Good to Go: Book 1 Georgie B. Goode Gypsy Caravan Cozy Mystery

by Marg McAlister

  Well, she wasn’t giving up that easily. If she had to be as devious as Jerry B. Goode, she damn well would.

  Jerry was watching her while appearing not to. He drummed his fingers on the table and gazed around the van. Then he idly reached over and lifted up the tea towel to see what was underneath.

  A slow smile grew on his face when he saw the crystal ball.

  “I do declare. You’ve been telling fortunes.”

  “I have not.” Well, it wasn’t quite a lie. She’d only told one fortune, and it was by accident.

  “You never could lie, Georgie,” he said, his fingers lightly tracing over the crystal. “This is Rosa’s, isn’t it? I recognize the base.” His fingernail flicked the curling golden leaves decorating the stand. “She’s been teaching you.”

  “No she hasn’t. I wouldn’t.” Georgie slid out of the seat and removed it from his reach, tucking it back up on the shelf. “I was showing it to a customer. They all notice it, because it adds… ambience.”

  “Ambience.” He grinned at her. “You had a cloth over the top. Rosa always used to do that when she finished a reading. But she used black velvet, not a tea towel.”

  Still standing, she put her hands on her hips and went back to the matter at hand. “You’re not going to follow me around everywhere. You’re not that low.”

  “No,” he said. “Well, I am that low, but I won’t. I’ve got truck campers and fifth wheels and motorhomes to sell, too. Because that’s what I do.” He finally edged out of the seat and stood, his head almost touching the ceiling. “There are a couple of guys interested in our newest truck camper. I’m off to see them, now. And then I’m going to the vintage rally just outside of Columbus.”

  Rub it in, she thought sourly. Mr. Super Salesman. And dammit, she was heading for the Columbus rally, too. Was she going to run into Jerry everywhere?

  “Maybe you should tell fortunes,” he said. “That would give you a point of difference, wouldn’t it?” He laughed. “You could tell them that you see a retro van in their future. A carefree life on the road, in a charming vintage van. How could they resist? There you go, a free tip from The Master.”

  Annoyingly, he planted a kiss on her forehead on the way out.

  Head on a pike, she thought viciously.

  Going to the door, she watched him walk off into the distance, until he was hailed by a trio of eager males—with females, as always, fluttering about in the background.

  Don’t waste your time, ladies, she thought. Jerry B. Goode loves himself too much to let anyone else into his heart.

  She shot one last look at the Johnny B. Goode RV Empire sales van, and sighed.

  Then, just as she was about to close the door and sulk for a while, she had an evil thought.

  No, she thought. I couldn’t.

  She stared at the sleek silver motorhome for a long moment, and then back to where Jerry was turning on the charm in the distance.

  “There are no rules.” The law according to Jerry.

  “OK,” she said to herself. “OK.”

  It took five minutes to wander casually over to his motorhome, glance over the two orders for vintage vans that Jerry had carelessly tossed onto the table, put back the one that already bore his signature, and purloin the other.

  Back in her van, she signed Tracey’s order, scanned it and sent it through to Johnny B. Goode’s RV Empire in Indianapolis.

  Take that, Jerry.

  Three sales in three days.

  Enormously cheered, she got down the crystal ball and gazed at it thoughtfully. It sat there innocently: bright and clear and cold, without offering so much as a whisper in her ear.

  Maybe it would give her a point of difference.

  Why not take lessons from Super Con himself?

  Yes.

  Tomorrow, she would go shopping for some clothes befitting most people’s view of a gypsy fortune-teller.

  CHAPTER 5

  Georgie was having fun.

  Dressing herself in vintage clothing was as much fun as dressing a vintage trailer. A quick computer check told her where to find the kind of clothes she wanted, and within two hours she was back at the RV park, hauling shopping bags out of the back seat. She’d found a bright shawl with intricate embroidery—expensive, but it would give her the right look in seconds, tossed over whatever she had on—several long skirts in rich dark colors, a couple of headscarves in varying patterns, and a couple of tops. And a pair of Boho pants for comfort.

  Fun, fun, fun.

  She slammed the door and turned, and there was Jerry, sitting on the steps of her van. He pursed his lips at her.

  Uh oh.

  “So,” Georgie said brightly. “Did you sell a truck camper or three?”

  “Two signed on the dotted line. The third was a tire-kicker.”

  He didn’t look mad. Maybe he hadn’t realized yet. Maybe he would do all the paperwork tonight. Maybe he would put it off for a couple of days and she would be out of here before he knew.

  His next words dashed that hope. “Nice move, Georgie,” he said. “But you can give it back now.”

  She sent him a nervous smile. “Too late. I’ve signed it and sent it in. Can you move so I can get in?”

  Instead, he leaned back, resting his elbows on the top step. His head cocked to one side, he studied her as though she was a beetle on a pin.

  Georgie sighed, dropped her bags, and went around the back of the van to collect her camp chair from where she had been enjoying breakfast earlier in the morning sun. When she came back, he was examining her shopping.

  “Hey!” she said. “That’s private.”

  Undeterred, Jerry drew out the shawl and shook it out. He held it up and raised an eyebrow. “Just like Rosa’s. You are going to do the gypsy thing.”

  Dammit, was Jerry going to know her every move? “I just thought I’d dress the part,” she said, plunking herself down in the chair. “I don’t know if I can fudge the telling fortunes bit.”

  He flicked the shawl outward and let it go so that it settled in a colorful drift over her knees. “Rosa thinks you can do it. She’s been saying it for years. Have you tried?”

  “I’m no Rosa,” she said, thinking of her failed attempt to help Kaylene that morning. But what she could or couldn’t do was none of Jerry’s business.

  He gave her a piercing look. “You know that nicking that sales form has made me more determined than ever to beat you. By a big, big margin.”

  “I would expect nothing else.”

  “The gloves are off now, Georgie.”

  “You’re the one who said ‘there are no rules’.”

  Jerry laughed. “Who are you,” he said, “and what have you done with the real Georgie?”

  “You’ve never stolen my customers before.”

  “We’ve never been in direct competition before.” Jerry smiled at her. “You going to offer me a cup of coffee?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m mad at you. I don’t like the way you play the game. Go away, Jerry.”

  “OK.” Jerry stayed where he was for a whole extra minute, watching her with a small smile and a gleam of anticipation in his eye. Silence was another tactic of Jerry’s that Georgie knew well; he used it to advantage in sales situations. She wasn’t going to bite.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” Jerry stood and stretched. “One of the local distributors is picking me up for lunch. I’ll be locking the motorhome while I’m gone.”

  “You should always do that anyway,” said Georgie sweetly. “Lots of thieves and con men around here.”

  “‘Bye, Sis.” He tugged at her hair on the way past. “Be seeing you.”

  Georgie thrust down a childish desire to retort, “Not if I see you first,” and gathered her bags.

  Forget Jerry, she told herself. Just focus on selling. Whatever it takes.

  She went inside to turn herself into a gypsy.

  ~~~

  Georgie couldn’t see much in the small bathroom mirror,
even when she angled her makeup mirror, but the bit she could see looked authentic. She’d opted for a white peasant blouse with rich, intricate embroidery in a kaleidoscope of colors, including the deep green of her skirt. Should she wear a scarf?

  She assessed the effect; tied at the back like a kerchief, or just draped over her hair. Maybe not. Not right away. Just the blouse and skirt to begin with. No need to go overboard. She contented herself with letting her hair flow loose over her shoulders, instead of pulling it back in a loose tail.

  The skirt swished around her when she walked: a feeling that would take some getting used to. She usually wore jeans or shorts.

  The crystal ball caught her eye, and she stopped. Then she peered at the shelf beside it. There was a folded square of black velvet.

  Her great-grandma had even given her the cloth she used to cover the crystal ball.

  Georgie picked it up and, on impulse, rubbed it against her cheek. “Better help me, Rosa,” she whispered. “I have no idea what I’m doing here...”

  She held her breath for a moment, waiting for a sign. The velvet was warm against her cheek, but no messages floated her way through the ether. No mysterious insights.

  Oh well. She unfolded the cloth—which she could now see was worn in places from age—and tucked it around the crystal ball. Why it should be covered, she had no clue, but Rosa had always done it. “Fake it till you make it,” she said under her breath. She really should look up ‘how to read a crystal ball’ on the Internet and find out if there were any short cuts.

  Fortune-Telling for Dummies?

  Rosa, she remembered, read tea leaves and palms, too. And cards. She didn’t use Tarot: just ordinary playing cards. Georgie—when she was too little to know she shouldn’t encourage her great-grandmother—had once asked her why she did all of those things. Rosa had just cackled (she really did cackle, like the crack of a whip) and said that all the Sight came from the same place, and it didn’t matter what you used.

  Like that was helpful.

  Anyway. Back to the real world. By now, her washing should be dry.

  Georgie swished her way to the door, feeling like a kid playing dress-up, and then promptly ruined the impression by tripping over the hem of her new skirt halfway down the steps. She barely had time to register that she was plunging headlong towards the ground, before strong hands seized her and swung her out and around and safely onto her feet. “Whoa! That was a close one,” said a voice with a British accent.

  Georgie blinked and waited a second for her heart rate to slow before looking at her rescuer. There were two of him. She was seeing double.

  No, there were two gardeners, both wearing t-shirts with the RV park logo. The bigger one let her go and grinned at her. “Lucky for you we came to fix your faucet.”

  “You did?” She glanced at where he was pointing and saw a mini-lake under her water fixture. Hastily, she hiked up her new skirt before it got soaked. “Is that my fault?”

  “Don’t think so.” Her rescuer cast a look at the tap. “Your fittings look new.”

  “They are. We just finished this van last week.” Georgie looked from him to the dripping faucet. Actually it was now more of a spurt, and getting stronger. “Can you fix it?”

  “Reckon we can.” He hefted his toolbox. “Better get to it.”

  Not British, she thought. Some country way down south. Australia or Africa. Or maybe New Zealand. “Thanks for saving me from a nosedive.”

  “You’re welcome.” He headed off to join his partner, and said over his shoulder, “We’ll be turning the water off for a while, so you’d better fill the kettle now.”

  “Sure.” She looked at the rapidly spreading puddle, inching its way toward her caravan, and sighed. This was like the Wild West, when women dragged their long skirts through muddy streets while dodging bullets. Well, not that there were people shooting at her, but her skirt was too long.

  Note to self, she thought, next time take the hem up before going up and down steps and through the mud.

  Fighting down the urge to tuck the skirt up into her underwear like she had done as a child, she picked up a basket and went to retrieve her washing.

  Soon it would be happy hour, when everyone congregated to have a coffee or a drink and talk. And to chat about road trips.

  She planned to be there, in her new gypsy gear, talking about her wonderful gypsy caravan.

  Twenty-two sales to go.

  CHAPTER 6

  The next morning Georgie was up bright and early, packing up the array of hoses, electrical cords, her clothesline, and all the other bits and pieces. Being on the road full-time in a vintage RV was, she discovered, quite a bit more involved than taking one to an RV show for a couple of days. Still, she had to admit she liked it. There was something nice about waking up to a park full of friendly people who took life at a relaxed pace.

  There was something nice about not having to turn up to an office every day, too. Even if her father owned that office, and wasn’t too concerned if she was late for work.

  She coiled the grey water hose and stowed it in the nifty little compartment that her father had made for it, and then took a moment to stand back to gaze at the sky. It was a perfect day to be driving anywhere. The sky was completely blue, with just a hint of fluffy clouds in the distance. With only 70 miles to go to the Columbus vintage rally, she would make it in plenty of time to set up and have a chance to check out the other exhibitors before the crowds arrived the next day.

  And the crazy retro/vintage crew would be there early in full force, ready to party, which would make it even more fun. Quite a number of them had bought their trailers and vans from her.

  Sliding into the seat of the truck, she edged it forward and then used a combination of the rear sensors and the side mirrors to get it into position. She was conscious of several men standing nearby watching, and was half expecting them to come up and offer her a hand. Most men, she had discovered, didn't expect a woman to be able to back a car in and hitch up a travel trailer.

  They didn't know that Georgie B. Goode had been backing trucks onto trailers practically since she was old enough to get a license. Johnny had made certain that both his children could do any task they needed to in the RV yard, while the business was growing through its various phases.

  With quick, economical movements, she wound up the stabilizer legs, hitched up the van, and checked that the entire rig was riding level. It should be. Her father was a stickler for weight distribution, and she’d had to be able to talk to customers in their language. She stood back and regarded it with critical eye. Yes, even Johnny would have to admit that was as straight as a die.

  "I can see you've done this before."

  The Australian or African or New Zealand accent told her who it was before she even turned around: her knight in gardening clothes from the day before. Georgie turned around and smiled at him, gesturing at her jeans. “Yep. Getting ready to hit the road. I've ditched the skirt for something more practical."

  “Practical, but not as decorative." He walked along the side of her van, checking it out. "Nice unit. You’ve got the vintage look, but I can see that it's been made to travel the highways. Right?"

  She nodded. "Right. My dad would have nothing less. Every RV he makes can be towed along the highway at the same speed as other vehicles. It’s not unusual for people who start off buying a pre-loved van to give up and come to us for the look and feel of vintage, without the problems. We copy the structure, but everything’s compliant.” Georgie smiled, hearing herself. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to give you the sales talk.”

  He grinned back at her, a move that deepened the laughter lines around his eyes. “When you say ‘we’…” He gestured towards Jerry’s silver motorhome a few sites away. "You're one of the Johnny B. Goode RV Empire people?"

  Georgie made a wry face and stuck out her hand. "Georgie B. Goode at your service. No doubt you’ll have seen my dad on TV ads."

  He shook her hand. “I thought so
. I’m Scott.” He looked at Jerry’s RV again. “I was weeding the flowerbeds when your other salesman was working the crowd yesterday morning. You didn’t look too happy. Bit of competition there?”

  “That was my brother, Jerry. Competitive is not the word. Try ‘win at any cost’. I want to handle the vintage van section of the business. So does Jerry. He’s quite prepared to steal a sale out from under my nose.”

  “And he did?”

  “He tried.” She showed her teeth. “Let’s say I outwitted him.”

  He nodded, and then waved to the other gardener who was waiting next to a half-built aviary a few hundred yards away and giving him hurry-up signs. “Gotta go. So, where to now?”

  "The vintage rally over near Columbus. Should be a good opportunity to make a few more sales."

  “Safe travels, then.” He looked back at the gypsy van, gleaming in the morning sun. “Can I ask you something?"

  “Sure.”

  "I heard talk around the RV Park…. Are you really telling fortunes, or is that just a bit of showmanship to make the van look more authentic?”

  It sounded like Kaylene had been passing the word. For a moment Georgie debated how to answer that one. Did she really tell fortunes? The answer that was undoubtedly “not very well.”

  "I'm kind of new to it," she finally said. "My great-grandmother is the real deal. She seems to think that I’m the one to inherit her crown, so to speak—but I don't know. I guess I’m going to have to find out."

  “It’s my day off tomorrow. I might drive up to the rally and come see you; have my fortune told. You game?”

  “Well, uh—” Georgie was a little taken aback. “I’m not promising anything…”

  “I’ve got to see one of the manufacturers in Columbus anyway, about a problem with my RV. And since my mother used to do readings, I’m kind of interested.”

  “Your mother?” Intrigued, Georgie stared at him. “She reads a crystal ball?”

  “Not that kind of reading. She—”

  The sound of quick footsteps behind them had them both turning. Georgie's heart sank. It was Kaylene.