“Right,” she agrees.
They’re both staring at me expectantly.
“What?”
“Open it,” they urge in unison.
“I told you, I promised your uncle we’d open it together.”
“Pfft.” Sage’s dismissal of my commitment is both short and eloquent.
Thyme takes a slightly softer approach. “He’ll understand. Besides, youoweus. We helped you find it. I mean, technically,Ifound it.”
They’re giving me an excuse to do what I want to do.
“Oh, what the heck. Let’s do it.” I grab my letter opener from the pen holder on my desk and slit the envelope open.
They crowd in close and lean over my shoulders to read it along with me:Go to the place where you’ll find ladies dancing and lords a-leaping.I frown down at the words.
Sage nudges me. “What’s wrong? You look irritated.”
“It’s from ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas,’” Thyme says helpfully. “Days Nine and Ten.”
“Yeah. I know. It’s just not very original. Another clue from the same song? Plus it’s very on the nose.”
“Who knew you were so fussy and particular about your completely surprise, gifted scavenger hunts?” Thyme snarks.
“Well, when you put it like that, I do sound a smidge ungrateful.”
”You said it’s on the nose. Does that mean you know where it is?”
“Sure do.”
They stare at me with expectant expressions. I draw out the moment until Thyme starts tapping her toe.
“Noelle,” she warns.
“It’s Dancing Ladies.”
“Which is?”
“Which is exactly what it sounds like—an establishment where ladies dance.”
“A night club?” Sage asks.
“No. A strip club.”
“I believe those are called gentlemen’s clubs,” she corrects me.
“Well, the guys who frequent this club may be lords, but I have no idea if they’re gentlemen.”
I’m met by two blank stares.
“The Lords of the Mountain is a motorcycle club. My understanding is Dancing Ladies is their hangout or headquarters or what have you.”
“Mistletoe Mountain has its own biker gang?”
I flash to the Christmas in July parade, led each year by theLords, one of whom pulls a sidecar filled with toys they collect for the charity. “I don’t know that they’re agang,exactly.”