Page 18 of Murder and Marzipan in Las Vegas
“Maybe you should start charging a finder’s fee,” Lainey suggests. “You know, set up a booth—Lottie Lemon: Corpse Whisperer. Will locate your missing murder victim for a nominal fee and a good Yelp review.”
“I could make you some business cards,” Meg offers with mock helpfulness regarding my potential new career path. “Have dead body, will travel. No homicide too small.”
“Weekend rates available,” Meg adds and the two of them break out in cackles.
“You two are hilarious,” I say, shifting Ozzy to my other shoulder. “Have you considered taking this comedy act on the road? Perhaps somewhere far, far away from me?”
“And miss your face when you find another body?” Lainey grins. “Not a chance.”
“There won’t be another body,” I say firmly, though even I don’t believe it, and my track record suggests I’m about as likely to avoid finding another corpse as I am to suddenly develop the ability to fly.
“Twenty bucks says there will be,” Meg challenges with the confidence of someone betting on a sure thing.
“Fifty says it’ll be in a kitchen again,” Lainey adds. “Lottie’s culinary corpse collection continues. Maybe you should start a scrapbook.”
“You two are the worst siblings ever,” I’m quick to inform them. “I’m petitioning for a sister exchange. I hear they’re having a sale on non-traumatizing family members with a better sense of humor.”
“Too late,” Meg sings. “You’re stuck with us forever. We’re like glitter—impossible to get rid of and we show up in unexpected places years later.”
Corbin chooses this moment to wake up with a startled cry as if he’s just realized he’s related to these people. Or worse yet, tome.
“I need to finish getting ready,” Meg announces, scooping up her duffel bag. “The pre-show meet and greet starts in ninety minutes, and I need to get my game face on.” She disappears back into the bedroom, her cape fluttering behind her with theatrical timing.
Wiley checks his watch. “We should probably get the little ones settled if we’re going to watch a video of the show.”
My mother nods, already moving into organizational mode. “Wiley and I can handle the babies. All six or ten of them.” She says this with the determination of a grandmother promising to scale Everest in flip-flops. “You girls go get ready. And send that videotape up as soon as you can!”
Twenty minutes later, Meg re-emerges from the bedroom, her transformation complete and requiring its own insurance policy. The mask is now adorned with additional glitter that catches the light like a disco ball, her lips are an even brighter shade of red that could probably be seen from Mars, and her hair has been teased into a patriotic pouf that adds three feet to her height and possibly violates several fire safety regulations.
Lyla Nell’s eyes widen into perfect circles as if she’s witnessing the arrival of a superhero—that or a very patriotic alien.
“Auntie Meg is a super girl!” she calls out with glee, clapping her hands with delight that suggests she’s found her new role model. “I be Auntie Meg for Halloween!”
“Same,” Lainey says with a laugh.
“Honestly, same here, too,” I agree. Who wouldn’t want to be a fierce woman in sparkly spandex who throws people around for a living? It’s basically my life minus the spandex and plus a lot more diapers and significantly less glamour.
“Show starts in an hour,” Meg reminds us, striking a pose in the doorway that elicits more wild applause from the toddlers in theroom. “Don’t be late or I’ll body-slam you both in front of a paying audience.”
“Promises, promises,” I tease, but I’m already mentally calculating how long it will take me to transform from a milk-stained mess to a presentable human. The math isn’t in my favor.
“Come on.” Lainey tugs me toward the second bedroom. “I brought a dress that will fit you even in your current transitional state.”
“Transitional state is one way to put it,” I mutter as I’m dragged along.
Thirty minutes later, I’m squeezed into a red glittery dress that somehow manages to minimize the parts I want hidden while accentuating the few areas that have bounced back from childbirth. It’s like shapewear with sequins—uncomfortable but effective, and possibly a minor miracle of engineering.
“Look at you, hot mama,” Lainey appraises me with a nod of approval that suggests I’ve passed some kind of postpartum litmus test. “Not bad for someone who pushed out two human beings a month ago.”
“I feel like a disco ball that’s been partially deflated,” I say, tugging at the neckline, which seems determined to showcase more of my nursing-enhanced cleavage than I’m entirely comfortable with. “But I’ll take the compliment and possibly frame it for posterity.”
“You should! Your body just created life. Twice. Simultaneously. That’s a superpower right there, even if it doesn’t come with a cape or the ability to fly.”
“A superpower that left me with a muffin top and leaking nipples, but sure, let’s go with that.”
We return to the living room where my mother has somehow managed to corral all the babies in the room into various states of contentment, which is basically a miracle that should probably be documented for scientific study. Bear and Josie are now coloring on what I hope are actual coloring books and not the hotel’s room service menu. Piper and Mimi are asleep in the portable cribs we’ve set up in the corner. Corbin is zonked out in Wiley’s arms and Ozzy in my mother’s.
Lyla Nell tugs at my sparkly skirt with persistenceas if she has something very important to communicate. “Mommy pretty,” she says, then points proudly to the twins with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “Themmybabies.”
