Free Shear Murder by Nancy J. Cohen

lifting a strand of damp hair on her next client, Marla remembered what she'd meant to say to Jill. With so many other things on her mind, she'd forgotten.
    “Holy highlights,” she called to Nicole, cutting a customer's hair at the adjacent chair. “I forgot to ask Jill the most important question.”
    “What's that?” Nicole flicked a glance her way.
    Marla began telling her about recent events but was interrupted by a phone call from her best friend, Tally, and then by Dalton, who discussed the virtues of different door handles for their house. It would have been easier to go with the standard package instead of customizing every accessory. As the cost escalated, so did Marla's sense of regret over their decision. She wondered at Dalton's sudden obsession with toilets and door knobs. Was this his way of escaping wedding anxiety?
    “I meant to ask Jill who may have hated her sister enough to stab her,” she told Nicole later, after finishing her story when they both had a few minutes in private. “And where did the napkin go, assuming that's what the killer used to wipe off the knife handle?”
    “On another table?”
    “I thought of that. Presumably, the detective has spoken to the waiters. There's a door behind the alcove, which means someone could have entered from the corridor behind and shoved Torrie under the table in the reception hall.”
    “They could have escaped down that same corridor.” Nicole busied herself stacking foils for her next client. “Was anyone missing from the wedding party earlier, before you discovered the body?”
    “I'm not sure. I should talk to the catering staff. It's always best to go firsthand to the source.” Besides, they might provide more information about Falcon Oakwood. Marla remembered Torrie speaking to him earlier that day, and he hadn't appeared pleased by their conversation.
    Maybe she could persuade Dalton and Brie to accompany her. They enjoyed walking in parks and identifying the trees. That notion appealed to her a lot more than another trip to a hardware store.
    Then again, Philip Canfield, the wedding decorator, had a connection to both Torrie and Oakwood. Would Torrie's husband know anything about the guy?
    She sought a way to bring up the subject that evening when she stopped by Scott's house at six-thirty. Schlepping a sack with an aromatic roast chicken in one hand and her handbag in the other, she rapped on his door. She'd had to leave work early in order to beat rush-hour traffic and was glad she'd had the foresight to grab a burger before getting on the turnpike.
    Scott greeted her at the door of his ranch-style home in the Kendall area of South Miami. The days were getting shorter and the sun had begun its descent, leaving a chilly breeze in its wake. Marla admired the blue plumbagos and hot pink lantana plants decorating his walkway.
    “Nice house,” she commented, her gaze sweeping to the white tile roof, sandpaper exterior, and impact-resistant windows. His gutter had a dent, possibly made by a flying coconut in the last storm. A palm leaned nearby, dead fronds hanging down.
    “Thanks.” He ushered her inside. She swore he looked like an older-era movie actor with his goatee and mustache.
    Suppressing the urge to blurt her impression, she followed him into a living room furnished with a leather sofa, loveseat, and two armchairs. “Here, I brought you some dinner.” She handed him the bag. He accepted it with a small nod. “I'm so sorry,” she started when he'd returned from the kitchen.
    “Thank you for—” He stopped, waiting to let her speak. When she remained silent, he continued, “Thanks for stopping by.” Rubbing his forehead, he scrunched his small, dark brown eyes. “It's been a tough week.”
    “Jill said the funeral might be on Friday?”
    “Not anymore. There's a delay in releasing her, uh, you know. It'll be on Sunday at eleven o'clock.”
    “If you give me directions, I'd like to attend. Jill is a good friend of mine,