The Grand Salon stretches before us like a cathedral dedicated to supernatural commerce, its soaring ceilings decorated with hand-painted cherubs who appear to be blushing at the educational displays scattered throughout the room.
Crystal chandeliers the size of small aircraft dangle overhead, occasionally swaying without any breeze and casting sparkly light across marble floors so polished they reflect not just the current chaos, but glimpses of glitzy ghosts from decades past who seem fascinated by the proceedings.
The Christmas decorations are so extravagant they border on supernatural themselves. Towering Fraser firs stretch twenty feet toward the painted ceiling, their branches draped with garlands of real gold thread and ornaments that glow with their own inner light. Some of the ornaments actually rotate slowly on their own, displaying intricate scenes that seem to move and change when you’re not looking directly at them.
An enormous fireplace dominates one wall, its mantel carved from medieval monastery stone, complete withgargoyles whose expressions shift when viewed peripherally. It’s totally creepy. But the fire crackles with flames that burn in impossible shades of blue and silver and that’s just beautiful.
Along the far wall, an elaborate dessert table has been arranged that looks like something from a fairy-tale Christmas market. The table itself is draped with a burgundy velvet runner embroidered with gold thread that catches the chandelier light, flanked by towering silver candelabras holding crimson candles that smell of vanilla and cinnamon.
Crystal cake stands display an array of holiday confections that would make professional pastry chefs brim with pride—chocolate yule logs dusted with powdered sugar that looks like fresh snow, miniature Christmas puddings topped with holly made from spun sugar, gingerbread houses so intricate they appear to have been built by architectural elves, and towers of macarons in Christmas colors that sparkle with edible gold.
The scent of the evergreens mingles with cedar polish, champagne, and the irresistible aroma of butter, chocolate, and holiday spices wafting from the dessert display.
Now THIS is what I call proper event planning,Cricket mewls from the dessert table, her green eyes tracking every movement above.Here’s hoping these women are very careless with their plates. I should position myself for optimal treat acquisition.
I’m already in position,Rookie announces proudly, settling himself directly beneath the most precarious-looking cake stand.Mr. Jolly Beary and I have calculated the most likely drop zones. We’re ready for emergency cleanup duty.
That well-loved teddy bear looks mournful that it can’t actually eat a single bite.
Speaking of humans acting strange, I spot my family clustered near a display beneath a mirror that reflects glimpses of Victorian-era occupants who fade in and out like elegant ghosts.
“Oh, this is perfect!” Mom announces loud enough for both the living and spectral residents to hear. “Girls, you simply must see this adorable little number. It’s exactly what you need for your wedding nights!”
Winnie presses herself against a marble column like she’s trying to disappear, making small strangled noises, while Neelie bounces toward the display like Christmas morning came early—seemingly oblivious to the ghostly Victorian ladies in the mirrors shaking their heads in disapproval.
Across the salon, I spot Tipper and Chevy engaged in what seems to be a very civilized tug-of-war over something lacy and red.
“I saw it first,” Tipper says sweetly, maintaining her grip on one end.
“But I need it for research purposes,” Chevy counters, clutching the other end. “It’s for my next book, so it’s tax deductible.”
“Everything’s research for you,” Tipper shoots back. “You claimed that cooking class was research, too.”
“Itwas! The victim was poisoned in chapter twelve!”
Before their educational disagreement can escalate into actual violence, Bunny clears her throat with enough authority to make the ghosts pay attention. She sashays to the center of the salon, champagne flute in hand, wearing an emerald dress that probably has actual emeralds sewn into it.
“Ladies!” she calls out, her voice carrying across the room as if she were born for this moment. “If I could have your attention, please!”
The crowd gradually quiets, though Mrs. Pemberton continues examining what looks like an instruction manual with far too much focus.
“I’m absolutely thrilled to introduce our fabulous hostess for this afternoon’s educational experience,” Bunny continues with a smile that could light up half of Maine. “The incomparable Diva Divine Temptation!”
Diva steps forward in her purple silk dress, her platinum hair shining like the sun.
“Thank you, Bunny.” Diva gestures gracefully toward her displays. “Ladies, welcome to what I like to call Advanced Holiday Education. Today we’re exploring pieces designed to enhance connection, communication, and seasonal celebration.”
She picks up a red silk item that sparkles with strategic embellishments. “This little number from our Mistletoe and Magic collection features hand-sewn crystals and adjustablepossibilities.”
The crowd murmurs appreciatively while a ghostly Victorian gentleman in a nearby mirror appears to faint.
“And this,” Diva continues, lifting something in forest green, “is from our Christmas Carol line. It’s designed to make your partner sing... well, let’s just say they’ll be singing.”
“Does it come in other colors?” Mrs. Pemberton asks with scientific curiosity.
“Absolutely! We have it in Silent Night Blue, Jingle Bell Gold, and Ho Ho Hot Red.”
Peyton makes a sound like she’s choking on her own dignity.
