Right from the Gecko Read Online Free Page B

whirlwind of energy. Just talking to her was exhausting.
    Still, Nick’s arrival five minutes later, his eyes glowing in a way that can only come from a shopping victory, immediately reenergized me. That, and the colors in his flashy aloha shirt.
    â€œIs this shirt cool or what?” he asked, holding out his arms to model it for me.
    â€œWay 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.”
    â€œ
Wahine,
huh?” I countered. “Have I just been insulted?”
    â€œIt’s the Hawaiian word for woman.”
    â€œIn that case, I’m guilty as charged. Come here. You’re too far away, you…you…What’s the Hawaiian word for man?”
    â€œKane.”
    As I sat down on the bed next to him, he rolled away to make room. And promptly let out a yelp.
    â€œOuch! 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.
    â€œOh, no. That’s probably Marnie’s,” I said. “She must have 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 saw it was sealed. It felt as if there was an audiocassette tape inside, but I wasn’t about to violate Marnie’s privacy by opening it to check. Whatever was in that envelope certainly wasn’t any of my business. “It might be important. I’d better call her and tell her she left it here.”
    â€œHow’s her head? Is she okay?”
    â€œShe’s fine. In fact, I have a feeling her forgetfulness has more to do with her personality than her head injury.”
    I retrieved her business card from my pocket and dialed her cell phone number from 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.
    â€œHey, Marnie, it’s Jessie Popper,” I recorded after the beep. “You left a brown envelope in my room. I didn’t open it, but it feels like there’s something plastic in it—maybe an audiotape. 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. It’s room six twenty-six. Catch you later!”
    After I ended the call, I looked around, trying to find a safe place to put the envelope. The room was already pretty chaotic, between our clothes, guidebooks, snorkeling equipment, and the two bags of cinnamon macadamia nuts Nick had bought. I finally put it in the night-table drawer, right on top of the phone book that was stashed there.
    â€œNow, 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 under way.

    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 syrup–slathered macadamia nut waffles Nick and I had ordered from room service, concepts like worry and tension and hurrying seemed far away. Like Polarfleece, 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