Her Unlikely Family (3 page)

 

Michael followed Josie to within a block of her house. After she went in the front door and flashed the porch light, their prearranged signal that Lisa was there, he pulled his car closer.

A light came on in a side window. Maybe he could take a quick look, just to confirm Lisa was really there. And that they weren't packing her bags.

He parked, got out, then crept around the corner of the tiny, vinyl-siding home. Strangely, it appeared to be pink in the glow of the streetlights.

Pink hair, pink uniform, pink house. Strange woman.

After surveying the height of the window, he quickly grabbed an empty metal garbage can from the neighbor's yard to stand on, then eased along the wall of Josie's house. A cat darted out of the bushes, scaring the life out of him. He nearly dropped the trash can.

But he carried on with his mission and set the can upside down, then climbed up, standing on the edges to keep the bottom from denting in. He rose up on his toes. As he reached the window, he realized it was raised about two inches. Voices carried out the opening.

Jackpot!

“I can't believe you let him follow you here,” Lisa said in an angry whisper, as if he might somehow be near enough to hear.

“He didn't exactly give me any choice.”

Josie had her back to him, but he could see the top of Lisa's head. Green head.

Though relief at finally seeing her eased the knot in his stomach, irritation that she had carried out her hair-coloring threat sparked through him. It would be one more battle Lisa would wage with her grandmother.

Lisa moved to the side. Her hair wasn't only green. It also looked as if a lawn mower had gotten hold of it. “You promised you'd get rid of him, Josie.”

“That was before I realized he's not as bad as you said he was.”

“But you didn't try. You sat right down and started chatting with him at the diner like he was some long-lost friend.”

“And he wasn't even scared off by my interrogation or gum-snapping small-time waitress act.”

“Scared off? He probably hasn't had a date since snooty ol' Gloria told him to take a hike. The poor guy must be desperate.”

Incensed, Michael said, “I beg your pardon.”

The screams of the two women startled him, but he managed to stay balanced. Josie, on the other hand, dropped to the floor, and Lisa practically dove under the bed.

“It's only me, the desperate one,” he said.

Josie hopped up and fully raised the window. “You…You Peeping Tom! I should call the police.”

“Go right ahead. I'll tell them you're hiding a minor here. For all I know, you kidnapped her.”

He squinted, peering through the screen into the tiny bedroom. “Speaking of the minor…Lisa, come out from under there.”

Silence.

“Lisa…”

“Oh, give it up, Lisa,” Josie said. “Come on out. We're busted.”

“And so are you, buddy,” said a gravelly voice behind Michael. “Police. Put your hands up.”

Josie had to fight the incredulous laugh that nearly bubbled out of her. It wasn't very often the president of a bank found himself in Mike's position. She pressed her face against the screen and found a frequent patron of the diner and member of her church. “Hello, Officer Fredrickson.”

“You okay here, Josie? Your neighbor called saying someone was sitting in a car casing out your house. Do you know this man?”

Mike glared at her, and she bit her lower lip to keep from grinning.

“I don't really
know
him….” This would be one way to get Mike off Lisa's back. But did she dare?

“So, do you want to press charges against this pervert?”

“Pervert? This is ridiculous. My name is Michael Throckmorton. My niece is in there.” He leaned his face closer. “Tell the man, Josie. You do remember what we talked about?”

Yes, the supposed kidnapping. She couldn't risk it. “I actually met him today, Officer. And his niece is here in, uh, on the floor.”

Lisa slung the yellow-flowered bedspread back and scooted out from under the bed. She approached the window, her furious gaze spearing first Josie, then Mike.

“Is this your uncle, Miss?”

She jammed her hands on her hips. “Yes.”

“Then what's he doing out here peeking in?” the policeman asked.

“It's not something I do every day,” Michael said through clenched teeth, scowling at Josie. “Can I put my hands down now and explain?”

“Sure, if you'll hop off there and show me some ID.”

While Mike complied, Josie coaxed Lisa to go outside with her. They joined Mike on the lawn as the officer checked his license with a flashlight.

Josie figured she'd better not push him any further. “You can go, Officer Fredrickson. We were about to discuss his niece.”

“You're sure? I won't leave if you're not totally comfortable.”

Recalling the full name printed on the business card Mike had left at the diner with Bud, she knew she would never be totally comfortable around one Michael H. Throckmorton III. “We're fine here. Just a misunderstanding.”

“Okay. You can relax now, buddy. Call if you need anything, Josie.” He pressed the button on his shoulder radio to call the station and lumbered away.

Mike stood nearly nose-to-nose with Josie. “Let's go in the house. Now.”

Each word was its own sentence. The man meant business.

Well, she meant business, too. She jabbed at his nose with her forefinger. “Talk to me in that tone of voice and I'll call the cop back over here.”

“Go right ahead. I'll throw around the word
kidnapping
this time.” He tried to peer around Josie. “Lisa, get packed. You're coming with me right now.”

“No.”

“I won't take no for an answer.”

“Then you'll have to drag me kicking and screaming. What will the neighbors think about that? Huh?”

Michael thought his blood pressure might blow out the top of his head. Never in his life had he been this frustrated. There was only one solution.

He barreled toward the front of the house. “Officer Fredrickson!”

The man heard him and rolled down his window. “Yes, Mr. Throckmorton?”

“I want to press charges.”

“What on earth for?”

“Kidnapping, against Josie.”

“Kidnapping?”

“Or delinquency against my niece. Whichever will get a runaway sixteen-year-old home the quickest.”

 

Michael had to hurry each step to keep up with the irate, stomping pace of Lisa.

“I cannot
believe
you,” she raged in her staccato fury—the same words she'd repeated a dozen times on the way to the police precinct.

He was beginning to regret his hasty decision. It didn't look as if it would work in his favor. Especially since Josie had offered herself so the cop wouldn't haul Lisa in to the station.

Michael reached around Lisa to open the door to the building, but she grabbed the handle and flung it outward, nearly hitting him in the face.

“I just can
not
believe you did this to her.”

As he started to ask a man at the front desk where to find Josie, Lisa squealed her name and ran into an adjoining room.

The “prisoner” sat perched on the edge of Officer Fredrickson's desk, her busy foot swinging, while the man laughed at something she'd said.

She didn't look too traumatized, yet Lisa threw herself at Josie as if Josie had been abducted and tortured for a month.

“I'm okay, Lisa. We were just talking.”

“You mean they didn't, like, lock you up with murderers?”

“You may be watching a little too much TV, darlin',” the older officer said in a kind voice. “The first thing we have to do is fill out form after form.”

Lisa's eyes teared up. Michael assumed it was from relief. He hadn't realized having Josie arrested would frighten his niece so much.

Lisa grabbed the officer's arm. “Josie didn't do anything wrong. She never made me stay. She's been helping me.”

Lisa turned to Michael. Her anger seemed to have vanished, and her eyes pleaded with him. “I don't ask for much. But I'm asking now. Tell them to let her go.” She swallowed. “Please.” It came out in a choked whisper.

How could he refuse?

“We haven't filed any paperwork yet,” the officer said.

Josie patted his niece and gave Michael a mother-bear look. “All you've managed to do is scare her to death. You're not helping yourself a bit.”

With a wave of his hand, he said, “Fine. I won't press charges.”

Instead of rushing into his arms and thanking him, Lisa glared daggers at him, took Josie's hand, then tugged her back to the entrance as if racing away before he changed his mind.

“Josie's a good woman,” the cop said. “You can trust her with your niece. Our church has referred a couple of runaways to her. She's worked wonders.”

He was coming to the same conclusion himself, but didn't have to like the fact. Michael nodded to the man. “Thank you, sir. Sorry to have caused you any trouble this evening.”

“No trouble at all. Added a little excitement to an otherwise boring night.”

Michael's night had been far from boring. And what now? Waiting in his car were two indignant females.

 

“For the last time, no,” Lisa said.

Michael sat across Josie's coffee table—actually it was an old crate painted bright yellow—from his niece. They were at a standoff. He had said come home, she'd said no. Repeatedly.

There seemed to be no middle ground. And he was exhausted.

Against all odds, when they had arrived back at Josie's house, she had invited him in to talk to Lisa. Since he had survived the ride home without any violent outbursts, he had assumed Lisa had settled down and would be reasonable.

Apparently, she hadn't, and wouldn't. Out of desperation, he said, “Your grandmother said to tell you that you need to be back in school.”

With a little snort and sarcastic laugh, she said, “Oh, okay. Then give me five minutes to pack.” Of course she made no move to cooperate. As she sulked, slouching in a tattered blue recliner, he studied the room. It was clean, but definitely not tidy. The decor was modern thrift shop.

Then he noticed the walls. It seemed every inch of space was covered by the most eclectic collection of framed prints he'd ever seen. Watercolors, oils, photographs. Landscapes, flowers, portraits, posters, strange and unidentifiable—

“Here's your Coke,” the art collector herself said as she walked into the room from the kitchen.

He pulled his attention away from the weird sketch. Except for that particular one, he rather liked the feel of the room.

She handed him his drink. “I see you've been admiring my artwork.”

He glanced at her sheepishly. “Yes.”

“Just so you know, every piece has sentimental value.”

“Really?

“I know what you're thinking,” she said, eyes sparking.

“I'm sure you don't.”

“You can't believe I have such a hodgepodge hung up all over the place.”

“No, actually—”

“You don't have to deny it, Uncle Michael. I could see it on your face, too.” With her forefinger, Lisa pushed up the tip of her nose. “All the Throckmortons are such snobs.”

“Lisa, don't talk to your uncle that way,” Josie said.

Michael stopped with the can halfway to his lips. The spit-fire waitress was full of surprises. He would have expected her to agree.

Lisa appeared as surprised as he was. “I can't believe you're taking his side, Josie.”

“I'm not taking sides at all. You just need to learn to respect your uncle.” She sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Michael. “Now, have you two solved anything?”

“No,” he said. “It seems we're at an impasse.”

Josie kicked off her work shoes and wiggled her stockinged toes. “Can I make a suggestion?”

“Go for it,” Lisa said. “Anything that'll help him see I'm never going back to that awful school where the teachers try to make us cookie-cutter copies of each other.”

He pointed his finger at Lisa. “They're trying to make you, at a minimum, fit for polite society.”

“Mike, talking like that isn't going to help one bit,” Josie warned.

Lisa grinned as if she'd won the skirmish. But he knew Josie was right.

“Speaking of the school…” Josie said. “Has Lisa told you about the kids mistreating her?”