Hare Today, Dead Tomorrow
Page 35
Clicking it off and sticking it back in her bag, she muttered, “I got the question on tape. Too bad I didn’t get an answer.
“Anyhow,” she said, smoothing her skirt and running her fingers through her short, spiky hair, “I’ve got to get the heck out of here.”
I had to admit, she looked a lot better than she had twenty minutes earlier when she’d first stretched out on the bed with a guava-sized lump on her head.
“I owe you,” Marnie said. “If there’s anything I can do for you while you’re here...”
“I think I’m set.”
“Maybe I could take you on a tour,” she offered. “You know, give you an insider’s look at Maui that most tourists don’t get to see.”
“That sounds great,” I told her sincerely. “Let me talk to my boyfriend, Nick. Between the conference and what’s supposed to be a romantic vacation for the two of us, we’ve got a lot of activities to squeeze in over the next few days. But it would be fun if we could work something out.”
“Here’s my number,” she said, reaching into her purse.
She handed me a business card. “Marnie Burton, Reporter, Maui Dispatch,” it read, followed by the newspaper’s Kaohu Street address, phone number, and, in the lower left corner, her cell phone number. I stuck the card in my pocket, then gave her one of mine.
“Thanks.” As she dropped it into her giant tote bag, she caught sight of her watch and cried, “Now I’ve really got to get out of here. I just hope the person I’m supposed to meet at six-thirty hasn’t given up on me.” She screwed up her face. “These secret sources can be so temperamental.”
The room seemed strangely silent after she left. I realized that Marnie Burton was one of those people who was always surrounded by a whirlwind of energy. Just talking to her was exhausting.
Still, the arrival of Nick five minutes later, his eyes glowing in a way that can only come from a shopping victory, immediately re-energized me. That, and the colors in his flashy aloha shirt.
“Is this shirt cool or what?” he asked, holding out his arms to model it for me.
“Way cool. The other law students will love it.”
Wearing a satisfied smile, he flopped down on the bed, his arms folded beneath his head. “Right now, law school feels very far away. I’m much more interested in the wahine standing in front of me. That would be you.”
“Wahine, huh?” I countered. “Have I just been insulted?”
“It’s the Hawaiian word for woman.”
“In that case, I’m guilty as charged.”
“Come here. You’re too far away.”
As I sat down on the bed next to him, he rolled away to make room. And promptly let out a yelp.
“Ouch! Hey, what’s this?” Nick asked. From underneath his khaki-covered butt, he pulled out a brown mailing envelope. The initials “MB” were handwritten in pencil on the front.
“Oh, no. That must be Marnie’s,” I said. “She left it here by accident. It probably fell out of her giant tote bag, either while she was going through it or when I was scrounging around for Advil.” As I took the envelope from him, I noticed it wasn’t sealed. It felt as if there was an audio cassette tape inside, but I didn’t bother to check. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t any of my business. “It might be important. I’d better call her and tell her she left it here.”
“How’s her head? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Just a little forgetful, that’s all. But I have a feeling that has nothing to do with what happened today.”
I retrieved her business card from my pocket and dialed her cell phone number on my cell phone. According to my calculations, she’d barely had time to leave the hotel. So I was surprised that I got her voice mail.
“Hey, Marnie, it’s Jessie Popper,” I recorded after the beep. “You left a brown envelope in my room. When you get this message, call me at the Royal Banyan Hotel or on my cell phone. The number’s on the card I gave you. I can get it back to you whenever we get together—or if you need it sooner, just stop by the room and knock. In case you forgot, the number is six-twenty-six. Catch you later!”
After I ended the call, I looked around the room, trying to find a safe place to put it. The room was already pretty chaotic, between our clothes, guide-books, snorkeling equipment, and the two bags of cinnamon macadamia nuts Nick had bought. I finally went into the bathroom and stashed it in the vanity, next to the extra rolls of toilet paper.
“Now where were we?” I murmured. I draped myself across the bed and nestled beside Nick. I had to admit that he looked pretty darned terrific in his Hawaiian shirt.
As far as I was concerned, it was time to get this romantic getaway underway.
By the next morning, I had made major inroads into reaching the highest possible level of aloha spirit. As I sat on the lanai in a pair of shorts and a tank top, scarfing down the coconut syrupslathered macadamia nut waffles Nick and I had ordered from room service, concepts like worry and tension and hurrying seemed far away. Like polar fleece, hot chocolate, and ice scrapers, they simply didn’t belong here.
The setting also happened to be wonderfully romantic. There we were, just the two of us, sitting on a balcony overlooking a lush tropical garden. The golden sun was warm, and the balmy air was softened by a refreshing sea breeze. Birds chirped sweetly and we spotted the occasional gecko basking in the sun or darting up the side of a palm tree. If this wasn’t a genuine Adam and Eve moment, I didn’t know what was.
Still, there were practicalities to consider.
I skimmed the conference catalogue, trying to remind myself I was here in my capacity as a medical professional, rather than a beach bunny, by deciding which of the day’s sessions to attend.
“There are some great talks scheduled this morning,” I said thoughtfully, “starting with one on feline AIDS this morning at nine. The afternoon has some good ones, too. One on diabetic ketoacidosis, one on canine pancreatitis...hey, here’s one on inflammatory bowel disease. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind occupying yourself pretty much all day, I’d be happy to go from one session to the next.”
I glanced over at Nick, who was still wearing one of the fluffy white terry cloth robes that came with the room.
He didn’t seem to be listening. He was much too absorbed in the complimentary copy of the Honolulu Star-Bulletin we’d found outside our door.
“Maybe you could hit the beach,” I suggested. “Didn’t your guidebook say there was good snorkeling right behind the hotel? You could—”
“Jess,” he interrupted, his tone strained, “isn’t Marnie Burton the name of that reporter you met yesterday?”
“That’s her name,” I replied. “Why? What about her?”
“Whoa,” Nick breathed. “Bad news.”
He held up the newspaper so I could see the headlines. I gasped loudly as I read, “REPORTER FOUND MURDERED.”
HARE TODAY, DEAD TOMORROW
A Bantam Book / May 2006
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2006 by Cynthia Baxter
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be
aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as
“unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the
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eISBN : 978-0-307-41810-4
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