“Uh,
Anne, I think you should come take a look at this.” Rondell
stood in the doorway, twisting his hands together. He had a baseball
cap pulled down over his eyes, almost like he wanted to disappear,
the shadows making his dark skin dusky.
Anne
looked up from her paperwork with a sigh. She was behind on paying
for the van repairs, but the kids needed to be able to go shopping.
Things were never easy. “What is it?”
“I
really think you should come in here.”
Intrigued
by whatever had the usually stoic Rondell in such a state, Anne
followed the slender young man into the family room of the shelter.
A cluster of girls were looking at the high-backed chair in front
of the television with something akin to terror. Rondell waved at
the chair.
“You
really should see this.”
Anne
circled around until she was directly in front of the t.v. and shook
her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, can I help you find
something?”
“This
here’s the runaway shelter right? That’s what the nice
man at the airport told me.”
“Yes,
it is.” Anne was confused. Why would someone grandmother be
sitting here watching the Price is Right instead of asking to see
her first thing? If whatever child she was looking for saw granny
here first, they’d likely run.
“Ah,
well, I’m in the right place.”
“Er…”
Anne watched the tiny woman rustle around in her purse with a growing
sense of dread.
“I’ve
run away, you see. Had enough of that crazy family of mine. Never
enough salt in the meatloaf.”
“You…ran
away? Aren’t you a bit-“ Anne cringed, not sure if she
should continue.
“Old?
Old, my left foot. I’m young enough to get myself here, so
I’m young enough to stay.” The woman settled down lower
in the chair.
“Where
did you come from?” Anne asked with a growing sense of dread.
“New
Jersey.”
“New
Jersey!? How’d you get here? Los Angeles isn’t exactly
in the neighborhood.”
“I
flew. Just hopped on down to the airport and decided to come see
all them hotties in LA.” She peered at Rondell. “Like
that one. He’s a looker.”
Rondell
looked very nervous and backed away slowly.
“Well,
ma’am, I’d love to help you, but this really isn’t
what we’re designed for.”
“It’s
not ma’am, it’s Grandma Mazur. Everyone calls me that.
And I don’t want your help. My granddaughter will be along
any minute now. She’s a bounty hunter. Always gets her man,
too.”
Anne
rubbed her forehead; she was definitely getting a headache.
“Okay,
so your granddaughter the bounty hunter is going to come get you
from New Jersey. What will you do until then?”
“Stay
here, of course.” The elderly woman cackled as someone lost
out on a new Mustang. “They always bet too low. What do they
think, the world’s affordable? Wait ‘til they’re
on Social Security. Heh.”
Anne
and Rondell exchanged looks. She shrugged her shoulders as Rondell
shook his head emphatically. They weren’t going to call the
cops to evict a granny, so Anne figured she’d be staying for
a while.
The
woman piped up in a nasally voice, “Say, what’s for
lunch around here? All they had were peanuts on the airplane.”
Anne
blinked. “I think Fabi is serving turkey sandwiches in the
kitchen.”
Grandma
Mazur’s eyes got wide. “Turkey sandwiches? That’s
no way to feed a strapping young man like him!” She levered
herself out of the chair and pinched Rondell’s bottom before
grabbing his arm. “Just show me the way and I’ll fix
you all right up. Give you some good home cooking to fatten you
right up.”
Rondell
gaped as Anne just started laughing. She watched the grey haired
old lady drag a terrified Rondell towards the kitchens. When Stephanie
Plum, grandma hunter extraordinaire, showed up a few hours later,
Anne was on her second helping of baked ziti and Rondell was learning
how to make meatballs. She was almost sorry to see Grandma Mazur
go. Almost.
~Fin~
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