Page 28 of Last Ticket to Paradise

“Huh?” He looked up from his paper.

“The missing local woman.”

He shrugged and turned the page.

Nicole snapped her fingers. “Hallie LaCroix. Her husband is a plumber. Does a lot of work at the resort. Or at least he used to.Fiso LaCroix.”

Feigning indifference, Georgette shielded her eyes. “Where is that waitress? I asked for lemonade, not iced tea.”

Georgette half listened as Nicole gushed about the facials and mud wraps at the resort’s spa. Then she gathered her belongings and shoved her feet into her flip-flops. “I’m feeling a little crispy. Maybe I’ll cover up and take a walk.”

Georgette rushed back to her room, showered, and changed into a sundress. Jaco. He’d helped her before, and maybe he’d help her again.

She wandered down to the shopping quad, but steered clear of the bookstore. That clerk must have alerted Jake about her interest in Palarosa. She plopped down on a bench in the shade with her book open and watched for Jaco.

After almost an hour, Jaco’s hunched figure shuffled into the quad. Georgette walked behind him, squeezed his arm once, and then continued toward the sandy path without looking back.

She waited near a clump of bushes and let out a breath when Jaco picked his way down the path. She jogged up to meet him and took his arm. “Thank you for coming. I have a question for you.”

He nodded his grizzled head.

“Where can I find Fiso LaCroix?”

He nodded again, showing no surprise at her question. “Fiso lives across the street from the Costa Azul. There are several houses along the banks of the river, across the bridge. His is the second house past the bridge, with a white fence around it.”

She thanked him and then made her way back through the resort to the beach, which was the fastest route to the strip of hotels.

Her breath quickened as she passed the spot of her second attack, with the location of her first attack looming ahead. The tourists trudged up to the point to watch the acrobatic divers, but Georgette swerved inland toward the Costa Azul. She breezed through the lobby and landed in front of the hotel.

A paved road curved in front of the Costa Azul, connecting all the hotels on this strip. A few tourist shops sat across the street, and a small road crept past the shops, leading into the interior of the island.

Georgette tramped down this road, which followed the river, slapping at the mosquitoes buzzing around her face and zooming in for a nibble now and then. A wooden bridge arched over the river, and a cluster of small houses hugged the riverbank on the other side.

The gate on the weather-beaten white fence gaped open, and Georgette walked through and latched it closed behind her. A few mangy chickens pecked in the yard, and a lazy dog opened an eye and thumped his yellow tail once.

A TV blared from inside the house, and Georgette tapped on the sagging screen door. No answer. She tried again, calling out, “Hello?”

A man staggered to the screen door, his dark hair sticking up in all directions. He’d either just woken up, or he was high on something.

“Are you Fiso LaCroix?” Georgette clutched the strap of her bag.

He pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. “Who are you?”

Georgette gulped. This had seemed easier when she’d practiced in her hotel room. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Georgette Lawson.”

He ignored her outstretched hand, scratched his stubble, and studied her with black, dilated pupils. “What do you want?”

Georgette straightened her shoulders and gathered a breath. “My sister, Jamie Lawson, disappeared from the island last month. I heard your wife disappeared the month before.”

Fiso swayed and lodged against the doorjamb. He hissed, “Palarosa.”

A cold shot of fear zinged up her spine. He really believed it. “Do you think your wife and my sister were sacrificed to the Palarosa gods?”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Whores, both of them.”

Georgette crossed her arms over her low-cut sundress. “But what about your wife’s lov—”

Fiso opened his eyes and glared at her.

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