Read Online Right from the Gecko by Cynthia Baxter - Free Book Online

imagining things, but the tension in the room seemed to decrease just a little.
    â€œI suppose that’s true,” he remarked.
    â€œThere’s another reason too,” I went on, feeling bolder. “Marnie mentioned you the last time she and I talked. That was just a few hours before she was killed.”
    He tensed his forehead, moving his caterpillarlike eyebrows a little closer to each other. “What did she say?”
    â€œThat you were the editor of the newspaper she worked for and that you were counting on her to meet the deadline for an article she was writing on the governor’s press conference.” Figuring that slathering on a little more dairy fat would grease the wheels even further, I added, “From the way she spoke, I could tell she had a lot of respect for you. It was obvious that what you thought of her and her work really mattered to her.”
    The muscles in his face relaxed. In fact, his whole demeanor shifted from wary to sorrowful. “Marnie was a good kid,” he commented. “I enjoyed having her on my staff. She was so committed. So passionate.”
    Shaking his head slowly, he added, “And so energetic. Intense, in fact. That girl had big plans, and she was in a hurry to get to where she wanted to be. Seems to me she was on her way too. I’m sure she told you about the award she won.”
    â€œOf course,” I said without missing a beat. Even though what I really meant was,
Of course not
.
    â€œIt’s a pretty big deal, being honored by the Association of Professional Journalists like that,” Mr. Carrera noted. “Even though she won it in the category for reporters who’ve been working in the field for three years or less, she’s still one of the youngest people to ever win it. Her series on illegal immigrants on Maui was very thoroughly researched. Insightful and well written too.
    â€œTo make it as a newspaper reporter,” he continued, “there are two things you need. Curiosity and pushiness. As I’m sure you know, Marnie had plenty of both. As a result, she could sometimes rub people the wrong way. But she was basically a sweet kid, and I think most of the people she came across could pretty much see that in her.”
    Sweet, but intense. Marnie’s editor’s description of her was completely consistent with the impression I’d gotten.
    â€œShe did seem like she had a certain innocence,” I observed conversationally. “Maybe it was because she came from a small town. But that girl also had a real sense of adventure. I always thought she was pretty brave, coming all the way to Hawaii from Washington State.”
    â€œActually, we get a lot of people coming through here who grew up somewhere else. That’s not at all unusual in Hawaii.”
    â€œHow about you?” I asked in the same chatty tone. I hoped we were bonding, at least enough for him to tell me something useful about Marnie. “Where are you from?”
    â€œBorn and raised right here on this island,” he replied. “Actually, my family’s been here for generations.”
    I was so used to thinking of Hawaii as either a tourist destination or a place people moved to because they wanted to get away from the real world that it hadn’t occurred to me that, for some people, it
was
the real world.
    â€œOne of my ancestors,” Mr. Carrera went on, “that is, my great-great-great-grandfather—or however many ‘greats’ there should be—was a
paniolo.
”
    â€œReally?” I didn’t mind showing how impressed I was. I’d read all about the
paniolos
—Hawaiian cowboys—in Nick’s guidebook. Back in the late 1700s, a British sea captain named George Vancouver, the namesake of the city of Vancouver, Canada, presented the leader of the Hawaiian Islands, King Kamehameha, with some Mexican longhorn cattle as a token of friendship. Kamehameha allowed them to roam