Page 68 of Murder and Marzipan in Las Vegas

“Welcome to my world,” I say cheerfully. “Where insanity is just the appetizer before the main course of chaos.”

The Elvises distribute plastic rings and bouquets made of what appear to be casino chips hot-glued to wire stems. One Elvis—sporting a blue suede suit that somehow manages to be both blindingly bright and oddly appealing—takes his position in front of us, his pompadour defying both gravity and good taste.

“Dearly beloved,” he intones in a deep drawl that’s one part Memphis, two parts theatrics. “We are gathered here today to join these folks in holy matrimony... again!”

As Blue Suede Suit Elvis continues with a ceremonythat’s equal parts wedding vows and song lyrics, I feel a familiar tingle in the air. Blue and pink stars materialize beside us, coalescing into Ray-Ray’s spectral form.

“I wouldn’t dare miss this shindig, sugar cube!” Ray-Ray announces, his rhinestone jumpsuit outdoing even the living impersonators. “Elvis-officiated weddings are kinda my specialty on the other side! I’m just passing through for one last goodbye,” Ray-Ray sings, floating a circle around us. “Besides, I never could resist a wedding. Or three, in your case!”

The ceremony reaches its crescendo, with all the Elvises leading a chorus of faux vows that has the crowd cheering and the married couples all around us exchanging looks that range from amused to mortified.

“I now pronounce you husbands and wives!” one of the leather clad Elvises declares, striking a hip-swiveling pose. “You may all kiss your brides!”

Everett wastes no time pulling me into a kiss that makes my toes curl in my sensible baker shoes. When we break apart, I find myself face-to-face with Noah, his green eyes squinting with a smile.

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” I tell him with a wink and plant a quick kiss on his lips, too. Because sometimes life is too short not to embrace the absurdity.

Ray-Ray applauds enthusiastically, despite the fact his ghostly hands can’t seem to create a sound, but his approval is clear nonetheless. “That’s how it’s done, honeybun! A little love for everyone!”

As our faux ceremony concludes, a commotion from another part of the lobby draws our attention. Carlotta stands on a decorative planter, making her several feet taller than necessary, with both Mayor Nash and Johnny United flanking her like confused bookends.

“I’ll take both of them!” she announces to the bewildered Elvis officiating her section. “What’s the old saying? Two husbands are better than one!”

“That’s definitely not the saying,” my mother calls out.

“It is in my book!” Carlotta shoots back, throwing an arm around each man. “Why settle when you can sample?”

Mayor Nash looks simultaneously horrified and intrigued, whileJohnny United appears to be calculating the publicity value of the moment.

“Typical Carlotta.” Charlie sighs beside me. “Always has to outdo everyone, even in bigamy.”

Technically, not me.

“It’s not legally binding,” I remind her.

Carlotta frowns our way. “When has the law ever stopped me from doing anything?” she calls out over the Elvis music and general chaos. “Besides, if I’m going down in flames, I’m taking both these gorgeous men with me!”

And just like that, we gather our souvenirs, which consist of plastic rings, casino chip bouquets, and commemorative photos that will be proudly displayed in Honey Hollow. I can’t help but feel a strange sense of how right everything feels in all this madness.

We came to Vegas for a baking competition and somehow along the way solved two murders, won second place despite cremating my entries, survived a steam spa treatment that would qualify as torture in some countries, and renewed our complicated vows in a ceremony officiated by dozens of Elvis impersonators while the ghost of an Elvis impersonator provided commentary.

Just another on-brand adventure for the entire lot of us, really.

“Ready to head home tomorrow?” Everett asks, landing a kiss to my lips.

“Definitely,” I say, watching as Carlotta attempts to drag both her new husbands toward the hotel elevator. “But something tells me Honey Hollow will seem painfully dull after this.”

Ray-Ray floats beside us, his spectral form beginning to fade. “Don’t you worry about that, sugar cube. From what I’ve seen of your little town, there’s plenty of excitement waiting for you back home.”

“Please don’t tell me there’s another murder on the horizon,” I groan.

Ray-Ray just winks, his form growing increasingly transparent. “Life is like Vegas, honeybun—always another game waiting to be played. TCB, baby!”

With that cryptic parting shot and a final shower ofpink and blue stars, Ray-Ray vanishes, leaving me with the unsettling certainty that our return to Honey Hollow won’t be nearly as peaceful as I’m hoping.

But for tonight, I’ve got my family, my second-place trophy, and the world’s hottest husband—maybe two. And sometimes, that’s all the jackpot you need.

Until the next body drops, anyway.