Right from the Gecko (13 page)

“A jack-of-all-trades, huh?” I commented.

“I manage,” he replied, grinning. “But, hey, I don't want to talk about work. It's after hours. Let's talk about all the fun things you plan on doing while you're on Maui.”

I glanced at my watch. As if on cue, the bartender appeared. “Another drink?” he asked me.

“No, thanks. I've got to be going.” Finding myself shooting the breeze with a strange man in a bar was an indication that one drink was more than enough.

“So soon?” My date looked genuinely disappointed. “What about the person you said you were waiting for?”

“He's probably so busy snorkeling he lost track of the time.”

“But you haven't even told me your name.”

I hesitated. “Jessica.”

“Jessica,” he repeated. “Pretty name for a pretty lady. And I'm Graham. Graham Warner.” Solemnly he stuck out his hand, and I shook it. “Pleased to meet you. And I hope it's not for the last time.”

“It probably is.” Sliding off my bar stool, I pointedly told him, “My boyfriend and I will be pretty busy while we're here, between the convention and all the touristy things we plan to do.”

“Ah. A boyfriend.” He pondered the fact that I was already attached for about three seconds before saying, “I'm really good at working around boyfriends.”

That was my wake-up call, especially since, once again, it sounded exactly like something Marcus would say. What are you doing wasting your time on this creep? I thought. Especially when Nick is probably upstairs in the room at this very moment, waiting for you with champagne and an apology?

My blood was suddenly boiling, despite the cooling effects of the mai tai. “I see that when you packed up your computer and your textbooks, you also brought along your sleaziness.”

He just laughed. “Touché. But before you run off, let me give you some advice.”

I looked at him coolly.

“That flower in your hair?”

Automatically I reached up and touched the fragile blossom. “What about it?”

“It's on the wrong side,” he said with a crooked half smile.

“Excuse me?”

“If you're already taken, you're supposed to wear it on the left side of your head. If you're in the market, you wear it on your right.” Grinning, he added, “Can't blame a guy for hitting on you when you're blatantly advertising your availability.”

“Thanks for the lesson in Polynesian culture,” I returned. I yanked the flower out of my hair and dropped it into his drink. “Enjoy.”

Much to my annoyance, I could hear him snickering as I stalked off.

As I crossed the lobby and headed toward the elevators, I chastised myself for talking to strangers, especially in a bar. What were you thinking? I asked myself, wondering why on earth I'd wasted my time talking to a jerk like that.

I had almost reached the bank of elevators across from the front desk when a loud voice interrupted my self-flagellation. “You've got to be kidding!” someone shouted. “You
charged
us for that?”

I turned to see what was going on. Me and just about everybody else in the cavernous lobby.

I was surprised to see that the outraged voice belonged to someone I knew, or at least recognized. I moved closer to the front desk, where John Irwin, Governor Wickham's redheaded aide, stood. He was decked out in a suit and tie and shiny black shoes. The man on the other side of the desk, the person he was arguing with, was a distraught-looking older gentleman in an aloha shirt.

“Okay, okay, so that's a legitimate expense,” John Irwin grumbled. “But what about this one, down here? You're charging us for bottled water? We told you up front we didn't need any.”

“Mr. Irwin, I have your original order right here,” the hotel employee said in a strained but polite voice. “If you'd just take a moment to look it over, you'll see that every item you were charged for is something you specifically requested.”

I hovered near the front desk, listening as Irwin begrudgingly let himself be convinced that he hadn't been ripped off at the press conference here at the hotel two days earlier. When he finally turned to leave, I planted myself in front of him.

“Mr. Irwin?” I began.

He peered at me suspiciously. “Do I know you?”

“I was a friend of Marnie Burton's.”

“Who?”

“The reporter from the
Maui Dispatch
who was murdered.”

“Oh, yeah. Tough break.”

He brushed past me, walking away so quickly I had to jog to keep up with him.

“Mr. Irwin?” I called after him.

“What now?”

He cast me an icy look, but at least he slowed down enough that I was able to walk next to him.

“Could I talk to you about Marnie for just a minute?”

“What for?” he replied impatiently. “I barely knew her.”

I took a deep breath, gearing up for something I hoped wouldn't turn out to be a huge mistake. “She seemed to think you had it out for her.”

“Ridiculous,” he returned, barely glancing in my direction. “Like I just said, I hardly knew her.”

The wall he'd put up was so thick I practically needed X-ray vision to make eye contact with the man. A tidal wave of anger rose up inside me, the result of his dismissive attitude.

I decided to challenge him, just to see what kind of reaction I'd get.

“She claimed you pushed her at the governor's press conference here the other day.”

That got his attention. He stopped and turned to face me, his steely blue-gray eyes boring into mine.
“What?”
he demanded angrily.

“I was with her at the press conference that was held here at the hotel a few hours before she was murdered,” I said, struggling to keep my voice calm. “She fell and hit her head on a flowerpot, and she told me it was because you shoved her. Right afterward, I brought her to my room to put ice on her bruise. It was pretty severe. In fact, I was afraid she'd gotten a concussion.”

He suddenly loomed so close that his nose was nearly touching mine. “Are you saying you think I had something to do with that kid's murder?”

I didn't flinch. Instead, I stared right back at him, eye to eye. “I'm saying she said you shoved her the day she was killed. She and I talked about it afterward. She told me your name. That's how I knew who you were.”

He stepped back suddenly, almost as if he were performing a dance step. But any semblance to anything the least bit lighthearted was canceled out by the way he pointed at me menacingly with one finger.

“Listen to me. I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you'd better be careful about making accusations. Maybe you're too dumb to know it, but you're playing with fire.”

“Are you speaking personally or as the governor's spokesperson?” I shot back.

“Just watch it,” he hissed, leaning forward so that I could feel his hot breath on my ear. “If I were you, I'd mind my own business.”

He turned and stalked away, his expensive-looking shoes squeaking against the tile floor.

Nice guy, I thought, following him with my eyes until he passed through the front entrance and disappeared.

I told myself I'd done the right thing by testing his reaction when I mentioned Marnie Burton's name, as well as the incident that had occurred here in the hotel. And his reaction—a threat—had been pretty revealing.

You got what you wanted, I told myself.

But as I strode toward the elevators with my head held high, I felt anything but satisfied.

In my head, I replayed Marnie's claim that John Irwin had purposely knocked her over. At the time, I'd thought she was imagining things.

Yet now that I'd seen for myself what kind of person he was, I wondered if there might be some history between them that had caused him to react to her so strongly. I felt a wave of frustration that there was so much I didn't know—and that, as an outsider, I was guaranteed to have a hard time understanding. But I suddenly felt as if I couldn't rule out the possibility that the governor's aide might have had something to do with her murder.

Which was probably the reason that, as I pressed the up button, my hand was shaking.

“Nick?” I called as I let myself into my hotel room with my key card.

I desperately hoped I'd find him in the room. It didn't matter to me in the least that, at last report, he and I were barely speaking. After my unpleasant exchange with John Irwin, I needed him.

Unfortunately, my fantasy that he was waiting for me, prepared to eat crow and drink champagne, turned out to be nothing more than that: a fantasy. The room was empty.

I sank onto the bed, suddenly exhausted and overwhelmed. Too much had happened that day, and none of it had put me any closer to understanding why Marnie Burton was murdered—and by who.

When the phone rang, I jumped up and grabbed it.

“Nick?” I cried, anxious to hear his voice and know that at least I wasn't alone.

I didn't hear anything.

“Nick?” I repeated.

Still nothing.

“Hello.
Hello?
”

When I heard a rush of air, a noise that sounded like someone breathing, I didn't know whether to feel relieved or perturbed.

And then,
click.

The phone suddenly felt like a hot potato. I dropped it on the bed, my heart thumping in my chest and my dry mouth suddenly tasting of metal.

Somebody is trying to find out if I'm here in the room.

I froze at the barely audible sound of scratching at the door. It took me a few seconds to realize that someone was struggling with the lock, trying to get in.

Oh, my God! I thought, my mind racing wildly. The intruder! He's back!

Fighting the wave of panic that was quickly rushing over me, I whipped my head around, desperately searching for a weapon. Surely a fully equipped luxury hotel room had to come with something more treacherous than a fluffy white robe or a tiny plastic bottle of hibiscus-scented shampoo.

And then I spotted it, tucked away discreetly on the closet shelf. A harsh reminder of the demands of real life, the kind of thing a tourist hotel in a tourist destination would want to keep out of sight unless it was really, truly needed.

An iron.

It was metal, it was heavy, and it was capable of causing a lot of damage if used properly. I grabbed it off the shelf, gripped it tightly in both hands.

I positioned myself right inside the door, holding the iron high above my head, ready to strike. Then I held my breath as the door to the room finally swung open.

Chapter
7

H
i-yah-ah-ah!” I screamed, brandishing the iron.

“Ar-ar-argh!” the intruder yelled, ducking and throwing both arms over his head.

Fortunately, it took me only a fraction of a second to realize that the dangerous prowler who'd broken into my room was Nick, which was just enough time to keep me from assaulting him with a deadly home appliance.

“Nick! It's you!” I cried, lowering the iron.

“Of course it's me!” he squawked. “Who else would it be?” He backed away, his stance protective and his eyes wild with fear. Or at least confusion.

“I'm so sorry!” I told him. “I didn't know—I thought it was—”

“You could have killed me!” he exclaimed.

I stood up straighter, suddenly indignant. “I wasn't going to hit you—or whoever came through that door—without making sure of the intruder's identity first.”

“Good thing I didn't have sunblock all over my face,” he replied, still keeping a safe distance away. “If you hadn't recognized me, I might have ended up with
General Electric
branded on my forehead!”

“This iron isn't hot,” I informed him, still feeling a tad defensive. Actually, the main reason for that was there hadn't been time to plug it in, but I thought it best to leave that piece of information out.

Nick took a few deep breaths. “Okay. That weird little episode is over. Now will you please tell me what's going on?”

I put the iron down on the dresser. “I guess I overreacted,” I admitted. Suddenly, all my indignation was gone. Instead, I just felt silly.

In a gentle, understanding voice, he asked, “Exactly what were you overreacting to, Jess?”

I was pleased he'd put aside the argument we'd been having—ever since we landed on Maui, it seemed. “I just got a very weird phone call.”

“What do you mean?” Nick stooped over to deposit the snorkeling equipment he'd been carrying. When he stood up again, his forehead was tensed and his eyes were clouded.

“The phone rang just now,” I explained in an even voice, “and when I picked it up, no one said anything.”

He stared at me for a second or two before saying, “Excuse me?”

“Don't you see?” I cried. “Somebody was trying to find out if the room was occupied!”

“Or realized they got a wrong number.”

“How often does that happen?” I shot back, feeling my blood start to boil so rapidly I could have cooked pasta in it. “Whether you're willing to look at what's going on here or not, the bottom line is that through a stroke of extremely bad luck, I seem to have found myself in the middle of a murder—”

Nick sighed impatiently. “Jessie, when are you going to let this go? This—this obsession of yours? This paranoia?” He sank onto the edge of the bed, holding his arms out in despair.

“It's not paranoia!” I insisted. “Somebody wanted that tape of Marnie's badly enough to break into our hotel room. For all I know, it's the same person who killed her. I'm hoping the fact that we changed rooms—and that it's under your name now, not mine—will make it harder to track us down, but as soon as he figures out he has the wrong tape, he's going to come back looking for it. Or maybe even do something worse, since he probably thinks I know whatever it is he's so desperate to keep under wraps!”

“Look, I know you really believe that's what's going on,” Nick said. He sounded so frustrated I almost felt sorry for him. Then I remembered he wasn't the only one around here who was experiencing megalevels of frustration. “But step back a minute. Isn't there at least a chance that you're reading things into the situation that aren't there? I mean, you told me yourself that that homicide cop, whatever his name was—”

“Paleka,” I informed him. I tossed my head, hoping I looked self-assured. “Peter Paleka.”

“Okay, didn't this Detective Paleka say Marnie was most likely killed by the man she was seen leaving that bar with late that night? And didn't he tell you himself that your theory about the missing envelope and the tape was probably bogus?”

He had, indeed. But that didn't mean he was right. And frankly, hearing Nick say the same thing didn't exactly do much to lower my blood from boil to simmer either.

“Okay, so you've talked to a few people about the reporter who was killed,” he finally said. “Don't you think it's time to let it go? Maybe even spend a little time going to the conference you flew six thousand miles to attend?”

“Actually, I think the exact opposite,” I countered. “That given the fact that I'm very much involved in this, I have no choice but to continue.”

But that was only part of my reason for being so insistent. It was true I believed I could well be in danger. But I also happen to possess a stubborn streak that, on occasion, has been known to motivate me to do the opposite of what other people want me to do. Maybe it's a statement about my independence, or maybe there's just a screw loose. Whatever it is, the more involved I become in something, the more determined I become to see it through to the end. That particular personality had served me well in life thus far, so I wasn't going to change now.

“Before you say another word,” I went on before he had a chance to come up with some new argument, “I want you to listen to what I've learned so far. Will you at least do that much for me?”

Nick opened his mouth to protest, then shut it quickly enough that I could see he recognized a losing battle when he was confronted with one. I decided to take advantage of his sudden cooperative spirit, no matter how grudging it may have been.

I lowered myself onto the bed next to him, then spent the next ten minutes filling him in on all the interactions I'd had over the past two days. I told him about Marnie's editor and fellow staff members at the
Maui Dispatch,
her alleged boyfriend Ace, former reporter Holly Gruen, and even John Irwin, the charming man whom she'd been certain had decked her the afternoon of the governor's press conference.

As I spoke, I could tell he was trying to remain expressionless. But I knew him well enough that I could practically hear what he was thinking.

So I wasn't surprised that when I finally finished my report, Nick opened his mouth—no doubt to go back to trying to convince me that chasing down a killer, no matter what my reasons, was not the best way to spend a vacation in paradise.

He never got a chance. The sharp rapping at the door interrupted him.

“I'd better get that,” I said, hopping off the bed.

“Aren't you afraid it's the cat burglar?” Nick asked wryly.

I didn't deign to answer him. I did check the peephole, however, before flinging open the door.

“Betty and Winston!” I announced. “What a lovely surprise!”

This time, I meant it.

“Hello, hello!” Betty cried, waltzing into the room. She was dressed in a fetching yellow bathing suit, her bottom half modestly covered by an orange and yellow batik pareo, a Polynesian-style sarong. Underneath the wide brim of her straw sun hat, her damp hair clung to her neck in curls, and the large, limp hotel towel draped over her arm was sprinkled with sand. Her nose couldn't have been redder and her smile couldn't have been wider.

“Winston and I had such a fabulous afternoon on the beach!” she exclaimed. “I can hardly believe that just yesterday, we were driving on the Long Island Expressway, watching the sleet hit the windshield and wondering if our plane would take off!”

Winston came in right behind her. He, too, was wearing a bathing suit, a baggy, knee-length jobbie covered with lime green geckos. His nose was streaked with white sunblock, and dangling from a chain on his neck was one of those pink plastic plugs that keeps water from going up your nose.

“We're still a bit jet-lagged,” he said jovially, “but we weren't about to let that get in our way. In fact, we thought we'd shower and then find a place in our guidebook that has both dinner and dancing. Care to join us?”

I glanced at Nick woefully. “Thanks, but I think we'll pass. Besides, I'm sure you two would rather be alone.”

“On the contrary!” Winston boomed. “The more, the merrier!”

“Next time,” Nick promised. “Right now, Jessie and I have a few things to sort out.”

Betty's sunny smile faded. “Oh, my. That doesn't sound good.”

“It's nothing,” I said quickly. “We're just, uh, trying to decide how to spend the next few days. Between the conference and everything else.”

“It's the ‘everything else' part that sounds dangerous,” Betty commented. “In that case, let's take a rain check. I'm sure we'll have plenty of other chances.”

“Tell them about the luau,” Winston prompted.

She immediately brightened. “I almost forgot! There's a luau right here at the hotel that's supposed to be one of the best on the island. I was thinking it might be fun for all of us to go one night.”

“As a matter of fact, we have four free tickets,” I told them. “Nick and I won them at a Polynesian dance show.”

“Actually, we earned them,” he corrected me. “And in the process made total fools of ourselves.”

“I don't know about that,” I remarked, unable to resist a little teasing. “You turned out to be pretty good at moving your arms with the grace of a palm tree. You've got excellent hip motion too.”

“Aw, shucks,” he said with a smile. “Let's go to that luau tomorrow night, then. The four of us. Does that sound okay, Jess?”

“I'm there,” I agreed.

“Marvelous,” Betty said, beaming. “It starts at eight. I'll make a reservation and we can all meet at the restaurant.”

“In the meantime, perhaps we'd better leave you two to sort out whatever it is that needs sorting,” Winston suggested diplomatically.

“But we'll have plenty of time to enjoy one another's company tomorrow,” Betty said gaily. “I'm already looking forward to it!”

By the time they toddled off to shower and dress for a romantic night of cha-cha'ing and bossa-nova'ing and whatever else was on their agenda, the air in the room had definitely cleared. In fact, I was beginning to accept the fact that I really had overreacted to my silent phone caller. I supposed that maybe, just maybe, it was possible Nick was right, that it really could have been nothing more ominous than a wrong number.

I turned to him and took both his hands in mine. “Nick,” I said solemnly, “I don't want to argue.”

“I don't either,” he agreed. “Believe me, that's the last thing I want.”

“In that case, why don't we spend the evening doing what we came to Maui to do?” I suggested. “Let's find a romantic seaside restaurant, one with tiki torches and a great view of the sunset, and just hold hands and gaze at the ocean and all that corny stuff.”

I held my breath as I waited for his answer. Fortunately, it took only about two seconds for his stony expression to melt.

“Sounds good to me,” he replied.

I leaned over and kissed him lightly. “And I promise I won't talk about murder. In fact, I guarantee that tonight is all about fun.”

“Mmm,” he replied, taking me in his arms. “I'm already having fun.”

Frankly, I felt as if a little fun was something both of us needed.

The hotel's Oceanview Terrace restaurant delivered exactly what it promised: a magnificent view of the ocean. It also had the requisite tiki torches, an extensive selection of umbrella drinks, and soft Hawaiian music playing in the background. Even our waiter helped set the scene for the perfect island fantasy. Not only were both of his bulging biceps tattooed with what looked like authentic Polynesian motifs; he was dressed in a dark blue pareo batiked with starfish and sea horses and other sea life I had to assume actually lived in the Pacific Ocean.

“Now this is what a vacation in Maui is supposed to be like,” Nick said with a satisfied grin. “Sitting by the ocean and watching the sunset with my best girl.” He reached across the table to take my hand, deftly bypassing the plate of coconut shrimp sitting between us.

“I had no idea you were such a romantic,” I replied teasingly.

“Are you kidding? I'm totally romantic.”

“Okay, then here's my three-question romance test. First question: Did you cry at the end of
Titanic
?”

“No, but I felt really, really sad.”

“Second question: How many Jane Austen novels have you read?”

“All of them,” he replied. “I was an English major, remember?”

“You're doing very well,” I told him. “But the third question is the killer: Would you rather walk along a beach hand in hand at sunset or watch wrestling on TV?”