Diva Wraps It Up, The
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Stepping inside was like walking through a portal to a winter wonderland. Glitter sparkled on poinsettias, and bare white branches dripped gleaming icicles and ornaments. I selected plain white pine roping and balsam wreaths that I could decorate myself.
Thinking I should add some holly and magnolia leaves, I strayed to the back of the store in search of florist wire.
Liza Simon studied boxes of rat poison with a steady eye. Silver tinsel roping draped over the top shelf, and Burl Ives sang “A Holly Jolly Christmas” over the speaker system in the store.
I watched the incongruous scene longer than I should have. She selected a box, tucked it under her arm, and ambled away. I wanted to ask if she was experiencing a rat problem—after all, I lived across the street and two houses down. If she had rats, I would too. I hesitated only out of sheer politeness. Gasping, Good Lord! You have rats? seemed the height of rudeness. Especially in front of so many shoppers. No need to embarrass the poor woman when she was still new to the area. Maybe I could ask her in private at the cookie swap.
I found the wire and hummed along with Burl as I picked out a few Christmas decorations in the front of the shop. I didn’t need them, but half the fun of the holiday was decking out the house, and really, shouldn’t everyone have a tiny puffed-up bird with a red and green knit stocking cap on his head?
Nina spotted the bird in my hand. “Where did you find that? I have to have one!”
I pointed her in the right direction. “On the left, just past Jill Kinghorn.”
Nina elbowed me. “Jill has brown eyes, and she’s about the right age.”
“What if ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ was their song but she really had blue eyes?”
Nina scowled at me. “Spoilsport. Jill says she can decorate my house in silver and white. My monster-in-law should be duly impressed. And FYI, you and I just invited Liza to lunch on Saturday. She seems like a lot of fun.”
I should have stopped shopping, but Christmas was just too tempting. I added a few sprigs of mistletoe to my selections and then pretended to be like a horse wearing blinders so I wouldn’t be seduced into buying anything else.
Nina helped me load everything into my car. Minutes later, we pulled into a parking spot in front of my house to unload. Across the way in his tiny snippet of a front yard, my new neighbor Luis wrestled with a blow-up reindeer so large that it looked like a balloon from the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade had broken loose and landed on our street.
Mars and Bernie, who was the best man at our wedding, glared with outrage at the mammoth creature.
Nina and I stepped out of the car, focusing on the leg that blocked traffic. The reindeer dwarfed Luis, who had to be at least six feet tall. The eyes could have peeked into Luis and Liza’s second-story windows.
“How big is that thing?” asked Nina.
Mars growled, “Eighteen feet.”
“He can’t leave it there,” I said, watching cars slow to veer around it.
Bernie, whose British accent made him sound brilliant no matter what he said, raised his eyebrows. “He’s talking about putting it on the roof, which is simply ludicrous. The first strong wind would blow it off.”
Luis dodged traffic and jogged across the street to us. “Looks like my eyes were bigger than my front yard,” he joked. “I’m envious of you two and Baxter. I think outdoor decorating is best done in teams.”
“Horace was supposed to help you, right?” asked Mars.
“That was the plan,” Luis sighed. “Did you hear the latest about Horace?”
My breath caught. “What?”
“That fall probably saved his life.”
Nina and I exchanged a confused look.
“Turns out,” said Luis, “that he had taken too much of his blood-thinning medicine. He could have died from internal bleeding if he hadn’t gotten immediate medical attention. Ironically, the dagger wound might have helped save his life. They caught the blood-thinning medicine overdose just in time.”
“Everyone’s saying it was a close call for Horace. Poor bloke.” Bernie cocked his head toward the sidewalk, prompting us to turn around.
Edith Scroggins walked along the sidewalk toward the monstrous reindeer. With a dirty look at Luis, she walked underneath it, her head high and her back ramrod straight.
“Is she spying on us?” asked Mars. “She’s been by a couple of times.”
“She probably thinks Horace is the one having an affair with Gwen.” Nina turned her head to watch Edith. “The Christmas letter Gwen sent has half the women in Old Town spying on their husbands.”
Bernie chuckled. “Maybe she’s planning to replace Horace with you, Mars.”
“Very funny.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re already busy having a fling with Gwen.”
“So you’re the one!” Luis laughed.
Nina shook her head. “What a stupid thing to say in a Christmas letter. Didn’t Gwen know that she would worry wives all over the neighborhood?”
“Oh, come on, Nina. No one has to worry,” said Luis. “That was obviously the lie about Gwen. But what was the lie about Baxter?”
“There were so many details in that letter that I can’t remember them all.” I thought back. Hadn’t she heaped praise on Baxter?
“I’ll give you a hint,” said Luis. “It involves a mountain cabin.”
A car screeched to avoid the large reindeer leg that still jutted out into the street.
“Hey, guys, would you mind giving me a hand? I could use some help deflating that thing. I’m afraid it will come down on cars.”
The three men headed across the street, and Nina went home with her purchases.
It seemed like old times when I draped the pine around my doorway and added bulk with glossy magnolia leaves. Neighbors drifted by to pick up their coats and ask about Horace. Mars puttered around the house with lights and occasionally stopped to give me a hand. Daisy sniffed the pine and decorating items I had bought.
We were chuckling about Mrs. Scroggins striding by yet again, when we noticed Natasha hanging a giant purple wreath on the door of Francie’s house. My elderly neighbor had been away visiting friends over Thanksgiving and was due home any day.
“Purple?” I whispered to Mars. “Really? Natasha knows Francie hates it when Natasha decorates for her.”
“Give Nat a break. She’s trying to do something nice. She knows Francie doesn’t have the energy to do a lot of decorating anymore. This is Nat’s gift to Francie.”
“If she brings topiaries, there will be big trouble when Francie comes home. I can’t wait to hear what Francie thinks about the purple color.”
Natasha left and returned shortly. With great care, she set two large topiary raccoons on either side of Francie’s front door. They wore Santa hats.
Natasha stepped back to admire her work. She ambled over to Mars and me. “Mars, when we have the block party, could you add some string lights to Francie’s door and maybe the front windows? I have some in purple that will go perfectly with her décor.”
“Why don’t I wait until Francie comes home and find out what she would like?” asked Mars.
Natasha pretended to pout. I hoped he didn’t fall for that ridiculous gag.
“Can you imagine, Gwen told me I shouldn’t let Mars work over here by himself. She thinks you’re going to steal him from me, Sophie!” Natasha chortled. “Isn’t that a hoot?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dear Sophie,
I live in an apartment and can’t do much exterior decorating. I have a very wide living room window but I never know what to do with it. Do you have any suggestions?
Noel in Joy, Illinois
Dear Noel,
One of my favorite decorating tricks is to use multiple wreaths. Either hang three straight in a row or stagger them with the middle one higher or lower than t
he others.
Sophie
Suddenly, I felt terribly guilty for enjoying Mars’s company.
“At least I don’t have to worry about him having an affair with Gwen. I have my money on Bernie.” Natasha brushed a fiber off her jacket.
“Bernie? Why would you think that?”
“He’s a bachelor. He’s not bad looking, though I certainly wouldn’t call him yummy. Hey, where’s Humphrey? He usually likes to join in when you decorate.”
“Still at his mom’s house in the country. He’s probably helping her decorate. Should be back any day.”
Across the street, Kat Babineaux skipped along the sidewalk, still wearing her assistant elf costume and chattering gaily at Sugar, who held her hand.
“What do you know about the Babineauxs?” I asked, still concerned about the ladder that broke under Baxter.
“Not much,” said Mars. “They moved here from California.”
“Their kids play their music too loud,” complained Natasha. “Drives me up a wall. Who were those people making all the noise in front of their house this morning? That old VW bus looks like it’s ready for the junkyard. I’m hoping the trash collectors will take it by mistake.”
“Baxter’s brother and his girlfriend, Sugar.”
“Are you going to the cookie swap?” asked Mars, shooting a peeved look at Natasha.
“Do you mean me?” I asked. “Of course!”
Natasha heaved a huge sigh. “I’m only invited because Gwen wants a celebrity guest, and she knows I’ll bring gourmet cookies. What will I get out of it? Nothing.”
“She invited friends from the neighborhood.” If Natasha was going to have that kind of attitude, I hoped she wouldn’t attend. She did have a local cable TV show about all things domestic, but that hardly qualified her as a celebrity. The two of us wrote competing advice columns about domestic issues, which irritated her. Natasha thought of everything as a contest.
Mars wound lights into the pine around my door. “It’s the neighborly thing to do, but Natasha doesn’t care for Gwen.”
Natasha pumped her fists on her hips. “She’s such a braggart! She thinks she does everything better than anyone else.”
I had to bite my top lip and turn my back to hide my amusement. Natasha had just described herself. I pretended to search for another string of lights so she wouldn’t see my expression.
“Seems like you would want to prove you can bake the best cookies, then.”
Whoa. Mars knew how to pull her chain!
The edge of Natasha’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know why you’re so intent on me going to that thing.”
“Maybe he wants you to bring home twelve dozen cookies,” I teased, although I wondered if that wasn’t part of his motivation.
“I shudder to think what they’ll be like.” Natasha regarded my house. “I could do so much with this place. We should have lunch and talk, Sophie. You could make a lot of improvements.” She strode away, passing Mrs. Scroggins, who was making yet another pass along our street.
“Any yelling at the Babineauxs’?” I asked Mars.
“Not more than you’d expect with a couple of rowdy teenagers in the house.” Mars stepped on the ladder and attached pinecones to the greenery. “Why all the questions?”
“Baxter fell off their roof this morning when a rung on his ladder broke. I’m not sure, of course, but it looked like someone might have tampered with one of the rungs.”
Mars gazed toward their house. “That’s a heck of a drop.”
“Luckily, the bushes broke his fall. I thought he should go to the emergency room, but neither he nor Gwen felt it necessary.”
Mars raised one eyebrow. “This isn’t their ladder, is it?”
I laughed at him. “No. But be careful anyway. If you take a spill, you won’t get all these Christmas lights up.”
“That’s what you care about?”
“I thought you wanted to trump Natasha.”
“I do.” Mars snickered. He lowered his hand to me, ready for more pinecones. “Are you suggesting Gwen wanted Baxter to fall?”
“I’m simply making a discreet inquiry.”
Mars tucked a bit of ribbon into the corner. “I think you miss Wolf.”
“What? Why would you say that? You hate Wolf.”
“Do not. He turned out to be a decent sort. Why else would you be imagining murder and mayhem?”
“You think it’s so I can call Wolf? Don’t be silly. I cannot imagine any circumstances that would prompt me to call him. Besides, I’m not imagining anything. Maybe I should show you the ladder.”
“This date you’re going on—is it with Alex German?”
“It is.”
Mars stepped off the ladder and eyed the remaining items I held. “If you need mistletoe to get him to kiss you, then I would recommend knocking off the murder and mayhem talk. Honestly, Sophie! ’Tis the season to be jolly and all that.”
“Come look at the ladder with me.”
“Excuse me, Baxter,” Mars quipped, “Sophie wants to know if I think Gwen is trying to kill you. You don’t mind us inspecting your ladder, do you?”
“You’re going to feel pretty rotten if she does kill him.”
“He’s fine. I can see him on his roof—with someone else.”
“Probably his brother.”
“See? You’re imagining things. He’ll be fine.”
Now that he pointed out Baxter’s brother, I felt relieved. Surely Gwen wouldn’t try anything when his brother was visiting. There really was safety in numbers. Wasn’t there?
“We only have an hour or so of daylight left anyway. Let’s finish this and the bay window. Maybe get the wreaths hung? Bernie agreed to come over tomorrow afternoon to help with the roof. Much easier with two people.”
I was glad he wasn’t enlisting my help on the roof.
When we finished, I stood on the sidewalk admiring my house. A wreath hung from a wide red ribbon in each window. We had filled the flower boxes under my bay window with evergreens that spilled over them. Red and green apples adorned them, and the ubiquitous colonial pineapple sat prominently in the center. Small Christmas trees loaded with white lights sat in two large pots that flanked the front door. Red apples filled the tops of the pots hiding the electrical connections. The wreath on the front door and the thick roping Mars and I had adorned with magnolia leaves, pinecones, ribbons, and apples had never been more lush.
Mars slid an arm around me. “We still make a pretty good team, Soph. The house looks great.”
I nodded. “I think your Aunt Faye would be proud.” There were those who thought her spirit still inhabited the kitchen. Sometimes I thought so myself.
“Wait until she sees it tomorrow night with all the lights on it!” Mars pecked my cheek. “I’m beat. See you tomorrow. C’mon, Daisy!”
Before I cooked dinner, Mochie accompanied me through the house as I added a single battery-operated candle to each window. They would turn on automatically at dusk and stay on well after Mochie and I were tucked in bed. I couldn’t imagine that Mars would want to run his lighting extravaganza for hours on end. The candles would provide ambiance when his lights weren’t on. Besides, I loved walking into a room that was lighted by the glow of a candle. It was one of the joys of the season.
For dinner, I whipped up one of Mochie’s and my favorites. He turned up his kitty nose at the salad of crisp mixed greens, but he loved Julia Child’s Chicken Suprême. I had modified it to suit my casual lifestyle. While I readily admitted that it tasted more delicious sautéed in butter, the olive oil I used instead was supposed to be healthier and the chicken breast still turned out soft and delicious. It cooked in minutes, but not fast enough for Mochie, who sat on a chair next to the fireplace, his tail twitching impatiently.
I tossed some kindling into the fireplace a
nd lit a rolled newspaper underneath it. The blaze warmed my kitchen. The crackle and occasional hiss was so comforting that I wanted to stay put.
I cut a piece of the juicy chicken into cat-bite-sized pieces and placed them in a small red bowl. Mochie wasted no time eating. He finished before I ate my first bite. I watched him wash his face in the glow of the fire while I ate my dinner.
After cleaning up the few dishes, I draped leftover pine roping along the top of the window over my kitchen sink and around the bay window in my kitchen. I was hanging gingerbread stars and hearts from delicate red ribbons when I heard a soft tap at the door. A woman peered through the glass.
I opened the door to Edith Scroggins, who said, “My husband is trying to get rid of me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dear Sophie,
My in-laws are coming to Christmas dinner this year. At our wedding, my mother-in-law complained that the centerpieces were too high and discouraged conversation. How do I impress her with a low centerpiece?
Nervous in Holiday, Florida
Dear Nervous,
Double the depth of your centerpiece with a mirror. Use a framed or unframed mirror as the base and add low items. They can be as simple as red berries, gold ornaments, or a cluster of votive candles surrounded by twigs of evergreen.
Sophie
Edith stared at me, wrapped in a black wool coat with a mink collar that had probably been the height of fashion once. A mink band ran around the black hat she wore. Also vintage, it was adorable, with the brim curling up on the right side and down over her face on the left. I didn’t much care for the black veil, but I suspected she’d worn it over her face instead of sunglasses since it was pitch dark outside. It was a classic outfit. Except for the mink and the veil, I could imagine women buying it today.