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

  Table of Contents

  GOOD TO GO

  Get Your Free Book!

  ABOUT GOOD TO GO

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  Note from the Author

  Copyright notice

  GOOD TO GO

  Book 1 of the Georgie B. Goode Gypsy Caravan Cozy Mystery Series

  By Marg McAlister

  Get Your Free Book!

  Whether she wanted to believe it or not, from birth Georgie was destined to follow in her Great-Grandma Rosa’s footsteps—as well as inherit her crystal ball! Here’s your chance to find out more about the crabby old lady that Georgie sees as a kind of taciturn genie.

  Visit my website below and sign up to our Georgie Updates list to get your complimentary copy of Rosa’s story in “Fortune’s Wheel”.

  GeorgieBGoode.com

  ~~~

  The Georgie B. Goode Gypsy Caravan Cozy Mystery Series

  In order of publication

  Good to Go (Book 1)

  Georgie Be Good (Book 2)

  Good Riddance (Book 3)

  Books 1-2-3 Box Set

  ~~~

  Release Dates for future titles

  Up to No Good (Book 4) July 20th 2015

  In Good Hands (Book 5) June 30th 2015

  As Good as it Gets (Book 6) August 10th 2015

  ABOUT GOOD TO GO

  Georgie B. Goode hadn’t realized that she was ready to rebel—not until she uttered a very decisive “NO” and had the rest of her family staring at her in shock. Her father, founder of the enormous Johnny B. Goode RV Empire, couldn’t believe it. What was going on with his daughter? Every year until now she had done what he asked: picked out a late-model motorhome for herself ready to showcase it at his giant RV Expo.

  A late-model motorhome just doesn’t do it for Georgie. Her first love is the tiny retro travel trailer and vintage van division of her father’s empire…but he and her brother Jerry think she’s crazy wanting to build it up. They deliberately don’t make it easy for Georgie.

  She takes to the road to prove she can live and travel in a vintage gypsy caravan, and meet her father’s outrageous sales targets as well. What she doesn’t count on is her great-grandmother Rosa’s determination that she should carry on the family gypsy tradition of fortune-telling on the road.

  What with brother Jerry’s conniving tricks, her father’s unreasonable demands, and dozens of people flocking to her vintage van to have their fortunes told… Georgie really does wonder if she’s bitten off more than she can chew. And somehow, she has to figure out what the crystal ball is trying to tell her before Kaylene hooks up with a guy who is oh so wrong for her!

  CHAPTER 1

  From the third floor executive office of Johnny B Goode’s RV Empire in Elkhart, Indiana, Georgie stared down at the majestic scarlet motorhome that was slowly cruising to a stop immediately below her. It dwarfed the other RVs. It almost dwarfed the building. She tried to imagine it in traffic, waiting for an opportunity to make a turn. She was pretty sure it was illegal to run over everything in your path.

  “Well, Georgie? What do you think?” her father was vibrating with excitement. “Ol’ Johnny B. Goode has really done it this time! We’ll have the A-listers all flocking to get one for themselves!”

  Beside her, her stepmother Angela breathed out a rapturous sigh. “Oh. Oh, Johnny. It’s wonderful. And it’s ours.”

  “Look at those solar panels. And the satellite dish. You could take this to the end of the world and survive. Live in it for a month and not come out. Marble bathroom. Last word in plumbing. Four slide-outs. FOUR.” His eyes glowing, her father kept going, enumerating the ten thousand things that made it better than every other motorhome on the planet.

  “I gotta get behind the wheel.” That was her brother Jerry, his gaze almost as maniacal as her father.

  “We haven’t driven it ourselves, yet,” Angela reminded him.

  “Tomorrow, maybe,” Johnny said to his son. “Tonight she’s mine. Look at that. LOOK. AT. THAT. I know where we’re sleeping tonight, babe!” He gave Angela a huge smacking kiss and then nudged his daughter. “Lost for words?”

  “It’s something, all right,” Georgie said inadequately.

  “Wait until we turn up to the RV Expo next month. Me in this, Jerry in his customized Class A.” Johnny seemed to finally realize that she hadn’t matched his giddy delight in the new acquisition. “You haven’t said what you’ll be driving yet, Georgie. We’ve got to get the ad finalized this week. Pick one of the new Class C RVs. We need to put your stamp on it.”

  Georgie gritted her teeth. Every year, the same thing: The Johnny B. Goode RV Empire family ad, with some excruciatingly bad play on the family name. “For a really Goode deal, come to the family that has been in the RV business for thirty years! Here’s a sneak peek at this year’s Extra Goode Expo Deals!”

  Every year, the biggest and the best. She looked down at the scarlet monster again, and their chief engineer beckoning them down to see it, a grin spread across his face.

  Her gaze swept across a sea of motorhomes, an ocean of trailers and camper vans, and she focused on the one part of the Johnny B. Goode Empire that really interested her.

  The one she really, really loved.

  The vintage van section.

  Compared to the rest of the complex, vintage vans was tiny. Growing, yes (everything Johnny B. Goode touched flourished) but minuscule, compared to the rest.

  “Georgie.” Her father had followed her gaze. “No. Not vintage. Not for the Expo.”

  Usually, Georgie caved in. This time, she swallowed hard, lifted her chin and said, “Why not?”

  “Why not? Why not?” Her brother looked at her condescendingly. “The Expo is the biggest show of the year. We’re there to sell. Everyone wants the latest. Cutting edge.”

  “Vintage vans are growing in popularity,” she persisted. “Especially ours: custom-made for those who want the vintage look with all modern conveniences. They are cutting edge. We’ve even got a waiting list for gypsy caravans.”

  Jerry snorted. “Tricked-up little trailers. That’s not where the big money is. We should be dumping that division and making more room for the latest model RVs.”

  Georgie looked at him in horror. “Don’t even think about it. And they’re caravans, not trailers. They’re modeled on gypsy caravans from Ireland and the UK and Romania. The Vardo van—”

  “Here comes mine!” Jerry leaned forward, watching a second motorhome cruise to a stop behind his father’s. “Oh, wow, look at that.”

  Frowning, Georgie looked down again. Jerry’s motorhome this year was almost as big as his father’s. Big and black and mean, with gold flashes along each side. Black leather inside, and more marble…he’d been talking about it for months. Johnny and Jerry’s tastes ran along the same lines, except Jerry liked his to look tougher. It was a running joke in the yearly ads. Johnny B. Goode and his children Jerry B and Georgie B, cracking jokes and trying to outdo each other. Luxury on wheels. All three of them would turn up in a convoy, to cameras flashing and TV cameras rolling.

  Not this year.

  She took a deep breath and articulated her secret dream. “I want to go vintage.”

  All three turned from the huge expanse
of glass overlooking the RV rooftops and the two gleaming new monsters below and stared at her.

  Jerry frowned. Her father looked baffled. Angela looked interested.

  “It’s time we did something different,” she went on, the words spilling out. Instinctively, she reached for the phrases that would appeal to her father’s media-hungry soul. “Can you imagine? Two big beautiful motorhomes with the last word in…uh…everything…and then, in I roll in a vintage van. Color. Contrast. A whole new demographic. The publicity.”

  She almost choked on that last word. She hated the whole media circus. But if it would get her what she wanted…

  “I want to head up the vintage van division,” she finished, her voice a little high. “Turning up in one to the Expo would turbocharge sales.”

  “You?” Jerry’s frown grew deeper. “But you’re our head interior designer and stylist. You haven’t got time to head up vintage.”

  That made her see red. “Of course I do. You’re our communications specialist but you still head up Class A and truck campers. That’s three things.”

  “Sales and design are not anywhere near aligned,” Jerry said, as though explaining it to a three-year-old. “You hate sales. You’re the creative type.”

  “I sold three vintage vans last week.”

  “I sold thirteen motorhomes, two fifth wheels, three upmarket trailers and two vintage vans.” Jerry grinned at her. “Dad and I sell RVs. You decorate. End of story.”

  Choking down a fervent desire to punch him on his smug nose, Georgie counted to three and looked at her father. “Dad?”

  Johnny B. Goode said nothing for a moment, just staring at her as you would a mouse that turned on a lion. Then she saw it in his face. He agreed with her brother: the men should handle the sales. He just didn’t know how to tell her, because he did truly love his daughter.

  And vintage? He scarcely noticed it was there.

  Georgie had had enough.

  “In that case,” she said, “this year’s family ad is going to have just two of you. Since you seem to be the brains behind the…” she cast a glance out at the hundreds of RVs, their rooftop solar panels glinting in the sun, “…the Empire, you can have it.”

  “Georgie.” His joy in his brand new Extreme RV dulled, her father reached out a placating hand. “Don’t do this.”

  Georgie barely heard him. “I’m going to take the Vardo that I just finished,” she said, “and I’m going on the road. I’ll meet you at the Expo.”

  “You can’t just take it. Not like that,” Jerry objected. “It’s our best demo model.”

  “I’ll buy it.” Fury rising in her chest, she glared at him. “And the truck we customized to tow it.”

  “You can’t afford it.” Jerry was practically nose-to-nose with her, the expression on his handsome face half patronizing, half irritated.

  Georgie laughed. “I don’t spend every cent I earn like you do, Jerry. Ten years worth of savings? I can afford it.”

  Her father finally spoke up. “Stop it, Jerry.” He reached for her hand. “Georgie, I can see you’re serious. You don’t have to buy it, don’t be silly. But let’s strike a deal. If you want to head up vintage vans—and tow the van to this year’s Expo—then you have to prove yourself. Go ahead, take it on the road. But I’m going to set you a sales target for the next month. If you meet it, you win. OK?”

  Hardly able to believe her ears, Georgie flew at him. “Oh Dad! Yes! Yes!” She hugged him hard, and felt the rumble of his laughter.

  “You haven’t heard the sales target yet.”

  “I don’t care. I agree.” She was dizzy. She was going to take the gypsy van on the road! She loved, loved, loved vintage. You could sell anything if you were passionate enough. Easy. Easy!

  “And to make it interesting,” Johnny B. Goode said smoothly, “I’m going to set you the same target, Jerry. May the best Goode win.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Georgie took one last look around the inside of her beautiful gypsy van, letting her eyes rest on each divine inch. The sumptuous bed with its rich quilt the color of plump raspberries, with accents of gold and midnight blue and forest green. The soft drapes that fell to enclose the bed. The carved beauty of the door to the compact bathroom.

  Her gaze lifted to the glowing stained glass inserts just under the roof, and moved on to the warm timber cupboards and the efficient black cooker that looked like an antique but worked as well as the modern version installed in her father’s latest motorhome.

  Then something out of place caught her eye.

  Was that a crystal ball?

  It was.

  It had to be a peace offering from her father. Her heart melted. He was a lovely man, despite his acquisitive soul. He knew how much this meant to her.

  A crystal ball for her gypsy caravan. A smile curving her lips, she reached up to the intricately carved shelf above the small table, and lifted down the gleaming sphere.

  It… hummed.

  That was the only way she could put it. Tentatively running a finger over it, she drew in a breath. The thing felt almost alive in her hands.

  Where had he got it? It was exactly like the one—

  “So. You found it,” came a croaking, self-satisfied voice.

  Georgie jumped and turned to the shadow blackening the door opening, instinctively clamping her hands more firmly around the fragile ball. “Rosa!”

  “Be careful with that.” Her great-grandmother hauled herself up the steps with some effort, her feet encased in soft black slippers that had stretchy sides to accommodate her bunions. “It’s hundreds of years old.” She looked around her, her beady black eyes not missing a thing. “Huh, this is a bit fancier than the caravan I travelled in. But fortunes are fortunes, wherever they’re told.”

  “This is yours?” Georgie looked from the crystal ball to Rosa and back again. “You’re giving it to me?” She could scarcely believe it. It wasn’t just exactly like the one in her great-grandmother’s house, it was the one. The very same one Rosa had used for years to…

  No, she told herself.

  “I’m not going on the road to tell fortunes, Rosa,” she said firmly, carefully putting the crystal ball back on the shelf. “I’m doing it to sell caravans.”

  Rosa cackled.

  Georgie flinched. Her great-grandmother had always terrified her. From the time she was a little girl, Rosa had rattled on about Georgie being the latest one to bear the Sight. “Born with a caul, you were,” she had said with satisfaction, when Georgie was eight. “I knew it would come out through the generations. You’re the one.”

  Now, Rosa pulled her brightly woven gypsy shawl around her bony shoulders and nodded. “You can deny it all you like, but the time has come. I’m passing it on to you.”

  Georgie closed her eyes for a second. Truth be told, Rosa looked as though she belonged in this van. She could sit there with her crystal ball and tell fortunes, with her old wrinkled mouth working and that direct clear cold black stare, and nervous clients would drink in every word.

  But she’s good at it, a small voice in the back of her mind said.

  Georgie ignored it. “I’m not telling fortunes,” she repeated.

  “You don’t have any say in it.”

  “Of course I do!”

  “We’ll see.” Unruffled, Rosa smiled and Georgie hastily averted her gaze. Rosa was missing several teeth, and nothing that her grandson Johnny B. Goode said would make her go anywhere near a dentist. Pink gums, eroded teeth, sunken lips… Georgie had no idea how old Rosa was. In her nineties, for sure. She looked like she was well past a century, but moved like someone much younger.

  Scary.

  “I’ve seen it,” Rosa said, reaching past Georgie to give the crystal ball an affectionate pat. “I saw this van, I saw the road. You’ve got people waiting for you.”

  “I’ve got customers waiting for me. Customers who want to buy a vintage van. Didn’t Dad tell you? I have a sales target to meet. I’m going to be
busy. Too busy for gazing into a crystal ball.” Georgie pointed to a plastic tub on the floor. “See that? Full of sales brochures.”

  “See that?” Rosa pointed to the crystal ball. “Full of fortunes.”

  “I’ve never told fortunes in my life. I don’t know how. I’m not going to start, either.”

  “Yes you have.”

  “I have not.”

  “The South Bend Fair.”

  Georgie frowned. The South Bend Fair?

  “You were fifteen.”

  Fifteen. And suddenly, Georgie was back there, with her school friends Taylor and Josie. They had gone into the gypsy fortune-teller’s tent, and the raven-haired woman there had invited them to try looking into the crystal ball themselves and telling her what they saw. “You can’t count that! It was a joke.”

  “You saw what was coming.”

  Well, she kind of had, Georgie remembered. She had laughed with the other girls and said the first thing that came into her head, about a huge storm that caused traffic chaos and multiple accidents. Two days later, it had actually happened—but it was easy to dismiss it as coincidence; the sky had been overcast for days. She had simply decided to forget it.

  Quite possibly because she knew that Great-Grandma Rosa could see into the future, and she had been a little bit afraid of Great-Grandma Rosa all her life.

  Still was.

  And how did Rosa know about it, anyway? She hadn’t been there.

  “A coincidence,” she said stubbornly. “Anyway, thanks for the crystal ball. It will add to the atmosphere. I’m sure it’ll help to sell more vans. And I really have to be heading off.”

  Her discomfort seemed to amuse her great grandmother. “I suppose you do.” She fixed her direct black gaze on Georgie. “You don’t need to fear it, child. It will all come naturally.”

  Georgie gritted her teeth. “I’m going to be heading up the vintage van division. To do that, I need to beat Jerry’s sales figures.” She hesitated. “I don’t suppose you saw the results of that in your crystal ball?”

  “I don’t pass on everything I see.” Rosa turned for the door, waving away the arm that Georgie instinctively offered to help her down the steps. “Say hello to your Leo,” she tossed back over her shoulder.