Page 20 of Postmarked December

He smiled politely and began leafing through the pages.

With a steadying breath, she went back to her book. Marion would never allow her to live it down that the one person who seemed to be traveling alone on the flight had ended up sitting next to her. Nick. That name didn’t sound like it belonged to a murderer or a stalker. She’d call an Uber when she landed, jump in before Nick even noticed she was gone from the crowd—just like he’d said. Then they’d probably never meet again. She just had to get through the next hour or so beside him.

Chapter Eight

They landed at Greenville-Spartanburg International Airport, taxied to the gate, and then came to a stop. She’d read through three chapters of her novel, added a small bottle of water to her bursting bladder, and avoided any further chatting with Nick.

When it was time for their row to exit, he stood up and let her go in front of him. “It was nice meeting you, Heather.”

“Same.”

She rushed off the plane and made a beeline for the ladies’ room. When she’d finished, she fluffed her hair a little in the mirror, and swiped on some lip balm, then exited and followed the signs for baggage claim. The coast was clear. Maybe Nick would have already retrieved his bags by the time she got down there.

She walked slowly just in case, to give him more time to leave. She stopped off at one of the newsstands and lingered for quite a while, browsing the magazines and bestsellers, trying to stall. And, to her delight, when she finally arrived at the baggage carousel, only a few bags remained. Nick was nowhere to be found.

After pulling out the paper with her hotel booking from her backpack and ordering a car to pick her up, she called Marion.

“Landed safely. I’m just getting an Uber.” Then she told her friend all about Nick.

“He was attractive and chatty?” Marion asked. “That’s the kind of person you should probably be talking to. You two could’ve hit it off.”

“Maybe he isn’t single,” she said. “And that’s not why I’m here. I’m following Toby’s trail right now. I’m not in any kind of headspace to entertain a date.” The word sounded odd on her tongue. She didn’t want a date anyway.

“Text me when you get into your room, so I know you’ve made it. Are you going to use an alias?”

“Yes. I’m Missy Harland. It’s the safest option.”

“Okay, Missy, keep me posted.”

Heather ended the call and retrieved her bags.

The car pulled up right when she arrived at the pickup location. She peered around, and no one was there except a woman holding her phone, looking as if she, too, was waiting on her ride. Thank goodness. Heather got in and gave the driver the address. And they sped off.

The city seemed to glow brighter with each passing mile. Storefronts along the outskirts shimmered with holiday decorations, and the trees lining the streets were wrapped in strands of white lights. As the driver crested the hill approaching downtown, the twinkling canopy over Main Street came into view—thousands of tiny bulbs suspended like snowfall. Garland draped the lampposts, wreaths hung from shop doors, and the sidewalks were dotted with people strolling along the festive streets. Greenville looked less like a small Southern city and more like a warmly lit Christmas postcard—different from the fall, when she and Toby had visited. She instantly wished she could show him how wonderful it was during the holidays.

The car wound its way to the valet loop at the hotel. The stunningly massive lodge was perched on the side of a waterfall and draped in Christmas cheer. She got out and the driver took her suitcase from the trunk, handing it to her.

“Happy holidays,” he said before getting back into his car.

Heather waved as he pulled away and then she entered the grand lobby. A four-sided stone fireplace draped in fresh Christmas greenery anchored the space. Travelers dressed in their holiday finest were drinking cocktails and lounging in oversized furniture that looked so comfortable next to the fire that she decided she could spend the whole three days right there. She walked past a bar with velvet stools, buzzing with people, to reach the hotel desk, where she checked in as Missy.

She leaned forward and said under her breath, “I have another room as Heather Matthews, but I’m going to stay in the room booked under my alias, Missy Harland.” She handed over the confirmation page with Heather Matthews printed on it and then showed her the phone confirmation for her alias. “Please keep this confidential.”

The woman nodded slowly. By the suspicion on her face, Heather felt she should give her some explanation. “My husband is Toby Hart,” she whispered.

The woman inhaled sharply, an excited smile spreading across her face. “The singer?” she whispered.

Heather nodded and looked around, but it didn’t seem as if anyone had noticed their exchange. “Yep. While I’m no one famous, using an alias is a precaution I take for safety. I don’t want any crazies finding me.” She made a face.

“Of course, Miss…Harland. Here’s your room key. The elevators are just around the corner. And something was dropped off just a few minutes ago. We had it waiting for you.” She reached under the desk and handed her a familiar red-and-white envelope.

Heather looked around, noticing a camera in the ceiling corner. Other than that, no one seemed to be looking. “Do you know who dropped it off?”

“I’m not sure. Could’ve been a courier.”

Heather quickly slipped the envelope into her pocket. “Thank you.”

With her key in hand, she got into the elevator and hit the button for her floor.