Free Right from the Gecko by Cynthia Baxter Page A

managing editor, he insisted upon being made aware of every tape his staff members made. Who knew how things worked in the newspaper business?
    â€œWell, I know you’re busy, so I guess I’ll get started cleaning out Marnie’s desk,” I announced abruptly, popping out of my seat like a jack-in-the-box. “Thanks for your time.”
    I hightailed it out of there, wondering if perhaps in addition to changing his mood, the mention of Marnie’s tape had also prompted Mr. Carrera to change his mind about electing me to go through Marnie’s personal things. But I wasn’t about to let him rescind his offer.
    I wasn’t about to linger at the
Dispatch
’s offices any longer than I had to either. Not when I got the feeling that even though I’d only been on Maui for a little over twenty-four hours, I already seemed to be making myself pretty darned unpopular.

    I found a lot more than a stack of abandoned cardboard boxes in the newspaper office’s small kitchen. I also found Marnie’s counterpart, Bryce Bolt, downing a couple of donuts and a cup of black coffee he’d poured into a ceramic mug. The fact that he hadn’t bothered to sit down while doing so may have explained why he had such a lean, muscular frame despite his obvious weakness for dough fried in grease and saturated in sugar.
    â€œBryce, right?” I greeted him. Actually, I felt pretty confident about holding my own with reporters, even though they were in the habit of being the ones asking the questions. Thanks to my penchant for getting involved in murder investigations, I’d gotten to know a newspaper reporter on Long Island—strictly on a professional basis, of course—named Forrester Sloan. Even though he had a tendency to be cocky, the fact that I’d outshone him a few times when it came to getting the scoop had won his respect, enough that on more than one occasion he’d actually suggested that I follow in his journalistic footsteps.
    â€œYou found me.” Bryce looked me up and down in a way that was all too familiar. For a minute there, I thought I really was talking to Forrester. He too was an incredible flirt. With me, anyway. As much as I hated to admit it, there was definitely chemistry—however minimal—between Forrester and me.
    But chemistry is one thing. Biology is something else altogether—and with Bryce, I got the feeling his interest in me was determined by something much more basic, not to mention more base. He was clearly trying to decide whether or not this particular female was worth his time.
    I guess I measured up to his standards, because he cocked his head and grinned. “Which means this must be my lucky day.”
    â€œToo bad we can’t say the same for Marnie Burton,” I replied curtly.
    His engaging grin was gone in a flash.
    â€œI was a friend of Marnie’s,” I said, figuring that even though I disliked the guy on sight, I owed him an explanation. Especially since Mr. Carrera’s claim that Bryce had worked closely with Marnie made me anxious to pump him for as much information as I could. “I came by today to see if anybody here at the paper had any inside information on the horrible thing that happened last night. I was just talking to Mr. Carrera.”
    â€œReally?” Now that Bryce realized I hadn’t followed him into the kitchen to admire his charms, he was suddenly standoffish. “And was Dickie-boy helpful?”
    I raised my eyebrows. If this guy’s rude enough to say insulting things about his boss to a complete stranger, I thought, he should at least have the grace to do it out of earshot.
    â€œI think it’s still too early for anyone to know much more than what was already in the paper this morning,” I replied politely.
    â€œRight. I saw that piece in the
Star-Bulletin.
I applied there too.” Smirking, Bryce added, “I guess those guys on Oahu are just too dense