Hullabaloo and Holly Too ( A Cozy Cash Mystery Christmas Novella) (The Cozy Cash Mysteries) Read Online Free
was my eyes, ears and moral compass where they were concerned. And with her here, I knew they were well cared for.
“I’m so glad my princess is home. And look, you now have your very own prince, too.”
Roman leaned down to shake Wanda Lu’s sweet hand and instead got her tiny hug filled with a giant-sized helping of love.
After letting him out of her grasp, she giggled in her tiny, high-pitched, fairy-like laugh…a laugh I sometimes heard in my dreams.
She pointed to the rounded archway of the top of the door’s frame.
There it was…in all its glory.
A sprig of mistletoe.
The first of what was probably around 147 sprigs throughout our house. One hanging down from each door frame.
My parents had a thing for mistletoe.
“Well…what are you two newlyweds waiting for?” My Dad’s robust voice boomed through the grand entryway of his home.
Roman looked at me as if to silently seek my permission.
I nodded, then gulped.
Little did he know how much more-than-fine it was with me to make good on mistletoe superstition.
And then…my prince kissed me like mad.
But being as we were now in Witherspoon Whoville, there’d be a ton more madness under the mistletoe.
CHAPTER FIVE
Holiday-themed mugs full of Wanda Lu’s amazing hot cocoa with chocolate-tipped peppermint sticks poking out of the tops and a Christmas plate full of her superfab spritz cookies sat on the giant coffee table in the center of our family room.
I grabbed another camel-shaped cookie, admiring the way the food coloring she’d added turned them the perfect shade of yellow. Of the green trees, reddish-pink poinsettias, and blue wreath-shaped cut-outs to choose from, the camels were my personal faves.
I settled into the sofa opposite the fireplace, while my parents took their usual places in their his and her’s high-backed wing chairs on either side of the mantle.
If the decorator-perfect holiday décor didn’t warm a visitor’s soul, the radiant heat from the crackling fire sure would.
Forget the fire, for me, though. All I needed were the thirty-nine Christmas trees my mom had throughout our home. Yep, even the bathrooms had Christmas trees, a couple with miniature rolls of toilet paper for decoration.
The thirty-nine trees, plus the grander-than-grand, twenty-five-footer sitting in front of the large, floor to ceiling picture window of our gingerbread house family room, warmed me up to nothing short of holiday magnificence.
I’ve definitely gotten the love of the season gene from my parents.
I loved the full balsam fir we all sat around now, but it was second in my heart to the tree in my old bedroom, which still held all my favorite ornaments, handmade by my mother each year since my birth.
I took a moment before starting any conversation and simply gazed at our grand tree.
It was filled with all my mother’s best work. Not a single store-bought ornament could be found anywhere in the Witherspoons’ Whoville.
Every red bow, every sparkling candy cane, every mouth-blown glass ornament or Styrofoam-based fabric, beaded and glitter-soaked ball came straight from my mother’s workshop.
It wasn’t just Santa who had a workshop in this Santa Claus Land. Mrs. Claus also had her own place to hang out, a special place that served as a playground for her muses.
“Your tree is like none I’ve ever seen,” Roman said.
“Why thank you,” my mom answered, the warm glow flushing her cheeks was not from the fire.
She was always so humbly taken aback when anyone complimented her talents. I’d been at her for years to sell her creations, but she said doing so would stifle her muses. She said she could only create out of love. Making anything for money would be her muses’ undoing.
“And Zoey tells me you’re not just Santa Claus, but an inventor as well,” Roman said, opening up who only knew what kind of
“I’m so glad my princess is home. And look, you now have your very own prince, too.”
Roman leaned down to shake Wanda Lu’s sweet hand and instead got her tiny hug filled with a giant-sized helping of love.
After letting him out of her grasp, she giggled in her tiny, high-pitched, fairy-like laugh…a laugh I sometimes heard in my dreams.
She pointed to the rounded archway of the top of the door’s frame.
There it was…in all its glory.
A sprig of mistletoe.
The first of what was probably around 147 sprigs throughout our house. One hanging down from each door frame.
My parents had a thing for mistletoe.
“Well…what are you two newlyweds waiting for?” My Dad’s robust voice boomed through the grand entryway of his home.
Roman looked at me as if to silently seek my permission.
I nodded, then gulped.
Little did he know how much more-than-fine it was with me to make good on mistletoe superstition.
And then…my prince kissed me like mad.
But being as we were now in Witherspoon Whoville, there’d be a ton more madness under the mistletoe.
CHAPTER FIVE
Holiday-themed mugs full of Wanda Lu’s amazing hot cocoa with chocolate-tipped peppermint sticks poking out of the tops and a Christmas plate full of her superfab spritz cookies sat on the giant coffee table in the center of our family room.
I grabbed another camel-shaped cookie, admiring the way the food coloring she’d added turned them the perfect shade of yellow. Of the green trees, reddish-pink poinsettias, and blue wreath-shaped cut-outs to choose from, the camels were my personal faves.
I settled into the sofa opposite the fireplace, while my parents took their usual places in their his and her’s high-backed wing chairs on either side of the mantle.
If the decorator-perfect holiday décor didn’t warm a visitor’s soul, the radiant heat from the crackling fire sure would.
Forget the fire, for me, though. All I needed were the thirty-nine Christmas trees my mom had throughout our home. Yep, even the bathrooms had Christmas trees, a couple with miniature rolls of toilet paper for decoration.
The thirty-nine trees, plus the grander-than-grand, twenty-five-footer sitting in front of the large, floor to ceiling picture window of our gingerbread house family room, warmed me up to nothing short of holiday magnificence.
I’ve definitely gotten the love of the season gene from my parents.
I loved the full balsam fir we all sat around now, but it was second in my heart to the tree in my old bedroom, which still held all my favorite ornaments, handmade by my mother each year since my birth.
I took a moment before starting any conversation and simply gazed at our grand tree.
It was filled with all my mother’s best work. Not a single store-bought ornament could be found anywhere in the Witherspoons’ Whoville.
Every red bow, every sparkling candy cane, every mouth-blown glass ornament or Styrofoam-based fabric, beaded and glitter-soaked ball came straight from my mother’s workshop.
It wasn’t just Santa who had a workshop in this Santa Claus Land. Mrs. Claus also had her own place to hang out, a special place that served as a playground for her muses.
“Your tree is like none I’ve ever seen,” Roman said.
“Why thank you,” my mom answered, the warm glow flushing her cheeks was not from the fire.
She was always so humbly taken aback when anyone complimented her talents. I’d been at her for years to sell her creations, but she said doing so would stifle her muses. She said she could only create out of love. Making anything for money would be her muses’ undoing.
“And Zoey tells me you’re not just Santa Claus, but an inventor as well,” Roman said, opening up who only knew what kind of
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