Page 33 of Last Ticket to Paradise

Neat piles of folded clothing sat on the made-up bed and on a few chairs. Staff must’ve done that. Jamie was a slob who dropped her clothes where she stood. Georgette fingered the garments, and Jamie’s sweet, cloying scent wafted from their folds.

She flicked on the bedside lamp. Stacks of fashion and gossip magazines towered on the desk, and the lone ashtray glittered with discarded jewelry. Would Jamie have left jewelry out in the open like this?

Georgette picked through the pieces. No topaz and diamond necklace.

No purse or cell phone. She and Mom had already tried calling Jamie’s cell, and it had gone straight to voice mail.

Biting her lip, Georgette flung open the closet doors. Rows of short dresses and slinky tops swayed on their hangers. She tripped to the dresser and yanked open the drawers. An array of silky panties and push-up bras lay in a colorful jumble. Georgette clawed through the mess and then backed up to the bed and dropped to the edge.

If Jamie went island-hopping with Jean-Claude, why didn’t she take her clothes? Why did she leave expensive jewelry in plain sight?

Georgette took a deep breath and pinned her hands between her knees. Jamie had tons of clothes. Just because there were a lot left here in the room, didn’t mean she didn’t pack a bag. Jean-Claude was rich. Jamie probably expected him to buy her clothes and jewelry on their jaunt. He probably bought her that topaz necklace, and she took it with her.

Georgette searched the rest of the room. Nothing unusual except for a stack of blank postcards on the table. Unsent missives to Mom.

She sighed and scooped up the jewelry in the ashtray. The hotel staff must be very trustworthy, or Jake ran a tight ship, but no sense in tempting anyone.

As she turned to go, she noticed the leg of a pair of pantyhose hanging from a dresser drawer. Georgette wrinkled her nose. Pantyhose? Jamie hadn’t worn hose in years, and she certainly wouldn’t wear them in a climate like this one.

She yanked open the drawer and tugged on the stocking. Something clunked against the inside of the drawer, preventing her from pulling the pantyhose out.

With her heart skipping beats, Georgette reached into the drawer and grabbed a handful of the pantyhose. Her fingers curled around a hard, square object stuffed into one end.

She dropped it on top of the dresser and peeled back the stocking. Brown paper covered the item, and she ripped through it, revealing a white substance wrapped in plastic.

“Drugs.” She ran her thumb across the plastic, and the hard crystals within changed shape under the pressure of her touch. Jamie didn’t use drugs. Did someone plant these in her room to explain her disappearance?

She wasn’t about to leave them here for someone to find. She stuffed the block of drugs and the jewelry in her bag and tiptoed out of the room.

After securing Jamie’s jewelry in the hotel safe, Georgette returned to her own room. She dropped her bag on the floor and rushed into the bathroom. With a towel in her hands, she lifted the lid on the tank of the toilet, wiped her prints from the bag of drugs and dropped it inside the tank. If anyone found them, she’d claim ignorance.

She pulled the door of her hotel room closed behind her and sauntered down to the spa. She could use the relaxation after the morning and afternoon she’d had.

Smooth jazz and vanilla-scented candles greeted her when she entered the reception area of the spa.

The beautiful woman behind the counter looked up and smiled. “You must be Georgette. I have you down for the four o’clock appointment for the Luxury Island Special of manicure, pedicure, facial, and massage.”

Georgette nodded. She’d never had a facial or massage before. Jamie used to scold her for spending too much time on her brain and not enough on her body. Jamie did just the opposite.

The woman pointed to a door. “Go ahead and undress and shower. We have a terry cloth robe for your use, and you can take it with you after the appointment.”

Georgette showered and slipped the soft robe over her tingling skin. Getting pampered felt good. She reclined in a deep chair while one woman gave her a manicure and another gave her a pedicure. She declined a cocktail, but accepted a refreshing glass of guava juice.

When her nails were done, Georgette lay down on a cot for her facial. The aesthetician glided into the room and aimed a steamer at Georgette’s face. After several minutes, she massaged Georgette’s face as she cleansed it. “You have beautiful skin.”

Georgette closed her eyes and smiled. She felt beautiful. Maybe Jamie was right when she’d said, “Gigi, you’re so pretty, but you hide behind your shapeless, conservative clothes, your glasses, your sensible shoes, and your superior attitude.”

Was Jamie so dense she didn’t realize Georgette hid because she’d been taught not to compete with her frail twin sister? Their mother always drilled into Georgette that she had to be the strong twin, the sensible twin, the plain twin. Maybe she didn’t have to play that role anymore.

When the facial was over, Georgette was directed into a dimly lit room with a black lacquer cot low to the floor. “Remove your robe, lie on your stomach, and drape the sheet over yourself.Raoulwill be right with you.”

Georgette gulped. Raoul? A man was giving her a massage? She shrugged out of the robe. Everyone here was professional.

She lay facedown and arranged the sheet over her body. Scented candles—gardenia, this time—filled the air with their sweet perfume. Soothing New Age instrumental music hummed from the speakers.

The door whisked open, and a man’s voice greeted her in accented English. “Good evening, Georgette. I’m Raoul.”

“Mmmm.” She didn’t bother to turn around.

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