“Guilty as charged.” Georgie grins, completely unrepentant as she zeroes in on Jennilee as if she were designed to locate charm and destroy it with enthusiasm. “I’m Georgie, and this is Ree, and we simply must know everything about you because that accent is pure magic!”
“Jennilee Holly,” our newcomer says, extending her hand with Southern grace, with a voice so smooth it could butter biscuits from across the room. “I was just telling everyone how absolutely gorgeous this inn looks for Christmas.”
“Jennilee,” Georgie repeats, clearly charmed. “What a pretty name! And that accent—my guess is South Carolina.”
“Charleston, born and raised,” Jennilee confirms with a smile that seems more genuine now, like she’s found her tribe. And if that tribe has Georgie in it, we all might be in trouble. “Moved up here about ten years ago after I got married.”
“How exciting!” Mom exclaims. “What does your husband do?”
“Import-export,” Jennilee says, waving the thought away. “It’s boring as sin, and certainly shouldn’t be the topic in such a grand room.” She nods my way. “Tell me about this wonderful tour! I’ve been so nervous and excited about having my home included.”
“Oh, don’t you worry one bit, Toots,” Georgie says warmly. “I’m sure your place is absolutely beautiful. What’s the place got going on for itself?”
“Well, it is Victorian,” Jennilee says. “It’s got all the original gingerbread trim and wraparound porches. I’ve decorated every room with period-appropriate Christmas displays—it’s taken me months to get everything just perfect.”
“That sounds absolutely magical,” I say and mean it. “Victorian homes at Christmas are the stuff fairytales are made of.”
Buffy nods. “And you know what makes this inn special for the holidays? The way Bizzy has preserved all the original detailswhile making it comfortable for modern families. Every room tells a story.”
I shed a quick smile in my sister’s direction. It turns out, Buffy is my biggest cheering section, and I’m so here for it. Macy once accused her of kissing up, but everything about Buffy is genuine. Not to mention for every compliment Buffy gives, Macy gives three sassy remarks—mostly putdowns. And believe me, those are genuine too.
“That’s exactly what I was hoping to achieve!” Jennilee exclaims, clearly lighting up at the thought of showing off her home tomorrow. I know all the nerves an event like that can bring.
All the non-stop cleaning, the preparation, and anticipation might be half the fun, but it’s also half the misery.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” a voice booms across the room with the unmistakable authority of a person who’s accustomed to being heard and obeyed immediately. She’s spoiled that way. “Could I have Santa’s attention in the main hall? The photographer is ready for some promotional shots!”
I turn to see my sister-in-law, Mayor Mackenzie Woods, standing near the ballroom entrance in a power suit that somehow manages to be both festive and intimidating. The entire Deck the Halls Holiday Home Tour was her idea—a brilliant way to showcase Cider Cove’s cozy charm while raising money for charity. Leave it to Mackenzie to turn a simple house tour into a full-scale marketing campaign.
Santa straightens his custom Santa costume with a touch of satisfaction, like a peacock preening before an audience. “Duty calls!” he announces. “Can’t keep the photographer waiting. Image is everything in business!”
He reaches into his oversized gift bag and pulls out what appears to be an endless supply of chocolate candy canes before tossing them to everyone within reach like yummy confetti.
“A little sample of Thornfield’s finest,” he says with that predatory smile. “I think you’ll find the quality speaks for itself.”
Everyone accepts their chocolate loot politely—everyone except Matilda, who looks at the offered sweet treat like it might spontaneously combust and take half the room with it.
“I wouldn’t eat those if I were you,” she snorts, loud enough for everyone in the ballroom to hear. “I wouldn’t put it past him to poison the entire town. He’s just that wicked.”
Well, that’s not ominous at all,Fish notes dryly.
Those smell like betrayal,Jellybean sniffs.
You say that about beef jerky,Fudge adds.
Because it does!Jellybean shoots back.You know I don’t have the teeth for that.
Balthasar’s smile doesn’t waver, but something cold flickers in those steel-blue eyes. “Always such a jokester, Matilda. That’s what I’ve always admired about you—such a delightful sense of humor.”
The way he saysdelightfulmakes it sound like a threat wrapped in velvet.
With that, he struts off like a Broadway villain headed for his solo number. And I could so see that happening. After all, people have been breaking into song all night—albeit holiday-appropriate carols.
Matilda watches him go with the expression of a woman contemplating various forms of justifiable homicide, then stalks off in the opposite direction with the kind of purposeful stride that suggests she’s either going to commit murder or slam a door just to make a point.
“I’d better go after her,” Hammie Mae sighs, shifting baby Matilda to her other hip. “She gets like this whenever Balthasar’s around. Something about that man brings out her...competitiveside.”
That’s one way to say homicidal.
