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partially open. They stared vacantly up, glazed and cloudy. His mouth gaped open like a fish.
    Mike grabbed one of the security officer's arms and trained his maglight on the body. “What's that?” The beam passed over his neck, and a flash of silver glinted in the light.
    "What?” Geoff asked, and focused on what we were pointing at on the body's neck.
    "It looks like there's a piece of metal tangled in his beard,” Mike said.
    Gently, Geoff combed his fingers through the long wiry hair. Untangling the long strands, he removed a small pair of barber shears from the corpse's throat. The blades slipped out of their recesses, the tips emerging coated with a thin layer of clotted blood.
    Sergio had moved next to me to get a better view. When the scissors slid out, his body stiffened next to me.
    "What's wrong? Can't stand the sight of blood?” I asked.
    "No, it's not that,” he whispered.
    "Then what?"
    "Those are mine."
    "What? The scissors?"
    "Yes."
    "Are you sure?"
    Sergio nodded his head slowly.
    "How?” I asked, but didn't wait for a response. “But Geoff won't know that."
    Sergio's eyes told me differently.
    I continued in a whisper. “Besides, I doubt they'll be able to tell that they are yours.” I looked into his haunted eyes. “They won't be able to figure that out, will they?"
    But before Sergio could answer, Geoff said, “What's dis? Shine the light ‘ere.” He wiped the blood away from the small blades with his index finger. “There's writing on it."
    I knew what the engraved letters spelled out before he read, “Sergio."
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Chapter 8—Sweet Dreams
    Geoff asked question upon question, repeatedly, trying to get every detail down. What did he think? That I was going to forget the details? As if I had seen anything in the dark anyway. After what seemed like hours, he finally allowed me to go back to my room.
    My body felt like it had been given the rubber hose and hot light bulb treatment. I unlocked the door and was welcomed by the bedside lamps, along with the blue, muted glow of the television.
    Mike had taken Sergio to his room at the resort to question him, while Geoff interviewed me in his office. Now, Sergio sat, propped up at the head of his bed, snoring. An open book lay splayed next to him. How had he gotten back to the room before I did? His scissors were the murder weapon.
    I tiptoed across the room and retrieved a pair of sleeping shorts from the dresser. I crept to the bathroom and swallowed hard, taking a deep breath as I entered. My eyes avoided the shower, and I worked quickly, brushing my teeth and taking out my contacts. The foggy image in the mirror peered at me. I was ready for bed, or so I thought.
    Since I wasn't familiar with my environment, I retrieved my glasses from my shaving kit. I rarely wore them. Their thick lenses dug into my nose, and I hated to admit that my vanity would prefer a stubbed toe to being caught wearing them. I saw better with my contacts, so I didn't waste the money updating the prescription lenses or frames. I was legally blind without them.
    I snuck across the room with my Coke bottles on. As I stepped between the beds, my foot kicked one of Sergio's sandals and sent it sliding across the tiled floor and under my bed.
    Sergio sat bolt upright. “Who's there?” His pupils were dilated, and his hands flapped around in the covers.
    "It's just me. Were you waiting up for me?” I said in a singsong tone.
    "No,” Sergio said as he rubbed his eyes and scrambled to pick up his book. “No, I wasn't sleeping.” He flipped the book open. “I was reading. I just closed my eyes to...” he blinked a few times, trying to get the sleep out of them, “...to rest them."
    The blanket was pulled tightly across his body, so only his arms were exposed, and he held a copy of A Body to Dye For upside-down in his hands.
    "Good book?” I asked, slipping into bed. I sat with my back against the headboard, which wasn't attached to the frame but