Her Unlikely Family. Missy Tippens
“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 cannot 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