When Stella meets with Mark and Marcia Porter on Wednesday, their fresh ideas, endless enthusiasm, and comprehension of the tourism industry win her over. She hires them on the spot, and on Friday, the Porters present an advertising campaign that blows their team away.
“If we work all weekend, we can begin rolling it out on Monday,” Mark says.
Marcia explains, “We’re planning a major overhaul of your website, but for now, a few carefully placed high-resolution images of the grounds and newly remodeled rooms will at least be an improvement over what you already have.”
Lucy, sitting next to Presley, whispers, “Do you think those two ever sleep?”
Cupping her hand over her mouth, Presley whispers back, “There’s no way they came up with that campaign in two days. I’ll bet they’ve been secretly working on it for weeks, hoping to win our account.”
Lucy laughs. “You know it.”
Early Saturday morning, Katherine and Presley leave in Katherine’s pickup truck for the Christmas tree farm. They have no shortage of things to talk about during the sixty-minute drive.
They’ve no sooner exited the city limits of Hope Springs when Katherine says, “I took your suggestion and scheduled an appointment with the fertility specialist. You were right. I can’t get in to see her until mid-January. But I feel so much more relaxed, just having the appointment on my calendar.”
Presley smiles over at Katherine. “Good for you! Now, cook your husband his favorite meal and put on some sexy lingerie. Stop worrying about conceiving and have a little fun.”
Katherine inhales a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You know, I can’t remember the last time we had sex for enjoyment. I will do that very thing tonight.”
Presley chuckles. “I’m sure Dean will appreciate the attention.”
They drive on for a while in silence. When Presley thinks about how much she’d love to show Everett a night of romance, she reminds herself that he betrayed her.
Drew Terry, the owner of the Christmas tree farm, is waiting for them when they arrive. He’s a mountain of a man, about Presley’s age, tall and broad-shouldered with thick sandy hair. His wife, Susan, runs the gift shop that sells seasonal indoor plants like poinsettias, Christmas cactuses, and amaryllis, in addition to nature-themed fake trimmings.
Katherine and Presley spend hours picking out three trees for key spots at the inn. An enormous Fraser fir, tall and full, for the lounge. A beautifully shaped cedar for the solarium. And a short, fat spruce to accommodate the lower ceilings in the entry hall. Katherine negotiates a reasonable price for the fifty-plus wreaths Stella wants for the exterior windows on the first floor.
On the way back to Hope Springs, Katherine says, “I found a source for old-fashioned outdoor ribbon. The red velvet and gold metallic kind. I ordered miles of it. You don’t, by any chance, know how to make a bow?”
When Presley shakes her head, they say in unison, “YouTube.”
Katherine stomps on the gas pedal as she passes a tractor trailer. “Stella mentioned that there were boxes of Christmas decorations in one of the basement storage rooms, but I’ve been too busy to check them out.”
“I’ll do that,” Presley volunteers. “How soon can we decorate?”
“I’m sending my crew for the trees and wreaths next Friday. But Stella won’t let us decorate until after Thanksgiving. She says Thanksgiving deserves its moment in the limelight.”
Presley laughs. “I don’t disagree with that. If you need any help with Thanksgiving flowers, I’m your girl. I have plenty of extra time at the moment.”
“No word from Everett?”
“None. Stella hasn’t heard from him either.” Presley presses her palms against her temples. “Despite all the bad stuff I know about him, I can’t get this guy out of my head.”
“Only time cures the breakup blues, I’m sorry to say. But food definitely helps. Let’s get some lunch.” Without waiting for Presley’s response, Katherine pulls off the highway into a roadside diner parking lot. “This place comes highly recommended.”
Presley casts her a skeptical glance. “Seriously? What truck driver do you know who’s eaten here?”
“Not a truck driver. A Christmas tree farmer.”
Based on Drew’s suggestion, they order cheeseburger platters, which are phenomenal, and Presley eats every morsel on her plate.
They arrive at the inn around two. Not ready to face her lonely apartment, Presley retreats to the basement in search of Christmas decorations. She passes through the tasting room, careful not to disturb Lucy’s wine tasting and continues on to the sizeable storage room at the end of the dark hallway.
The storage room is filled with rolling coatracks and castoff furniture. Boxes marked Christmas Ornaments are stacked in the back corner amongst a forest of fake Christmas trees. She randomly selects one of the larger boxes and rips the packing tape off the top. Inside, nestled in layers of yellowed tissue paper, are Christopher Radko tree ornaments. She carefully unwraps several, lining them up on the concrete basement floor. The ornaments are old, but they’ve aged well. Presley envisions them grouped together on the fat tree in the entryway, making an impressive display to welcome guests. In the other boxes, Presley discovers an extensive collection of Byers’ figurines, an entire Boehm nativity set, and a Swarovski star tree topper.
“Wow. Look at all this,” Lucy says when she enters the storage closet an hour later. She drops to her knees on the floor beside Presley. “These must be worth a fortune.” She picks up a nutcracker ornament and studies it. “This takes me back years. My mother had a collection of Radko ornaments. I wonder if they’re still in the attic at the house, or if Mom and Dad took them to Shady Grove with them.”
Here’s my opportunity. Presley sucks in a deep breath. Now or never. “I had dinner with your sister and nieces in that house on Wednesday night.”
“You did?” Lucy furrows her brow. “I didn’t realize you knew Rita.”
Presley never mentioned meeting Rita for fear Lucy would ask questions she wasn’t prepared
