No Way Out by Fern Michaels (great books for teens .TXT) 📗

Colleen and Jackson left the house, Jeanne and Frank stepped out as the van was pulling away.

“Come on. Let’s go meet the new neighbors.”

Frank started the small parade of well-wishers across the street.

“Too bad Andy isn’t back yet.” Jeanne noticed that his car wasn’t in his driveway.

“Maybe we should have waited for him,” Colleen said.

“I’m sure he’ll have plenty of opportunities to descend on these unsuspecting folks soon enough.” Frank kept walking.

Just as they were crossing the street, the big baby-blue Lincoln crept its way down the block. They stopped midway and waved him down. Jackson ran over to the window.

“Hey, Mr. Robertson! We’re gonna go meet the new neighbors. Wanna come?”

“Well, hello to you, Jackson. I would be delighted to meet the new neighbors, but I have to park my car first. Can you wait for me?”

Colleen, Frank, and Jeanne knew that could mean another fifteen minutes in limbo. They looked at each other. Frank chimed in first. “I’ll go and walk him over. You two are bearing gifts. I only have my charm.” He winked. Jeanne laughed out loud.

Frank approached Andy’s window. “Go park, and we’ll walk over together.”

“Marvelous. Thank you.” Andy rolled up the window and moved his car slowly in the direction of his driveway. It seemed like an eternity before he finally put it in gear and got out of the vehicle.

Frank slowly made his way over to Andy’s driveway and greeted him again. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is.” Andy held onto the driver’s door as he pulled himself from the front seat.

“Here, let me help you.” Frank moved toward Andy.

“That’s very kind of you, but it’s quite all right. I have a routine.” Andy spoke with eloquence and perfect diction. Frank wondered why Andy had chosen Hibbing to retire. He was a man of many talents, with a love for art and theater, and art and theater weren’t exactly abundant in such a small town. Frank finally decided to ask why. It was something he had wondered about all these years.

The two men walked slowly to the sidewalk, then in the direction of the new neighbors. Frank began. “Andy, may I ask you a question?”

“Certainly. Ask away. Let’s hope I can remember the answer.” He was only half joking.

“After living in St. Louis and being surrounded by art, culture, and music, what made you decide to move to Hibbing, of all places?”

“Well, I was interested in antiques. I had thought about opening a shop in the city, but after doing a little research, I discovered that city people preferred to forage for antiques in the countryside. Sounds silly, but you know how some folks can be. Perhaps they think that if they don’t actually find it, it isn’t authentic.” He paused walking for a moment, took a deep breath, and continued on their path. “One day, I decided to drive west to see what the rest of the state looked like. It was lovely, and there were a lot of homesteads that had gone up for sheriff’s sales. I thought it might be a treasure trove for me to cull. I settled here because it’s halfway between Kansas City and St. Louis, so I could have clientele from both cities. Remember what I said about people foraging for their own? Well, I am here to tell you that’s nonsense.”

“What do you mean?” Frank asked.

“They love to go ‘antiquing,’ provided someone does the work for them. But getting back to how I ended up here. As I was saying, I took a drive and discovered a good supply to start with. The next thing was to find a place to put it, so I bought a local newspaper, and there was a house for rent on the main highway. It was just the right size for a store but not big enough for me to live there as well. And I didn’t want to be so close to work that it took over my entire life.”

“That was a smart move. I marvel at people who work from home and can separate themselves after putting in an eight-hour day.”

“Exactly. When I rented the shop, I asked the real-estate agent if there were any modest homes for sale, and she sent me here. And that’s the whole story, kit and caboodle. The only thing I’m dealing with now is all the items that I didn’t sell with the rest of my inventory. To be quite frank, Frank”—Andy chuckled—“I could be buried under all the things I have, and no one would find me for days.”

Frank had a gruesome thought. What if that actually happened? He knew that no one on the block had ever stepped foot in Andy’s house. Then he thought about Ellie Bowman. She never stepped out of her house. Quite a contrast. Five houses and five different stories. Frank felt that he and Jeanne were probably the most ordinary of the bunch, but he hadn’t yet met the new neighbors. Perhaps they would get the prize for normalcy. Or maybe for being the most unusual. He thought that Andy and Ellie would be hard to beat. Then he thought of Mitchel, but it occurred to him that Mitchel’s problem wasn’t all that unusual. Alcoholism strikes millions of families. As they got closer to the front door, Frank’s thoughts lightened up again.

The door was open, and Jeanne, Colleen, and Jackson were standing in the foyer, speaking to a petite brunette and a studious-looking gentleman. Two children were standing behind them.

“Here’s my husband now. Frank, meet our new neighbors. This is Brenda.” She indicated the small woman. Frank shook her hand. “Frank Chadwick.”

The man chimed in, “Charlie Gaynor. Nice to meet you.” The men shook hands.

Frank ushered Andy into the crowd. “This is Andy Robertson, your next-door neighbor.”

“How do you do.” Andy reached for a handshake.

Charlie pointed to his children. “Randy and Megan.”

Randy walked over to Frank and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.” Then