Right from the Gecko by Cynthia Baxter Page A

else.
    When I’d finished, I did a final check, opening each drawer one last time to make sure I’d gotten everything. In the bottom drawer, pushed way toward the back, I found a badly wrinkled electric bill dated seven months earlier. I tossed that into the box too, since printed on top was Marnie’s home address. I suspected that checking out her apartment was going to end up on my to-do list.
    I carried the carton toward the door, discovering that, while it wasn’t heavy, it was fairly awkward. Even so, I made a point of stopping at the receptionist’s desk.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said politely. “It’s Karen, isn’t it?”
    â€œThat’s right,” she replied pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”
    â€œI don’t suppose you have a phone number for Holly Gruen, do you? The reporter who used to work here?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I do.” She clicked a few keys on her keyboard, then peered at her computer screen. “I can jot down her cell phone number for you. Will that do?”
    â€œPerfect,” I told her, already knowing who was next on my list of people to contact.
    As she handed me a Post-it with a local phone number written on it, Karen glanced around nervously, as if checking to see if anyone was listening. I automatically did the same. At the moment, Bryce Bolt was hunched over his keyboard, typing away madly. Richard Carrera, the only other person in the office, was talking on the phone.
    â€œI don’t mean to pry,” she said in a soft voice, “but I thought I heard you asking questions about Marnie.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAnd now it sounds like you’re planning on calling Holly. Is that also to talk about Marnie?”
    â€œI thought I might do that.”
    Karen hesitated for a few moments, then looked around the office one more time. “Maybe you and I should walk out to your car together,” she suggested.
    â€œSure. I could use the help.” I tried not to let on how intrigued I was.
    Standing abruptly, she said in a voice that was slightly too loud, “Here, let me help you with that box.” Then, with a flourish, she opened the door of the office so I could pass through it, box and all.
    Once we were outside in the parking lot, she led me to the corner of the building. It afforded some shade, thanks to the overhanging roof. It also afforded a place to sit, courtesy of a yard-high ledge around what was supposed to be an area for planting flowers. Instead, it contained nothing but a few scraggly weeds and an empty Mountain Dew can.
    â€œSince you don’t know Holly, I thought it might be useful for you to be aware of a few things before you ask her about Marnie,” Karen began. “I don’t usually like to talk about people behind their back, but this is kind of a special situation, don’t you think?”
    â€œIt definitely is,” I agreed.
    â€œMint?” she offered, reaching into her pants pocket and pulling out a metal box of Altoids. “They’re wintergreen.”
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    She nodded, then picked out a tiny mint and popped it into her mouth. “When it came to Marnie, Holly was a little bit…strange.”
    â€œIn what way?” I asked.
    â€œAt first, it was little things, the kind of things the guys in the office probably wouldn’t have noticed. But I did. Peggy too. We used to talk about it all the time.”
    â€œLittle things like what?” I prompted.
    â€œWell, you know the way Marnie wore her hair, right? Kind of spiky-looking? The way she put gel in it or whatever to make it come to points?”
    â€œWhat about it?”
    Karen sighed. “After Holly had been working here for a few weeks, one Monday morning she came in wearing her hair the exact same way.”
    â€œMaybe she thought it was cute,” I suggested. “Or that it would be flattering.”
    Eyeing me warily, Karen