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

by Marg McAlister

  Georgie looked down at the crystal ball, still covered by its black cloth, and thought about how to handle this. Rachel wasn’t exactly lying, but she had come out with a tangle of half-truths.

  The lies weren’t helping anyone.

  She raised her eyes to Rachel again, only to see the other woman staring resolutely at the wall, her arms still folded, her fingers digging into her skin. She was rigid with the effort to maintain control.

  Georgie spoke softly, her voice kind. “Rachel…I’m seeing a bigger problem than that.” She reached over and touched her hand.

  Just one gentle touch was enough to bring Rachel undone. Abruptly, her whole face crumpled. She buried her face in her hands, and a low keening sound came from her.

  Startled, Georgie jumped to her feet. “Rachel!” She went to her and put an arm around Rachel’s shaking shoulder, and the wave of grief almost sent her reeling.

  Oh God, there was something so wrong here.

  “Rachel, I’m so sorry.” She rubbed her back, and then crossed to the sink to get a glass of water. She put it on the table, along with the box of tissues.

  It wasn’t clear to her yet whether Rachel knew exactly what was up with Izzie, or whether her daughter was keeping things from her mother, too. From the level of grief, Georgie was inclined to think she knew.

  While she waited for the storm to subside, she quietly uncovered the crystal ball.

  If you’re there, Rosa, she thought, this might be a good time to lend a hand.

  Nothing.

  In the muted light inside the caravan, the crystal remained clear, giving away nothing.

  Rachel’s sobs finally died away, and she raised her head, avoiding Georgie’s gaze. She pulled out a couple of tissues and wiped her face, and then blew her nose.

  “I’m sorry about that.” Although she was attempting to keep her voice neutral, it wobbled.

  “Don’t be. It’s understandable. You’re worried about your daughter.”

  “Worried.” Just one word contained a world of desolation. “Worried.” Rachel said nothing more for a full half minute, and then straightened with a shuddering sigh. “Grace is right; there is something wrong, but there’s nothing you can do. I’m handling it.”

  Wild images of Rachel turned vigilante tumbled through Georgie’s mind, shooting the man concerned and then being arrested, but she was pretty sure that was just her overactive imagination, not a presentiment of things to come.

  She felt her way, wary of making things worse. “You’re handling it.”

  Rachel’s chin came up, and she met Georgie’s eyes challengingly. “Yes, I am.”

  Georgie sighed. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job as a mother, Rachel. God knows I have no idea. But…could Izzie need…professional help?”

  Rachel’s eyes bored into hers, and then she spared a glance for the crystal ball before looking back. “Just what did you see in that thing?”

  “When Grace was here?” Georgie hedged.

  “Yes, when Grace was here. Or at any time. How much do you know?”

  “It’s not all laid out for me like some Technicolor movie, unfortunately.” Out of the corner of her eye, Georgie saw a faint hint of white in the depths of the crystal ball. “I sometimes get names, sometimes faces, sometimes shadows. I might sense things, or get a definite message—but that doesn’t happen often.”

  “What do you know about Izzie?”

  Cards on the table, Georgie thought, her heart beating faster. “I strongly feel that she has been abused in some way. Probably something to do with her dancing. An audition?”

  “What?” whispered Rachel, her eyes widening in shock. “You saw that? In there?” She glanced at the crystal ball, and visibly flinched.

  Georgie followed her gaze and saw a mist that had swiftly turned an angry grey, not swirling gently as it usually did, but battering against the constraints of the crystal. She put out a hand, wondering.

  Rosa…?

  “What’s happening?” Rachel’s eyes were still fixed on the mist, her fingers shredding a tissue.

  Georgie held up a hand, concentrating.

  Something was spiraling out of control. She looked at Rachel urgently. “Was I right about Izzie?”

  For a moment Rachel looked as though she wasn’t going to answer, but then she gave one short, sharp nod, biting down hard on her lip. Tears spilled again.

  “You have to get help for her.” Georgie looked from the crystal ball to Rachel again, and then a crashing wave of urgency sent her flying to her feet. “Now, Rachel. Do it now!” Georgie seized the other woman’s arm.

  “No. No. What’s happening?” Her voice rising hysterically, Rachel sprang up as well.

  “Where’s Izzie? Is she at home?” At Rachel’s nod, Georgie went on: “Can you call her? Or call a neighbor to check on her?” All Georgie could see in her mind’s eye was a shadowy image of a girl, drifting, drifting… her eyes closed, her life force fading.

  Shaking all over, Rachel rang Izzie’s cell phone.

  Izzie didn’t pick up.

  Rachel phoned the neighbor, and waited for ten long minutes while she went to investigate. When she finally called back, Rachel simply stood there nodding, with tears pouring down her face as she listened.

  She hung up and wrenched open the door, throwing over her shoulder the choked words, “She’s called an ambulance,” as she flew down the steps and raced to see her daughter.

  CHAPTER 13

  Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Georgie waited, her nerves on edge. She could sense that Izzie was out of danger, but there were too many unanswered questions. Who had driven Izzie to this? Whoever it was, he wasn’t out of the picture—she could feel it. He needed to be found, and punished.

  Then there were other things nagging at her. A couple of Rachel’s comments… She ran the conversation through in her mind.

  Rachel: “Just what did you see in that thing?”

  Georgie: “When Grace was here?”

  Rachel: “Yes, when Grace was here. Or at any time. How much do you know?”

  Hmm, thought Georgie, “…or at any time…” That could only be referring to her reading at the West house, couldn’t it? Or with Sarah, that first time.

  How much do you know?

  The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that Tammy was right. What had happened to Izzie and what had happened to James were linked.

  But what could she do about it? Should she do anything?

  Waiting was an exercise in frustration. She didn’t have a chance to pull Layla and Tammy aside: they were constantly in demand with the closing events and general socializing. Even Scott was carousing with a couple of Australians he’d met up with. She bided her time, forcing herself to be sociable.

  And then, to put the lid on things, Jerry turned up.

  ~~~

  The first inkling she had that her brother was there was when a heavy hand clapped her on the shoulder.

  “Hey, sis!” He planted a smacking kiss on her temple. “Surprise!”

  She submitted to his hug, and said without enthusiasm, “What brings you here?”

  “A whim,” he said. “Saw you and Tammy on TV last night, and thought, why should they be over there having all the fun? So here I am.”

  That would do it, thought Georgie. A publicity hound like Jerry wouldn’t be able to handle seeing his sister and his girlfriend getting more attention than he was. “You’re too late. The TV crews have gone.”

  He wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were on Tammy, who had changed into white Capri pants, spiked high-heeled shoes and a casual black top with the sleeves pushed up. Georgie was sure she had seen a photo of Marilyn Monroe somewhere dressed in the same outfit. Tammy was hamming it up for a few visitors taking photos, posing with a bright red 50s style portable radio.

  She pouted Marilyn-style, and then posed with one foot up on the step of her new red-and-white retro trailer, looking enticingly over her shoulder
, encouraged by the applause.

  Jerry pushed forward to the front of the group until Tammy spotted him, shrieked “Jerry!” and leapt theatrically into his arms. Some of the men taking photos groaned good-naturedly, and Georgie grinned when she saw one being cuffed by his girlfriend before being led away.

  Curious to find out what was going through Jerry’s head—besides images of Tammy—she walked up to join them.

  “…so I thought, why not surprise them?” Jerry was saying when she got there. “You girls have been doing a brilliant job in sales.”

  Tammy gestured expansively, taking in her trailer and the props that surrounded it. “Nobody can resist this. They all want one.” Sitting on his lap, she snuggled in closer to Jerry. “Thank you for getting it finished so quickly. I love it, love it, love it!” He got a kiss with each ‘love it’, and his grin grew wider.

  “Pardon me for interrupting,” Georgie said, cutting to the chase, “but since you’re here, how about telling me what’s going on with my vintage trailer division?” She put a slight emphasis on the ‘my’, knowing that would get under his skin, but he refused to bite.

  That alone told her a lot. Jerry was here to appease her… or to get something he wanted.

  Safely tucked under Jerry’s chin where he couldn’t see her face, Tammy winked. Coming from a Marilyn Monroe face, the wink looked both sexy and wicked. “Jerry told me the other day that he was re-thinking the move for vintage,” Tammy said innocently. She stroked his arm. “He didn’t realize you’d be so upset. Isn’t that right, Jerry?”

  Jerry heaved a sigh and looked martyred. “I’ve had more talks with Dad. Vintage can stay in the main lot. To make the room he needs, I’ll move part of the truck camper division instead.” He shook a finger at Georgie. “Never again say that I don’t do anything for you. I’m putting myself out here. Quite a lot.”

  Tammy rolled her eyes, and then turned his face towards hers to plant a firm kiss on his lips. “No wonder I like you so much, Jerry B. Goode. You pretend to be a hard case, but it’s all show.”

  No, it isn’t, Georgie thought sourly. She crossed her arms and stared at him. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She didn’t have to pretend.

  “You never put yourself out, Jerry. So what’s in it for you?”

  “Now, Georgie, be good!” he baited her, with a superior smile.

  “You can’t distract me with that. Why are you moving your division instead of vintage?”

  “Look around you.” He waved an arm, encompassing the dozens of retro vans surrounding them. “For this division, you need pretty. The women who buy them—and it’s mostly women who make the buying decision, although the men do most of the restoration—like to dress them up. They’re almost like toys.” He hugged Tammy. “Tammy came up with a great idea. Create a little village for the retro trailer lot. Picket fences, the whole home-sweet-home fifties, sixties vibe.”

  “And you can’t do that on a weed-infested lot in a run-down neighborhood.” She shrugged. “I’d be the first to agree with that, Jerry.”

  “Well, the guys I deal with don’t care.” He looked around with exaggerated caution, and then leaned forward, dropping his voice. “You know how secretive some of our prepper clients are. They’re used to doing things on the quiet. They don’t want to attract attention. Perfect for our new premises.”

  Tammy was in danger of sliding off his knees, so he sat back and hoisted her close again. “So I thought, win-win. My preppers are happy, you’re happy. I’m prepared to make the sacrifice.”

  “Jer, you’re a prince.” Georgie looked at Tammy. “I like the retro village idea, Tammy. Nice one.”

  “I knew you’d like it.” Tammy beamed. “I can’t believe Jerry thought of the prepper idea. He’s planning a big workshop to build these…” she hesitated prettily, and put one scarlet fingernail against the black Marilyn mole on her cheek. “What do you call those trucks they use to run away in, Jerry?”

  “BOVs. Bug-out vehicles. It’s not that they’re running away, Tams: surely you picked up on that in the TV special we watched. They just want something reliable to get out of town when things go bad.” He leaned back and launched into an enthusiastic account of the BOVs in production and his planned line of Get Out of Dodge kits, and how great it was that a G.O.O.D kit actually worked with the family name, how good was that!

  Georgie tuned out.

  She didn’t care if he switched entirely to producing BOVs and G.O.O.D kits and MREs and any other acronym that made him happy.

  Vintage was safe.

  CHAPTER 14

  A little after nine that night, just as she had finished filling Scott and Layla in on Rachel’s visit, Georgie got a call from Sarah.

  “Georgie? I know it’s late, but could you come visit?” Her voice sounded flat.

  She knows about Izzie, thought Georgie. She nodded at the others, who were listening intently. “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “Thank you. See you soon.”

  She closed her phone. “Sarah. She wants me to come over.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Scott said immediately. “I don’t have to go inside. I’ll wait in the car.”

  Georgie felt a rush of gratitude. He knew without even asking that she needed someone. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  He stood up and touched her once on the shoulder, a simple but reassuring gesture that meant the world. “Come on, then. We’ll talk more on the way. If you want.”

  They reached her truck and she turned to him. “Would you drive? The address is in the GPS. I need to think.”

  “No worries,” he said, taking the keys and walking around to the driver’s side. “I know how it goes.”

  And he really did know; that was the good part. Growing up with a mother who had spent a lifetime interpreting signs and giving readings, Scott clearly knew when talk and when to keep quiet.

  Georgie leaned across impulsively and kissed him on the cheek. “Yes, you do know.” She settled back, and used the journey to drop down into a state of calm. She didn’t try to reason things out or make connections. She just let snippets of conversation and impressions float through her mind.

  When they reached the West residence, Scott pushed his seat back and turned to her. “You good?”

  With Scott, it was a simple question, not an irritating play on the family name.

  “I’m good.” She opened the door and swung out of the car. “See you soon.”

  The door opened within seconds of her pressing the buzzer, revealing a tense-looking Grace. It was obvious she had been crying again. She reached out and took Georgie’s hand, drew her inside and flung her arms around her. “Thank you. Thank you so much. If Izzie had…had…” her voice broke.

  Fighting emotion, Georgie hugged her back. “It’s your doing, Grace, coming to me for your friend. You’re the one who saved her.”

  Grace sniffled and let her go. “They’re out the back, in the sunroom.”

  She walked as far as the kitchen with Georgie, and then disappeared, presumably to her own room.

  Sitting at the same table as before, three faces turned in her direction. Sarah, James and Rachel.

  Sarah had her arm around Rachel’s shoulder. James was patting her hand.

  That looked promising.

  Georgie walked across the room, and took the fourth chair.

  Rachel managed a pitiful smile. “What, no crystal ball?”

  “No,” Georgie said lightly. “I don’t need it now.” She smiled. “Izzie’s okay?”

  “She’s going to be fine.” Rachel drew in a deep breath. “Thank God I’d left a key next door. My neighbor knew enough to control the bleeding until the paramedics got there…” her voice dried up on her for a moment, and then she went on, “She cut her wrists. It was touch and go.”

  “I’m sorry she felt driven to do it. And I’m so glad they got there in time.”

  “I owe you an apology.” Rachel shook her head. “That seems tame, after what you did for us. And y
ou were right, about what happened to Izzie, what brought her so low. How can I thank you? After what I said to you…”

  Georgie smiled. “You’re not the first to find it hard to believe a gypsy fortune-teller, and you sure won’t be the last.”

  Rachel took a deep, quavering breath. “There’s more.”

  “Rachel, you don’t have to,” Sarah said. “You’ve apologized. You’ve thanked Georgie. That can be the end of it.”

  “No.” Rachel’s voice was decisive. “I know I can’t really make amends, but I’m going to try.”

  So, Georgie thought, we were right.

  “I was the one who passed on the company secrets to their rivals.” Rachel stared straight ahead, her face grim. “But there was a reason.”

  “Money?” Georgie asked. “I had a feeling you might have been blackmailed.”

  “Close, but it’s worse than that. I didn’t do it for money. The man who… who took Izzie…” Rachel quailed for a moment, but then went on. “He drugged her and took photos, of her with other men. Nude photos. Then he came to see us both late one night, said he would post them all over the Internet. Sell them to pedophiles.” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Izzie’s a small girl for her age, undeveloped.”

  Georgie felt a growing rage. Poor girl. Poor mother.

  “He didn’t want money. He wanted information.” Rachel swallowed. “He told me what he wanted and how to get it. I had to wait until James was out of the room, or in a meeting, and had forgotten to shut down his computer. It took weeks, but I got it all.”

  Georgie sneaked a look at Sarah and James. Their faces mirrored Georgie’s outrage, but she didn’t feel it was directed at Rachel.