Right from the Gecko by Cynthia Baxter

suggest that you file a report with the hotel—and that you ask the nice folks at the conference to get you a replacement.
    â€œMy other piece of advice,” he added, “is to forget all about Marnie Burton and the terrible thing that happened to her.”
    He stood up, a sure sign that, as far as he was concerned, this meeting was over.

    â€œSo much for putting all this into perspective,” I grumbled as I turned the key in the Jeep’s ignition and pulled out of the police station parking lot.
    I told myself that, given Nick’s reaction, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised Detective Paleka didn’t believe the envelope containing the tape had been stolen from my hotel room as part of some cover-up related to Marnie’s murder. Or that I was now involved because I’d had the bad luck to end up with her audiocassette.
    Even though the tape had turned out to have absolutely nothing on it.
    But the police detective’s skepticism hadn’t done a thing to convince me that I was wrong. And his assurances aside, I was scared. Maybe he was convinced that Marnie’s murder had been the simple result of a rendezvous with the wrong guy, either a man she already knew or someone she met at the bar. But I believed there was more to it.
    In fact, I was still ruminating about what I should do about the rumbling of fear in the pit of my stomach when I instinctively stepped on the brakes. I’d just spotted a sign that read
Kaohu Street,
a name I recognized from Marnie’s business card.
    Still driving slowly, I glanced at my watch. My mind raced as I did some quick calculations. It was already well past five, meaning I didn’t have much time before I was supposed to meet Nick. Still, the hotel was only twenty minutes away…
    Don’t forget that you have to change your clothes and take other dramatic measures to make yourself presentable, a voice inside my head insisted.
    But you’re right here! a second voice interrupted.
    Nick is expecting you back at the Royal Banyan, the first voice reminded me, sounding very practical and very firm. You don’t have time for any detours. Go back to the hotel, put on a sexy sundress, and concentrate on spending a romantic evening with your beau.
    I continued debating for about three more seconds. Then I eased into the right lane, made a quick turn, and scanned the signs on the buildings I passed, trying to find the one that read
Maui Dispatch
.

Chapter 3
    â€œWhen a man’s best friend is his dog, that dog has a problem.”
    â€”Edward Abbey
    T he
Maui Dispatch
office was easy to locate. I’d been expecting something grand—if not a towering office building, then at least a modern, important-looking one with fountains and a formal lobby. Instead, a series of signs that looked as if they’d been printed on someone’s computer indicated it was around the back of a low, warehouse-style building that housed a title company, a macadamia-nut wholesaler, and a surfboard distributor.
    The door was locked, but the receptionist who could see me through the glass window set into it buzzed me in. Even though she was on the phone, she gave me a distracted wave. Waiting in the small entrance area gave me a chance to look around.
    I didn’t know what I’d expected to find. The entire staff in a frenzy, maybe, making phone calls and trying to answer the question of who had killed Marnie Burton. Or maybe I thought I’d find the whole office closed down for a few days of mourning.
    Instead, it looked like business as usual.
    The receptionist sat at a metal desk, collecting faxes in addition to fielding phone calls. She was probably in her forties, dressed in a yellow blouse that was as plain as her navy blue pants. Her light brown hair was held in place with a headband. I peered over her shoulder and watched the most recent fax come in. From what I could see, it was an announcement of an upcoming boat