Shear Murder by Nancy J. Cohen

plate.”
    “Tell me about it. That reminds me, I have to talk to the painter regarding my day spa tomorrow. I'm not happy with his color selection.”
    “Speaking of colors, what about our wedding? Have you made a final decision yet?”
    “I want to talk to the florist again first. What should we do today? Lie out by the pool?” She'd feel terribly guilty taking the entire day off. But then again, they
were
at a beach resort and should get their money's worth. “Actually, that's not a bad idea. Let's forget about everything and just relax.”
    Dalton's cell phone rang, putting a crimp in their plans. “Hello, Detective Brody.” He stood, his shoulders hunching as he listened. “That is interesting. Thanks for the update.” Clicking off, he regarded Marla from beneath his thick brows. “The knife handle was clean of prints.”
    “Meaning?”
    “Someone was smart enough to wipe it, or they wore gloves.”
    She got up, pulled on her underwear, and set about making coffee on their in-room coffee maker. While waiting for it to brew, she opened the blackout drapes. They'd slept late. Morning sunbeams penetrated the room.
    “That smacks of premeditation,” Marla said, “but Brody assumed it was a crime of opportunity. The killer couldn't have foreseen the cake knife would be sharp enough to do the job until he'd actually held it.”
    “If the cause of death was from chest trauma.”
    “You're saying she might have been killed by other means first?” Marla shook her head. “I saw blood. She wouldn't have bled if she'd already been dead.”
    “True. Let's say it was a crime of passion,” Dalton said, pacing the floor, “and the bad guy was smart enough to clean the weapon of choice. Did he use a cloth napkin, a handy dish towel, or perchance wear a pair of disposable plastic gloves obtained from the kitchen?”
    She held up her hand in a stop signal. “Whoa, you're hurting my brain. I haven't had my caffeine yet.” At the coffee stand, she broke open a condiment package and added sugar and powdered cream to one of the mugs. The smell of freshly brewed java made her mouth water.
    “Well, think about it.” He scratched his bristly jaw. “What would you do if you'd just stabbed someone on the spur of the moment, and the knife was still stuck in her? You couldn't risk pulling it out and having blood splatter all over your evening wear. So you leave the knife in but need to wipe the part you'd touched.”
    “I'd grab a dinner napkin from a nearby table. I don't think
    I'd get a glove from the kitchen first. That might be traceable if the police talked to the cooks.”
    “So where did that napkin end up?”
    Halfway to putting the filled coffee mug to her lips, Marla paused. “Good question. In the killer's pocket? To trace that, you'd have to contact all the tuxedo rental places or dry cleaners in the tri-county area. Or did the napkin land on another table, where it got picked up and sent to the facility's laundry service?”
    “I'd like to take a look at the seating arrangements,” Dalton said. “I suppose Jill has a copy?”
    “So does Arnie's mother. But shouldn't you pass these theories on to Brody? It's his investigation, not yours.”
    “Right,” he replied a bit too hastily.
    She gave him a suspicious glance but didn't pursue the matter, hoping to cast aside the shadows from the previous evening and enjoy their day. She'd like to call Jill, but didn't want to intrude. Despite the tragedy, last evening was her friend's wedding night.
    After breakfast in the hotel restaurant, she and Dalton spread their towels by the pool. Some of the other wedding guests had stayed overnight, too, judging from a few familiar faces.
    She recognized Alexis, Jill's aunt by marriage, wearing a one-piece swimsuit over her big-boned form. Scrunching her eyes behind a pair of dark sunglasses, Marla watched the older woman. Alexis poised at the deep end of the pool and then dove in with the grace of a practiced diver.