Tell Me Another Lie
Chapter 1—Belle
The striking contrast of the white rose against the red countertop captured Belle’s attention as soon as she stepped out of the massage room. Her heart lodged in her throat … and not in a good way. She managed to stay composed as she walked her latest client to the door. “You be careful on the way home now, Mr. Riley. And I’ll see you next Friday, okay?” She patted the elderly man’s shoulder.
He tipped his bald head and offered a jovial grin. “That you will, Miss Belle. My favorite appointment of the week.”
Belle smiled. The man was such a sweetie, just like the grandpa she’d never had. “Oh, wait. Your hat.” She grabbed his worn fedora off the coat rack and handed it to him. “And don’t forget to use the heating pad for at least thirty minutes each evening.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes twinkled. “Any more instructions?”
She faked a stern look. “Yes, just one. Tell Bertie I said hello.”
Mr. Riley laughed. “Alrighty, I can do that.”
Belle stood in the doorway, keeping a protective eye on him as he shuffled down the short walkway to his Cadillac parked at the curb. It was a classic, baby blue 1963 convertible coup—the love of his life, he assured Belle, second only to Bertie, his wife of 59 years.
She was on a first-name basis with most all her clients. But when it came to 86-year-old Henry, he’d always been Mr. Riley and she’d always been, not Miss Cosgrove, but simply Miss Belle. It was a cute and comfortable relationship that they both seemed to treasure, and Belle looked forward to their weekly appointment as much as did. He turned and offered a wave once he’d reached his car, and Belle waved back.
As soon as she stepped back inside, her gaze veered to the rose and she lost her smile. She’d had such fun decorating her reception area. It was all welcoming and cheery, with walls a pale yellow and red ivy stenciled along the top to match the red counter. But something about the unwelcome flower just seemed to ruin the whole effect.
The rose hadn’t been there when Mr. Riley arrived which meant it had been delivered sometime during the forty-minute appointment. She hadn’t heard anyone come in while she was with him in the massage room … then again, with the door closed and soft background music, it wasn’t surprising. At least Mr. Riley hadn’t noticed the rose. Thank goodness. The last thing Belle needed was questions she had no clue how to answer.
A small card dangled from the crystal vase, attached by a pink ribbon. Belle toyed with her bottom lip in a moment of indecision. If she had any smarts she wouldn’t read it, she’d just toss the whole thing in the garbage. Card, vase, and flower. But of course, she couldn’t. She was compelled to look—just like passing an accident. She crept across the tile floor and lifted the card with her thumb and forefinger.
Good things come to those who wait. I promise you an earth-shattering first date.
Belle whipped her fingers away as if she’d been burned. Good grapes! She hugged her arms around her stomach with a shudder. The corny poem might have been amusing, even endearing, in a different context. But it was simply the latest in a string of small gifts and notes left anonymously over the past month that were making her more and more creeped out.
And irritated. Definitely irritated.
The eerie attention was an unwelcome intrusion into what had finally begun to feel like a comfortable new normal, and Belle resented it highly. She retrieved a plastic bottle of water from the small refrigerator behind the counter and slowly sipped it while considering her options. Were there any? It’s not like she could call 911 to report something so trivial. She could just imagine the conversation.
- What is your emergency?
Well … um, some stranger just left a rose at my massage clinic.
Excuse me?
Well, you don’t understand. Someone intruded into my own private space and left a flower I don’t want. And it’s not the first time it’s happened.
Was the door locked?
Don’t be ridiculous. This is a business.
Belle shook her head with disgust. Nope, not an option. She gulped the last few swallows of water, but it didn’t do much to cool her frustration.
She’d returned to Huckleberry Ridge fourteen months earlier determined to make a fresh start. Despite spending the past eighteen years in Michigan, the small Idaho community had been her childhood home until she and her twin brother, Bo, were young teens and her father took a job offer in Lansing. Huckleberry Ridge would always be the place she’d think of as home. So moving back had felt … well … like coming home.
Thanks to the loving help and patient support of the wonderful Wickham clan—her mom’s sister Elaine and her husband Art, and Belle’s cousins, Shane, Josh, Dawson, and Skye—she’d been able to purchase and renovate a small space downtown and open Mountain Air Massage. And now, after months of hard work and sporadic sleep, Belle’s little practice was thriving. Thinking about its success made her bubble up with pride. She averaged twenty-five clients a week. The perfect number to enable her to pay the bills and turn a decent profit, but not so many she couldn’t give each client the time and attention they deserved.
Best of all, the time and mental energy required to run her own business had proven to be a comforting balm to her bruised heart. And though Belle knew she’d never be completely free of the chain of regret surrounding the loss of her husband, little by little it had loosened enough to let her breathe, and for the first time since Rudy’s death, the future felt welcoming and full of promise.
Yep, everything was finally looking up. Belle glanced at the rose again and groaned. Well … almost everything. If only she knew who her anonymous suitor was, she could assure him he was wasting his time and beg him to please, please, please just back off.
Belle wasn’t dating anyone and had no plans to do so any time soon—quite possibly never—no matter how many gifts her anonymous suitor showered on her. She’d been there, done that, played the game of love and failed miserably. Her greatest regret to date was rushing into marriage at nineteen—a clueless kid in an adult’s body. She’d been so sure marrying Rudy was the right thing. Zero doubts. Absolutely one hundred percent sure.
Sadly, she’d been one hundred percent wrong.
All that psychobabble about following your own heart was a bunch of nonsense. Her heart had lied to her, proven itself fickle and completely untrustworthy. Nothing like learning things the hard way. And the foremost lesson? The truth of the famous quote—Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, and expecting different results.
Amen!
So, for the foreseeable future anyway, being single felt good, it felt right. Sure, it was lonely at times, but it was also freeing. If she wanted to spend the evening sprawled on the couch binging on podcasts, no one cared. If dinner was a plate of steamed broccoli and a bagel, it was all good. If she wanted to hang out with family or friends for an afternoon, there was no one left at home to feel neglected.
A course of action finally decided on, Belle snatched the rose from the vase, managed to spray water droplets across the reception counter as she did so, and tossed it into the trash. But almost immediately, remorse came swooping in like an angry bird. What kind of jerk discards a perfectly lovely rose? It wasn’t the poor flower’s fault it was unwanted.
Belle gritted her teeth against the ridiculous impulse to rescue the rose, but in the end, the guilt was just too much. “Unbelievable,” she muttered as she bent and scooped the flower back up. “Sorry,” she whispered as she ran her little finger over a silky petal. It was such an exquisite thing. Its petals all velvety and glistening and only partially opened. It deserved more dignity than to be tossed out with an old apple core and the Styrofoam take-out box from the spinach quiche she’d purchased for lunch.
But she couldn’t keep the rose either. What if whoever was responsible saw it and assumed she approved? What if … god forbid … they were watching her?
Belle returned to the door and stuck her head out to appraise her surroundings before stepping onto the cement landing. Mountain Air Massage sat on Willow Way, a short offshoot of Pine Street, nestled between the sleepy, and aptly named, Corner Bookstore, and the small, glass-fronted North Idaho Mortgage. Pine Street was one of the main thoroughfares through Huckleberry Ridge, but the area wasn’t heavily trafficked aside from the early morning and late afternoon busyness of the school and work commute. Right now at two-thirty, things were quiet.
Belle held the rose behind her as a pickup rumbled past, then quickly stooped to lay it among the petunias that bloomed in the soft soil beside the walkway. She brushed non-existent dirt from her hands. There, the evil deed was done. It still didn’t seem quite right, but at least now the rose was among its fellow flowers which seemed more fitting. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to dispose of any more living things, but Belle had a sick feeling her secret admirer wasn’t done with her yet.
Fred Anderson, the stodgy but friendly gent who owned the book shop had a camera mounted in the back of his store. Belle had noticed it when she’d first gone over to introduce herself. He’d explained that it enabled him to keep on an eye on customers that would otherwise be blocked from view by the tall shelving. Belle sighed as she considered it now. Was a camera in her reception area the answer? Maybe. But it went directly against her desire to keep the clinic as cozy and welcoming as possible, and she couldn’t think of anyplace she could mount a camera where it wouldn’t be obvious. Plus, how much would a set up like that cost? Belle pursed her lips. Maybe she’d ask Fred for more information.
She glanced further down Pine Street to the brown brick building that housed the Huckleberry Ridge Gazette. CeCe, wife of her cousin Shane, worked there as an editor. Sometimes she and Belle met for lunch, and it was comforting knowing family was nearby. Thinking about it now gave her another idea and she smacked the side of her head. Duh! Both Shane and his brother Josh were police officers. Surely they could provide some professional advice.
Belle glanced at the time. Her stalker issue would have to wait. Right now she needed to get ready for her next client—Clark Williams, a teenage boy with juvenile arthritis who seemed to find relief from gentle massage therapy.
Her phone buzzed as she turned to step back inside the clinic and she fished it out of her pocket, hoping it wasn’t a last-minute cancellation. “Mountain Air Massage. This is Belle.”
“Hi, Belle,” replied a chipper voice that she recognized but couldn’t quite place. “This is Sandra from the Huckleberry Ridge Animal Shelter. I think I may have finally found the perfect dog for you.”
A warm tingle of surprise flowed through Belle’s chest. “Oh, hi Sandra.” She laughed. “Wow, it’s been awhile.”
“Nearly three months,” Sandra acknowledged. “But only because you were so specific in what you were looking for.” She paused, and Belle heard the soft tapping of computer keys. “Let’s see here … according to my notes you wanted a larger breed, short hair, not a big barker, good with other dogs, calm enough to take to work with you but a bit on the protective side as well.”
Belle laughed again, embarrassed. “Good grapes, did I really ask for all that? It sounds like a canine dating profile. Sorry.”
“Not at all,” Sandra said. “Better chance of a successful pairing if you know what you need ahead of time. So are you still interested?”
“Um, yeah … absolutely. What have you got?”
“Finnegan. He’s a three year old Pitbull cross and he seems to love women. The young lady that surrendered him is heading off to college and couldn’t find anyone to care for him. It was a big cry-fest here in the office when she brought him in and she made me swear on a stack of Bibles to find him a loving home.”
“Finnegan?” Belle echoed, grinning. “Are you sure he’s not an Irish setter?”
Sandra chuckled. “I feel safe in saying he doesn’t have an Irish bone in his body. What he does have is seventy pounds of muscle, a big ol’ blocky head and a ‘don’t mess with me’ expression.”
Belle’s eyes widened. “So … someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.”
“Exactly. But that’s on the outside. Inside he’s a big, squishy marshmallow and smart as a whip besides. When he first came in I thought of you. But I decided to give him a couple of weeks to settle before deciding for sure. And now that he has, I’m hoping you’ll come to take a look.”
Belle swallowed back the urge to cancel the rest of her appointments for the day and rush right over, but of course, that wouldn’t be professional. “I’m booked for the rest of today,” she admitted reluctantly. “How about tomorrow morning? Are you open on Saturdays?”
“We are indeed. We open at ten.”
“Perfect. See you at ten.”
Belle slipped the phone back into her pocket before bouncing on her toes. She’d loved dogs all her life and one of the toughest things about leaving Michigan had been saying goodbye to Missy, her family’s nine-year-old poodle. She’d been surrounded by dogs while living with the Wickhams during her early weeks back in Huckleberry Ridge. Her Aunt Elaine and Uncle Art owned a beautiful golden retriever named Queenie. And her cousin Dawson and his wife Kara, who lived just across the street, had an adorable pair of hound mixes they’d adopted through the shelter.
Belle had fallen in love with all three dogs during her stay with Art and Elaine, but it didn’t seem right to consider adopting a dog while living in someone else’s home. And by the time she’d moved into the farmhouse where she now lived, her sole focus had been on launching Mountain Air Massage. But now? Belle looked around the reception area with a gleeful grin.
Now was the perfect time.
