Georgie Be Good: Book 2 Georgie B. Goode Gypsy Caravan Cozy Mystery

by Marg McAlister

  They all stared at the streets on show as she moved the cursor around and zoomed in and out.

  Layla wrinkled her nose. “Not impressive.”

  “Jerry says he’ll do it all up,” Georgie said. “I don’t think Donald Trump has enough money to make this area look good.”

  Scott shook his head. “It’s near a main road, but still… this doesn’t sound like something your father would want. He’s all into image.”

  “His first love is his Extreme RVs. You’ve seen what he turns up in every year at the Expo. Now Jerry’s got him thinking about his plans for Platinum Service, special treatment for premium clients, yada yada yada. Think in terms of the special treatment that the whales get at casinos, and transfer that to the RV world.” Gloomily, Georgie closed the computer and took another gulp of wine. “My poor little vintage trailer section is going to get run over by the big boys.”

  “Have you heard back from Tammy yet?” Layla asked.

  “She said tonight.” Georgie looked at her watch. “It’s not six thirty yet.”

  “How much influence do you have with your father?”

  “I used to have quite a lot,” Georgie admitted, “but now that I’m not seeing him every day, maybe not so much. Jerry’s in his ear every day.”

  “And Jerry wants this Platinum Premium Super Duper Customer Service thing, like your dad?”

  “Yes.” Georgie sighed. “Although he likes truck campers too. He’s got a whole new demographic there. Guys who like to rough it…and some preppers, too. They build these crazy bug-out vehicles. Big money there sometimes.”

  “Ah.” Scott shifted in his seat. Then he sat forward. “AH.” His voice barely changed, but it was enough for both women to look at him.

  “What?” Georgie said. “What have you thought of?”

  “Preppers,” he said, “are secretive. They build fortresses and shelters and bunkers.” He smiled at her and waited.

  Layla and Georgie looked at each other, both at a loss, and looked back at Scott.

  “So?”

  “So,” he said, “do they come to the Johnny B. Goode RV Empire to supervise the build and to talk? Bet they don’t.”

  “For the initial talks they do,” Georgie admitted, “and for some of the RVs. But for anything really different, Jerry keeps a low profile. He subs the work out to this factory in Iowa… He’s been itching to do it himself, but you’re right. It’s all a bit too public.”

  “It can’t be all that convenient.”

  “Well, it’s just the next state, so it’s not too bad. But still, a couple of hours each way. Then she fell silent. “Oh my God. I know what you’re thinking.”

  Layla got it at the same time. “He can take his preppers to the seedy part of town. They’d love it. Total camouflage.”

  “Scott, you’re a genius. Now all we’ve got to do is sell it to him.” Georgie kept thinking. “We’ll use Tammy. If he thinks it’s her idea… of course, he’d know that she’s got an interest in having vintage back at the main lot, because it’s her baby.”

  “I’m sure she can use her womanly wiles,” Scott said dryly. “But that’s only part of the problem. They want to use the space to create a training area for new RV owners, right? Plus upmarket accommodation?”

  “That’s the idea. A one-stop shop.” Georgie sighed. “My father has delusions of grandeur sometimes. I think he envisages something like a Trump Tower in the middle of his RV Empire. He doesn’t realize—” She was cut off by the trill of her cell phone. “Hang on.” She checked the display and nodded at the others. “Hi, Tammy.”

  “I sent him out for Thai at the new place down the road,” Tammy said without preamble. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before he gets back. Georgie, your father is so up for this Platinum service area. We’ve got a battle on our hands.”

  “Tammy, can I put you on speaker? I’ve got Layla and Scott here.”

  Tammy squealed. “Yes, yes! Hi guys! Layla, I miss you. Did you know I’m coming out for the retro rally there next weekend?”

  Layla leaned forward and grinned. “Perfect! We can all plot together. Is Jerry coming?”

  “To retro? No way. He’s off on some testosterone-filled jaunt. I’m flying over on Wednesday; they’re shipping my new trailer tomorrow.” Her voice went dreamy. “Oh, Georgie, wait until you see it. It’s just heaven.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Georgie said immediately. “I want to be surprised. Anyway, Tammy, have you come up with anything? Because we think we have a plan.”

  “Tell me.”

  George outlined Scott’s prepper bug-out factory plan, and Tammy was shrieking with appreciation before she got three sentences out. Unlike Georgie, she caught on right away.

  “You guys are geniuses. I can sell that to him. Vintage can stay where it is, and he can take the truck camper market there. All of it, campers and Bug Out Vehicles. What do guys care?”

  Scott cast a look out of the window at his truck camper, parked nearby. “Well, some of us care. I wouldn’t want it too basic, but preppers—they’re a different breed.”

  “But lots of them spend an incredible amount to get the right RV,” Georgie said. “Some of those things are built like tanks.”

  Tammy was still talking. “They don’t need all the accommodation on site for this Platinum service deal, either. They can work something out with the local hotels. Just have one or two premium suites at the RV Empire.” Her enthusiasm was growing. “We can so sell this. I know just how to approach it. Build relationships with the local businesses.”

  Georgie laughed. “We’ll leave it with you, then. Just call if you need anything or want to talk… anyway, we’ll see you on Thursday, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Tammy was bubbling. “I need my fix of the retro crowd. Jerry’s never going to be really into it. And I’ve got these new outfits; Layla, you’ll love them.”

  Layla leaned forward. “Don’t tell me. Do the big reveal when you get here.”

  “Right! But I’ll text you, right? Let you know how things are going.” With a few more enthusiastic comments, Tammy rang off.

  The three of them grinned at each other.

  “I don’t get it,” Georgie said. “Tammy and Jerry? They seem poles apart. But somehow it works. Go figure.” `

  They clinked glasses, and then Scott turned to her.

  “OK, Georgie. That’s vintage on the way to being solved. Now tell us about Sarah.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Georgie reached for the bottle of wine and poured the pale straw-colored liquid into one of Layla’s tinted pink wineglasses, taking her time. She was conscious of Layla and Scott’s eyes on her, and the slight tension in the air.

  Layla cleared her throat. “Don’t feel you have to tell us. Not putting pressure on you, if it’s confidential.”

  “I don’t think it is. Sarah said it’s been on social media.” Georgie leaned over and put the bottle back in the fridge, reflecting not for the first time that living in a small space had its benefits. Like not having to go out to the kitchen to reach the fridge. “And I know I can trust you guys not to spread it around, anyway. It’s more that I don’t know where to start.”

  She looked at them both. Scott, with his kind eyes the color of old scotch and his tousled cinnamon hair; Layla with her black eyes and tumble of ebony curls.

  Strange, that she had known them both such a short time, yet they already knew her better than some of her own family.

  Anyone would think it had all been meant.

  A pleasant shiver went down her spine.

  “We don’t have to talk about it,” Layla said. “We can just kick back and relax. Anyone want to play cards?”

  That made Georgie laugh. “Don’t give Scott a pack of cards. He’ll have them in an astrological spread before you can blink.”

  Scott pointed a finger at her. “You’ve been researching. A month ago you wouldn’t have had a clue what an astrological spread was.”

  “Guilty. You can
learn anything on the Internet. Including how to read a crystal ball.”

  “Funny you two should come together,” Layla mused, reaching for the Shiraz while looking from one of them to the other. “Scott’s mother predicting you’d meet like that… want a top-up, Scott?”

  “Thanks.” He held out his pink glass.

  Georgie sipped slowly and watched Layla shaking some crisps into a bowl before she finally spoke. “I’m not naive enough to expect instant answers in a crystal ball, but I feel seriously out of my depth at times. Maybe finding the answer for Kaylene last month was a fluke. Just because I get a hit every now and then, does that mean I’m qualified to start digging into people’s lives? What if I make things worse?”

  Scott settled in comfortably with his back against the window and his arm resting on the table and waited for her to go on. Layla, perched on a stool at the end of the table, propped her chin on her hand and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  “Feel free to chime in any time, guys.” Georgie groped for a way to explain how she felt. “Sarah’s desperate. Her whole family is cracking under the strain. She came to me for help and I can’t see anything. What if I’m wasting their time?”

  “Are the police involved? So this is already, like, a real case?” Layla asked.

  “Yes, it’s a real case. Forensic investigators and all.” Georgie quickly sketched in the details for them. “Sarah insists that James is innocent, and when I focus on him I’m not getting a sense of guilt. I think he really is a victim here. But the police can ask people questions and expect answers. Me—I’m just waiting for some kind of message from beyond.”

  “You have one big advantage,” Scott pointed out. “People lie to the police all the time. They have to sort through that, deal in facts and evidence—so leave that to them. Your messages might not come through when you want, but when they do, they cut through the lies.”

  Georgie thought about that. He was right. She sometimes had to take the long way round, following odd snippets of insights or strong feelings, but she was still following a trail. Didn’t police have to do the same thing? The difference was that they usually had a whole task force, not a crystal ball and occasional input at a distance from a gypsy fortune teller in her nineties.

  But then, help sometimes came from unexpected places. Scott, from half a world away, had come up with a clever strategy to save vintage and retro from obscurity. Tammy, who appeared on the surface to be just a girl who liked playing dress-up in her vintage clothes, had a brain as well as being a handy ally in the enemy camp. Layla could sell retro trailers as though she’d been born to it.

  Wait a minute… why couldn’t they be her task force?

  “Huh,” she said to herself, pleased with that idea. She wriggled in her seat and sipped more wine.

  Layla looked fascinated. “What are you thinking? You just had some sort of brainstorm.”

  Scott wriggled his fingers in a ‘give it up’ motion.

  “I was just thinking that police have an investigation team and I don’t. Then I thought, yes I do!” Georgie beamed at them and raised her glass. “You’re it. You two and Tammy, when she gets here.” An idea struck her. “We could be Crystal Ball Investigations.”

  A slow smile spread over Layla’s face. “Not CSI, but CBI. I like it.” She clinked glasses and looked at Scott. “You in?”

  “How could anyone resist. A gypsy, an ex-forest ranger and a couple of retro sales gals.” He glanced around at the ice cream sorbet colors of Layla’s trailer. “I can imagine us all rolling up to a crime scene in this.”

  “With Tammy in one of her rockabilly outfits,” contributed Layla, her eyes gleaming. “That pink outfit with the musical notes on it.”

  Georgie joined in the general laughter.

  Okay, so they wouldn’t be able to go to actual crime scenes. And they wouldn’t be grilling suspects in small, uncomfortable interview rooms. But there was something to be said for flying under the radar.

  Layla, excited, drummed her fingers on the table. “Okay, so you have all these suspects back at the office, and you think that the perp is in the mix there. How do you figure out who it is? What’s next?”

  “Perp?” Georgie said.

  “I’m trying to sound like a real investigator.”

  Georgie looked at her in her red capris and checked shirt and her still-perfect bright red lipstick and grinned.

  “Don’t laugh.” Layla pretended indignation. “I’m trying.”

  Scott took another swallow of wine to hide his amusement. “Whatever. What is next, Georgie?”

  “Sarah has invited me to her place to meet James. There’s one big problem.”

  “Which is…?”

  “He doesn’t believe in fortune-tellers. And he doesn’t know I’m coming.”

  CHAPTER 6

  At four pm the next day, Georgie pulled up outside Sarah West’s house and sat for a moment looking at it. Set in a street full of well-kept houses and gardens, the Wests’ home was exceptionally neat. The edges of the lawn were knife-sharp against a sweeping driveway stamped to look like cobblestones, and the shrubs set behind the gardens blooming with a cheerful mix of flowers were neatly trimmed. Despite having his world come crashing down around him, James hadn’t let the place go.

  Therapy, perhaps. When he couldn’t control anything else, perhaps he could keep his surroundings ordered.

  Georgie was glad that she looked just as neat as his front yard. When Sarah had come to see her at the markets, Georgie had been wearing one of her gypsy outfits—long skirt, peasant blouse, embroidered shawl. People seemed to expect it, and it all coordinated beautifully with her traditional Vardo-look caravan.

  Today, she had kept in mind that James was a skeptic. The more she looked like a gypsy, the more he would withdraw. So she had compromised by donning a pair of paisley Boho pants—so comfortable they were close to being sinful—and a simple black tank top with an unstructured black jacket. Her dark hair was tamed into a neat French braid. Almost formal enough to work for a Fortune 500 company.

  Sarah had obviously been watching for her, because the front door opened as she was looking around for a buzzer.

  “Hi Georgie. Come in.” She was in much the same outfit as the day before: just a different t-shirt. This one proclaimed, “Be kind to your children—they choose your nursing home”.

  Sarah saw her looking. “A gift from my daughter,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She’s into slogan t-shirts. I get one every birthday, Christmas, Mother’s Day. Can’t keep up. Follow me, we’re out in the sunroom.”

  Nice house, Georgie thought, stealing quick glances around her. Just as neat as the exterior, but with plenty of color and light. Welcoming, on the surface, but the heavy feeling of despair lay over everything. She could feel it pressing down on her.

  In her bag, wrapped in black velvet, the crystal ball bumped against her leg as she walked.

  “In here.”

  The sunroom opened out from the kitchen, and was plainly the hub of the house. Wicker furniture, bright splashy prints on the cushions, a low table covered with magazines and books. The round table positioned in the bay window sported a red tablecloth and a bowl of fruit.

  That’s where James West was sitting stiffly, looking as though he was in a dentist’s waiting room. He watched Georgie as she followed his wife across the room, and then pushed himself to his feet.

  “Georgie, this is my husband James. James…Georgie.” Sarah looked nervously from one to the other as they shook hands.

  James murmured, “Pleased to meet you,” waited for Georgie to sit, and then sank back into his chair.

  He looked anything but pleased, so Georgie took the bull by the horns.

  “Mr. West, Sarah has already told me that you don’t believe in…the ability to sense things that aren’t immediately obvious.”

  He considered her words, his expression cool. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I believe in a sixth sense. I believe in intuition. I just
don’t believe in gypsy fortune-tellers.”

  “James!” Sarah sounded a little annoyed. “There’s no need to be rude.”

  “No, that’s all right.” Georgie smiled at him, determined to win him over—or at least to lay his doubts to rest. “I know how your husband feels, Sarah. I fought against this for years, myself. I didn’t want to believe.” She settled into the chair. “The problem with what I do, Mr. West—”

  “Call him James,” Sarah said.

  At his short nod, Georgie continued. “James, then. The problem with what I do is that it’s not an exact science. Not a science at all, in fact.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Sometimes I get a clear sense of what’s going on, but quite often it’s just a general idea of what’s happening. Sometimes I get names, sometimes I don’t. Days later, I might get an impulse to talk to a certain person, or go to a certain place, and then I’ll understand what part of a previous message meant.”

  “So, no guarantees,” he said. “You can say to your customers, “don’t blame me if I’m wrong because I told you it doesn’t always work.”

  “James,” Sarah said sharply, glaring at him. She turned her gaze on Georgie, biting her lip. “I’m so sorry, Georgie. You didn’t come here to be insulted.”

  Her husband sighed. “She’s right. I’m not usually this rude. I apologize.” He folded his arms, and stared out of the window. Beyond him, the backyard was as neat as the front.

  The man was surrounded by an aura of defeat, but underneath it Georgie could sense a good man who was simply beaten down.

  “James, is it all right with you if I use my crystal ball? It might seem like stage management, but it does help me to focus.” And with any luck, she thought, Rosa might pop in for a visit and dish out some advice.

  He shrugged. “Why not.”

  Georgie slipped the crystal ball out of her bag, unwrapped it and set it in the middle of the table, where it gleamed in the light from the late afternoon sun. The golden leaves etched onto the base glowed warmly.