Up To No Good: Book 4 Georgie B. Goode Gypsy Caravan Cozy Mystery

by Marg McAlister

  Sarah exchanged the flicker of a glance with him, and Georgie was instantly on the alert. There was a lot going unsaid here. The pair could be posing as harmless citizens that liked an alternate lifestyle and home schooling on the surface, she thought, while hatching who knew what plans on a completely different level.

  “Take a seat, everyone,” Sarah said. “Not the chair at the end, Jack always sits there. I’ll get breakfast started while you fill him in. Everyone happy with poached eggs, bacon and sausage?”

  “Thank you.” Georgie gestured towards the kitchen counter, where eggs rested in a bowl and a stack of bacon waited on a chopping board. “Can I help? Pour coffee, make tea, anything?”

  Sarah waved off the offer of help. “All under control. I’ll do this and listen while you talk.”

  Jack, after watching Scott, Layla and Tammy taking their places at the table, finally moved away from the door, set the radio equipment on the table and immediately addressed Scott.

  “I prefer not to have guns in the house,” he said, with a glance over to where his children were gazing at their tablets and tapping away. “I’ve seen too many…accidents. May I look after yours while you’re here, sir?”

  They all froze, but after a beat Scott simply nodded and stood up to pull the handgun out from under his jacket. “My apologies. We’re not inclined to trust people right now. We didn’t mean to abuse your hospitality.” He handed it over, butt first.

  Nobody looked at Tammy, and she didn’t volunteer the fact that she also was carrying. If this guy proved to be a devil in disguise, at least they had one card up their sleeves. Or a gun in one of Tammy’s capacious pockets, as the case may be.

  “Jack was a sheriff, once,” Sarah said while she added bacon to a large pan. “He can usually pick it when someone’s carrying.”

  A warning, perhaps? Don’t mess with Jack, he has contacts in law enforcement?

  Tammy’s phone chirped, and she slipped it out of a vest pocket to check her messages. She read the contents, scrolling down, and from the way she tightened her lips, it was clear that it wasn’t going to be of any help to them.

  “Nothing?” Georgie asked.

  “Nothing. Danny says that the thumb drive he found was the last option, and even that was mostly a repeat of what was on the main computer, with a few extra names that he has sent through. Nothing new. I’ll just let him know where we are.” She tapped out a quick message, and then put the phone on the table in front of her.

  Jack opened a cupboard above the kitchen counter, placed Scott’s gun inside, and closed the door. “You’ll have it back when you leave.” He nodded at Tammy’s phone as he sat down. “You’re getting names, locations of survivalists in the area?”

  “Yes, here and throughout Kentucky, just in case. The problem is, the kind of people who might have taken Jerry are the types that refuse to have their names on any database. They use fake names, throwaway phones, pay cash or route payment through a maze.” Tammy sighed. “The very measures we use that protect the confidentiality of clients are putting Jerry in danger.”

  He held out a hand. “May I see the list? I know most of the local survivalists.”

  Tammy passed him her phone, and he scrolled through the names, every so often nodding slightly. After a few moments he handed it back. “There are no extremists there that I can see. We’ve had some of these people in our home; met others at survivalist meets or chatted online. There are a couple of names there that are very dedicated to what they do, but none that I can see who would do harm to another.” He smiled dryly. “Well, not unless society collapsed. Then all bets are off. They say you don’t know what any man is capable of until he’s under pressure.”

  “That’s what we’re wrestling with all the time—questions about what we would do to protect ourselves; how far would we go,” Sarah said over the sound of bacon sizzling in one pan, while she cracked eggs into another and put bread into a four-slice toaster. “We like to think that we wouldn’t take anything that belonged to someone else, if that meant that they were in danger. But… you know, there are so many shades of grey.”

  “As was the case when I was a sheriff,” Jack said. “Which is one of the reasons I left.”

  Georgie studied his face, and then he looked up and met her gaze.

  Click. The switch was almost tangible.

  He wasn’t the one. A wave of relief swept through her. Not only could they relax, they had someone who could help.

  She glanced at Scott to find him glancing from her to Jack, and in a moment of perfect clarity she knew he sensed exactly what she did.

  “Tammy,” she said, “It’s not Jack. Let him have your gun.”

  Jack gave a twisted smile and said, “She can keep it. Right-hand pants pocket, right? Wanted to see what you’d do.” He reached under the table and the next moment there was a gun in his hand, much more serious than hers. “I put this here when we knew you were coming. Can’t be too careful.”

  He returned the weapon to its hiding place and sat back in his chair with his arms folded. “Shall we start again?”

  Chapter 12

  Jack listened to their story attentively while Sarah served up breakfast and drifted over now and then to settle a question for one of her offspring. Georgie began to see that her original view of survivalists hadn’t been quite on target. There were the extremists who stockpiled every weapon known to mankind and acted as though they’d be disappointed if Doomsday didn’t arrive, and there were people like Jack and Sarah, who lived a simple, happy life and simply wanted to give their family the best chance of survival if society went feral.

  Luckily, they had been drawn to this family first.

  Maybe not all luck, she allowed. Through Scott’s mother and the crystal ball, they’d followed a cluster of possibilities to end up here.

  At first, the four of them skirted around the reason they had decided to look for Jerry in Marion County, but Jack simply looked at them with his cop face on and asked more questions until Georgie sighed and gave in.

  “It will probably sound crazy to you,” she said, “but I use a crystal ball. Scott’s mother is an astrologer who does card readings. Think what you will, but that’s why we’re here talking with you now.”

  “I see.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ve learned to be open-minded. There’s more than one survivalist that claims to have seen a vision of the future, and they’re not all the kind that wear tin foil on their heads to stop the government from reading their minds.”

  Sarah, who had been sitting there quietly taking it all in, spoke up. “You have to help them, Jack—but if you get killed I’ll never speak to you again.” She touched his hand briefly.

  Judging by the smile that touched Jack’s lips, it wasn’t the first time he’d heard those words. “I’m not about to get killed, Sarah. But you’re right, he needs to be stopped.”

  He? Along with the others, Georgie stared at Jack.

  “I know of a few preppers I’d give a wide berth, but only one of them lives close by. He goes by the name of Vincent Cray, but I’ve called in a few favors over the past few months to find out more about him. He has a criminal background, several aliases, and he sees the survivalist movement more as a ticket to riches than anything else.”

  “Creepy man,” Sarah said with a shudder.

  “You’ve both met him?” Scott asked.

  “He came here to introduce himself and offer any help if we needed it, but that wasn’t his true agenda. He was after Jack’s network of radio operators, and to pick his brain about surveillance options.”

  “I suspect that he’s building a database of preppers, and not just to sell them things. There’s big money in it.” Jack moved restlessly in his chair. “My concern is that you’re out of your depth here. He’s a dangerous man, and paranoid doesn’t begin to describe him.”

  Tammy sat forward. “But you know where he lives?”

  “I’ve been there. He invited me out to see his compound to
see his surveillance setup—mostly to get me to think he has nothing to hide, to build trust. It would have worked with most people, but I spotted a couple of cameras he didn’t tell me about.”

  “Can we get onto his property to scout it out, see if Jerry’s there?” She glanced at Georgie. “If we got close, you’d know if he was there, wouldn’t you?”

  Georgie shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea. You’d think so, but until we get there…”

  “He has surveillance cameras in the compound,” Jack said. “That’s common with preppers with money, but he has more reasons than most to cover up what he’s doing. I’d also be betting on sensors and more cameras on all the approaches to the property.”

  “We have to do something.” There was a note of desperation in Tammy’s voice. “We can’t get this close and not try.”

  “We still don’t know for sure if Jerry’s there,” Layla pointed out. “What if he’s not, and this Vincent catches us trespassing?”

  Scott, who had been sitting there mulling things over, said: “We could try an upfront approach. Jack could call him and tell him we’ve asked for his help, and he thought Vincent might help search. See if we can go and see him…but a couple of us could get out down the road a bit. Go in the back way, check things out.”

  Jack nodded. “I was thinking along the same lines, arranging a meeting with him. But if I’m taking you there to see him, who’s going in the back way? You and Tammy, I’m guessing, since you were the two carrying. But, if you’ll excuse me saying so, amateurs can get shot—or shoot other people. How much experience have you had with guns?”

  “Target shooting and hunting,” Tammy said briefly. “Grew up with guns, won a few tournaments.”

  Georgie stared at her in amazement. Tammy had won tournaments? She just couldn’t picture Tammy with a gun, not even dressed as she was today.

  “I haven’t done as much as Tammy,” Scott said. “But I can handle a rifle, and I know a little about handguns.”

  “If you go in from the fringes of the property, and stay well back in the trees from the back fence, you should be right. Just scout it out, see if there’s any sign of activity while we talk to Vincent. All right.” Jack glanced at his watch. “If Jerry is there, he’ll have been in their hands a little less than 24 hours, so the faster we move the better. Here’s the plan.”

  ~~~

  Less than twenty miles away, Jerry heard the murmur of voices outside before the bolt on the door of his prison clanged. The door swung open, admitting a gust of cold damp air. He could see rain misting down behind the two figures in the doorway.

  Vincent walked over and frowned down at him. He was dressed in camo gear, the same as he had been the day before, but had obviously showered and shaved.

  Jerry wouldn’t mind a shower himself. A nice long one, with steaming hot water to ease the aches of a night spent on the cold floor of the shipping container.

  “You’ve had a chance to rethink,” Vincent said. “Got anything for us yet?”

  Jerry had indeed rethought. The picture that kept coming into his mind was a little too bleak for his liking: one very dead Jerry B. Goode versus a handful of names and locations. He had concluded that giving up names in return for his life sounded like a pretty good deal…but not too soon. No, that wasn’t the way to negotiate.

  “One or two,” he said. “You’ll have to do some chasing up. My memory’s good, but not that good. Most of the details are back at base.”

  “One or two?” Vincent put his head on one side, regarding him thoughtfully. “You’ve been designing and selling bug-out vehicles for nearly two years, and that’s the best you can do?” He nudged Jerry’s foot with the toe of one solid-looking steel capped boot. “Is it one name, Mr. Goode, or is it two?”

  “Well, two.”

  “And they are?”

  Jerry gave him two names of very minor players; people who wouldn’t take out a contract on him for violating confidentiality.

  “Check them,” Vincent said to the man behind him.

  It took him about two seconds. “Already have them. Useless. Not what we’re after.”

  Jerry thought fast. “I told you, I can’t remember details like that. I have them in a safe place.”

  “Where?”

  “At—” Jerry was about to say ‘At home’, but an image of these men breaking into his home and finding Tammy flashed into his mind, and he changed it on the run to “At at storage facility.”

  Vincent said nothing for a moment, then shook his head. “I know that’s a lie. You do realize you’re making life unnecessarily hard for yourself? You give me the information I want and nobody ever need know it came from you. You can go home and forget all this.”

  Never scam a scammer, thought Jerry. He knew perfectly well what would happen if he were to agree. Best case scenario: Vincent would let him go and then be back asking for names and details for every new client from then on. Worst case: Jerry B. Goode would disappear from the face of the Earth. He ran through options in his mind. Maybe he could turn the best case scenario to his advantage…

  “We researched you carefully, Mr. Goode. I am quite sure you know the exact location of at least some of those safe houses, Doomsday bunkers, whatever your clients choose to call them, without needing GPS coordinates.”

  Jerry said nothing. It was clear the guy had something in mind.

  He did. “Gary, please restrain Mr. Goode.”

  The minder behind him came forward.

  “Not cable ties again.” Jerry tried to keep his voice level. “C’mon, guys. I can’t escape from in here. Do you really need to do that?”

  Vincent ignored him, and after judging the size and strength of his companion, Jerry didn’t attempt to resist. One crack on the head was enough. With a sigh, he held out his hands.

  “Behind your back, please.”

  Every time that pleasant voice issued another command, shivers crawled up Jerry’s back. Somehow, the guys that didn’t need to shout and bluster were scarier than a muscle-bound bodyguard.

  Jerry stood up and turned around, his hands behind his back. When he was incapacitated again, Gary the gorilla finished off the job with duct tape across his mouth.

  “I apologize for the discomfort,” Vincent said. “We are expecting visitors. Friends of yours, I believe, enquiring after you. We can’t have you attracting their attention.”

  Jerry’s pulse leapt, and warring emotions raced through him.

  Who? His father? Danny? Who would come after him?

  He grunted and widened his eyes, hoping that Vincent would know what he was asking.

  “Your sister and a friend of hers.” Vincent smiled. “They contacted a local survivalist, and he’s bringing them here to see if I can help find you. Unfortunately, I don’t believe I’ll be able to help, but I’ll naturally offer to do everything I can.”

  He and the gorilla left, and Jerry slumped against the wall, scared out of his mind.

  Georgie. Of all people, Georgie was here.

  He hoped like hell the friend wasn’t Tammy.

  For Doomsday’s sake, why hadn’t they brought some real muscle to look for him?

  Chapter 13

  It had been years since Tammy had crossed rough terrain with a rifle, but it might as well have been yesterday. The weight of the gun felt comfortable and familiar, and she had instinctively returned to the same state of alertness as she used to be when she was tracking and hunting. Some sounds she knew instinctively were harmless; others had her pausing for a moment, listening.

  No, nothing but everyday forest-type sounds.

  Scott was a good companion. His eyes, too, were everywhere, and he didn’t speak unless it was necessary. He might not have been a hunter, but he had tracked his share of feral animals, it seemed.

  Just not the human kind.

  Danny’s property was shaped like a slice of pie, with the main house at the pointy end near the road. The holding was relatively small, at around 100 acres, but a
small creek with slippery rocks and spongy edges made traversing the area more difficult.

  “Fresh water,” Tammy murmured.

  “I noticed. Looks like Mum got that right, at least.”

  It didn’t take them long to reach the small fence that separated the main compound from the rest of the property.

  “Not electrified,” Scott said softly. As Jack had recommended, they stayed safely in the shelter of the trees and used binoculars to check the place out from a distance of a few hundred yards. “But it would be too easy to breach, so I’m betting on cameras or sensors.” He eyed the back of the house, about half a mile distant, just visible through a tangle of trees and scrub. “Let’s follow it around, see what’s there.”

  Cautiously, they moved from tree to tree, noting the condition of the fence and the various outbuildings built behind the house. There were a dozen of them, arranged in a rough arc about halfway between the house and the fence.

  “Pity we can’t see the front of them,” Scott muttered, looking at the back of a large barn and the back wall of a carport that currently sheltered three vehicles: a troop carrier and a couple of 4WDs. “Those shipping containers are probably full of supplies and weapons. He sounds like the type to have an arsenal.”

  Tammy eyed the containers. “Jerry could be in any of them.”

  “Or the main house. Or,” Scott pointed to a large metal trapdoor in front of the barn, “down there. Some kind of storm cellar or bunker.”

  Tammy stared at the trapdoor. If Jerry was down there, how were they going to get him out? They’d be exposed the moment they walked over to it. “We may have to come back at night.”

  “Won’t help. I can see dogs over there in the kennels—see, on the right.” He handed her the binoculars. “They’ll be guarding the yard at night.”

  They kept moving, using binoculars to check the outbuildings and what they could see of the house, until they reached the side fence. The end of the arc put them close to the house and the road, and peering back, they could just see the front of the containers. They all had heavy-duty bolts and padlocks.