Georgie Be Good (4 page)

A
t 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 trailer. 

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 were 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. 

It was beautiful, and Georgie felt a sudden surge of affection. It held years of secrets, and it was a channel to something she couldn’t explain. People might look at it with scorn, but that was because they didn’t understand. 

She didn’t understand a lot of it herself, but she trusted it. 

She laid her hands on the globe, and waited, thinking about the Wests and their situation. About James, the undoubted victim in all of this; about Sarah and his little family who were all suffering. 

Who was behind it? And how could James get out of this dreadful situation? 

Her hands grew warmer, and a mist began to form in the depths of the crystal. She looked up to find that James and Sarah had their eyes locked on the ball. 

Sometimes others could see the mist; sometimes they couldn’t. Georgie had given up wondering how it worked, but she could see by their faces that these two could see what she was seeing. 

“Why does it do that?” Sarah asked, leaning over to peer at gently undulating mist. She gave an involuntary shiver. 

James still had his arms folded, but his eyes were fixed on the ball. He glanced up, the same question in his eyes. 

“I don’t really know,” Georgie admitted. “I just think of it as a way of revealing information. Things form in the depths—sometimes pictures, sometimes nothing I can make out; I just get a strong impression. A name, sometimes, or a piece of information.” 

James unbent a little. “So what do you want us to do?” 

“Just focus on what you want to know. Keep that question uppermost in your mind, while you think about what has been happening to you.” 

He grunted, and unfolded his arms to rest them on the table, leaning forward to watch. “I want to know who really did this. And why they set me up.” 

Sarah said nothing, but Georgie caught a suspicious gleam of moisture in her eyes. She gently touched her husband’s arm, and left her fingers resting on his wrist. 

Even after a couple of months of using the crystal ball, Georgie had learned that if she started asking questions, the answers would flow faster. It was easier if her client was open and ready to cooperate, but she’d already dealt with her share of skeptics too. It was time to get going. 

“I’m going to ask questions,” she told James, “But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Let’s start with this: is there anyone you feel uncomfortable about?”

“Just about everyone at this stage. I wouldn’t have thought anybody at work could do this to me—or to the company. But somebody has, so who can I trust?” 

“But nobody who arouses suspicion?”

“No.” 

Georgie thought about the people that Sarah had mentioned. “Sarah told me some names. I’m going to go through them.” She called them up from memory. “Damian.” 

“Not a chance. He was relying on this to take the company to the next level.” 

“Cory.” 

“No. I suppose Sarah told you that he didn’t like me getting so close to Damian? She’s right, but that doesn’t mean he’d do this. No.” 

“Rachel.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding.” He and Sarah exchanged a glance. “She and Sarah have been friends since kindergarten.” 

“We’ll be lucky to continue being friends after this, though,” Sarah said quietly. “This is causing a rift.” 

“Don’t make me feel worse than I do already.” James’ interlocked fingers whitened. “Forget Rachel.” 

“Marty.”

“Doubt it. He’s been there for three years; it doesn’t appear that he joined just to dig up our secrets.” 

“But he’s your IT expert,” Sarah put in. “He would know how to get the information—”

 “But what’s his motive?” James answered his own question. “Yes, I know, money. But he’s been investigated thoroughly. There’s nothing there.” 

“Well, what’s
our
motive?” Sarah said. “We don’t have any money hidden away either, but they still say it’s you.” 

Georgie concentrated. Who else had Sarah mentioned? “There was somebody else you talked about, Sarah. The person who does the books.” 

“Our accountant. Diana.” James shook his head decisively. “She’s a grandmother. Loves her job with us and a few other small businesses. Not her style.” 

“Who else?” Georgie asked. “Sarah said you had about nine people working in some capacity with the company.” 

James sighed, and rattled off another four names. “I can’t imagine any of them doing this.” He pushed himself back off the table and stood, then walked across to the kitchen sink to get a glass of water. 

“One for me, too, please,” said Sarah. “Georgie?”

“Thanks.” Georgie stared at the crystal ball, letting impressions wash over her. Nothing definite yet, but… 

James came back with three glasses of water and set them down. Then he looked at Georgie. “Well?”

“Can you run through a typical day at work for me? Tell me where you go, who you might talk to, who comes in to your office. Don’t edit it, or make guesses. Just talk. Let’s say, a Monday. What did you do when you went in after the weekend?” 

“Okay.” James began, and Georgie listened. Sometimes she stared into the crystal ball; sometimes she watched him while he spoke. Every so often, Sarah would cut in with a comment or a question. 

As they talked, Georgie could feel his initial antagonism diminishing. She was able to tell him a dozen things she saw that she shouldn’t have known, including Damian’s recent split with his wife and Diana’s escalating medical problems. When he finally finished his recitation, she nodded. “And every day is much the same?” 

“Mostly. There are meetings with different people…sometimes a game of golf. But that’s it, yeah.” His eyes searched her face. “Anything?” 

“It’s not one of the last four names you gave me,” Georgie said. She closed her eyes, and mutely asked the crystal ball again. She ran through the earlier names mentioned by James. 

There was no doubt. As she had told Scott and Layla the night before, it was a matter of following the trail, narrowing things down. She still didn’t have an answer, but she was closer. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I keep getting the same answer—and nothing definitive; I wish I could give you one name, but in this case, I can’t.” She hesitated, still thinking:
What if I’m wrong?
“I have to repeat, I don’t deal in facts. It’s more…a knowing, and even then it’s just somewhere you should look.” 

“Whatever,” James said. “What did you see?” 

“I can’t give you one name, but can tell you three people that deserve a closer look.”

“
Y
ou said
it wasn’t one of the last four I mentioned,” James said. He held up a hand and folded down one finger at a time as he reeled off the names. “That means we’re looking at Damian, Cory, Rachel, Marty or Diana. Right?” His face was set in a mutinous frown.

“Marty,” Sarah said. “My money’s on Marty. I told you, James. He works with computers; he’d know how to hide the trail.” 

“Exactly,” James said. “Listen to yourself. He’d know how to hide it, but this trail was in plain sight. I don’t think it’s Marty. It’s not logical. But Diana’s got a son who’s always in financial trouble. I don’t want to think it might be her, but…” 

“You don’t want to think it might be Cory, either, but you and he have had your disagreements,” Sarah pointed out. “On the other hand, Rachel’s such a good friend, we’d never suspect her, would we?” She flung up her hands. “I hate this, hate this, hate this. I don’t want to believe it’s any of them. And what if we’re totally off target?” 

What she meant was, of course, what if the gypsy fortune-teller sitting there with them was way off target. Georgie could feel their frustration and anger turning in her direction, and was relieved when she heard the sudden sound of the front door opening and footsteps coming towards them. 

Sarah glanced at her watch and then exchanged a swift glance with James. “Grace? But she isn’t due home for another hour yet.” She pushed back her chair and went to head her daughter off, but Grace appeared in the kitchen first. Dressed in a leotard and tights, with a loose lightweight sweater slung over the top, she looked like a smaller version of Sarah, but with hair cut in a swinging bob. She was as pale as a ghost, and was being supported by an anxious-looking woman with auburn hair caught back in a no-fuss ponytail. 

“Grace! You look terrible. What—?” Sarah moved forward to put her arm around her daughter, looking to the woman for an explanation. 

“We think it’s that 24-hour stomach bug that’s going around. Izzie isn’t feeling well either.” Another teenage girl, small for her age and all soft doe eyes and silky blond hair, came into view as they all moved into the kitchen. Dressed much the same as her friend, she looked almost as miserable as Grace. 

“We had to leave halfway through the lesson. And now I feel as though I’m coming down with something too. I’ll get Izzie home and into bed. What a day.” 

At that moment, the woman noticed Georgie sitting by the window with James. Her eyes went straight to the crystal ball and widened for a moment before she sent a questioning look to Sarah. 

“Go and have a shower and get into bed,” Sarah said gently to Grace. “I’ll be there soon.” She nodded towards a short hallway and gave Grace a pat on the rump to send her on her way, and then turned to young Izzie and steered her towards a kitchen stool. “Sit here for a moment.” 

Finally she turned to the woman, whom Georgie had already guessed must be Rachel. “Come and meet Georgie, Rach.” 

The woman walked over reluctantly and nodded. 

“Hi,” said Georgie. She extended a hand. “Nice to meet you. You’re Sarah’s friend?” 

Rachel gave her the briefest of handshakes and then stepped back a fraction. “Hello.” Her eyes returned to her friend. “What’s this, Sarah?” 

 “Last ditch attempt to find out who might have done this to James.” Sarah attempted a smile, but failed. “Mom found Georgie at the markets yesterday. She thought she might be able to help.” 

Even though she knew that Sarah was attempting to downplay her role, Georgie felt mildly affronted. “Mom found her at the markets” sounded like she had been picked up from a trash ’n’ treasure table at the back of someone’s pickup. 

Rachel’s reaction didn’t make her feel any better. “Sarah. A
crystal ball? Really?
” She thumped down into a chair opposite Georgie and closed her eyes, emitting a huge sigh. 

Georgie laid her hands over the crystal ball, as though protecting it from the negative vibes of an unbeliever.
Another
skeptic, she thought. 

“As though this isn’t bad enough,” Rachel said. 

Yes, thought Georgie with a wave of compassion, it
was
bad for Rachel. This was a woman who was trying to do her best despite antagonism from every direction. Someone who was close to cracking.

Sarah hadn’t been kidding about her friend. 

Part of it was about Rachel’s daughter, she thought with a sudden flash of clarity. She sneaked a glance at Izzie, drooping on the stool at the kitchen counter, her head on her hand. Big problems there. The girl was painfully thin. Anorexia? Or simple teenage rebellion, blown up out of proportion because everything else was going wrong in Rachel’s life?  

The problems at the workplace, being resented by everyone who thought she was protecting James at their expense, were only part of the load that Rachel was carrying. 

Impulsively, Georgie spoke. “I’m not trying to add to your problems, Rachel. I’m here because James and Sarah desperately need help. I may be able to help; I may not. They know that.” 

Rachel opened her eyes, revealing a soul-deep weariness within. “What can you do that the police can’t?” She looked again at the crystal ball, her lips tightening. “Just leave them alone. Leave it all alone. I don’t know how you people can do it; prey on people who are at their most vulnerable.” Her voice hitched. 

Sarah slid her arms around her friend and hugged her tight. “Easy, Rach.” Her eyes met Georgie and telegraphed an apology. 

James stood. “Let me see you out, Georgie.” 

Silently, she tucked the crystal ball into its midnight black covering and slid it into her bag, and then stood to follow James out, giving Sarah a nod and a small smile on the way past. 

Izzie, wrapped up in her own problems, didn’t spare her so much as a glance. Georgie could hear the sound of a shower running behind a door that she passed. 

Sick kids, traumatized friends…she felt a flash of anger towards the unknown perpetrator who was carelessly ruining the lives of these good people. 

“I’m sorry about that,” James said. “I know I was just as negative when you first arrived, but when I heard Rachel—you don’t deserve that. You do have some gift that most of us don’t.” 

Georgie smiled at him tiredly. “I’m not sure that I’d class it as a ‘gift’, a lot of the time. Your reaction—and Rachel’s—are not all that unusual, I’m afraid.” She spared a thought for her great-grandmother. Rosa had not only had a lifetime of people jeering at her or hurling insults; she’d also been moved on many, many times as a gypsy vagrant. At least Georgie had the weight of the Johnny B. Goode RV Empire name behind her—and the support of a whole extended RV community. 

“Perhaps we’d better just let it all go,” James said, walking with her down to her truck.

“We can, if you like.” Georgie unlocked the truck and placed her bag on the back seat, giving the hard round shape of the crystal ball an instinctive pat. “But you should ask yourself whether you’re prepared to accept a criminal record without a fight, if it comes to that.” She faced him, her eyes searching his. “You haven’t said what the consequences are.” 

“They haven’t been able prove that it’s me, of course,” he said, “although it’s clear that the information that was passed on came from my computer. Too many other people had access to it. But they can fire me, because I didn’t follow security procedures as I should have—and plenty of people in the industry know what has happened. The cloud of suspicion will remain with me. It won’t be easy to find work again.” 

“So no prison?”

“I don’t think so.”

She nodded. “I’ll leave it up to you, then, whether you want to see me again. I’ll be here for another week, and you have my contact details.” 

He nodded, and swallowed. She knew what he wanted to ask, but waited, all the same. No pushing, she reminded herself. 

“You said three names,” he said in a rush. “You thought it would be one of three.”  

“Yes. Do you want to know?” 

“I do and I don’t.” He gave a sick smile. “You know how it is.” 

She shrugged, and waited for him to make the decision. 

The changing expressions on his face showed the struggle within. “All right. Tell me.” 

“Once it’s said, I can’t unsay it. And I’ve told you already, this is just what I feel.” 

He nodded, and waited. 

“I think,” she said, “if I were you, I’d be looking harder at Cory, Rachel and Damian.”

James was rocked. “Not Marty or Diana?” 

“I don’t think so.” She thought of Rachel’s problems with her daughter, and was tempted to add ‘Probably not Rachel’, but that wasn’t her call. 

“But it’s Damian’s
company
.” His gaze turned inward. “And
Rachel
?”

“That’s what I feel. I’m sorry. I know it’s all too vague. I certainly wouldn’t be accusing any of them just yet. But that’s where you should look.” 

She started the truck and pulled away, seeing James in the rear vision mirror, looking after her. 

Sometimes this job really sucked.