Right from the Gecko (22 page)

It sounded like another language to me. “So what does all that mean?” I asked, impatient with my own lack of knowledge.

“Only that the company doesn't offer public securities—stocks and bonds—so it isn't required to file with the SEC. Next I tried Dun and Bradstreet, which the librarian explained is one of the best sources of information about businesses in the entire world. They've been around for something like a hundred fifty years, and they collect tons of data about every kind of business you can imagine. But that didn't pan out either.”

My heart was still pounding hard. But at the same time, I was starting to feel overwhelmed by a tidal wave of defeat.

“I even contacted the Better Business Bureau,” Nick continued. “There was nothing on file on FloraTech.”

My brain was grinding away, trying to come up with a different tack. “Could it be a foreign firm?” I suggested. “Or a division of some larger company?”

“I looked into both those possibilities, but I still came up dry. I'm afraid this company, whatever it is, remains a bit of a mystery.”

“Thanks for trying,” I told him sincerely.

“No problem. It was actually kind of fun, flexing my P.I. muscles.” He paused. “But this librarian who was helping me agreed that it was kind of peculiar that we couldn't find out anything.”

“Yet its presence on Maui is overwhelming,” I mused, talking more to myself than to Nick. “I feel like I keep running into FloraTech everywhere I go.”

“Or at least everywhere Marnie went,” Nick noted. “Yet the question of whether or not her interest in them was at all related to her murder still remains.”

“What about Bryce Bolt?” I asked. “Did you have better luck delving into his mysterious past?”

“Actually, that looks a lot more promising,” he replied.

“Great!” I exclaimed. “And what professional techniques, what secrets known only to insiders in the private investigation field, did you use?”

He grinned. “I Googled his name on the Internet.”

I just nodded. “That works. At least as a place to start.”

“Exactly. Google led me to a few articles he wrote for a couple of other newspapers before he came to the
Maui Dispatch
—”

“Which is important,” I interrupted, “because it tells us where he used to work—”

“And will therefore lead us to a bunch of people we can talk to about what he was like—”

“And hopefully tell us why he left.”

“Precisely.” Nick grinned. “You know, Jess, you and I make a pretty good team.”

“I already knew that.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Nick locked his eyes with mine for what seemed like just a little too long. Even though he and I weren't exactly on our first date, I could feel my cheeks growing warm as they erupted into what was no doubt a big, embarrassing blush.

“So,” I said gruffly, anxious to change the subject, if not the entire mood, “let's get in touch with some of Bryce Bolt's old cronies and see what we can dig up about his past.”

“I'm a step ahead of you,” Nick replied. “I printed out the names of the current editorial staff members at the two papers he worked for previously, along with their phone numbers and e-mail addresses. Once again, we have Google to thank. And I made a few calls and sent out a few e-mails, so the wheels are turning.”

“Fantastic,” I replied. “Thanks, Nick.” The moment of tension had passed, and we were back on the case again, playing the roles of Nick and Nora Charles. At least, that was the thought that flitted through my mind until I realized that Nick and Nora were married.

“What about Marnie's file folders?” I asked. “Did you find out anything unusual about FloraTech or any of the other stories she was working on?”

“Nothing that's going to lead us to an ‘aha' moment, I'm afraid. The thickest folder was the one on Hawaii Power and Light. She did a lot of research on a controversial new power plant the company wanted to build. Tons, in fact. Interviews with people who were both for and against it, a detailed history of utilities on all the Hawaiian Islands, even a cost-benefit analysis it looked like she got from someone inside the organization.

“And the folder also contained copies of the final articles, a total of five of them. But are you ready for this? Each one was published in the
Dispatch
with Holly Gruen's byline.”

“You're kidding!”

“Nope. Here, I'll show you.”

As I pored over the file folder Nick thrust in front of me, my mouth literally dropped open. Sure enough, while the pages and pages of notes stuck inside proved that Marnie had knocked herself out on the Hawaii Power & Light story, the actual articles did, indeed, all begin with the words
By Holly Gruen.

Although I finally managed to close my mouth, I couldn't keep myself from chewing my lip as I pondered what Karen Nelson had told me: that Holly was certain those articles were going to win her the Association of Professional Journalists' award. From the looks of things, her pal Marnie had done most of the work. Maybe even all of it. In fact, she might have written the actual articles herself.

Yet Holly had been the one to get credit for them.

I filled Nick in on the details, then asked, “What about the FloraTech file? What did you find in there?”

“Marnie had done plenty of research on that story too,” Nick replied. “The same kind of stuff. Interviews with people who both supported and opposed the company opening its headquarters here, a bunch of press releases about the medicinal benefits offered by the hibiscus plant, copies of letters to the editor that had run in the
Dispatch,
the
Maui News,
and even the
Honolulu Star-Bulletin.

“The one thing that really struck me,” he continued, “was how often the governor's name kept coming up. Apparently Wickham played a huge role in bringing FloraTech here. There were plenty of photos of him with Norman Eldridge, the company's founder. Formal shots, mostly. A ribbon-cutting ceremony, a few of Eldridge and Governor Wickham posing at a golf outing, that kind of thing. Obviously photo ops. Most of them were cut out of newspapers; a few were actual photos. But there were also a few shots of the two of them together that looked amateurish. From the looks of them, Marnie might have taken them herself.”

“Maybe she was simply trying to expand her credentials to include photojournalism,” I suggested. “The one thing everybody who knew her seems to agree on is that she was incredibly ambitious.”

“I don't think so.” He paused, as if he was thinking. “They reminded me of the kind of shots I used to take when I was still in the P.I. biz.”

My eyebrows shot way up toward my hairline. “You mean…racy photos?”

“Not at all. More like…incriminating. Or possibly incriminating, to be more accurate. The two of them shaking hands outside what looks like a motel room. Having dinner together in a restaurant. Alone. No aides, no bodyguards, just the two of them. There was even one of them strolling around what looks like a farm.”

“A hibiscus farm?”

“I guess so, given the business FloraTech is in.” Nick frowned. “I can't imagine why Marnie thought any of that was interesting enough to snap pictures.”

I thought about the other claim I'd heard about Marnie: that her journalistic passion sometimes strayed dangerously close to paranoia. I supposed it was possible that when it came to the controversial biotech firm, she had seen red flags everywhere she looked, finding scandal even where there was none. It was similarly possible that she'd snapped a bunch of photos that, to her, were incriminating but that anybody else would see as the usual politicking.

I was about to share this thought with Nick when someone standing no more than fifty feet away caught my eye.

“Oh, no,” I groaned. “What's
he
doing here?”

“Who?” Nick shifted in his lounge chair, craning his neck to see who I was referring to.

“Don't look!” I hissed. “Maybe he won't notice us.”

But I'd barely gotten the words out before I realized it was too late. Graham Warner was heading over in our direction. As usual, he was wearing sloppy cutoffs and a T-shirt that looked like it had missed a few appointments at the Laundromat. His scraggly dark-blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

“Who is this guy?” Nick said under his breath. “Your surfing instructor?”

“Just someone I happened to strike up a conversation with in the hotel lobby.” I decided to leave out the part about our friendly little chat taking place while Nick and I were in the middle of an argument. I also chose not to mention that the location of our impromptu little rendezvous was the hotel bar.

“Hey, Jessie,” Graham said breezily. “Small world, huh?”

A little too small, I thought. And here I'd been thinking it was just this island that kept shrinking. “Hey, Graham,” I returned without much enthusiasm, hoping he'd take the hint.

He didn't.

“So this must be that boyfriend you mentioned.” He lowered himself onto the lounge chair next to mine. I had the horrifying thought that he planned on staying awhile.

“Right,” I said. Reluctantly, I added, “Nick, this is Graham Warner. Graham, Nick Burby.”

“Hey, bro.” With great fanfare, Graham rose halfway to his feet and extended his hand, which required him to reach over me. Nick had a wary look in his eyes as he shook hands.

“So, Jess,” Graham said as he sat back down, “has the convention been eating up all your time or have you managed to enjoy the island?”

“I've done a bit of sightseeing,” I returned flatly, still doing my best not to encourage him.

“Cool.” Graham nodded more times than was warranted. “Hey, I'm pretty sure I saw you driving around Upcountry earlier today. That was you, wasn't it? That's a great area, isn't it? There's so much to do. Hiking in Polipoli State Park, touring the Tedeschi winery…”

I was barely listening. I was too busy trying to process what I'd just heard.

Graham knows how I spent the day…and where I went? I thought, my mind racing. The chances that he simply noticed me on one of the roads were remote, given the huge area we were talking about.

Was it possible that he'd been following me, that for the past few days he'd been keeping tabs on my comings and goings?

Even more importantly, I wondered, swallowing hard, if he's not just some creep who goes around hassling women, then who is he?

I suddenly remembered the eerie feeling I'd gotten as I was leaving Aloha Farm. The feeling I was being watched. At the time I decided I'd just fallen prey to some of that paranoia that had apparently plagued Marnie. Now I wondered if it had been Graham Warner's deep-set gray eyes that had been peering out at me from behind the dense foliage.

For all I knew, he could even have been the intruder who'd broken into my hotel room to steal Marnie's tape.

“Look,” Nick said impatiently, “I think it's time for you to move along, pal. We were having a private conversation here.”

With a little shrug, Graham said, “Hey, I was just trying to be friendly. I know this island pretty well, so I thought I might be of assistance.”

“Thanks, but we're managing fine,” Nick insisted.

“Sure, sure.” Graham rose to his feet. And then, casting me what I was certain was a meaningful look, he said, “Catch you later, Jess. And you've got my number, if there's anything you need. I'll be around.”

Nick followed him with his eyes as he walked away. Then he turned to me, scowling, and said, “Who did you say that guy was, Jess?”

“To tell you the truth,” I replied uneasily, “I'm not really sure.”

Chapter
13

N
ow this is something I really miss from my days as a P.I.,” Nick commented as we pulled into the parking lot of the Kula Grill later that evening. “I can't tell you how many nights I spent at fancy restaurants, pretending I was just another discriminating diner when I was actually doing surveillance. You know, checking out whether somebody's husband was secretly wining and dining his girlfriend, keeping tabs on some guy's wife to find out if she was really hosting a dinner with clients from out of town…. Of course, the person who hired me paid for my dinner, as well as my time, so I got a lot of good eats.”

“Unfortunately,” I pointed out as I opened the car door, “our client is in no position to reimburse us for our night on the town.” I climbed out of the Jeep, being careful not to let my sundress ride up. It was a bit of a challenge, since I wasn't in the habit of wearing dresses or skirts or any other garment that didn't fashionably coordinate with my usual footwear of choice, a pair of chukka boots.

“True. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy a nice dinner.” Glancing over at the restaurant, he added, “And Marnie was right. This really is a romantic place. And it's definitely out of the way.”

I had to agree. The Kula Grill was in an isolated spot at the end of a poorly paved road. The restaurant was a collection of about twenty round tables clustered underneath a green awning, which was attached to a small white building that most likely housed the kitchen. Flowering shrubs surrounded the outdoor dining room, providing lots of privacy. There were also large bouquets of tropical flowers centered on each table. Aside from the tiki torches framing the entrance, the only lighting was the flickering candles on each table. As the hostess showed Nick and me to our table and we wove among the white linen tablecloths, it was so dark that it was difficult to make out the facial features of the patrons.

“The perfect place for a clandestine meeting,” Nick commented once we were seated at a corner table. “If the lighting in here was any dimmer, they'd have to print the menus in Braille.”

The Kula Grill's management appeared to be putting all the money they were saving on electric bills into maintaining a large, attentive staff. As soon as we sat down, a busboy bearing a pitcher came over and filled our water glasses. Almost immediately, a second staff member came over to light our candle. Not that it did much to illuminate our shadowy little corner.

Seconds later, a pale, chubby-cheeked waiter whose wavy platinum-blond hair only added to his cherubic look glided over to our table. He wore crisp, white slacks and a tasteful Hawaiian shirt splashed with flowers in shades of blue and green that, for this corner of the world, were relatively subdued.

“Good evening. I'm Keith, your waitperson,” he chirped, bowing slightly. “If there's anything I can do to make your stay even more pleasant, please don't hesitate to ask.”

He seemed so sincere I was tempted to ask him for a flashlight. But before I had a chance, Nick remarked, “You should probably know that this is a very special night for us.” He reached over and took my hand. “Jessie and I just got engaged.”

Before I could stop myself, I let out a little yelp. I immediately feigned a mild coughing fit.

Fortunately, Keith didn't appear to notice. “Goodness, that
is
special!” he cried, clasping his hands together. “Congratulations to you both!”

“Thanks,” Nick returned, looking ridiculously pleased.

“Let me tell my manager,” the waiter cooed. “Maybe there's something we can do to make the occasion even more special.” He fluttered off to the kitchen, so excited you'd have thought we'd invited him to be our best man.

“What did you do that for?” I demanded as soon as he was out of earshot.

“It's part of my strategy,” Nick replied calmly. “Look what happened the other night at the luau when Betty and Winston told the waiter they'd just gotten engaged. He told them about every other couple that had gotten engaged or celebrated their engagement at the restaurant practically since the Civil War. And isn't that what we came here for? To find out if Ace popped the question Sunday night—or if the conversation between him and Marnie went a different way entirely?”

“Good point,” I admitted. And it was. But even though we really had come all this way to find out what had transpired between Ace and Marnie the night she was murdered, I was still having a hard time sounding enthusiastic. I was feeling pressured enough without having to play the role of the dewy-eyed bride-to-be, out on the town for the first time with the man who was officially going to become her husband.

“At the very least,” Nick pointed out, “we might get a free drink out of it.”

I had to laugh. “I love that you're so practical.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me what else you love about me.” His voice suddenly sounded much too soft—and much too serious—for my liking. In fact, the word
mushy
came to mind.

“Nick,” I reminded him, “we're here to investigate a murder. We're not really en—” I stopped myself before I choked on the word. I didn't think it would be wise to pretend to have another coughing fit, since there was a good chance our attentive waiter would summon an ambulance. “You know, the reason you told the waiter we were here. We need to stay focused.”

“Actually, I'm pretty good at focusing on more than one thing at once,” Nick replied teasingly. “Especially if one of them is you.”

I was trying to come up with a snappy reply, hopefully one that would lead us to a safer topic like murder, when I noticed Keith gliding back to our table. This time, he was holding a tray high in the air, expertly balancing two large icy drinks decorated with huge purple orchids.

“Okay, Romeo and Juliet, these are on the house,” he announced, looking as pleased as the punch in the glasses. As he placed one in front of each of us, he whispered conspiratorially, “I told Jason, our bartender, to put a couple of extra shots of rum in these. On a night like this, I figured you two lovebirds deserve it. I'll be right back with your menus. Enjoy!”

And he was off. I glanced at Nick. “It worked. At least the drinks part.”

“A very good start,” Nick agreed. “The night is young. We have plenty of time to get Keith to tell us what happened between Marnie and Ace.”

“And if he wasn't here that night,” I added, “I'd say there's a good chance he'll do us a favor and find out who was.”

“A toast,” Nick said abruptly, holding up his glass. “To our future.”

“To our future,” I seconded, clinking my glass against his. I was grateful that he'd kept the toast fairly generic, especially since we were pretending that we'd just gotten engaged. There was no doubt in my mind that Nick and I had a future. The only question was exactly what that future would look like.

As promised, Keith soon returned with our menus. He presented them to each of us as if he was bestowing a wonderful gift upon us.

“I'll just give you a few minutes to look these over,” he gurgled. “The specials are here on this separate page, right inside. In the meantime, just let me know if there's anything I can do to—”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Nick said. “Are there any employees here tonight who also worked at the restaurant Sunday night?”

“Sunday night? Let me think.” Keith placed his index finger against his chin and rolled his eyes upward. “Not Steve, not Rusty…I think Colleen was on that night, but she's not here….” Suddenly his face lit up. “I know! Desiree was here Sunday night. She's the hostess. The woman who showed you to your table.”

“If it's not too much trouble,” Nick added, “we'd like to talk to her. Just for a minute or two.”

“Of course,” Keith replied. “Do you want me to ask her to stop over when she has a free moment?”

“Maybe we'd better go to the front of the restaurant to talk to her,” I suggested. “That way we won't disturb the other customers.”

The idea that whatever we were up to might have the effect of causing a disturbance clearly perturbed Keith for a few seconds. But he must have realized that newly engaged lovebirds like us had no intention of causing serious conflict within the walls, such as they were, of the Kula Grill. “I'll tell her,” he said. Winking, he added, “And if I were you, I'd keep away from the swordfish.”

After we'd ordered and Keith informed us that Desiree had been forewarned, Nick and I wandered up to the front of the restaurant.

“Everything okay?” The restaurant's hostess was smiling, but her tone was guarded. When I'd first come in, I assumed she was in her twenties, given her pale-blond hair and her strapless cocktail dress, which looked like something the original Barbie might have worn. Now that I had a chance to study her, however, I saw that Desiree was probably in her forties. Her dark red lipstick had strayed slightly into the fine lines around her mouth, and her black eyeliner was a bit too heavy. She reminded me of Lila Nakoa, who had explained she had a similar job. Somehow, I got the feeling that being the hostess at the Kula Grill hadn't exactly been Desiree's dream of what she wanted to be when she grew up.

“Everything's fine,” I assured her. “I'm just trying to find out if a friend of mine came in to the restaurant Sunday night. Keith thought you might know.” I whipped out the photographs I'd brought along, the ones I'd taken from Marnie's apartment. I laid a photo of Ace and Marnie, both smiling for the camera, on the counter. “Do you remember seeing this couple come in?”

She only glanced at the photo for a second before saying, “Oh, yeah.” Quickly, she added, “Wait, you said you're these people's friends, right? I mean, you're not cops or anything?”

“We're not cops,” I told her. “I'm a veterinarian. And Nick here is…a student.” My impression of Desiree the Hostess was that she wanted to stay as far away from anything to do with the law as possible, and for all I knew that included law students. I also decided not to mention that the woman whose photo she had just seen was a murder victim. “She's a friend of ours.”

“I remember both of them,” Desiree said, nodding.

Just then, Keith sashayed over with an empty serving tray in hand. “I hope you can help these nice folks, Desi,” he said.

“I'm doing my best,” she replied sincerely.

“I don't suppose you happened to overhear anything they said to each other,” Nick said casually.

“I sure did,” Desiree replied. “I remember every couple who comes into a fancy place like this and then ruins their entire evening by having a fight. And those two hadn't even ordered yet.”

So much for a romantic evening, I thought. And so much for Marnie's expectation that Ace was about to pop the question.

Still, I did my best not to react. “They argued?” I asked in a calm voice.

“Sure did. I heard a lot of it, but not all of it. See, I started getting the gist of what was going on between the two of them while I was seating a couple at the table next to theirs. Dan and Ellen Simons. Lovely people. They come in here all the time. He's a photographer and she—”

“Get to the point, Desi!” Keith interrupted impatiently.

“Okay, okay.” Desiree took a deep breath. “So I'm seating the Simons, and all of a sudden I hear the girl whisper—well, it wasn't exactly a whisper, it was kind of a hoarse-voice sound, since I could hear her even though it was obvious she was trying to keep it quiet—”

“What did she
say
?” Keith demanded.

Desiree paused for dramatic effect. “She says, ‘You mean you're
married
?'”

“No!” Keith gasped, slapping both cheeks with the palms of his hands.

As for me, I simply glanced at Nick. From his expression, I could see he was thinking the same thing I was thinking.

“Then what?” Keith demanded breathlessly.

“She stormed out of here, of course,” Desiree replied. “What woman wouldn't?”

“What did he do?” Keith asked.

“What do you think he did? He ran after her. But she was way ahead of him. She was just a little thing, but she was pretty fast on her feet. By the time he caught up with her, she was out in the parking lot. But I could see everything, because by that point I was back here, at the front.”

“Did they continue to argue?” I asked.

“They sure did. First, as soon as he caught up with her, he grabbed her by the arm. ‘Don't touch me!' she yelled. Really loud. At least, loud for this place. Good thing they were already outside by then or the other customers would have had a fit.”

“That
brute,
” Keith interjected. Huffily, he added, “If I'd been here, I would have gone after him with a steak knife.”

“So then I heard her say, ‘I'm going to tell her what's been going on,'” Desiree continued. “The guy went nuts, of course. So she yelled, ‘Call me a taxi! I'm not getting in the car with you!' But he wasn't about to take no for an answer. He yelled back, ‘You're coming with me. We have to talk about this.'

“Then, I remember, he looked back at the restaurant, like he suddenly realized he might have an audience. Which he did, of course. At least me. But I pretended I wasn't listening. I started looking through the reservation book, acting like I was busy checking off names or something.

“So then he lowered his voice. But they were still close enough that I could hear him. And he said, ‘Let's go someplace where we can be alone. Someplace quiet. We have to talk.'” Desiree gave a little shrug, then concluded, “So wouldn't you know it? The fool gets in the car with him and they drive off.”