Killer Holiday by Amy Korman

Author:Amy Korman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-10-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The vodka was flowing when Waffles and I got to Holly’s house at 9 a.m. the next morning. Gerda was tapping at Chip’s computer, for which she hadn’t yet figured out the password. The Colketts were helping Sophie brainstorm fun ideas for free food and drinks at the town festival.

The landscape designers were pushing for a Christmassy Bloody Mary bar at the gazebo, which Gerda was obviously against. Sophie, who’d been tasting the drinks the Colketts were stirring up, was singing “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.” Martha was flipping Havarti-and-spinach omelettes for the talented but boozy decorators, which was probably good because both Tom and Tim were midway through what looked like their third drink, and Holly was using her Uber app to summon Jared in his borrowed vehicle.

“We’re heading out on the brisket boondoggle in fifteen minutes,” said Tim Colkett. “We only have five more days to find the mysterious barbecue shack near Wilmington, Delaware.”

“I think it’s down by the beach,” Tom told him. “That’s nowhere near Wilmington. Or maybe it’s close to Georgetown, Delaware? Didn’t we go there once for a farmhouse table? Anyway, so far we’ve got Jared driving, Gerda along as Google Maps navigator, and Bootsie just because she wants to come.”

“Yes, but I have my shift at Maison de Booze from 2 p.m. until 6,” Gerda informed them. “And I am still trying to crack the password on Chip’s computer. So this trip cannot include, like, seventeen stops at antiques stores, which has been my experience on previous excursions with you guys.”

“We’re steering for steer! We’re pulling for pork!” Tim assured her. “This is a totally food-focused road trip.”

“I wish I could go, but I’m gonna be warming up my vocal cords for my cabaret tonight!” Sophie said. “You guys have your instrumentals all set, right?” she asked the Colketts.

“We know every song!” they reassured her.

“Your road trip sounds like fun,” said Holly, “but I’ve got to go get Howard’s mom’s holiday gift. I can’t put it off any longer. Lemieux the Jeweler is having a sale, and his mother likes nothing more than a silver tabletop ornamental bird.”

I perked up at this, having a passion for anything in the avian decorative-object family myself. The handmade birds at the upscale gift shop in question were absolutely gorgeous: lifelike, feathered, delicate, birdy creatures that made a holiday table look super-festive. They were also very pricey, so I limited my enjoyment of them to driving by the Lemieux windows and admiring them from my car. Lemieux is the kind of place where one wrong step or awkward elbow movement could topple a Bernardaud salad bowl that would set you back three hundred dollars.

“Lemieux the Jeweler! I love that guy!” shrieked Sophie. “Ya ever been there, Kristin? It’s that place over by Chip’s golf store where all the walls are lined in suede—or maybe it’s Ultrasuede—anyway, they have to buzz you in, and then you get handed champagne and they start bringing out giant

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