Authors: Marg McAlister
M
arilyn Monroe stepped
down from the doorway of her sleek vintage trailer, and a dozen cameras clicked at once. All Georgie could do was stare in open-mouthed admiration. She watched while Marilyn waved and posed and pouted for the cameras, and then won everyone over by tossing air kisses to the crowd.
“Wow,” Layla breathed next to her. “Love the hair, love the cupid’s bow lips, love the
outfit
.” Then she laughed and elbowed Scott. “Your tongue’s hanging out, cowboy.”
Scott just grinned and kept watching. “She’s got style.”
Style and chutzpah and sex appeal and more, Georgie thought, looking at Tammy’s long tanned legs showed off to perfection in the high-waisted white shorts with the red and white striped off-the-shoulder top. Tammy had stuck to Marilyn’s favorite red, white and black for both her clothes and the new trailer. Her blonde Marilyn-style waves fell softly around her face.
She caught Georgie’s eye and winked.
“What the hell does she see in Jerry?” Layla said for the hundredth time, echoing most people’s thoughts.
“Got me beat,” Georgie responded, “but I hope it lasts.”
After three days of non-stop running around, she was exhausted—but happily so. Tammy’s new trailer had won gasps of admiration and envy, and resulted in orders from people who wanted one exactly the same. It was a Johnny B. Goode Retro Elite, which meant that it derived its shape from a dozen different vintage trailers, adopting the best design features from all of them. Inside, it artfully blended retro-and-cute with modern-and-functional. The purists who used the Johnny B. Goode vintage team to restore real vintage trailers turned up their noses at it, but most of the crowd loved it.
The RV Empire in Elkhart had sent across four gypsy trailers. All were based on the bowtop and Vardo, but had different fittings and finishes. Mags had taken one look at the larger bowtop and immediately paid a deposit, before setting up beside it with her existing camper trailer and gaily striped pop-up gypsy-style store.
Georgie had been to every corner of the meet, accepting coffee and nibbling snacks, talking retro and vintage until she was hoarse. It had been a welcome break, after the photographer had finished taking shots from every angle of her inside her trailer with her crystal ball, to actually sit still for a while and ply her trade as a fortune-teller. Everyone who filed through her door was in a good mood, it seemed, and ready to take her sign at face value, declaring that her ‘act’ was purely for entertainment. Georgie felt herself relaxing, and as usual when she felt calm, her insights proved to be stunningly accurate. Customers would leave wide-eyed, hunt up their friends and send them along to have their turn.
One day, Georgie thought, she would talk to Rosa about that. The times that customers weren’t too concerned about what she saw in the crystal ball, she picked up everything. When it mattered, it was like slogging through snowdrifts. There had to be a message there somewhere.
It wasn’t until after dinner on Thursday night that they all finally had a chance to get together. They picked Layla’s trailer again, because anytime they sat inside Tammy’s, somebody tapped on the door asking for a quick peek inside.
Layla closed the door with a decisive click, and groaned. “I’ve never been so tired in my life. Wired, but tired.”
“Welcome to the life of a road team,” Georgie said, collapsing on to the end of the seat next to Scott. “Move along, Scott, you’re taking up all the room. Typical male. Oh, I am so dead.”
“We males are a tougher breed,” Scott said, turning sideways and putting his arm along the seat behind her. “Lean on me.”
They were all too tired to do more than offer a few weak catcalls at that. “Just water for me,” Georgie said when Layla suggested drinks. “I’ve had so much wine tonight I can’t see straight.”
“What we all need is protein,” decided Layla. She bent down and hauled a vintage milkshake mixer out of a cupboard. “Milkshakes coming up.” She pointed a finger at Tammy. “And I’m using full cream milk, so don’t say a word.”
“Me?” Tammy treated her to a Marilyn pout. “Can I have a dollop of ice cream in mine, Mom?”
“What do you think this is, a restaurant? You get chocolate, strawberry or banana.” Layla busied herself with bottles of syrup and the mixer, and then set a snowflake drinking glass in front of each of them.
She squeezed in next to Tammy and grinned, holding up her glass. “Here’s to success.”
They all willingly drank to that, before moving on to business.
“Okay, Tammy. Spill.” Georgie leaned back against Scott’s shoulder. “We’ve been dying to hear what’s happening back at the yard.”
“Well.” She beamed at them. “I had to be extraordinarily devious, but I finally worked Jerry around to thinking that maybe, just maybe, the premises he had intended for the vintage trailer division might be ideal for his super secret bug-out vehicles. It wasn’t easy, believe me. It took two action movies, one Preppers TV special and a carton of craft beer before Jerry, ah, thought of it for himself.”
“I am in awe.” Georgie toasted her again and drank more strawberry milkshake. “You’ve known my brother two months and you can manipulate him that easily. I never learned to do that.”
“You’re his sister. I use different tactics.” Tammy winked. “I modeled my Marilyn Monroe clothes for him. I needed lots of help with zips.” She drank her own milkshake. “Too easy.”
“So, what’s he going to do?”
“He’s thinking. He kind of painted himself into a corner, upselling your dad about how perfect the place was for vintage…that all they had to do was give the place a facelift, etcetera. I think his revised plan is to say you were so upset that he feels bad, so he’s decided to move part of his business out instead. As a loving brother would.” Tammy delivered the last sentence with more than a hint of irony. Keen though she was on Jerry, she was far from blind to his flaws. She glanced at Georgie and made a rueful face. “I know what you’re thinking. I can’t help it. I really like him.”
“I can see that,” said Georgie. “And although I’ll never understand it, I’m thrilled to bits on my behalf. I always thought Jerry would marry a scheming no-good reptile like himself.”
That made Layla blink, but Tammy just laughed. “He’s not like that with me. He’s more like your father at his best. And that’s pretty nice.”
Georgie had to agree. The men in her family were born grifters, but they loved their women. It was a matter of whether the women could put up with them.
“That’s settled, then,” she said, albeit with a touch of caution. “I won’t feel really safe until Jerry’s got his underground workshop in full production mode in Dumpsville, but things are looking better.”
“Much better,” Tammy said. She preened. “I even suggested that we expand vintage, and he agreed.” She tapped one impeccable scarlet nail against her perfect cupid’s bow mouth, and her blue eyes glinted. “It was somewhere around the end of the Preppers Special and the last bottle of craft beer, when he was feeling generous. Well, actually, he was barely conscious. I may have taken unfair advantage there.”
“Marry him immediately,” ordered Georgie, “before he realizes he’s met his match.”
“That’s the plan,” Tammy said complacently. “Just as soon as he thinks it’s his idea.”
Scott cleared his throat. “I’m feeling somewhat vulnerable here. Is it like this every time you girls get together?”
They all said at once, “Yes,” and grinned at him.
“Next order of business,” Georgie said, knowing they were all curious, “the West family problem. By the way, Tammy, we haven’t told you. We’ve formed a new investigation team, and you’re on it.”
“CBI,” Layla added. “Crystal Ball Investigations. Dontcha love it?”
Tammy squirmed with enjoyment. “This is turning out to be the best trip ever. What do I do?”
Layla drained her glass and set it down with a sigh. “You don’t do anything, really, you’re just part of the think tank. Same as Scott and me.”
“Oh.” Tammy looked faintly disappointed. “I thought I’d get to dress up and seduce people to find out information.”
“That may come, but not yet,” Georgie assured her. “I mainly need help in putting together clues. And looking at a dozen different scenarios.” As she had for the others, she filled in Tammy on progress so far, and Sarah’s final phone call. “So really,” she ended, “I haven’t got far at all.”
The others looked at each other and apparently saw the same reaction on each other’s faces, but it was Scott who spoke.
“I’d say you’ve done very well. You’re down to three, you say. Damian and Cory, the two directors, and Rachel.” He looked around at everyone. “Shall I summarize?”
At their nods, he went on. “Damian is unlikely because he is one of the owners and stands to lose a lot because this other company came out with the same product early, right?”
“Right. Not the same product, but almost identical,” Georgie agreed.
“So he’d hardly pass on company secrets. Cory is also unlikely because he has invested just as much in the company… but he’s jealous of the closer relationship between James and Damian, so that could be a motive.”
“Except that he loses out financially as well.”
“But,” said Tammy, “if either of them has a hidden motive—like cooking the books or having a secret debt—then everything changes.”
Scott nodded. “Which leaves us with Rachel. Neither Sarah nor James thinks it’s her, because they’ve been friends forever and their daughters are friends, and Rachel is upsetting the staff because she’s helping the police with their investigations.”
“That’s about it,” agreed Georgie. “The trouble is I can’t point the finger at one of them for sure, but I do think it’s one of them. Or maybe it’s just that one of them knows something. They’ll lead me to something else…?”
Tammy ran a finger around the drying bubbles of milk around the edge of her glass, and said thoughtfully, “We have to look at motive. WHY would someone do this? Money is one reason, but why else? They can hardly spend it, because the police will be looking at their accounts and spending habits. They can’t get a kickback from the rival company, because that will be obvious too. So take away money… and what do you have? Blackmail? Does someone have secret information about one of the others?” She sat back. “They say ‘follow the money’, but I say ‘follow the passion’, too.”
They all looked at her.
“This is surreal,” Georgie said. “I’ve got Marilyn Monroe on my investigation team. I thought it couldn’t get any weirder than seeing Rosa’s face in a crystal ball while she poked at me from two hundred miles away, but this comes close.”
Tammy batted her blue eyes and fluffed her blonde hair. “What can I say? I watch a lot of CSI.”
Layla yawned. “I say we sleep on it. It’s not as though we can go calling on people and asking questions like the police. They will have done that anyway. We have to wait until they contact Georgie again.” She sent Georgie a questioning look. “You’re sure they will see you again?”
“Count on it,” Georgie said. She couldn’t say why she felt so certain, but she did.
Something was going to break, and soon.
T
he vintage trailer
meet kicked into high gear on Friday night, when all the 9-to-5 workers finally checked out for the week and rolled into the park to party on throughout the weekend. The rockabilly crowd had booked out sites for months ahead, and kept the place pumping with their dancing and singing. Naturally Tammy brought out her 7-Year-Itch dress for the main gig on Saturday night, and became the darling of the retro set—especially when she found a 79-year-old who was celebrating a birthday and treated him to a breathy and very authentic “Happy Birthday to You”.
“This makes me wish I lived in the 50s,” Georgie said to Scott, taking a breather for a minute late on Sunday morning and watching the action. “Everybody looks so
great
. Did you see that woman over there in the vintage Airstream? I swear, she hasn’t added a thing to it since they day they bought it, and it’s
pristine
. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone of Rosa’s age in a pencil skirt and high heels.”
Her gaze moved around the campground, and stopped at the striped tent set up by Mags. Her racks were sadly depleted, and now she was mostly taking orders. “Look at that. Mags has almost sold out. I’m glad I got in early.”
“Yes. So am I.” Scott looked at her, not Mags, and let his eyes travel slowly over her outfit. “You look different. The gypsy look, but… classy.”
“Exactly what I thought!” Georgie said in delight. She touched the scarlet rose set into her hair, and let her fingers trail over the smaller roses woven in to a single braid that fell over one shoulder. “It took Layla only fifteen minutes to do this. If I had to do it for myself I’d be still going.”
“She insists she can teach you,” Scott said. “She and Tammy are conspiring with Mags; I heard them.”
“My makeover team.” Georgie laughed.
All at once Scott prodded her gently, his voice lower. “Georgie…”
Something about his voice made her glance at him sharply, and then follow his gaze to the steps of her trailer, visible behind a happy group of people chatting in a circle of camp chairs. He was looking at a teenage girl, who stood gazing around nervously, hugging her thin summer cardigan around her. She was glancing from Georgie’s “Back at 1:00 PM” sign to the crowd, her eyes searching.
She didn’t look well.
Suddenly Georgie realized who it was.
“That’s Grace,” she said. “Sarah West’s daughter. I saw her only for a moment the other day when she came home; she was sick.”
“She still looks sick.” Scott stood up at the same time Georgie did. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Maybe not; she looks as though she’d spook.” Georgie began to thread her way through the crowd, then stopped and looked back. “Could you wait around outside after we’ve gone in, though, just in case I need you?”
He waved assent and hung back discreetly.
Grace saw Georgie moving towards her and straightened up, looking more nervous than ever.
“Grace.” Georgie smiled pleasantly, conscious of how tightly the girl was strung. “I didn’t recognize you at first. Did you want to see me?”
Grace jerked her head at the sign. “It’s not one o’clock yet. I can wait.”
“That’s fine. To tell you the truth, I could do with getting in away from the noise for a bit,” Georgie said, not altogether untruthfully. “How did you find me?”
“I saw you on TV last night, when they were talking about the rockabilly festival… they showed you with your crystal ball.” She hesitated. “I saw you at our place, too.”
Georgie indicated that the girl go before her, up the steps to the trailer. “Come inside and sit down. You don’t actually look very well, Grace. Is that stomach flu you had hanging on?”
“Kind of.” Grace dropped onto the velvet-upholstered bench, eyeing the crystal ball. “Um, how much do you charge?”
“You’re included as part of your family,” Georgie told her. “No extra charge.”
Grace drew her cardigan more tightly around herself and sat rigidly upright, her fingers clutching the fabric. Georgie busied herself putting on the kettle and lighting the candle, chatting in a soothing voice. “This retro meet has all been a lot of fun, but it’s tiring. I’ll be glad to rest tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m making myself a cup of herbal tea. Would you like one? Or coffee?”
“Tea, thank you.”
“Chamomile and spiced apple, or lemon and ginger?”
“Chamomile, please.” She unbent a little, but still looked awkward. Finally she said: “I like what you’ve done with your hair. Was it hard to do?”
“My friend did it for me.” Georgie fetched cups and talked about retro hair fashions for a moment while the kettle boiled. While she did, she thought about what might have brought Grace to her. Had she overheard something between her parents?
When they were both settled at the table, she smiled encouragingly. “So, what brought you to see me?”
Grace finally summoned up enough courage to meet her gaze. “Mom and Dad, they both said that you… knew things. Not enough to know who stole the information at his work, but you knew a lot of other things about them. About others. So I was thinking, maybe you could help Izzie. My friend.”
“Izzie?” Of all things, Georgie hadn’t been expecting that. “Your friend who came home with you?”
Grace nodded mutely, her eyes beseeching.
“Ah.” Feeling her way, Georgie ventured, “She’s very thin. I was wondering if perhaps she was suffering from anorexia.”
“No. Well, maybe. I mean, she doesn’t eat much now, but I think it’s because something happened. She won’t tell me, and I think it’s bad.”
“And you want to help her.”
“She’s my best friend. We’ve always told each other everything before.” Worry made Grace’s face look pinched. “I’m sorry, I know you should be helping my Dad, not me, but with all this going on nobody seems to care about Izzie, except me.”
The poor girl, thought Georgie. She can’t talk to her family, and now she’s worried about her best friend.
With Grace watching every movement warily, she drew her crystal ball a little closer and laid her hands on it. The instant warmth and hum surprised her; it was as though it had been waiting for this girl.
Inwardly, she tensed. Had she made a mistake? Was it
Grace
she was supposed to help—or Izzie, perhaps, through Grace?
Mist formed immediately within the crystal, and Grace’s indrawn breath told her that she saw it too.
“Think about Izzie,” Georgie said softly, not taking her eyes from the ball. “Think about what concerns you, and what changes you’ve seen. Talk about her.”
Grace began hesitantly, with a few stops and starts, but gradually the words began to flow. Both girls, it appeared, had loved their dancing. They had lined up for national dance contests, and gone to auditions. Not always together, because Grace liked hip hop and tap, while Izzie was gifted at ballet and contemporary.
“Then,” Grace finished despondently, “Something happened, and Izzie stopped talking to me, and Dad got suspended from work, and everything’s
horrible
now.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she looked away, dragging a tissue out of her sleeve.
Georgie’s heart felt heavy. This little girl had shed a lot of tears recently.
In the midst of it all, a face formed in the mist. Georgie held her breath, and then as she recognized it, she didn’t know whether to laugh or feel let down.
Rosa, her great-grandmother. Well, if nothing else, that told her that Grace’s visit was significant.
The face became very clear, and Rosa looked directly into her eyes. Then, with a blink, she was gone.
Nothing but mist again.
Well, thanks Rosa,
thought Georgie, somewhat annoyed.
I’ll figure it out for myself.
Rosa’s appearance appeared to be nothing more than a mentor giving her a thumbs-up for being on the right track.
“I don’t know what else to tell you,” Grace said, her voice muffled as she dabbed at her eyes.
Then, as clearly as though someone had projected it on to a wall, a picture of a black silhouette formed in Georgie’s mind. A man. No features, just an outline. Impressions surged into her mind.
Evil...something to do with…girls. Lots of girls. Dancing…auditions?
Izzie and an audition?
Her mind whirling, Georgie felt the pieces of the puzzle come together. She would be willing to bet that Izzie had fallen into the clutches of one of the many predators waiting in the wings for girls that had dreams of stardom. But what had happened?
Usually, the perpetrators were men posing as legitimate photographers for hopeful girls needing a model portfolio. At best, the girls escaped unscathed but fleeced of several hundred dollars. At worst, they were drawn into the porn industry.
Please
, she thought,
don’t let it be that bad.
She sat there, indecisive. How much should she tell the girl sitting opposite her what she had sensed? Should she contact Rachel, Izzie’s mother?
Georgie thought of the day she’d gone to the Wests’ home and met Rachel, when she had been sure that the problems at work were not the only reason for the pain she felt radiating from the other woman. Even then she had made wondered about Izzie.
You should trust yourself more, Georgie Goode,
she told herself.
Did Izzie’s mother know something? Was she protecting a traumatized child, keeping her secrets?
She looked up to find Grace watching her keenly.
“What? There’s something,” the girl said.
Georgie nodded. “Yes, I think there is. The thing is, Grace, it’s not my secret to tell.” She made a decision. “I’ll have to see Izzie’s mother.”
“Will it help?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes people want help, sometimes they don’t. But it was a good thing you did for your friend, coming here today.” Georgie smiled at her. “The two of you will be close friends again. I promise you.”
“You know that? Really?” Grace’s face lightened a little.
“Yes.” Georgie had no hesitation in confirming it. “I know it. Absolutely.”
She waved the girl off, and beckoned to Scott, waiting patiently in the wings.
Time for the CBI team to get to work.