Her Unlikely Family. Missy Tippens

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Michael H. Throckmorton III leaned his arms on the table, then thought better of it. He’d already had to wipe crumbs and grease off the cracked vinyl seat of this fine eating establishment, Bud’s Diner.

      A bald old man—Bud?—covered in sweat, wearing a filthy apron, squinted at a blaring TV perched precariously on a shelf in the corner. When a commercial came on, he turned and began raking a metal spatula across the sizzling surface of the grill.

      The air, thick with the overpowering smell of grease, nearly choked Michael. A fly buzzed on the window ledge. He couldn’t imagine how the place had passed health-department inspections.

      Tuning out all but the task before him, he examined the outdated photograph of Lisa he always carried in his wallet. She was only fourteen at the time. A time when she used to laugh and tease him. When she used to hug him.

      No time for nostalgia. It’s unproductive.

      Besides, Lisa’s generous hugs were a lifetime ago, and so much had changed.

      “What can I getcha?”

      Rings adorned almost every finger—and the thumb—of a hand holding a stubby pencil poised over a pad of paper. Silver charms and beaded bracelets jangled on the woman’s wrist. His gaze moved beyond multiple necklaces and gaudy dangling earrings to her face. A pretty face, once you got past the loud jewelry.

      The petite waitress had what appeared to be pinkish-colored hair. Or was the light giving it that strange cast? He narrowed his eyes, studying the shade.

      She popped her gum, then forced a smile, looking anything but friendly. “Did you want to order?”

      “Bottled water, please.”

      “No bottles. Just tap.”

      He needed to order something. Anything. The latest report from the private investigator led right to this greasy spoon.

      “You know, we scored a hundred percent on our last inspection.” She pointed her pencil at a certificate on the wall by the door.

      Though he was perfectly within his rights as a customer to worry about such things, his face heated. He hadn’t meant to offend with his hesitancy. “Fine. I’ll have a glass of ice water with lemon. And…” He flipped open a menu and ordered the first item that caught his attention. “A grilled chicken sandwich with lettuce and tomato.”

      “Fries with that?”

      “No, thank you.”

      She grinned. “Where’re you from?” Then she snapped her gum again.

      If she would stop that annoying chewing, she’d have a nice mouth.

      Her brown eyes sparked, as if she could read his mind.

      “I’m from Charleston,” he finally answered.

      “So you’re in Gatlinburg on vacation?”

      He nailed her with his oft-used intimidating expression, the one that cowed most people. “Actually, I’m looking for my niece. Lisa Throckmorton.” He showed her the picture. “Have you seen her?”

      “I can’t really say.” She didn’t flinch. The woman was either good at hedging, or she was telling the truth. And she obviously wasn’t easily intimidated.

      “This photo is two years old,” he said. “She threatened to dye her hair green the last time I talked to her. I have no idea whether or not she followed through.”

      “So what did you tell her?”

      “Pardon me?”

      “When she threatened about her hair. What did you say?”

      He ran his hand through his own hair, determined to get the waitress back on track. “Never mind that. She’s a runaway.”

      “Oh, that’s too bad.”

      He scooted the picture across the table. “She’s been missing nearly two weeks, but we think she may be close by. I plan to find her and take her home.”

      “Take her home, huh? How old is she?”

      “Sixteen.”

      The waitress’s eyes filled with suspicion. “Not quite old enough to be off on her own. Why’d she run away?”

      If he didn’t know better, he would think her tone held accusation that he was a poor guardian. But she wouldn’t have any idea he was raising his sister’s daughter.

      “It’s really none of your business,” he said. “She has a family who loves her and wants her back.”

      “So you won’t answer my question, huh?”

      The impertinent waitress had just about frayed his last nerve. Not what he needed while wasting precious time. He glanced at his watch, thinking for a split second of the weekly loan committee meeting he was missing. “No, I won’t answer it.”

      The woman’s gaze bore into his as if she were trying to decipher his thoughts. The air between them crackled with unspoken censure, and for a moment he feared she could see through to his worry that he was failing his sister yet again, even now, after her death.

      He shook off the crazy, morbid thought. “So, have you seen my niece?”

      “She may have passed through.” She stuck the pencil behind her ear. “Gotta put your order in.”

      She walked to the end of the counter, leaned across it and yelled, “Grilled chick, dressed,” to the man with the shiny forehead and five-o’clock shadow. The sweaty cook acknowledged the order with a jerk of his head and then eyed the waitress; some kind of message seemed to pass between them.

      Michael sat back in the booth, crossed his arms and settled in. He wasn’t going anywhere until he found out if the message had anything to do with Lisa. She wasn’t going to spend one more night alone on the streets. He would find her, even if it meant having to eat another meal in this dive.