Bad. Very bad.
9
Talk of the Town
Fifteen minutes later, for better or worse, Georgie had made one cappuccino and one latte for the Bakery Apprentice from Hell. Well, actually she’d made two of each: Lissa and Scott had acted as guinea pigs with the first lot.
“The coffee is fine,” Viv pronounced. “Honestly, even Lissa would rate it an eight, and that’s high praise. Especially made with a machine snatched from our kitchen at home. Go, take it to her while it’s hot. I’ll hold the fort.”
Georgie loaded the cardboard cups into a takeout tray, along with two of Viv’s raspberry and cream muffins, and held up crossed fingers. “Wish me luck.”
“Lighten up. You’re not going to war,” Scott said.
“Taking home-cooked muffins to the town bakery? Gotta run a close second.” Georgie pushed her way out of the door, glanced up and down the street, and said over her shoulder, “Can’t see Irene and Janet yet. I’ll be back ASAP.”
She hurried down the road, took a deep breath and walked into the bakery.
Immediately, she gave a silent groan.
That was why Irene and Janet hadn’t showed up yet. They were down here, making mischief and spreading gossip, led by Amber. The three of them were in a huddle at the end of the counter, along with two other women, and Georgie caught “…tried to tell me that the bakery was less than pristine! I mean, look at it! Can you—” At that point Amber looked up to see who was coming in and stopped speaking.
“Georgie!” she said brightly. “I thought you said half an hour.”
“Within half an hour, I think Viv said.” Georgie plastered on a confident, smile and walked over to them all. “Hi Irene, Janet,” she said. “Buying up some of Shane’s award-winning slices?” She put the takeout tray on the counter. “I brought a couple of Viv’s cupcakes for you to try, Amber. Incredibly delicious! Raspberry and cream. She’s added a secret ingredient.” Georgie mimicked zipping her lips. “Can’t tell you what it is or she’ll kill me.” Turning to the two women she hadn’t met, she grinned. “Hi, I’m Georgie. I have to say, I love your town. The people are so friendly.”
“Hello,” said a tall, thin woman with a curly mop of salt-and-pepper hair and twinkling eyes. “I’m Adele. And I’ll have one of Viv’s cupcakes any time.” She indicated the woman with her, a shorter and rounder version of herself with a similarly friendly face. “My sister, Chris.”
“Hi.” Chris moved closer to peer at the cupcakes. “They look too good to eat.”
“Exactly what I tell Viv every time she turns out a new batch. The woman’s obsessed. I think she’s determined to set the record for the biggest variety of cupcakes available in a country cafe.” Georgie cast a laughing glance at Amber. “Note I said cafe, Amber, not bakery.”
Amber looked definitely put out, which had not gone unnoticed by Irene and Janet. Out of the corner of her eye, Georgie caught them exchanging a smirk.
Continuing the momentum, she pointed to the cardboard cups. “I hope you enjoy the coffee, Amber. Want to taste it now, give me your verdict?” She put a dramatic hand to her forehead. “I promise not to cry if you say you hate it.”
Amber compressed her lips and snatched one of the cups.
“Oh, that’s Shane’s,” Georgie said. “Viv told me just how he likes his cappuccino. You wanted a latte, right? You don’t take sweetener, according to Viv.”
“That’s right.” Amber put the first cup down on the counter a little too forcefully, so that some cream oozed out of the spout, and took the other one. With them all watching, she had no choice but to sample it.
Georgie almost laughed, watching the expression on her face as she weighed up what to say. Amber was canny enough to know that she might lose ground if she was rude.
“Not as good as Lissa’s, I know,” Georgie said modestly. “There’s a reason she’s so much in demand. But—well, I used to have my share of devoted customers.”
That wasn’t exactly a lie, except her devoted customers were all buyers of vintage RVs.
Amber made a decision, and put a game face on things. “Georgie, it’s excellent! Well done!” She put up a hand for a high-five, and drank some more. “It’s a pity you’re not staying in Yamba. With the cafe in so much trouble, they could do with you there to help out.”
Ouch. The sucker punch.
“Thanks,” Georgie said. “I’d better be getting back. I don’t want to leave Viv short-handed. I hope Shane enjoys his, too.”
“Hope Shane enjoys his what?” A tall male emerged from a room at the back, nodding at the group. “Ladies. How are we all this morning?” His eyes found Georgie, the stranger in the group, and then his gaze moved to the cupcakes and coffee.
Well, thought Georgie. No wonder Amber had been tempted to get her hooks into him. Shane was tall and well-built with blonde good looks and an open, friendly face. His apron was dusted with flour, or maybe icing sugar.
“Your coffee,” Georgie said in answer to his question. “Lissa’s in Grafton today, so I’m your friendly barista.”
Amber handed him the cappuccino, maintaining the lighthearted facade. “Yours.”
“Thanks.” His eyes met Georgie’s briefly before he looked away, a hint of embarrassment in his eyes now he knew who she was.
Georgie could read him as clearly as if his personality had been analyzed by a bunch of psychologists and a dozen card-readers and fortune-tellers all working together and comparing notes.
A harmless, good-natured, good-looking guy who would always take the easy road. Weak, she thought. He would end up hurting people just because he couldn’t say no, in the same way he’d hurt Viv rather than reject Amber.
He was no loss to Viv, and one day when she’d stopped smarting over it all, Georgie would tell her that.
Or maybe she wouldn’t have to. Viv was smart enough to work it out for herself.
There was one thing she knew immediately: Shane Carter was not behind what was happening to Coffee, Cakes & Crepes. Amber…maybe. She was mean enough. Whether she was clever enough to engineer everything that had happened to Lissa and Viv, Georgie wasn’t sure.
Hmm. She was certain that more than one person was involved. Amber could easily be working with someone else.
Anyway. They could cross one off the list. Not Shane. She was glad about that, for Viv’s sake.
“Hey, this is good.” Shane nodded and tipped the coffee cup toward her in acknowledgment. “I might come up for another at lunchtime.”
Georgie arched her eyebrows. “Plus one of the town’s best cupcakes?”
“Have to test them first.” Falling easily into flirt-mode, Shane winked at her.
“We might see you later, then.” Georgie nodded at everyone. “I have to run.”
“Wait,” Irene said. “We’ll walk back with you.”
“Us, too,” said Adele. “We’ll have to go snag some of those cupcakes before they’re all gone.” She picked up her shopping bag. “See you, Amber. Shane.”
Oh great, Georgie thought. Four people for coffee, and one machine out of action.
Help.
10
Maureen Asks for Help
That afternoon, just as the four of them sat down to have a council of war after Coffee, Cakes & Crepes had closed for the day, there was a tap on the door.
Looking up to yell out “We’re closed!” Lissa saw that it was Maureen Beggs from across the road.
She sighed. “What now? If Jim Beggs has another gripe, I swear I’ll go over there and choke him.”
“He won’t be there,” Viv said, slumped in a chair, looking frazzled after the frantic day coping with customers without a commercial coffee machine. “It’s his golf afternoon.”
“He always gets Maureen to do his dirty work anyway.” Lissa got up and went over to the door. When she saw Maureen’s nervous expression, she forced a smile to her face. There was no need to make her life any harder than it was.
“Hi, Maureen
. What can I do for you?”
Maureen cast a look over her shoulder, as though fearful that Jim could somehow see her even from the golf club. “I was just wondering…you know I did that coffee course with you?”
Lissa did indeed know. Maureen had been one of the most clueless people she’d ever tried to train. Her coffee was legendary for all the wrong reasons.
“Yes?” Lissa smiled encouragingly.
“I don’t think I’ve quite got the hang of it yet. I was hoping—are you still doing that Sunday afternoon class?”
“I sure am.”
Maureen’s voice dropped to almost a whisper, looking past Lissa to where the other three sat waiting for her. “Is there room for me? This Sunday, while Jim’s playing golf?”
“Of course,” Lissa said. “Three o’clock. I’d love to have you.”
Maureen went to open her handbag. “I can pay you now.”
“No, no.” Lissa waved it away. “Sunday’s fine.”
“Thank you.” Maureen looked relieved. “I just know I can learn if I practice enough. And today, everyone was saying how your American visitor is another expert, and her coffee’s really good. Is she going to be there?”
Lissa choked back a laugh. “I’ll ask her.” She turned and looked over her shoulder, and could tell by the carefully blank expressions on the others’ faces that they’d heard. “Georgie, as our American expert, are you going to be helping out at the class on Sunday?” She batted her eyelashes. “Maybe even running it, if we’re lucky?”
“Sure,” Georgie said weakly. “Uh, I’ll be there.”
Maureen gave her a tiny wave, and the nervous smile came back. “I’m not saying anything to Jim. He thinks the old ways are best, and, um…”
“And he’s not exactly a fan of ours.” Lissa winked and patted Maureen on the arm to take the sting out of her words. “We won’t breathe a word, Maureen. But you should know that Irene and Janet have booked in too.”
In other words, the biggest gossip in town and her sidekick were going to be right there standing next to her.
Maureen’s face fell. “Oh.”
“On the other hand,” Lissa said, “If you told them you wanted to keep it a secret from Jim, I’m sure they would.” She laughed. “You know there’s nothing they like better than being entrusted with a secret.”
A tiny flash of humor entered Maureen’s eyes. “You’re right about that. Well…see you on Sunday.”
Lissa stayed at the door and watched her walk away a few steps, and then, on impulse, called her name. “Maureen?”
The other woman turned, her eyes immediately wary again. “Yes?”
“Can I just ask you…oh, heck, I’ll just say it. Your Jim. Why’s he so set against us?”
Maureen looked painfully embarrassed. “It’s not really you. It’s anything modern. All these coffees and teas and…and cakes with names like friands, and—” Her gaze skated over the tattoo on Lissa’s bicep and flicked up to her vibrant orange hair. “Anything kind of alternative, I guess.”
Lissa saw where she was looking. “And I’m about as alternative as you can get. It’s okay, Maureen, I understand.” Lissa still leaned on the door, and debated about the next question, but asked it anyway. “Do you think he’d be happy if we closed down? Shut the shop completely?”
Conflicting expressions fought on Maureen’s face. “Jim just wants everything to stay the same as it’s been for the last twenty-five years. Him messing around in the kitchen, having a yarn with the men who call in, playing golf two days a week.” Her voice suddenly gained strength. “With me cooking fish and chips and serving instant coffee or tea. I don’t want that. I want to retire, go to craft days like Irene and Janet and Adele.” Her voice lowered. “So please don’t close down.”
“Oh.” Lissa blinked.
“He’s paranoid about having enough money to support us in our retirement. Silly man, we don’t need much.” She waved that off. “Meanwhile, can you just teach me how to make coffee the way you do it here? Until I can retire.” Then, seeing Lissa’s expression, Maureen backed away, as though she’d said too much. “Sorry. It’s just been a long day. Golf days are good because I get a break from Jim, but I get tired on my own.”
“I thought Jim was hiring backpackers for a couple of hours a day?”
“Now and then. He has them for a while and it’s all right, and then he goes through a phase of ‘I’m not having those lazy buggers taking part of the profits’ and it’s just the two of us again.” She took another few steps away. “I’ve got to lock up, go home and cook something. I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Lissa said, sorry for her.
She watched her walk away, clearly tired and unhappy.
As you would be, married to cranky old Jim Beggs.
However, it didn’t sound as though it they could blame Jim for the plague of cockroaches. He’d never set foot in their place, other than reluctantly showing them through when they were on the hunt for suitable premises, when Stan Lambert and his wife were overseas.
“Hey, Liss. You coming?” came Viv’s voice from behind her.
Lissa closed the door, locked it and went back to join the others.
“Right,” she said. “The mystery of the missing portafilter. Something’s pretty darn fishy.”
In the early hours of the next morning, the Mowbray Sister’s Enemy No. 1 was extra careful about not being seen. He’d paid special attention to what was being said around the town about goings-on at Coffee, Cakes & Crepes, but apparently they’d made up some cover story about demonstrating how home coffee machines really could produce restaurant-quality coffee, to promote their barista classes.
That just went to show that people would believe anything.
He waited in the shadowy backyard for a long time, watching and waiting, alert for any signs that there was someone lying in wait inside the cafe. If they suspected that someone was breaking in, surely someone would be keeping an eye on the place? Like that young bloke Scott. He wanted to make sure he didn’t run into him.
A dog would have been the best solution, shut in the backyard, ready to raise the roof if anyone came. If it had been him, he’d have thought of a dog.
Finally, he decided that there was nobody inside, and within the space of a few minutes was in and out again, putting back the things he’d removed the night before—but not in the same place: he wanted them scratching their heads, thinking they’d just mislaid them.
Outside, he padded silently away, removing his thin polyethylene gloves and stuffing them back in his pocket.
That was done.
Already, he was planning his next move. Mice perhaps?
He’d need an off-sider for that.
11
Kayaking
Georgie watched Scott closely as he skimmed along the water ten feet ahead of her, dipping his paddle in first one side and then the other.
Effortless, she thought. No splashing; he looked like a well-oiled machine.
How did he do that twist thing with his hands in mid-air when the paddle was moving from one side to the other? It rotated somehow through his palm.
Her hand was cramping from gripping the paddle, and she wished she had gloves to stop the rubbing.
No doubt it was all practice, like everything else.
Scott slowed, rested his paddle across the kayak, and turned to wait for her. Georgie narrowly avoided smashing right into him.
“How’s it going? Want to pull over to the side for a while, get out and rest on the shore?”
“OK, yes and yes.” She grimaced. “How come this looks so easy when you do it, but it’s not?”
“You’re doing OK. Just follow me in. Paddle quickly and let the momentum carry it up onto the sand.”
He headed straight for the small strip of sand and the kayak coasted in, scraping on the sand before it stopped. Scott got out and yanked it up further, and then watched while she followed him in, skewing sideways.
<
br /> “Not bad.” He steadied the kayak while she clambered out, and then peeled back the rubber hatch to pull out the wet sack with their sandwiches.
Georgie stretched and sat down thankfully. “My legs have cramps. My hands have cramps. My lower back has cramps.”
“I know you’re keen, but two hours was probably too much for your first proper paddle.”
“I know, I know, you told me so.” Georgie leaned back against a tree trunk where the scrub met the grass.
Scott handed her a sandwich and a bottle of water. “We’ll get in a few practice sessions while we’re here, so you can start feeling comfortable. Paddle around Crystal Lake, and in and out of the canals. It’s nice paddling along the Esk River, too.”
Georgie nibbled at her sandwich and stared out at the sparkling waters of Yamba Bay. Scott had said it was a good place to start, and it was, she supposed.
Had the canoes back on the West Coast of the States been this much of a challenge?
No, because she’d just messed about in them, in and out in fifteen minutes and laughing about her lack of expertise with a paddle.
Now she was in something longer and sleeker with a rudder, and a life jacket that felt bulky and odd. What had Scott called it? Something about flotation. PFD, that was it. Personal Flotation Device. She tugged it down a little. PSJ would be more fitting: Personal Strait Jacket.
“What are you musing about?”
She moved her gaze from the river bank on the other side of the bay to Scott’s face, to find him grinning at her.
“What? Something funny?”
“Not comfortable in that?” He reached over and unbuckled the top strap of her PFD. “We can adjust it.”
“It’s fine, I’ll get used to it.” She put her head on one side. “I can’t rotate the paddle like you do. It rubs my hand, between my thumb and forefinger.” She made an “O” to demonstrate. “Maybe gloves, do you think?”
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