No Good Reason

by Marg McAlister

  “Okay,” she said. “Time to get this show on the road.”

  Allie looked around. “Do you need the curtains drawn or anything?”

  “No,” Georgie said. “I often use a candle as a focus point, but it’s not necessary.” She glanced from Allie to Chris. “Is there anything in particular you want to know?”

  The two of them spoke at the same time.

  “Yes,” Allie said.

  “No,” said her husband.

  “We do, Chris,” Allie said. “We want to know how things are going to work out for us. And I don’t know about you, but…” her forehead creased, “but I’d like to know who trashed our canoes.”

  “Fine,” Chris said, his voice somewhat testy. “Should we ask Georgie to provide us with a full description, address and phone number?”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Georgie said with a smile. “I have to warn you, this could be a complete disappointment. I’ve had readings where I’ve got zilch, and others where I’ve seen a face clearly, or heard a name. Sorry, but no guarantees.”

  Allie looked embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to put pressure on you.”

  “You didn’t,” Georgie said firmly, patting her on the hand. “What I’m going to do is just be open to whatever comes, right? If you have a question, just hold it in your mind. We’ll see what happens.”

  From the other side of the table Scott gave her a nod and a small smile and Georgie relaxed, appreciating the unspoken support as she focused on the globe in front of her.

  At first, she could see only her own reflection and light reflected from the setting sun coming through the window, but as she shut out the world around her, the first tendrils of mist formed in the centre of the crystal ball. These days, she shifted fairly easily into what she thought of as ‘the zone’. A place that was here, yet not here; a place where information could flow to her unimpeded by the subtle noise of the everyday world.

  A far cry, she thought fleetingly, from her first experience with a crystal ball, when she had been completely inexperienced and a little scared of it all.

  The mist thickened, and then gradually the wisps parted to show a scene. Georgie frowned at it, not sure at first what she was seeing.

  Two figures, one a boy in a school uniform, the other a man wearing a yellow polo shirt and shorts. She could see the face of the boy, but the man had his back turned. Both were a bit fuzzy. It didn’t help that the one in the yellow polo shirt was wearing some kind of soft cotton hat with a floppy brim. From the angry gestures, it was clear they were arguing, and then the man in yellow passed something to the boy.

  She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, concentrating on being open for other information — a name, a feeling, a tiny flash of understanding.

  A picture appeared in her mind, just for a second. A logo… the one she’d seen on Chris Moore’s vehicle. A simple silhouette of a person in a canoe, paddle raised, with waves stitched underneath it.

  With waves stitched underneath it?

  Oh. She was seeing the logo as it would look on a shirt, not painted on a car.

  So this transaction, whatever it was…this argument, had something to do with Chris’s business, Moore Canoes and Kayaks?

  Looking back at the image in the crystal ball, she homed in on the schoolboy. It was like looking at a photo slightly out of focus, but she stared at him until she was sure she’d remember the face. A square jaw, a dark sweep of hair across the boy’s forehead, winged eyebrows.

  He moved, and she caught a glint of light at his ear.

  An earring or a stud — no, wait: it was a disc. He had one of those things that some youths inserted into an earlobe, stretching it. That might be a useful snippet of information.

  Then the male in the yellow polo shirt moved, but still didn’t turn so that she could see his face. It was as though she was behind them and looking down slightly. A floppy hat, a yellow shirt — it wasn’t much to go on. Frustrated, Georgie wished — not for the first time — that she could slip inside the crystal ball and move around in the scene; take a really good look.

  But it didn’t work that way. She saw what she saw, for good or bad.

  “Omigod.” Allie’s voice sounded awed. “You really can see things in it. I mean, I can see… I didn’t think that I’d be able to…”

  Glancing up, Georgie saw her with a hand to her mouth, her gaze fixed on the figures in the crystal ball.

  “Some people can, some can’t,” she said. “What do you see?”

  “A boy. A man. I’m sure…” Allie’s eyes left the crystal ball and she turned to look at her husband, sitting next to her. “I’d swear the boy is Harrison Burns. Can you see them, Chris?”

  He was frozen, staring at the tiny figures in the crystal ball. His arms were still folded, but his fingers were digging into his skin.

  “Chris?”

  “Yes.” Finally, he looked at her. “It’s small, and not that clear, but it looks like him. But the other one…”

  Allie seemed to know what he was thinking without being told. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “The other one. He’s wearing one of our company t-shirts. Whoever Harrison is talking to, he’s one of ours. Chris, does this mean…”

  “Does this mean,” Chris finished for her, his brows coming together in an angry slash,“that one of our staff gave him those drugs?”

  He and Allie stared at each other for a moment. Allie’s gaze returned to the crystal ball, and she frowned. “I wish we could see his face. How much do you want to bet it’s Jason Hoy?”

  “It’s got to be,” Chris said grimly. “The other guys have been working for me for years.”

  “Jason Hoy…?” Georgie raised an eyebrow.

  “Lazy,” Chris said. “Inclined to take short cuts with safety and supervision. I had to let him go not long after that incident with Harrison. He wasn’t one of the supervisors on that day, thank goodness.”

  Jason Hoy. Georgie felt the familiar tiny curl of excitement that meant she had found a thread to tug on.

  Whether Jason Hoy had been the one to provide Harrison with drugs or not, that name resonated in her mind. She needed to see him, as long as he hadn’t moved to the other side of the country. “Where did he go after he left?”

  “He worked for a canoe hire place in Huskisson for a while, but he got the boot from there too,” Chris said. “I don’t know where he is now.”

  “I do,” Allie said.

  Every eye turned to her.

  “He’s a casual at the Pub’n’Grub,” she said. “Annette at the Book Club told me. Said she had a meal there last week and she didn’t plan to go back any time soon. Awful food and the bar service was terrible. Guess who was working behind the bar?”

  7

  Tugging at Threads

  “That’s him,” Georgie murmured as they walked into the Riverside Pub’n’Grub. She recognized Jason Hoy immediately from a photo Chris had shown them, although he seemed thinner. Looking bored, he was stacking a wire shelf with packets of potato chips. The black t-shirt with the pub logo hung loosely over jeans that badly needed a wash. So did his hair, carelessly brushed back from his face and tucked behind his ears.

  Scott eyed the blackboard menu dubiously. “We’re not eating here, are we?”

  “Not after what Allie’s friend had to say about it. We’ll see if we can get him to talk, then go somewhere else for lunch.”

  They perched on a couple of stools at the bar, waiting for him to acknowledge them.

  Jason glanced at them briefly and then took the empty carton into a back room before finally coming their way. He raised his eyebrows. “Help you?”

  “Lemon, lime and bitters, thanks,” Georgie said. “Easy on the bitters.”

  “Same for me,” Scott echoed. “Normal shot of bitters.”

  Their target plucked a couple of glasses from a rack and added some ice before reaching for the bitters.

  “Nice town,” Georgie ventured.

  “You
think?” he said with disinterest. “I s’pose it’s all right to visit.” Without looking at them, he took his time making the drinks and then rang up the sale. “Nine dollars, thanks.”

  “You don’t sound all that keen on the area,” Scott said, handing over the money.

  “You ought to try living here. Town’s dead.” Jason plucked a dollar in change out of the till and held it out, right over the tips jar. “There you go.”

  “Thanks.” Smiling at him, Georgie took it from him and dropped it in the jar with the small change that barely covered the bottom. It would be worth a dollar to get him to talk. “I’m Georgie. And you?”

  “Jason.” He started to move away, but stopped when she spoke swiftly to keep him there.

  “Are you a local, Jason?”

  “No. Been here a year or so.”

  “Oh, not that long, then.” She took a sip and smiled at him. “What brought you here in the first place?”

  “Came down for the weekend with a mate,” he said. “Heard there was a job going, so I applied for it and stayed.”

  A year ago, Georgie thought. Probably the job with Chris. The time frame sounded about right, if Chris had given him a fair chance to prove himself before letting him go.

  Pretending ignorance, she said, “So you’ve been working here in the hotel for a year?”

  “No.” He took a step away from them and picked up a damp cloth to wipe over the counter. “Worked with a canoe place for a while, taking out school kids.”

  “That must have had its moments. Kids can be a challenge.” Georgie beamed at him. “We were out on the water in our kayaks yesterday. With a guy named Chris Moore. He said he does stuff with schools. Was that who you worked for?”

  That got his attention. Finally, he actually looked at her. “Yeah, that was the one.”

  “Chris said it’s getting towards the low season now.” She sipped her drink and then held it up, arching her eyebrows in a query. “Is that why you decided to switch to doing this? Not enough work with the canoe place?”

  “One of the reasons. Moore isn’t the easiest bloke to work for.”

  “Oh, really?” She opened her eyes wide, and then looked thoughtful. “I must admit, he didn’t talk much, did he Scott?”

  “Man of a few words,” Scott acknowledged. “A hard taskmaster, was he?”

  Jason sneered. “An old woman, more like. Treated those kids like they were five-year-olds instead of Year 12. Do this, do that, wait for me, follow the instructions.”

  “And treated his staff the same way, maybe?” Scott prompted.

  “You got it.” Scenting a sympathetic audience, Jason put down the cloth and came closer, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Me, I think you gotta give kids a bit of credit for having some common sense.”

  “Some of them,” Georgie acknowledged. “High school kids, though… they can be hard to handle.”

  “Yeah, well, I never had any problems,” Jason said scornfully. “Kids liked me, because I treated them like grownups.” He leaned forward confidentially, looking from one of them to the other. “I bet he didn’t tell you about the accident, did he?”

  “Accident?” Scott put down his drink and mirrored Jason’s actions, leaning forward. Dropping his voice a little, he said, “What accident?”

  “Couple of kids capsized, got into trouble. Nearly drowned. It came out that they’d been taking drugs. Now if I’d been in charge that day, I would have recognized the signs. Had a talk to them and headed trouble off before it built up.”

  “So you weren’t working that day?” Georgie didn’t glance at Scott, but she knew he’d be thinking the same as she was: if Jason Hoy hadn’t been there, then he probably wasn’t the one in the crystal ball.”

  “Not on the water. I just drove the mini-bus. Dropped off the kids and left again.”

  Georgie relaxed. It still could have been Jason she’d seen, then. She went back to his other comment. “What do you mean you’d have recognized the signs? Unless someone was completely off their heads, I don’t think I’d be able to tell.”

  He shrugged. “Their eyes, the way they talk. I can tell by looking at them, mostly.”

  “Wow.” She cast around for a way to keep him talking. “That couldn’t have been good for business, kids bringing in drugs with them.”

  She saw a flicker of wariness in his eyes. “You’re right about that.” He looked away from her, busying himself with wiping the counter again, and then added, “Some people around here got to wondering about Moore himself, whether he’s making money on the side, just pretending to be strict.”

  Georgie had to grit her teeth at that one, but kept her face bland.

  “Seems a bit harsh to put it all on the owner,” Scott commented. “He seemed like a decent bloke. Hasn’t he been running that business for years?”

  “Makes no difference. Supply a few drugs, it’s easy money.” A tick too late, he added, “So they tell me.” Glancing over their shoulders, he suddenly appeared nervous, as if worried that he might have said too much, and started to edge away.

  At other end of the bar, a scruffy guy in his twenties pulled up a stool. Jason Hoy looked his way and nodded as the other man held up one finger. “G’day, Simmo. The usual?”

  The other man gave him a thumbs-up and turned his attention to his phone, and Jason picked up a schooner glass and moved away from them.

  Scott looked at her and said in an undertone, “He knows something.”

  “Yes.” Georgie drew circles around the rim of her glass, thinking. “But even if we found out for sure that he was the one to bring the drugs into the program, how would that help Chris? Unless…” She checked again that Jason wasn’t close enough to overhear them. “Unless Jason himself was helping to spread the rumors that Chris was supplying kids. Revenge for getting sacked?”

  “One thing wrong with that scenario. If it’s so easy to make money through drugs, why would he bother taking on work as a canoe instructor?”

  “Constant contact with buyers?” Georgie tapped her fingers, thinking. “And following that train of thought, why is he working here in the pub?”

  “Same reason,” Scott said. “Everyone knows where to find him — and his wares.”

  They watched Jason set a foaming beer down in front of the guy who’d just come in, leaning forward at the same time to say something in a low voice. He glanced around, and then back at them, and narrowed his eyes when he saw where their attention was focused.

  Scott pretended he’d been waiting to catch his eye and gave him a wave. “When you’ve finished there, could you bring us a packet of chips?”

  He relaxed and nodded. “Yeah, be there in a minute.”

  “I just want to get out of here,” Georgie mumbled, pushing away her drink. “But we haven’t got anything. I need a lead.”

  “You could try asking him if he’d like his fortune told.”

  “Hah hah.”

  Jason finished his conversation with the other man and came back their way with a packet of chips. “Here you go. Three fifty.”

  “Thanks.” Scott handed over a five waved away the change. “Keep it. Use it towards a ticket out of here.” He winked at Jason, and then said, “What about your friend — the one you came to visit? Did he leave too?”

  “Nah. I’m staying with him.”

  “Does he still work with the canoe guy?” Scott tore open the chip packet and offered it to Georgie.

  “Nope,” Jason said. “He’s a personal trainer. Not much other work around here, unless you’re into boats or fishing.”

  “Well, good luck.” As though he had already lost interest in the barman, Scott said to Georgie, “Let’s walk and get some fresh air. Maybe have a meal later.”

  “Good idea.” She helped herself to another chip and gave Jason a cursory wave. “Nice meeting you, Jason. Got a long shift today, or will you be able to escape soon?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Couple more hours, and I’m outta here.”

/>   “Enjoy. See you later.”

  Chad Royston, sitting in a dim booth, had witnessed the whole exchange.

  He ate another mouthful of the indifferent lunch in front of him and scowled. A great believer that prevention was better than a cure when it came to being caught handling drugs, he liked to go to the pub from time to time to keep a finger on the pulse of the community.

  And to keep an eye on Jason Hoy. He preferred to slip in unseen, if he could, and observe Jason before he was aware that his housemate was there.

  He had no great confidence in Jason. He was a bit player – useful enough now he was working at the pub, but definitely someone who was disposable if he got too big for his boots. He liked to run his mouth a bit too much for Chad’s taste — just as he had been over the past fifteen minutes.

  Word had trickled down from Sydney that the cops had linked the supply of drugs on the south coast with certain people in the city. It was not welcome news: Chad had been careful, here in Sussex Inlet, to stay one step removed from the action. After the local scandal with Harrison Burns and the incident on the water, he’d been even more paranoid. Sure, there were locals who at least suspected his real role — mostly because they knew others who had bought drugs from him in the past — but these days, he was playing a convincing role as a halfway-decent personal trainer. He was building a reputation as someone who did not recommend steroids or performance-enhancing drugs, even while he surreptitiously provided them to people who could keep their mouths shut.

  The couple who had just left had set his “cop” radar on the alert. They were dressed like tourists, but they were asking too many questions for his liking. When they’d struck up a conversation with Jason, he had strained his ears to hear, and the snatches of conversation he’d caught worried him.

  Why would they be interested in how long a bartender had been in Sussex Inlet? While he’d been listening to their conversation, Chad had diligently worked his way through the tough steak on his plate, chewing slowly and pretending to be absorbed in the local newspaper folded on his table.