Page 29 of Murder and Marzipan in Las Vegas
“Biological sisters, different upbringings, same bad luck with finding corpses,” I elaborate through a mouthful of quiche and instantly regret those last few words. “It’s a family talent.”
“Like my double-jointed thumbs,” Charlie adds. “Except Lottie’s skill is significantly less useful at parties and way more likely to end in police questioning.”
Sherry’s laugh sounds more genuine this time. “You’re nothing like I expected.”
“I get that a lot,” I admit. “Usually followed by, ‘Please step away from the crime scene.’”
Ray-Ray floats through the buffet table, attempting to sample dishes by way of opening his mouth to the size of a door. “If you’re done with the comedy routine, sugar, maybe we should focus on who sent my baby girl to her eternal rest before her time.”
I nod his way because I certainly agree.
“Well, I should get back to my station,” Sherry says, glancing toward the competition area. “But listen, if you need anything else...” She hesitates as if she’s deciding on whether to trust me with something important. “I really didn’t kill Jolene. I just wanted her to stop stealing my recipes and taking credit for work that took me years to perfect.”
“I believe you,” I tell her, and to my surprise, I realizeI genuinely do. Sherry Smoot may have a temper hotter than a pizza oven in July, but there’s a genuineness to her anger and grief that doesn’t feel like an act. Plus, she seems like the type who would stab someone in the front, with a knife, and not the back—let alone use a bullet to do the deadly deed.
Sherry walks away, and Charlie turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Should I be concerned that you’re making friends with our prime murder suspect? Because historically, that doesn’t end well for anyone involved.”
“I’m just gathering information,” I say, shoveling a forkful of garlic shrimp into my mouth like I’m fueling up for a marathon. “And besides, I’m starting to think she’s not our killer.”
“Based on what? Her charming personality and fashion-forward champion pin?”
“Based on the fact that killing Jolene wouldn’t solve her recipe theft problem,” I explain between bites. “Dead people can’t give credit where credit is due or issue public apologies. But you know what would solve that problem? Exposure. Public humiliation. Proving to the world that Jolene was a fraud who couldn’t create an original recipe if her life depended on it.”
“Whereas murder solves what problem exactly?” Charlie asks.
“Blackmail,” I say simply. “If Jolene was threatening to expose secrets—the kind that could ruin careers, relationships, or reputations—then silencing her permanently becomes a lot more appealing than dealing with ongoing extortion.”
Ray-Ray snaps his translucent fingers, causing a small shower of blue and pink stars as he zooms our way once again. “Bingo was his name-o!”
I nearly drop my plate. “What does that mean?”
Charlie follows my gaze to where Ray-Ray hovers. “Elvis is back in the building.”
Technically, he never left.
I nod, not taking my eyes off Ray-Ray. “Explain, please. Preferably without breaking into song.”
“Can’t make any promises about the musical interludes, sugar plum.” Ray-Ray grins like someone who’s never met a spotlight he didn’t love. “But I can tell you that my Jolene was like a supernaturalprivate investigator when it came to other people’s business. So what’s the plan for flushing out our killer?”
“I was thinking we’d take the subtle approach,” I counter, already mentally mapping out a strategy. “Distraction, misdirection, and good old-fashioned snooping with a side of breaking and entering if necessary.”
Ray-Ray floats between us, his spectral jumpsuit catching the casino lights. “I like your style, buttercup. Got a little TCB spirit in you!”
“Taking Care of Business,” Charlie and I say in unison, then exchange surprised glances that suggest we might be spending way too much time together.
“Stop doing that,” she mutters. “It’s creepy and makes us look like we share a brain, which is concerning for multiple reasons.”
“I might need backup,” I say, already mentally assembling my team of amateur investigators. “You, Keelie, and maybe Lily if she can stop gambling long enough to help solve a murder.” On second thought, they’d probably be more of a liability.
“The Charlie’s Angels of culinary crime-solving?” Charlie quips. “I’m in, but only if I get to be Kelly. She’s my favorite and had the best hair.”
“You can be whoever you want as long as you help me track down a killer before we need to leave Vegas. “We’ve got two bodies, and I don’t want to add to that number, especially if one of them ends up being someone I know and love.”
“Three’s a crowd, four’s a cleanup crew,” Charlie agrees grimly.
Ray-Ray strikes one final pose before beginning to fade. “I’ll do some ghostly reconnaissance, sugar. Nobody notices a dead man in a rhinestone jumpsuit in Vegas.” He winks as his form grows translucent. “I’ll catch up with you in a flash. I’ve got a hunch that’ll curl your toes tighter than blue suede shoes in the rain.”
Ray-Ray disappears in his signature spray of stars, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re playing a dangerous game with someone who’s already demonstrated his willingness to silence those who threaten his carefully constructed world. The stakes have never been higher—and in Vegas, the housealways wins.
