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On New Year’s Eve, Lizzie Christopher and Nick Cameron walked up the front walkway of the historic Cooper farmhouse. White lights outlined the tree branches, and a wreath decorated with silver ornaments and blue organza ribbons hung on the front door. “Blue for the new year,” Lizzie said. “My shop staff outdid themselves helping Christina select furniture and draperies for her old family home. I can’t wait to show you how well it turned out.”
As Lizzie Christopher and her husband, Nick Cameron, stood at the entrance to a Halloween party, a man grabbed her arm. His eyes and nose were obscured by a small mask.
“Lizzie Christopher, you haven’t returned my calls!”
Lizzie was on her hands and knees on the floor of the local food market, perusing the bottom shelf. She saw two poison-green duck shoes and looked up to red corduroy slacks embroidered with candy canes, topped with a Christmas sweater festooned with gold rope trim and hung with small ornaments and tree lights. She grabbed a package of rice off the shelf and struggled to her feet. “Patricia, what a nice surprise and what a pretty sweater!”
Lizzie Christopher prodded the six foot inflatable shark secured to the top of a golf cart.
“Looks good.” Her daughter, Claire, slid behind the wheel while other sharks climbed aboard.
“Ignition on, slowly press the pedal,” Lizzie said.
Lizzie and Nick’s trio of standard poodles charged the back gate, barking and wagging their tails. Lizzie put down her pruning shears and glanced at her husband Nick. “Who’s there?” she called.
“It’s us, Mom. Open up, before the dogs tear down the fence.”
Lizzie climbed out of her van and called to Claire. “I’ve got a load of special Easter eggs.” Daylight was fading in the park. Clumps of vivid yellow daffodils dotted the wildflower meadow, paired with blooming forsythia.
“How did we get roped into this? It’s been an exhausting week, and I’m bone tired.” Lizzie had envisioned a quiet evening dozing in front of the fire, instead of driving a carload of soccer players to the corn maze. The girls were packed in the back two seats, chattering at top volume while simultaneously texting.
