Page 100 of Festive in Death

Fortunately, Mavis dressed again in a teeny-tiny sparkle of a dress that made Eve think of a prettily wrapped present, right down to the shiny bow on Mavis’s ass. She slid on high, thin-heeled shoes with skinny straps that wound around her ankle, hung a trio of glittery balls on each ear, an army of glittery bracelets on one arm halfway to the elbow, all while chattering away.

It was sort of fascinating, Eve decided, even admirable in a way, and God knew it was hard not to be amused and happy with Mavis shining up the room.

“Oh, that’s just the right lip dye,” Mavis decreed. “Subtle, barely there. Just slicking them up, highlighting their shape.”

“It’s all about the eyes,” Trina said wisely.

Eve studied the sparkling gold and silver glitter on Mavis’s eyelids. Felt her entire being clutch.

“I don’t want my eyes all glittered up like that. No offense, Mavis.”

“Totally none taken. Glittery eyelids are so not Dallas.” She did a little spin, studied herself in the mirror. “And so completely me. Abso-mag on me, Trina. Party perfect. Yours, too,” she added, turning back to Eve. “In a Dallas way. Promise.”

She crossed her finger over her heart. “Hey, Treen, if you have time, can you do a temp boob tat for me? I’m thinking a little Christmas tree with two presents under it. Bella on one, Leonardo on the other.”

“Sweet. Yeah, no prob. Soon as I’m done.” She stepped back, gave Eve the long, beady eye. “Yeah, yeah, that’s going to work.”

She moved behind the chair. Out of the corner of her eye, Eve saw her pick up a tube, squirt some of the gunk that looked distressingly like cum in her hand.

“Do you have to do that?”

“It’s a good product, especially good for your hair.”

She pulled, tugged, scrubbed, then picked up a tool that looked—distressingly again—like a very skinny dildo.

“What is that? What does that do?”

“Magic,” Trina said, and went back to tugging.

“What are you spraying on it?” Eve demanded. “Why are you spraying stuff on it?”

“Because it’s my job.”

“Chill,” Mavis advised, circling the chair. “Ooooh, I get it. Oh yeah, way uptown, Trina. Soft and sexy, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Define sexy? My commander’s going to be here, and probably the chief. With spouses. I don’t need sexy hair.”

“Chill.” Trina echoed Mavis’s word, but her tone was a lot more forceful.

“It’s the center deal,” Mavis began. “She doesn’t like it.”

“What center? My hair has a center?”

“I mean you. I’m explaining to Trina how you don’t like the center spot when it’s not cop stuff. It wigs you a little. But, you know, it’s your party and hello, Roarke, so it just is.”

She picked up Eve’s glass, put it back in Eve’s hand. “Drink your champagne. You’ll toggle around some.”

“I don’t want to toggle around. I want to be finished with this part.”

“Nearly are. Mave? Hand me the comb, will you?”

“A-plus class,” Mavis commented as she passed the comb to Trina. “Okay!” she added as Trina placed the comb. “Trina, you’re the bestest of the bestest.”

“Solid,” Trina agreed, but to Eve’s consternation, did more spraying.

“My hair’s what’s going to be solid if you keep that up.”

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