“Who exactly is Cordelia?” I ask. “I don’t think I’ve met her.”
I know who she is only by sight, but I’d love to hear more from Jennilee on the woman.
“Oh honey, she’s the queen bee of Cider Cove society—runs that big charity foundation I was telling you about last night,” Jennilee explains, adjusting her Christmas tree brooch. “She lives in a mansion that makes the White House look like a garden shed. Throws parties that cost more than most folks make in a year. But underneath all that polish, she’s got claws sharper than a wildcat.”
She pauses to adjust her Christmas tree brooch once again as if thinking carefully about what to say next.
“My daddy always said,‘The fancier the frosting, the more likely the cake tastes like cardboard underneath,’” she adds with country wisdom. “That woman smiles like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but I bet she’d sell her own grandmotherfor the right price.”
Jennilee is about as country fried as a biscuit in a butter bath,Fish sniffs.And twice as slippery.
“What kind of charity work does Cordelia do?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Oh, all sorts of fancy do-gooder stuff.” Jennilee waves her hand dismissively. “Children’s programs, holiday assistance, that sort of thing. Though, between you and me, I think she does it more for the tax write-offs and social standing than any genuine desire to help folks.”
Baby Ella is getting drowsy, making those little sighs that mean she’s finished nursing and ready for a nap. I adjust her blanket and prepare to transfer her back to the stroller, when a tremendous crash echoes from the main part of the house like someone just dropkicked a piano.
Both Jennilee and I jump like we’ve been shot.
“What in Sam Hill was that?” Jennilee gasps as her hand flies to her chest.
That crash had Georgie written all over it,Fish points out dryly.I can smell the chaos from here.
“We should probably check on the tour group,” I say, settling sleepy Ella into her stroller and standing up with lightning speed because I happen to know a Georgie-inspired disaster when I hear it.
We rush toward the sound, which seems to be coming from the grand room where Mayor Mackenzie was giving her historical lecture. And Fish and I have a sinking feeling about what we’re going to find.
Sure enough, as we round the corner into the grand room, we’re greeted by a scene that could only be described asGeorgie Strikes Again: The Holiday Edition.
The tour ladies are scattered around the room, looking shocked and slightly terrified. Mayor Mackenzie stands with her mouth hanging open like she’s trying to catch flies. And in the center of it all, Georgie is somehow tangled up in what appearsto be several yards of antique Christmas garland, hanging upside down from a crystal chandelier like a very festive, verystuckpiñata.
“Well,” she calls out cheerfully from her inverted position, swaying gently like a Christmas ornament in a breeze, “the good news is, I found out these chandeliers are a lot sturdier than they look! The bad news is, I may have discovered this information the hard way.”
And this is why we can’t take Georgie anywhere nice—or anywhere at all.
“How on earth did you get up there?” Mom asks, horrified but also looking as if she doesn’t really want to know the answer.
“I was helping with the historical demonstration,” Georgie explains, attempting to untangle herself and only succeeding in wrapping more garland around her ankles like festive bondage gear. “The mayor was going on and on about how Victorian ladies were so proper and restrained, and I said that was probably just because they never had the opportunity to really cut loose. So, I thought I’d show everyone what a Victorian lady would do if she really let her hair down and had access to modern chandelier technology. Apparently, Victorian ladies didn’t actually swing from chandeliers during Christmas parties. Who knew?”
I did,Fish mutters.Everyone with half a brain cell did.
“You were helping by swinging from a chandelier?” Mayor Mackenzie asks, her voice climbing higher than a soprano hitting a high note.
“It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time,” Georgie says defensively, still swaying like a human Christmas ornament. “Besides, I was being very ladylike about it. I kept my skirt down and everything. That’s more than you can say for most people who attempt chandelier acrobatics.”
I can’t watch this anymore,Fish announces.Wake me when the hoomans return to normal behavior.
This IS normal behavior for them,Sherlock points out with doggy logic.That’s the terrifying part.
“Oh, don’t look so scandalized, everyone,” Georgie addresses the group of horrified tour ladies. “At least now you’ve got a story to tell at your next book club meeting—the day I witnessed a senior citizen attempt aerial acrobatics in formal wear and lived to tell about it.”
Looking around at the horrified faces of the tour ladies, the destroyed garland, and Georgie hanging like a Christmas ornament gone wrong, I can’t help but think that this investigation just got a lot more complicated.
But at least I’ve learned some interesting things about Jennilee Holly, Cordelia Goldleaf, and the tangled web of relationships in Cider Cove’s high society. Now I just have to figure out which one of them decided that murder was the perfect way to celebrate the holidays.
Right after we figure out how to get Georgie down from that chandelier without destroying the rest of Jennilee’s Christmas decorations or causing a structural collapse.
Some days, I’m convinced that if there’s a murder to solve and a chandelier to destroy, Georgie will find a way to accomplish both simultaneously with the efficiency of a one-woman wrecking crew.
