Up To No Good: Book 4 Georgie B. Goode Gypsy Caravan Cozy Mystery by Marg McAlister

Georgie. Poke a stick at the snake, why don’t you.
    He kept a neutral expression. “That’s my official fortune told, is it? Well, we’ll see. Given the way your brother disappeared, I wouldn’t be too quick to trust people, if I were you. Call me paranoid.”
    “We do appreciate your help,” she said stiffly. “Jack, would you mind terribly if we moved quickly on this? The more time passes, the less chance we have of finding Jerry.” She bent down to pick up her bag. "I hope you don't think we are being rude, leaving so quickly. I just feel that time is slipping away.”
    Vincent nodded and stood up, and at the same time she heard a door open somewhere nearby. They heard a low murmur from Vincent’s wife, and the rumble of a man’s voice in response. It sounded like Gary had arrived for his coffee.
    Footsteps came toward them. She frowned. More than one set of footsteps…
    Georgie sat forward. With an awful feeling of dread, she knew what she was going to see even before they appeared.
    Scott and Tammy were pushed into the room by a mountain of muscle carrying not one, but two rifles; one of them right in the middle of Tammy’s back.
    Scott’s face was tight with anger and frustration. Tammy seemed to be equal parts scared and furious.
    “Welcome to the party,” Vincent said from his position over near the window. When Georgie looked at him, she saw that a handgun had magically appeared in his hand, and he was watching Jack carefully. “Jack, I’m afraid you’ve been holding out on me. You brought me four visitors, not two.”

Chapter 14
    Jerry was half glad and half sorry to hear someone outside his miserable prison: forty minutes of sitting in a cold, damp shipping container waiting for Gorilla to return had given him way too much time to think. He wasn’t at all sure that he’d be able to talk his way out of this.
    His arms were killing him from the way they’d wrenched them behind his back so they could lash his hands together, and behind the duct tape his mouth was dry and swollen.
    He would give up the names—some names—and deal with the fallout later. The problem was, he didn’t want to reveal where he kept his records, which was on a laptop he kept stowed at the bottom of Tammy’s giant retro goodies cupboard in his cavernous garage. She had everything in there from lengths of fabric to delicate china sets and frilly aprons.
    He didn’t want this crew anywhere near Tammy.
    The door swung open, and a body crashed in, to land on the floor near Jerry. It was man in his thirties, trussed up with cable ties. He swore and wrenched himself on to his side, furious, struggling in an effort to sit up.
    The Gorilla advanced a few steps, gave the newcomer a solid kick, and reached down to haul Jerry to his feet. “Up. Get moving.” He shoved Jerry through the door, closed it and shot the bolt, and then pushed him across the gravel backyard towards the house.
    Damn, damn, damn. How had he gotten himself into this? And what now?
    He could hear Rosa’s voice echoing through the years. How many times had she fixed him with that black stare of hers and told him to shape up? Don’t lie to me, young Jerry. You’re up to no good again with those friends of yours. Lie down with dogs and you get up with fleas.
    Well, he was with a pack of rabid dogs now.
    The gorilla opened the back door and guided him through a kitchen. There was a slight-looking woman with ginger hair in there, banging pots and pans. She barely spared him a glance, as though it was an everyday occurrence to have a gagged captive manhandled through her house.
    Then he was in the living room, and his heart dropped. Sitting on the sofa opposite, looking directly at him was Tammy, her big blue eyes wide with apprehension. Beside her, Scott’s usually calm face was set in a rigid mask.
    Huddled together on another sofa were Georgie and Layla.
    Oh hell, hell, hell. All four of them.
    Jerry’s knees felt oddly weak.
    “Jerry!” Tammy’s