Right from the Gecko by Cynthia Baxter

century.”
    â€œMaybe she was just passionate about what she did.”
    â€œMore like desperate to make a name for herself. She was ambitious, all right.” Glancing around, he lowered his voice conspiratorially before adding, “In fact, our little punk-haired friend wasn’t above kissing up to Dickie-boy to get the big stories. Or at least the stories she was sure were gonna turn out to be big.”
    â€œLike FloraTech?”
    He looked startled. “How did you know about that?”
    I shrugged. “I just remember her mentioning that it was something she was working on.”
    He looked satisfied with my answer. “Okay, then, perfect example. Here’s this really positive thing that’s happening on Maui—an innovative new company, bringing in high-tech jobs in the biomedical field—and good old Marnie had to go and find something negative about it.”
    â€œWhich was…?”
    Bryce snorted again. “That it was ruining the ambience of our tropical paradise or something. Like we’re still living in the days of grass huts and outrigger canoes! I mean, get real! There is such a thing as progress, y’know? We are in the twenty-first century. Isn’t it time to get with the program? Instead, she wants to pit people against each other about whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
    â€œI guess controversy sells newspapers,” I offered.
    â€œRight,” he grumbled. “And makes a name for the people who stir it up.”
    O
-kay, I thought. I think I’ve had about enough of Bryce Bolt.
    And I hadn’t even learned very much, aside from the fact that he had clearly disliked Marnie. Whether his reaction to her was rooted in sexism, professional jealousy, or something much more personal, I couldn’t say.
    â€œI’m curious, Bryce,” I said, casually bringing up a question that had just occurred to me. “What were you doing before you came to the
Maui Dispatch
?”
    He narrowed his eyes. “You sure ask a lot of questions. What do you think you are, a reporter?”
    â€œActually, I’m a veterinarian,” I told him with a big smile. “But I’m interested in everything and anything that has to do with Marnie’s life, including the people she worked with.”
    Still eyeing me warily, he replied, “I worked for a couple of papers on the mainland.”
    I noticed he didn’t volunteer their names, or even the cities he’d lived in, which made me wonder if there was a story there.
    But Bryce was already heading out of the kitchen, brushing powdered sugar and cinnamon off his fingertips. I grabbed an empty cardboard carton and made a beeline for Marnie’s desk.

Chapter 4
    â€œAn animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.”
    â€”Martin Buber
    I quickly got busy cleaning out Marnie’s desk, starting with the drawers. And I immediately learned that our eager young reporter had been prepared for everything.
    Almost everything, I thought regretfully. Too bad she didn’t consider carrying a can of Mace in her purse standard operating procedure.
    But she’d thought of just about everything else. In addition to a coffee mug, her desk was crammed with tissues, Tampax, a large tube of sunblock, a hairbrush and comb, several packs of chewing gum, half a dozen protein bars, Advil and Tylenol, Band-Aids, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a flashlight, several books of matches, and, for some reason, a pair of socks. She also kept a sweater and a pair of dressy shoes in the bottom drawer.
    Handling each item as if it were made of very breakable glass, I packed them into the carton I’d found in the kitchen. As I surveyed them, a wave of despondency rushed over me.
    How sad, I thought, that the most important aspect of this woman’s life, her career as a reporter, could be reduced to a cardboard box of things that meant practically nothing to anybody