Right from the Gecko

by Cynthia Baxter

  The frustrating thing was that I still had no idea why.

  I decided to try answering the simple questions first, starting with why Ace would continue to lie about his relationship with her. I took a moment to formulate a plan.

  Once I did, I reminded myself of the reason I’d come to Hawaii in the first place. I turned my focus back to the speaker, jotting down his advice about turning Fido and Fluffy on to the joys of snacking on carrots and green beans.

  It was late afternoon by the time I left the conference and went back to my hotel room. I opened the door tentatively, anxious to keep Moose from escaping.

  I shouldn’t have worried. Nick was lounging on the lanai, his bare feet propped up on the metal railing. Moose, in turn, was lounging in his lap, looking extremely contented.

  “I see you two have met,” I observed as I slid open the glass doors to join them.

  “Don’t tell me,” Nick said with a grin. “You happened to drive by an animal shelter, and you couldn’t resist going in. The next thing you knew, you’d made a new addition to your menagerie.”

  “Moose here certainly needs a new home, but he’s not from a shelter,” I explained. “He used to belong to Marnie.”

  “Ah.” He stroked the ball of fur in his lap, meanwhile gazing at Moose sympathetically. “Sorry about that, Moose old boy. I guess you really do need a new place to live, don’t you?”

  “This is only temporary,” I assured him. “As soon as I can, I’ll find someone here on Maui who can take him. But in the meantime…”

  “Hey, as long as he doesn’t hog the pillows at night, I’m fine with this,” Nick insisted.

  “Great. Thanks for being so understanding. So how was your hike?”

  “Spectacular. But I’ll tell you about that later. At the moment, I’m much more interested in what else you found out at Marnie’s apartment, aside from the fact that she liked cats. Were there any skeletons in her closet?”

  “I’m not sure.” I hesitated before asking, “Nick, how would you like to put some of your private investigation skills to work?”

  He grimaced. “I just spent four months stuffing my brain with about eight million cases in law school. I don’t know if I remember anything from my days as a P.I.”

  “I have a feeling that everything you learned is still in there somewhere,” I returned. “Besides, what I’ve got in mind shouldn’t be that difficult.”

  “Try me.”

  “I might not have found any skeletons in Marnie’s closets, but I did find a list of names and addresses hidden in her freezer.”

  Frowning, Nick asked, “The other members of her WeightWatchers’ group?”

  “I don’t think so.” I took out the list and handed it to him. “Even though I hardly know anyone on Maui, there is one name on this list that I recognize.”

  Nick looked surprised. “Which one?”

  “Alice Feeley,” I told him, pointing. “Richard Carrera, the editor of the newspaper Marnie worked for, told me she’s the person who found Marnie’s body on the beach. Apparently people around here consider her their local neighborhood eccentric, someone who’s got her share of quirks but is basically harmless.”

  “But suddenly it looks as if she might have been more involved with Marnie than anyone suspected,” Nick said thoughtfully.

  “Exactly.” I was pleased that he had drawn the same conclusion I had. I guessed that saying about great minds thinking alike was true after all.

  Then he pointed to the initials on top. “FT,” he read aloud. “What’s that?”

  “I’m not sure, but one possibility is that FT stands for FloraTech. It’s a new biotech firm that just opened its headquarters here on Maui. Apparently they claim to have discovered medicinal value in the hibiscus. Marnie was working on a story on the company right before she was killed.”

  “And you don’t think the reason her notes ended up in her fridge is that she absentmindedly stashed them there during a midnight raid?”

  “Actually, I think there was a lot more to it. She’d put this list inside a Ziploc bag, which tells me she was trying to protect it. Then, to hide it, she stashed it in an empty Ben and Jerry’s carton.”

  “Hmm. In that case, I’d have to agree.” He handed it back to me. “Tell me more about FloraTech.”

  “I don’t know much. That’s why I need a good P.I. I thought you might be willing to take on the job of finding out anything you can about it. I have a folder filled with notes Marnie was gathering on the company. I also have a few folders with her notes and research materials from the other stories she was working on. I was hoping you might be able to look through those too. There might be something in one of them that would give us an idea whether anyone could have considered her passion for uncovering dirt dangerous enough to want her out of the picture.”

  I took a deep breath. “And if I’m not pushing my luck here, I also hoped you’d be willing to see what you could find out about another reporter at the Dispatch, Bryce Bolt. When I asked him about his background, he got pretty defensive. It made me think he might be hiding something.”

  “Sure,” he agreed with a little shrug. “Glad to be of service. In fact, it’ll be fun to get back into the business for a while. Sometimes I miss the thrill of the hunt. Ferreting out information, doing stakeouts, chasing after the bad guys—”

  “Speaking of stakeouts,” I interjected, “I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for one…like right now?”

  Nick’s face lit up. “Sure. What have you got in mind?”

  “You mean who have I got in mind. And the answer is Ace Atwood. Marnie told me he was her boyfriend, yet there seem to be some questions about the true nature of their relationship. We have some time before we meet Betty and Winston at the luau, and I thought I’d use it to try to find out a little more about him.”

  “I’m all over it!” Nick was already on his feet, with Moose still cradled in his arms. Regretfully, he told him, “Sorry, bud. You’ll have to stay here. Not that you don’t have potential, but we don’t need any distractions. Maybe next time.”

  While Nick explained the situation to Moose, I tried to put together some sort of disguise, or at least an outfit that would keep Ace from recognizing me if I was actually lucky enough to spot him. Since I’m one of those people who’s obsessed with packing light, I didn’t have much to work with. In the end, I decided that sunglasses and my canvas sun hat, pulled down low to cover my hair, would have to do.

  I also made sure I brought along the business card I’d found in Marnie’s drawer, the one with his address written on back. Just in case I lost it, I’d memorized the words, Home: 254 Hukelani Street, Wailuku.

  “Ready?” I asked my sidekick.

  Nick just grinned. I could see he was really looking forward to this.

  Maui’s simple road system was already becoming as familiar to me as the intricate web of highways and byways that cover Long Island. It was another beautiful day, and Nick and I rode along Honoapiilani Highway with all the windows down. I had to admit, it was extra nice having him along. I tried to remember if Ned Nickerson ever accompanied Nancy Drew in all those novels I’d read when I was young. If he had, it was no wonder she’d been so fond of spending most of her time running around, solving mysteries.

  According to my map, the street on which Ace lived wasn’t too far from the police station, so finding it was a breeze. I hoped accomplishing my goal of actually spotting him would be as easy.

  “This is it,” I muttered as I turned onto Hukelani Street. “His house is number two fifty-four.”

  “Not exactly the high-rent district,” Nick observed.

  I had to agree. Hukelani Street turned out to be a quiet road lined with half a dozen small, shabby houses. Not quite the ocean-view palaces tourists picture when they fantasize about living on Maui. Then again, Ace hadn’t exactly struck me as a man who was clambering up the ladder of success.

  Number 254 was at the end, the last house on the right. The con
dition of the place Ace Atwood called home bore out my theory. The house itself was nondescript, a single-level bungalow half hidden by the over-grown bushes and trees crowded onto the tiny front lawn. Jammed into the short driveway were no fewer than three vehicles—a dusty pickup truck with a badly dented passenger side door and two cars that might have been considered vintage if they didn’t look as if a slight tap would send all the metal crashing to the ground. The sorry condition of his fleet was quite a surprise, given his line of business.

  “The guy certainly seems to like cars,” Nick commented. “Especially cars that have been totally trashed.”

  “Maybe he gets so tired of working on other people’s junkers all day that he has no energy left to work on his own,” I suggested.

  “It sure looks that way.”

  Fortunately, there were a few other vehicles parked on the narrow street, much nicer ones that probably belonged to Ace’s neighbors. That made my rented Jeep Wrangler much less conspicuous as I parked right across the street from his house. Still, I pulled my hat down as low as it would go, then began the arduous task of doing absolutely nothing.

  Nick squinted at the side door, which was less than a hundred feet away. “Okay, now I’m starting to get curious about this guy. How will I recognize him?”

  “Try to imagine the guy from Saturday Night Fever once he hit forty.”

  “Gotcha,” Nick replied. Dryly, he added, “I can hardly wait.”

  For me, doing nothing is one of the most difficult things in the world. Within about thirty seconds, my hands start to get fidgety. My brain too. Usually, if I’m waiting in a car, I find something to do, like rearrange the bills in my wallet so they all face front, or grab the owner’s manual out of the glove compartment and catch up on fun facts like what the optimal tire pressure should be.

  This time I didn’t dare. I was too afraid of missing my target.

  “Nick,” I asked, “when you did this for a living, how did you keep yourself from getting bored out of your skull?”

  “Actually, that’s a real problem with stakeouts,” he replied seriously. “It’s easy to fall asleep or get distracted by something else you’ve been staring at just to keep your mind working. Drinking coffee helps, although then the lack of bathroom facilities can become a problem.” He reached across the front seat and took my hand. “Of course, having somebody to talk to is always useful. As long as the conversation doesn’t become so engrossing that you forget what you’re there for.”

  With that thought in mind, we chatted for a while, being careful not to talk about anything too interesting. But knowing that you’re talking because you’re supposed to be talking makes it really hard to come up with things to talk about.

  Through it all, I sat with my eyes fixed on Ace’s house. When Nick and I ran out of topics of conversation that were sufficiently mindless, I tried to remember the capital of each state, beginning with the East Coast and moving west.

  I was starting to feel as if I’d been sitting in that spot forever, but finally, just as I got stuck on Idaho, our vigilance paid off. The side door of the house swung open, and who came loping out but Ace himself.

  “That’s him,” I muttered, my heart suddenly pounding. Here I’d just started wondering if I was wasting my time. Yet this was turning out to be my lucky day. At least I hoped so. Part of me worried that my plan to learn more about Ace would end in disaster, since he impressed me as someone who wouldn’t exactly appreciate being followed, especially by a busybody like me who he undoubtedly thought asked too many questions. Part of me was afraid of something even worse: that I wouldn’t find out anything new at all.

  “You were right,” Nick commented. “Saturday Night Fever, alive and well on Maui.”

  Ace wasn’t alone. Scampering gleefully beside him was a fair-size dog that looked as if his lineage included some German shepherd and some Rottweiler. Whether the keys in Ace’s hand were responsible for his canine companion’s exhilaration or it was simply the joie de vivre that ninety-nine percent of all dogs routinely exhibit, I couldn’t say.

  I smiled at the sight of the enthusiastic pup, then forced myself to focus on Ace. After all, it wasn’t his dog that was the murder suspect.

  Ace opened the passenger-side door of his pickup truck, then called, “Come on, Buddy. Climb in.” Once his trusty companion was sitting shotgun, his tongue hanging out as if he were thinking excitedly, Oh, boy! I can’t believe we’re going for a ride! Ace climbed into the driver’s seat and backed out of his driveway.

  My heart began to pound even harder.

  “Let’s go,” Nick urged. “Now comes the fun part.”

  Nodding in agreement, I turned the key in the ignition. I followed the pickup truck, driving at what I hoped anyone who observed me—Ace, for example—would consider a moseying pace. I even switched on the radio, hoping the soft rock that came floating out would help me stay in my moseying mode.

  As soon as I began tailing him, it occurred to me that since Ace was a car guy, he might notice the Jeep that just happened to be right behind him looked familiar. Fortunately, scrappy vehicles like the one I was driving were common on Maui. I hoped that would keep him from peering into the rearview mirror with too much interest.

  My theory seemed to hold. Ace drove at a leisurely pace for nearly two miles with his left arm stuck out the window on his side of the cab. Buddy, meanwhile, rode with his entire head jutting out the passenger-side window. Keeping up was easy. So was hiding the fact that I was following him. Since there was only one road on this part of the island, there was enough traffic on it that I could blend in, but not so much that I had to worry about losing him. Following someone on Maui was turning out to be a lot easier than it was at home. A complicated system of streets, highways, and expressways crisscrossed all over Long Island, and most of them were clogged with traffic. When it came to choosing a place whose geography was conducive to solving crimes, Magnum, P.I. clearly had the right idea.

  “You’re doing great,” Nick commented.

  “Thanks for the encouragement,” I replied.

  “No, I mean it. You’re a natural. You’re focused, you’re cool-headed…I could have used somebody like you back in the day.”

  “See that?” I couldn’t resist interjecting. “Turns out I’m pretty good at investigating murders.”

  When Ace pulled up at the front entrance of a nondescript office building, I nosed into a parking space on the other side of the lot. The good news was that from that vantage point, Nick and I could see everything he did. The bad news was that his actions consisted of nothing more exciting than sitting in his truck with the motor running.

  Fool’s errand? I wondered, knowing exactly who would turn out to be the fool.

  As I fought the temptation to lose heart, I noticed some movement. Someone—a woman—had come out of the office building. She was dressed in a business suit, but the inexpensive-looking kind that was made of a shiny fabric. Whatever sense of authority the suit was designed to convey was pretty much contradicted by her large, flashy jewelry, which included gold hoop earrings the size of saucers and enough bracelets for an entire troupe of belly dancers. The same went for her hair, which was dyed a jarring shade of red and looked as if it had been mercilessly fluffed and teased before it was frozen in place with a frightening amount of hair-spray.

  In other words, she looked like just the kind of woman a guy like Ace was likely to find attractive.

  “Look, he came here to pick her up,” I pointed out. “Maybe I should get out of the car and go over there.”

  “Go for it,” Nick urged. “But you need a plan. What’s your excuse for being here? Even more important, what are you trying to find out?”

  I thought fast, trying to decide what to do. But not fast enough. Before I could come up with a strategy, Ace and his gal pal sped out of the parking lot, disappearing down a side street before I even managed to start my car.

  “Damn!” I muttered. “I missed them.” By this point
, I was really feeling like that proverbial fool.

  “But you have some new information,” Nick noted. “You know where his girlfriend works.”

  “How do we know she’s his girlfriend?” I countered, wanting to consider every possible angle. “I mean, she could be his sister or…or…”

  And then, on impulse, I retrieved the scratched and broken sunglasses I’d stashed in the glove compartment the day I rented the car.

  “Where are you going?” Nick demanded.

  “To find out who that woman is.”

  “Have you worked out your strategy?”

  I just held up the sunglasses, then headed inside.

  I didn’t expect to be lucky enough to find any signs of life in the lobby of the building. In fact, I thought I’d simply end up perusing the directory that I figured would be posted on the wall and that my idea about how I could use the sunglasses would go to waste. So the rate of my heartbeat picked up considerably when I saw that the building actually came equipped with a living, breathing human being: a security guard.

  The tall, beefy man with straight black hair shorn to a stubble was sitting behind a high counter, reading the Maui News.

  “Excuse me,” I asked him politely as I approached, “but did you happen to notice that woman who just left?”

  He put down his newspaper and peered at me. “What about her?”

  “I think she dropped these sunglasses.” I held them up as proof, hoping he wouldn’t notice what bad shape they were in. “I ran after her so I could return them, but she took off before I could get her attention.”

  “I’ll take ’em,” he offered. “And I’ll make sure Mrs. Atwood gets ’em.”

  “Thanks,” I said calmly, handing the security guard the battered sunglasses.

  But I wasn’t feeling calm on the inside. Bingo! I thought, as a lightbulb the size of a neon sign in the middle of Times Square went off in my head. So good old Ace has a missus!

  Suddenly it all made sense. Ace was a married man who had been having a fling with Marnie. No wonder he preferred taking her to “romantic” restaurants whose main selling point was that they were out of the way. That would also explain why he got so upset whenever she was late, since whenever he was with her, the clock was ticking. It could have also been the reason he was so reluctant to show any affection for her when they were out in public with Holly.