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my displeasure completely, because he gave me a professionally charming smile. "Remember," he called after me. "Mum's the word." I recalled no such agreement and was not charmed, but I restrained myself from making a rude gesture at his departing back.
    Much of the group left for tours of the Napali coast or Mt. Haleakala. We had been told by those experienced in conference management that these things worked best when the conferees were given part of the day to go out and play, with substance in the morning or afternoon, with the other half of the day off, so that was the model we were using. I, being adventurous, or at least determined to get out of the hotel once while I was there, had signed myself up for the twenty-mile bike tour down the mountain on Sunday morning. Now, it was only Friday, and if I didn't get some sun and unconditioned air, I was going to go bonkers.
    On the other hand, I had a hot date who would be waiting for me in my room. Hot to grill me, at least. Now that the speech was over, I felt a kind of depleted weariness. Maybe eating would have helped but I didn't feel at all hungry. I'd settled for juice and water and half a piece of toast. A chaise in the sun would have been heavenly. Instead, I trundled upstairs to do my civic duty.
    My mother used to have an expression, Let George do it, she used when she was tired of the endless tasks. Of course there never was a George, but increasingly, as my life seemed full to overflowing, I wished there were. I would love to have sent George upstairs to deal with the waiting cop.
    He was standing outside my door, arms folded across his chest, leaning against the railing. Stolid, placid, official. Something Andre had said popped into my head, a bit of loverly advice. "Don't drive like you do in Massachusetts, Thea. Those Hawaiian cops are tough." This guy certainly looked tough. He stood up straighter when he saw me and acknowledged my presence with a nod. Only a nod, no words, not even a grunt. It was disconcerting. Unsettling. He stared, he nodded, he didn't speak.
    I opened the door and he followed me in, settling himself in a chair without asking my permission. His looming bulk made the room seem small. The still-unmade bed and my scattered papers made it seem cluttered. I felt claustrophobic. I opened the door to the lanai and warm air streamed in. I wanted to spread my arms and close my eyes and embrace it, but not in front of this hulking policeman.
    It was odd, the impression he gave of being big and bulky. Andre is a big guy. A shade over six feet and solid, with big shoulders and a wide chest and strong arms and legs. This guy wasn't much taller, but he would have made Andre look slight. He filled the chair and gave off a primitive aura of strength and power. He made me feel as tiny as Tinker Bell when I often feel big as an ox.
    I sat down in the other chair, kicked off my shoes, curled my legs up underneath me, and waited. He opened his notebook, clicked his pen, and nodded. "Tell me about Martina Pullman," he said.
    I said the name to myself and contemplated where to begin. Physical? Domestic? Official? What did I know about Martina, really, that he might need to know? That mattered to this case? He was watching me intently, a look that invaded my personal space the way some people do when they stand too close. I lowered my eyes. It's not easy to back away from a look. "I don't know what you want to know," I said. "We were sort of co-workers, I suppose. At least insofar as we were both working for the National Association of Girls' Schools. She is... was... the executive director. I'm a board member and I've done some consulting work for—"
    "Tell me about this conference," he interrupted. "What's it all about?"
    "Making the case for single-sex education for girls."
    He looked surprised. "This conference is about sex education?"
    I shook my head, trying not to smile. I didn't think he had much of a sense of humor. "Single-sex education. Girls'