If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be pushing a baby stroller through fresh snow to investigate a potential murderer’s Christmas decorating skills, I’d have suggested they lay off the eggnog. Yet here I am, part of what can only be described as a holiday fashion parade making its way toward Jennilee Holly’s Victorian mansion.
“Look at this crowd,” Mom says, eyeing the well-dressed women around us. “Half of these ladies probably spend more on their holiday outfits than I spend in a year.”
“That’s easy to do.” Georgie slides in the zinger. “Check out that cashmere scarf with the diamond brooch. If it goes missing, don’t look in my pockets.”
“Or mine,” I tease.
It’s true. The Deck the Halls Holiday Home Tour has attracted every well-dressed woman in a fifty-mile radius, and they’re all bundled up like elegant Christmas presents ready to be unwrapped.
Velvet blazers in Christmas colors compete with cashmere scarves featuring holiday brooches that probably cost more than just about anyone’s annual budget. An entire army of designer boots navigates the snow with the determination of women who refuse to let a little weather interfere with their social obligations.
“There it is,” Mom breathes, and even I have to admit the view is pretty spectacular.
No sooner do we round the corner than we see it—Jennilee Holly’s Victorian monstrosity gleaming like the gingerbread house that ate the HOA and maybe all of Cider Cove.
Jennilee’s Victorian mansion looks like it belongs on the cover ofBetter Homes and Christmas Fantasiesmagazine. Every piece of gingerbread trim is outlined in white twinkle lights, the wraparound porches are draped with fresh garland and oversized red velvet bows, and each window glows warmly like a promise of hot cocoa and holiday magic.
The front door wreath is so elaborate, it could qualify for its own float in the Christmas parade.
“Well now,” comes a voice smooth as honey poured over warm biscuits, “hey there, y’all! Welcome to Holly House! Y’all look positivelydarlin’!” she trills. “I’m just tickled pink to peppermint to have you!”
Jennilee Holly emerges from her front door like she’s making an entrance at a Southern debutante ball. She’s wearing an elegant champagne-colored silk blouse with a Christmas tree brooch that catches the light, a dark navy velvet skirt, and her hair is perfectly styled in soft waves despite the falling snow. Not a trace of nervousness in sight—this woman is definitely in her element.
“Oh my goodness, that Christmas tree brooch is absolutely stunning!” one of the tour ladies exclaims, moving closer to get a better look. “The way it catches the light—is that real gold? Real diamonds? It’s sparkling like crazy. It’s exquisite!”
“This old thing?” Jennilee touches the Christmas tree brooch at her throat with affection. “I have quite a collection, actually. I’ve been accumulating pieces for years.” Her eyes take on a protective gleam. “Of course, it’s sparkling to high heaven. I clean them all myself with a special solution—can’t trust anyone else with something so valuable. I don’t let my jewelry out of my sight, not even for professional cleanin’. Too many horror stories about pieces going missing, you know.”
She adjusts the brooch slightly, her fingers lingering on it possessively. “A woman’s jewelry is her security, honey. You have to take care of what’s precious to you.”
She smells like expensive perfume and secrets,Sherlock barks with his tail wagging as he takes in the crowd of women.Also, maybe a little like cigarettes, but trying to cover it up.
“I’m just so full of joy that y’all could join me today!” Jennilee continues, moving through the crowd like she’s hosting a garden party instead of a potential homicide investigation disguised as a holiday tour. “I’ve been puttin’ my heart and soul into makin’ this the most magical Christmas y’all ever did see!”
She remembers names, compliments outfits, and manages to make every woman feel like her personal guest. If this is an act, she deserves an Academy Award. The woman is as warm as a wool blanket, and I can’t get enough of her Southern accent. I could listen to her for weeks.
“Oh honey,” Georgie sidles up to Jennilee with the determination of a woman on a mission, “you wouldn’t happen to have a butler, would you? Preferably tall, dark, and handsome? I’m in the market for some high-quality domestic help with strong hands and a willingness to do windows, if you know what I mean.”
Mom closes her eyes as if she’s praying for patience. “Georgie, you can’t hunt for men during a holiday home tour.”
“Why not, Red? This is the perfect time to find someone who appreciates fine decorating and happens to know his way around a feather duster.”
“You don’t even like decorating,” Mom adds with exasperation. “You mademehang your Christmas lights.”
“That’s exactly why I need someone who’s good with his hands.” Georgie winks. “I’m all about delegation, Toots.”
Jennilee laughs like this is the most delightful conversation she’s ever had. “Well, I’m afraid my David handles all our domestic needs, but I’ll keep y’all in mind if I hear of anyone!”
We file into the house, and I’m immediately struck by two things—the place is absolutely gorgeous, and that Christmas tree is definitely not what I was expecting. The house smells like pine,Chanel No. 5, and all-around wealth. There’s a pastel tree that looks like Cinderella exploded. Think soft blues, pinks, silver icicles, and at least one ornament shaped like a peacock.
“I wanted somethin’ different. None of that tacky red and green,” Jennilee explains with more than a touch of pride, gesturing toward a stunning twelve-foot Fraser fir decorated entirely in pale blues and soft pinks. Silver and pearl accents catch the light like winter stars, and crystal ornaments create a kind of pastel winter wonderland that should look ridiculous but somehow works perfectly.
I like red and green. I guess tacky is a choice,Fish whispers from the carrier strapped to my chest.
So are floor snacks,Sherlock says, licking up a pile of cookie crumbs near the baseboard.
“It’s like Christmas had a baby with a fairy tale,” one of the tour ladies breathes.
She got that right.
