Simmons stood in the middle of the south parlor, bags at his feet and on the sofas, pulling lights out of their boxes.
“Madam.” He sounded grateful. “You have a plan for all of this?”
“Of course. Tree in the corner.” I pointed to the right of the fireplace on the east wall. “Lights on the tree, around the front doors, and around the roofline. Net lights on the junipers outside. Wreath on the door.”