Page 55 of Last Ticket to Paradise

Chapter Eleven

As the silence between them stretched to several seconds, Jake glanced up from studying the card. Georgette’s white face sent his heart galloping.

“What’s wrong? Do you feel ill?”

“No.” She hugged her bag tighter to her chest. “But the numbers. Jamie’s postcard had numbers—four numbers, I think my mom said—at the bottom, too.”

Jake wrinkled his nose and squinted at the digits in the corner of the card. “Looks like five, six, or maybe that’s an eight, two, and... I can’t read the last number, too smudged. Can’t be a year. Might be an address, but it’s just the number.”

“Why would both of them have written a number on that particular postcard? Were they trying to communicate something? Record or remember something?”

“Are they the same numbers?”

“I don’t know.” Georgette licked her lips. “Jamie’s postcard was stolen from my room.”

Jake raised his brows. “Someone broke into your room and stole something? How come nobody notified me?”

“I didn’t report it to the hotel. It was just the postcard. Nothing was disturbed, and I wasn’t even sure there had been a break-in.”

“Then why do you believe someone stole the card?” Jake tried to keep his voice steady, but the idea that someone had been able to sneak into Georgette’s room caused his blood to boil in his veins.

“Because, if you haven’t noticed, I’m very particular about my things. I know where I left that postcard, and it was gone.”

Jake studied the numbers again. “These aren’t coordinates. I can look up this address on the island, but these could mean anything.”

“What were those two up to? And where is Jamie now?”

“Hold on one minute. I can do a little easy research on Jean-Claude right now.” Jake placed the card on the nightstand and picked up the phone. He punched the numbers for the front desk, andLeilaanswered. “Leila, can you bring up Mr. Moreau’s account for me, please?”

“Sure, boss. You’re not going to make him pay for that bungalow, are you?” Leila clicked her keyboard. “It’s up. What do you want to know?”

“Is he all paid up for his previous stay with us?”

“Umm, no. He has a credit card on file with us from six months ago, and he used the same card for his stay last month, but the charges haven’t been cleared yet.”

“What does that mean?” He glanced at Georgette, frozen by the bathroom door.

“It looks like these charges are pending. In other words, his credit card didn’t go through.” Leila cleared her throat. “It wasn’t me.”

“I’m not trying to assign blame, just gather facts. How much does he owe us?”

Leila whistled. “Over three hundred grand.”

“How is that possible?”

“His bungalow was almost three thousand a night, and he was here for almost a month...expensive meals, champagne, gifts. There’s a piece of jewelry listed for over a hundred grand.”

Jake ground his teeth together. At least he had the necklace back. “So, you’re telling me Jean-Claude Moreau had no money.”

“Had no credit, apparently, but at the end of his previous stay, he started paying cash for everything. I have his receipts in front of me. Same lavish lifestyle, but funded with cash instead of credit, which is a good thing, as we’d have been on the hook for even more.”

“Thanks, Leila.”

“What’s going to happen to his bill if he...dies?”

“I guess we’ll figure that out if it happens.”

When he hung up the phone, Georgette dropped her bag and crossed the room. “Jean-Claude didn’t have any money?”

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