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Authors: Marg McAlister
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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.
11
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
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.
11
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
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