have a very nice touch.”

  “Thank you.”

  I closed my eyes and let her finish her work in silence. I’d found LBH. Now what?

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-nine

  As Lynette worked my scalp, I thought over my next move. I was confused. This is what I’d come three thousand miles for. I should have been wildly excited, not wildly conflicted. LBH was exactly what I hoped she’d be: kind, sincere, beautiful. But my heart was somewhere else. It was like going to a car dealership to purchase the car you’ve done all the research on and then your head gets turned by a model you’ve never even heard of. I don’t mean to sound that shallow, comparing these women to cars, but you get my point.

  Still, as I’d told Nate, I had felt powerfully inspired to find LBH, and now I had. I supposed that I owed it to the universe at least to see where it went from here.

  Twenty minutes later Lynette ran her hands down the length of my body then gently set a hand on my knee. “That’s our session, Alex. How do you feel?”

  “Like a new man,” I said.

  “Good. I’m going to step out so you can dress. Would you like some water?”

  “Please.”

  “I’ll be right outside the door,” she said. After she left the room, I just lay there in the darkness, taking deep breaths. The next move was mine. I sat up and dressed, then walked out into the hallway. Lynette was standing near the door, holding a plastic cup of water. “There you go,” she said, handing me the cup.

  I took a drink. “Thank you.”

  “Remember to drink a lot of water. There was a lot of tension built up in your neck and shoulders that I worked out, and you want to flush th
e toxins out of your system.”

  I followed her out to the lobby. I was glad that there was no one waiting. I gave her a credit card and signed on an extra twenty-dollar tip.

  “Do you leave town soon?” she asked.

  “Next week,” I said. “I was going to leave on the twenty-second, but I might stay a little longer.”

  She grinned. “More people to kill?”

  “So many hits, so little time.”

  “Well, if you ever come back into town, be sure to stop by. Unless you’re coming on business. Then I’ve moved.”

  I laughed.

  She grabbed a business card. “Here. In case you find yourself back in Midway.”

  I looked over the card, which basically had the same information as the front door, with the addition of her cell phone number. I realized that our time was at an end and I needed to act now.

  “I don’t know if this is appropriate or not, it’s kind of spontaneous, but would you like to go to dinner with me tonight?”

  She looked as surprised at my invitation as I was. “I’ve never gone out with a client . . .”

  “There’s a first time for everything, right?”

  She thought for a moment then smiled. “Yes. I’d like that. What time?”

  “What’s good for you?”

  She looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost two-thirty. I need to get a few things done at home. Say seven?”

  “Seven would be great. I don’t know a lot of restaurants in town, but the one at the Blue Boar is nice.”

  “The Blue Boar is very nice. Shall I meet you there?”

  “Or I can pick you up,” I said. “If you’re okay with that.”

  “Thank you. Let me write my home address on the card.”

  I handed her the card and she scrawled something on the back and returned it to me. “Thank you. I’ll see you at seven.”

  Sometime during my massage it had started snowing again. I brushed off my car, then headed back to the inn. As I drove down Main Street, I glanced at the diner. This time I thought I saw Aria inside and it made my stomach ache a little. I wanted to see her.