Nicole arched an eyebrow. “Some of his guests anyway.”
Georgette crunched her toast. Yeah, hot babes in bikinis and lonely bookshop owners. Time to forget Jake and get to work. “Nicole, I heard the silly rumor about my sister, Jamie, being a Palarosa ritual victim.”
Nicole ran her fingers up and down her straw. “There were some wild stories circulating because that local woman disappeared a few months ago.”
“She hasn’t been found?”
Shrugging, Nicole said, “It’s all nonsense. That local woman’s lover also disappeared. They probably ran off together.”
“I saw the end of the show at the Costa Azul last night.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“It was effective.” Not as effective as her own personal show later, but Georgette wasn’t going to broadcast her unintentional midnight swim.
“Yes, it’s a good show, and the tourists love it.” Nicole waved a waiter over and ordered another Bloody Mary.
Georgette dug into her seafood omelet. “Where did the locals hold their ceremonies in the past?”
“Ask Jake. He knows all about the island. Or better yet, buy a book on the local history in the bookstore here. I’ve never been interested in the local culture. I’m here to relax and rejuvenate. I’m having a massage and facial after breakfast. Care to join me?”
Georgette shook her head. She had her own agenda today.
After breakfast, Georgette slipped away to the hotel shops. No T-shirts or knickknacks made in China at the Palumba Falls. High-end boutiques and jewelry stores bordered the quad. Jewelry stores. Maybe they carried topaz necklaces.
Georgette studied the displays in the window. The glittering jewels caught the light and winked back at her. She took a deep breath and entered the store. She scanned the display trays while the clerk helped a couple decide between two bracelets, modeling them on her delicate wrists.
The clerk left the couple and approached Georgette. “Hello, can I help you with something?”
Georgette never shopped for jewelry. Brice had picked out the small square-cut diamond engagement ring that she’d thrown in his face. “I’m looking for topaz, a topaz necklace. Do you have anything like that?”
The clerk tapped her chin. “We just got a shipment of topaz pieces last month.”
She walked around to a different display case, and Georgette followed. She pulled out a black velvet tray aglow with deep-blue gems and swept her hand over them. “This is what we currently have. This is a beautiful necklace.” She dangled a large oval topaz set in gold from her fingertips. “This would look lovely on you. You have the perfect neck to carry off a large stone like this.”
She did? Georgette reached up to stroke her throat. “Do you have anything with diamonds? A topaz surrounded by diamonds?”
The clerk wrinkled her brow. “We did have a piece like that, but I believe someone bought it.”
“Can you check?” Georgette’s heart pounded.
The woman slid the tray back in the display case and locked it. “Hold on one minute.”
She parked herself in front of a laptop, tapped some keys, and ran her finger down the screen. “Here it is. Yes, I’m afraid someone bought that piece last month.”
“Who bought it?”
The clerk snapped the laptop closed. “I can’t tell you that. Our transactions are confidential. It was an extremely expensive piece.”
Georgette stepped back from the case. “I-I just thought if it was a guest at the resort, I could have a look at it.”
The clerk’s jaw relaxed. “I’m sorry. I can’t reveal the buyer’s name. Now that I’ve seen the notation in the computer file, however, I can tell you that a man bought it for a woman.” She winked. “And that woman may still be here at the resort.”
Georgette thanked her and walked out of the shop on legs that felt like wood. Did Jake buy that necklace for Jamie? He was rich enough to afford it. The clerk remembered the buyer when she’d checked the register. Why would she remember the buyer unless it was her own boss?
What did it matter? Jake wouldn’t be the first man to shower Jamie with gifts. Brice didn’t realize his professor’s salary never had a chance with Jamie.
Georgette stood in the middle of the quad and took a few deep breaths. Jake Kincaid wasn’t important...unless he had something to do with Jamie’s disappearance.
She tripped over the threshold of the bookshop, inhaling the familiar scent of binding glue and fresh pages, although this store, with its gleaming shelves and bright displays, was different from her crowded, messy bookshop at home.
The prominent display of books on Palumba culture stood in the middle of the floor. She thumbed through the paperbacks extolling Palumba’s glorious beaches, fine restaurants, and boat tours. Nothing about Palarosa.
A cheery clerk, probably a local girl, smiled from behind the glass counter. “Can I help you find something?”
Georgette sidled up to the display not wanting to broadcast her interest in Palarosa to the rest of the customers browsing. An old man with a tool belt around his waist crouched behind the counter, working on a cabinet door.
Georgette hunched over the counter. “I’m looking for a book on Palarosa.”
The clerk smiled even wider. “The hotels put on several fine shows. We don’t do one here, but the best is at the Costa Azul.”
Georgette shook her head. “No, I’m interested in the history of Palarosa.”
The girl’s eyes grew wide, and her shoulders stiffened. “We don’t carry anything like that.”
Georgette sighed. Figured Jake wouldn’t have anything at the resort to remind the tourists of Palarosa. It might drive them all away.
“Thank you anyway.” She ambled out of the store and sat down at the edge of the fountain in the quad. Now what? She tried a search on her phone, but the sketchy service wouldn’t cooperate. On to the next project. She hoisted herself up from the fountain ledge, and an old man shuffled up to her.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Georgette looked down. It was the man from the bookstore. “Yes?”
“Do you want to learn about Palarosa?” He peered at her from under shaggy gray eyebrows.
She took in a sharp breath. “Yes.”
He turned, scuffing his sandals on the tile. She took two quick steps after him. “Do you have a book?”
He put a gnarled finger to his lips and gestured with his head for her to follow him.
Georgette glanced around at the tourists ambling through the shops. She’d already had two warnings to be careful. Could this be a trap?
She caught up to the old man again. “Can you just bring it to me? I’ll wait here.”
He gripped her arm. He wasn’t the frail old man she’d thought he was. “I don’t want to be caught here with the book. You come. You take it with you.”
He continued, using her arm for support now, as they left the tile walkways and manicured gardens of the resort for a sandy narrow path through tall grass and lush vegetation.
The blue water of the ocean gleamed through breaks in the trees, and she realized they were on Jake’s undeveloped land adjacent to the Palumba Falls.
The old man stumbled over a root, and she grabbed him. He smiled and nodded. “Almost there, Miss Lawson.”
She stopped. “How do you know my name?”
He squeezed her arm. “That was my granddaughter in the bookstore, and I do odd jobs for Mr. Jake. I know everything that goes on.”
“Then you know about my sister, Jamie Lawson.”
“You’re not like your sister. You’ll be fine.” He patted her arm.
“Do you know what happened to my sister?” She dug her heels into the sand.
His eyes clouded, and he shrugged again. “I’ll get you the book.”
They broke into a clearing with a few small shacks clumped together. Laundry flapped on a clothesline between two trees, and an old woman sat on her haunches, shelling peas. The smell of smoky bacon and scorch
ed coffee hung in the air.
Georgette wrinkled her nose. “Mr. Jake doesn’t pay you so well, huh?”
The old man spread his hands. “Some of us still prefer the old ways. Wait here. I’ll get the book.”
He ducked into one of the shacks and returned with a worn book bound in dirty red leather. He slipped it into her hands. The hot leather scorched her fingers, and she dropped the book.
The old woman looked up from her task with sightless eyes. “Jaco?”
Jaco scooped up the book and placed it in Georgette’s hands. “Just helping a friend, Corrinda.”
“Go now. Don’t let anyone see the book.” He nudged Georgette’s back.
Georgette slipped the book, still warm from the sun, in the waistband of her shorts, thankful she was wearing one of her old baggy T-shirts instead of one of the new formfitting tops she’d bought with Linda.
She trudged on the path back to the resort, her mind buzzing. Did Jaco know what happened to Jamie? If so, why didn’t he tell her? Was he afraid of offending the Palarosa gods? Or was it that other god of Palumba, Jake Kincaid, he was worried about?
She slid into her cool, darkened room. She flipped on the light and checked the windows. Still locked. She poked her head in the bathroom and the closet. No intruders today.
She plumped up her pillows and stretched out on the bed. The little book creaked as if in protest when she opened it. Black and white sketches of ferocious creatures jumped off the page. The Palarosa gods. One of the creatures, called Lokin, had a huge penis jutting from his body. Georgette snorted. Must be the one who wanted the fallen women.
She scanned the book, which was filled with instructions for casting spells and mixing potions. Pretty standard stuff—revenge, protection, fertility, love. To cast a spell of love, you had to mingle the hair from your object of desire with your own hair, add two drops of coconut oil and a dash of goat’s blood, and light the whole thing on fire while chanting a few words of mumbo jumbo. If it were only that easy. Not that she had anyone in mind for that particular ritual.
The little god with the erect phallus glared from the top of the page where instructions for the ritual sacrifice began. Figured. The show at the Costa Azul pretty much had it down. One fallen woman for each of the months of spring was identified by the community. On the night of the full moon, the woman was stripped naked, placed on a rock with a pile of sticks at her feet, and tied to bamboo poles.
The drums heralded the start of the ritual, and men and women danced around the victim. The runda, or witch doctor, led the chant and then announced the sacrifice. The men grabbed their torches and thrust them at the fallen woman to simulate intercourse. Then all the torches lit the kindling beneath the woman, and she burned to death.
Georgette shivered. Not much different from the way the Puritans had dealt with their bad women.
She kept reading. The sacrifices took place on the Sacred Rocks of Palumba, one located on the main island and two others on smaller islands. The book even included a map to the one on the main island. Georgette held the book under the bedside lamp and studied the page, her finger tracing the coastline. She circled the unmistakable two points of the Devil’s Teeth with her fingertip and followed the black squiggle up the coast.
She gasped. The Sacred Rock of Palumba lay right in the middle of Jake’s undeveloped stretch of land.
***
Jake’s gaze darted around the pool. Where was she? He’d had work to do in the morning and missed her at breakfast. He figured after her close call last night, she’d want to take it easy, lounge by the pool. Maybe indulge in a little R&R. A quick check of the appointment calendar at the spa had told him otherwise. Was she resting in her room? He knew she’d had a full buffet breakfast, because he’d seen that on the computer, too.
He rubbed his eyes. Was he reduced to stalking his guests by tracking their movements on his computer? Just this guest.
Who was threatening Georgette and why? If the stories about the Palarosa ritual were true, and Jamie was the second victim, wouldn’t the runda want everyone on the island to know? But if she were the victim of another sort of crime, the perpetrator wouldn’t want her sister down here nosing around.
He pasted a smile on his face as a guest called out a greeting. He didn’t want to get involved. His job down here was to make sure the Palumba Falls was the best damned resort on this island and all the neighboring islands. He knew it rivaled anything the old man had developed.
If every woman who left the island of her own free will suddenly became a Palarosa ritual “victim,” the tourists would stay away in droves. Georgette needed to leave this alone. Her sister would come sauntering back to the island in her own sweet time.
In fact, maybe it was his colleagues on the tourism board who were warning Georgette. His jaw tightened. If so, their means last night were drastic.
His walkie-talkie crackled. “Jake here.”
“Hi, boss, it’s Tora. Can you drop by the shop?”
“Be right there.” Trouble at the bookstore? Might as well be back in New York for all the peace of mind he had out here these days. He told Nigel to keep an eye out for Georgette and headed toward the shopping quad.
He hung around outside the bookstore until Tora sent the last customer out the door. Then he charged inside. “What is it?”
She jerked her head up from looking at the register. “You scared me.”
He took a deep breath. He was going to lose his reputation as a laid-back guy if he didn’t watch it. “Sorry, I thought it was urgent.”
Tora sucked in her cheek. “Not exactly, but you said you wanted to know if anyone came around asking about Palarosa.”
A pulse twitched in his jaw. “Yeah?”
“A woman came in earlier asking for books on Palarosa. Said she was interested in the history. I told her we didn’t have any books.”
“What did she look like?” Jake gripped the edge of the counter.
“Tall, dark hair in a braid. Pretty.”
Georgette. What the hell was she getting into? “Was that the end of it?”
Tora’s eyes slid to the side. “Not really. Granddaddy followed her out of the store. They talked in the quad, and she followed him.”
“Damn!” He slammed a fist into his palm.
Tora jumped back. “I-I’m sorry, boss. I told Granddaddy to stop talking about the old ways.”
“I’m not mad at Jaco.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t worry about it. Do you think they went to his place?”
“They were headed that way.”
“Thanks, Tora.” He left the store, trying not to slam the door behind him. Why would Georgette go off with a stranger after being threatened twice? And in search of Palarosa?
He followed the trail to Jaco’s house, lashing out at the tall grass along the way. Georgette had to stop meddling. And he was going to stop her.
***
Georgette’s nails dug into her upper arms. The dense foliage diluted the hot Palumba sun, allowing only a few paltry rays to filter through, but the heat soaked through anyway. The gray rock gleamed malevolently in the center of the clearing.
Taking two steps forward, Georgette swallowed. A twig snapped beneath her foot. She crouched down and ran her hand over the sandy ground. Several footprints left deep furrows in the sand, but these weren’t ancient footprints. This was a popular spot. But why?
She raised her eyes to the flat rock. A chill seeped into her flesh, and goose bumps raced across her arms. She stood and inched toward the rock. She ran her fingers across the rough edges, particles of sand clinging to her fingertips. Placing her palms flat on the rock, she hoisted herself up, landing on top of the rock.
Black soot marred the rock’s smooth, concave surface. Georgette leaned over and rubbed her finger in the center of the black spot, staining her fingertip. She smelled the charred, smoky aroma. This was from a recent fire. She crawled to the edge of the rock and peered over the side. A deep hole tunneled into t
he sand. Was that where they put the bamboo pole?
She staggered to her feet and closed her eyes. Were you here, Jamie? The breeze whispered through the trees, lifting the wisps of hair escaping from her braid. Her heart thundered like a drumbeat in her chest. A bird shrieked overhead. The moist, warm air permeated her back, and a trickle of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades. Heat rose in undulating waves from the gray slab. Georgette held her arms out to her sides and threw her head back.
“Did I come to the right place for the virgin sacrifice?”
Georgette spun around. Her sandals skidded on the rock, and she toppled over the side.
A pair of strong arms grabbed her around the waist, breaking her fall, but she slammed into the hard body, bringing them both to the ground.
Bracing her arms against a broad chest, she sat up and looked straight into the amused blue eyes of Jake Kincaid. He sprawled flat on his back with her legs straddling his hips.
She choked and rolled off him.
He stretched out, crossing his arms behind his head. “What were you doing up there?”
She’d been trying to channel Jamie, trying to feel her presence. Fiery heat suffused her cheeks. “I-I just wondered how it felt.”
“To be burned alive?” His brows shot up. “Damned uncomfortable, I’d imagine. Although I believe they drugged the victims first.”
Georgette leaned against the rock and clutched her stomach.
Jake sat up. “Your sister was not the victim of a sacrificial ritual. She’s island-hopping with Jean-Claude.”
“You know Jean-Claude?” She folded her arms. Is he your rival?
Jake clasped his hands around his knees. “Sure. He’s a regular at the resort. A real ladies’ man—suave, handsome, rich.”
He could be describing himself. No, Jake Kincaid wasn’t suave exactly. Virile, masculine, powerful, but not suave.
He leaned forward. “Jean-Claude never checked out either. So, you see? They’re together somewhere. I just wish they would come back and put these rumors to rest.”
Georgette exhaled. She hadn’t even thought to ask if Jean-Claude had checked out. Surely that was a good sign. Rubbing the side of the rock, she said, “Someone built a fire on this rock recently. The soot and ashes are fresh.”
Last Ticket to Paradise Page 6