Grace Cries Uncle (6 page)

There are moments in life when quick recovery isn't possible. This was one of them. My knees were unable to keep me steady. I swayed forward, balancing my weight on the tips of my fingers. Splayed across the top of my desk blotter, their pads were white, growing numb from the pressure of keeping me vertical.

I was neither afraid of my sister nor threatened by her. Not physically, anyway. The shock of her sudden appearance in my office hit so unexpectedly and so hard, however, that my mind and body seized up in stupefied paralysis.

Little observations prickled at my brain: Liza's skin had lost its youthful glow; she had tiny wrinkles near her eyes and grooves around her lips. Had she started smoking again? Her blue jeans were too long, faded and frayed at the hem. Her overfilled purse looked like a cross-body saddlebag with leather straps straining against the weight of its contents. She carried a bright orange trench coat—no match for current temperatures.

Through it all I was vaguely aware that Hillary had anticipated a far different reaction. “This is your sister, isn't it?”

Six inches shorter, with darker coloring and a curvier build than mine, Liza and I were too dissimilar to share clothes or makeup when we were young. She gravitated toward tight, revealing outfits, where I'd always leaned toward tailored and classic. I kept my straight blond hair shoulder-length; hers, which was brunette, had always been worn wild and wavy down her back.

Liza's chestnut mane was gone now. She'd pulled what was left into a nub of a ponytail, errant strands popping out all over. She'd cut bangs in again, too, wearing them straight and full across her forehead.

I didn't say a word. I couldn't. I had no idea what might come out.

Liza broke the strained silence. “Aren't you happy to see me?”

A hundred questions exploded in my brain at once, firing up and dissolving too quickly for me to catch even one long enough to put into words. I'm sure she was convinced the bangs made her look younger. Of course, the last time she'd worn them that way she'd been eighteen and thought they made her look smarter.

Frances took a predatory step toward my sister. “You're Liza?”

“Oh, you
do
talk about me,” Liza said, inching away from Frances and nearer to me. I hoped she didn't expect me to come around my desk and welcome her with a giant hug. “That makes me so happy. I was afraid that after our last disagreement you might hold a grudge.”

Frances snorted loudly. “Is that what you're calling it? A disagreement?”

My assistant had recovered from my sister's surprise appearance. That was more than could be said for me.

Frances knew the whole sordid tale—I'd told her about how Liza had eventually married my former fiancé and had squandered her inheritance on a get-rich-quick scheme that had left the two nearly penniless. I'd warned Frances about
my sister for this very reason: I couldn't predict when Liza might show up, and I didn't want my assistant duped into helping her. Too bad I hadn't thought to mention this to Hillary. Anyone who ever helped Liza was eventually sorry they had.

Liza grabbed Hillary's hand and tugged her close. “This wonderful woman rescued me downstairs. I didn't know where to begin asking for you.” Directing what could only be described as a loving gaze toward Bennett's stepdaughter, she went on. “I don't know how to thank you, Hillary.”

“Um . . . it was my pleasure,” Hillary said. Her eyes asked a million questions.

“What are you here for, Liza?” I asked.

Thrusting out her bottom lip, my sister strove to affect puppy dog eyes. “Is that really the first thing you're going to say to me after we've been apart so long?”

“Seems to me you probably have more to say to Grace than she has to say to you,” Frances said, in a fierce and welcome show of solidarity.

Hillary seemed to finally grasp that she hadn't engineered the happy family reunion she'd expected. “You know, I always wished I'd had a sister, but unfortunately I'm an only child.” In an obvious attempt to lessen the tension, she did what Hillary always did best: She talked about herself, picking up speed as she went on. “I grew up here. I was a teenager when my mom married Papa Bennett. But it was really lonely here all by myself.”

“That had to be difficult,” Liza said, offering Hillary a placating tone while maintaining eye contact with me. “I was lucky to have Grace as a big sister to look up to.”

Taking time to choose the right words, I breathed deeply and ordered my weak limbs back into action. They complied. Now all I needed to do was quiet my tempestuous heartbeat. I worried every person in the room could see the veins throbbing in my neck.

Hillary didn't handle awkward silence well. “Grace will have to tell you about how I renovated her house. It turned
out beautifully, I must say. All new windows, new siding. A complete re-do inside and out.” She glanced my way long enough to notice that I still wasn't engaged in the conversation. “I'm doing the home next door now, too. They're mirror images. Sister houses, I like to call them.”

One beat later she seemed to realize what she'd said. “I mean,” Hillary went on, “it's not like they're really identical. Close. Like I said, mirror images. Brothers built them, did you know?”

Liza held a hand up, silencing her. What in any other situation would be construed as a rude gesture, seemed to provide Hillary relief.

“You renovated Mom's house?” Liza asked.

“
My
house.”

Liza pulled her cheeks in, an expression, which she'd never outgrown, of frustration. “Things must be going pretty well for you if you can afford that kind of investment.”

Hillary's brows jumped. The temptation to spill the truth that Bennett had paid for the project was bright in her eyes.

“Emberstowne has been very good to me,” I said.

“You're the manager of this place?”

“I am.”

There was no comfort in this room. No warmth. The four of us stood like enemy combatants who'd stumbled upon one another in the middle of a war. Liza had positioned herself directly across the desk from me. Next to her, Hillary gazed longingly at the door. Frances, feet planted shoulder-width apart, kept her arms folded and her gaze fierce.

“So, does that mean you work with the Marshfield family?” Liza asked.

“Papa Bennett is my stepfather,” Hillary said. “I'm part of the Marshfield family.”

“Papa Bennett?” Liza repeated, as though finally understanding. “Bennett Marshfield?”

Hillary's incredulous expression seemed to ask what rock Liza had crawled out from under. “Yes, of course.”

“I would really love to meet your stepfather.” Liza's blatant appeal oozed friendship, but—for me, at least—there was no missing the calculation in her eyes. “Do you think I could?”

“I don't see why n—”

“Bennett is very busy,” I said. “Sorry. Not happening.”

“But if he's
your
stepfather,” Liza persisted, addressing Hillary. “Shouldn't it be your decision?”

“Grace sets the Mister's schedule,” Frances said.

Liza pulled her cheeks in again, struggling to neutralize her frustration. “I don't understand.”

“I'm afraid Frances is right,” Hillary said. “You'll have to work through Grace.”

I could have reached over and kissed Hillary for that. Instead, I simply said, “Thank you.”

Liza drew a sharp breath. Tossing her head back—a significantly less impressive move than it used to be with that stubby ponytail—she asked, “Who else, then?” Before we could ask what she meant, she added, “Marshfields, that is. Who else lives here?”

“No one else,” I said, eager to put an end to this. “You never answered my question, Liza. What are you doing here?”

Her eyes sparkled in a way that made my stomach lurch. “Are you telling me that Bennett is it? There are no other Marshfields?”

Frances and Hillary immediately glanced at me. I couldn't blame their instinctive reaction. I wondered how soon it would dawn on them that if the DNA tests came back positive, that meant Liza was related to Bennett, too.

I swallowed before answering. “I have a very busy day planned. Your visit, while I'm certain it will be brief”—I offered a frosty smile—“is unexpected. Why don't you tell me why you're here and we can both get back to our lives?”

She gave a halfhearted shrug. “I need a place to stay,” she said. “Not for long.”

“Why here? Why now?”

“I've hit a bit of a snag,” she said.

She shifted her weight and with that trifling gesture the energy in the room shifted, too. From the moment she'd breezed in, taking me by surprise, she'd held control. Marching in here demanding answers about my life, demanding to meet Bennett, she'd been all bluster and bravado. It had been a performance that had worked until the moment she admitted needing my help. I was sure it rankled her mightily, but now the power was mine.

“What kind of snag?”

Her gaze didn't waver as she struggled to regain dominance. “Life.”

A snarky reply shot to my lips but I wrestled it back. “Is your husband with you?”

She winced at the question, but lifted her chin. “Eric and I are no longer together.”

I wasn't happy to hear it. I wasn't distressed. I felt no level of satisfaction or the temptation to gloat. I felt . . . nothing at all.

Silence stretched between us and I could sense Liza's discomfort grow. She threw impatient glances at Frances and Hillary, making it clear she'd prefer to air our family grievances without an audience.

They remained in the room, unmoved by her transparent hints. My allies, such as they were. Two years ago I could never have predicted this moment. Right now, I wanted to hug them both.

“Fine.” Liza huffed impatience. “I'm here because I have nowhere else to stay. I have no money, either. There. I said it. Happy now?”

“How much do you need?”

“I'm not asking for money. That is, I'd rather stay at the house.” Liza's smile was as fleeting as it was weak. “I thought I'd stay with you. In the spare room. It is our house, you know.”

“It's my house now, Liza. We divvied everything evenly. I got the house. You got the cash.”

“But the house is worth so much more now. It's not fair.”

Anger had built up in me over the years and the outrage
flaming in my chest right now terrified me. I blinked hard to regain control. “Of course my house has gone up in value. If you'd bought a home instead of squandering your money . . .” I stopped myself from saying anything further.

Our mother had done her best to split her estate fifty-fifty and it was true that we'd both walked away with equal shares. It was also true that my property had appreciated in value, the way real estate usually does. But the harder truth, the one that had stopped me mid-sentence, was knowing that my home's worth in the market was exponentially higher than it would have been without its recent renovation.

Hillary and Frances both watched me, neither saying a word. Part of me knew that I owed Liza nothing. She'd spent every penny our mother had left her, and I refused to be the enabler who prevented her from growing up and accepting responsibility for her choices.

Part of me grappled with the knowledge that, if not for Bennett's intervention, I could be facing serious financial issues now, too. I'd benefited from Bennett's assistance because he believed us to be blood relatives. Liza was my sister. Even though I never wanted her to know the nature of my relationship with Bennett, couldn't I afford to be a little charitable?

Hillary and Frances continued to stare and I wondered if they could read my mind. Or if I was reading theirs.

I thought briefly about the young woman who'd come to our door last night. If I'd rented the spare room to her, I would have been able to truthfully tell Liza that we were full up.

I didn't know what was fair—what the right answer was. Not yet, at least. Until I did, until I could make peace with myself on the matter, I decided to punt. “How long do you plan to stay?” I asked.

The sparkle in Liza's eyes was back. She knew she had me. She didn't know the reason for my change of heart, but it clearly didn't matter. “A week? Ish?”

We decided that Liza would meet me back at home that evening. Most of the locks had been changed or recalibrated during the renovation and—even if Liza had kept her set of house keys—she couldn't have gotten in.

Frances offered to escort my sister out of the mansion with such cloying consideration that she couldn't have been more obvious if she'd chased her out with a stick. With one brow arched dramatically—another move Liza couldn't possibly have missed—Frances smiled, showing teeth. “This way, dearie. I know a shortcut.”

When they were gone, I turned to Hillary. “Whatever you do, don't trust her,” I said.

Hillary crossed her arms and leaned one hip against my desk. “So I gathered. What happened between you?”

Emotion tumbled over me, sucking me under like a rip current after a killer wave. Liza's sudden appearance had reignited old pain, heaving buried resentment from tight, protected places in my heart. The effort it had taken to keep my temper in check was now exacting its toll. I sat.

“It's a long story,” I said slowly. “One that probably started when we were little. I always wanted to love and trust my sister, but I don't. I suppose I've finally come to terms with the fact that I never will.”

“That's sad,” she said, without compassion. “Do you really think it's fair that you got your family's house and she didn't?”

I looked up at Bennett's stepdaughter and wondered if she was regarding me the same way Liza did. Bennett had made little secret of the fact that despite my many and vocal objections, he intended to name me heir to his estate—a status Hillary had been jockeying for, for years. My familial position, if DNA confirmed it, would usurp Hillary's. I wanted nothing but to keep Bennett in my life forever. I wished talk of heirs and estates and bequeathing property would just go away.

Too tired to do anything but answer honestly, I said, “I think my mother knew us both well enough to make the decisions she did. If Liza had gotten the house she would have sold it on the spot, probably for even less than her cash settlement. She would have frittered away her windfall, leaving her in exactly the same mess she is in now. The only difference is that the house would have been lost to the family. Our mom knew me. Knew I'd keep it.”

Hillary straightened from her perch. “Good thing she left it to you then,” she said. “Otherwise I may have never had the chance to renovate.”

I felt a smile work its way to my lips. That was the Hillary I knew.

“One more thing,” I said as she started to leave.

She turned back. “Yes?”

“Don't tell Liza about the DNA test, okay?”

Hillary wrinkled her nose. “What happens if you and Bennett
are
related?” she asked after a thoughtful moment. “Will you tell her then?”

“I don't want to. Liza will do everything in her power to weasel favors from Bennett. She's relentless.”

“But if she is family, Bennett will know.”

“At this point, there's no proof so we have to keep it quiet.” Frustrated, I ran my fingers up my head, grabbing handfuls of hair. Squeezing, I fought the fear twisting my stomach. “I should never have agreed to the test.” I clenched my eyes. “I should have told him no. Now how can I protect him?”

Hillary said nothing. I sat there, eyes shut, for an extended moment.

I opened them to see Hillary regarding me with a curious expression. “You really do love Bennett for himself and not for his money, don't you?”

I nodded.

She reached forward to pat me on my forearm. “You will have to tell him that your sister showed up. And when the results come in, you'll have to tell her the truth, too.”

“Do you have any idea what she'll do with that information?”

Hillary looked as serene as I'd ever seen her. “He tamed me, Grace. You watched it happen. My stepfather is a shrewd man, not easily bulldozed.”

“He's also desperate for family,” I said, not wanting to point out how long it had taken him to effect her taming. “I don't want him to get hurt.”

She made a so-so motion with her head, acknowledging the point. “I won't say a word to your sister about the DNA test, and I'll let you worry about how to keep her out of trouble. But as for Papa Bennett?” She knocked her knuckles against my desk. “Don't underestimate him. He hasn't gotten where he is by being a fool, you know.”

“You're right,” I said. “But until I figure out how to deal with the consequences, I'm going to do my very best to keep Liza and Bennett apart.”

“It's interesting.”

“What is?” I asked.

“You,” she said. “You're always the one in charge. The one who's so sure of herself.”

I nearly blurted, “Me?” but stopped myself from interrupting.

“It's interesting to see you vulnerable.” She waved neat, manicured fingers in the air. “Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm enjoying it. Well, maybe a teensy bit. I'm seeing a different side of you.” She wrinkled her nose again. “Makes you a little more likeable. A little less perfect.”

“Perfect?” I did laugh then. “Hardly.”

“To Bennett you are. I can't begin to compete.”

“It's not a competition.”

Hillary brought her face closer to mine. “You're a class act,” she whispered, “and Bennett recognizes that. I wasn't ever his favorite person in the world, but when you showed up, I no longer stood a chance.”

I wanted to reassure her otherwise, but she sensed the interruption and stopped me.

“You may be a decade younger than I am, but you've become a role model.” Straightening, she shimmied her hands down her hips to smooth her skirt, then fixed me with a pointed glare. “Tell anyone I said that and I will make your life miserable.”

The honesty in Hillary's eyes as she'd spoken, however, made it clear she'd been sharing from the heart.

I was blown away by her candor. Enough to offer some of my own. “When I came back to Emberstowne, my life fell apart.” I managed a weak smile. “It's been a long journey, but I'm better. Working at Marshfield helped, but it was Bennett and his belief in me that allowed me to recognize my own strength. I'm hardly perfect, but I am happy here. With him. With all of you.”

Hillary got a faraway look in her eyes. “Bennett has been good to me, even though I haven't always been kind to him. Bringing me back here and cutting off my funds may have
been one of the best things he's ever done for me.” Making eye contact with me again, she added, “He takes care of family, doesn't he?”

Doing my best to ignore the knot in my stomach, I nodded.

Moments after Hillary left, I heard Frances return to her office. There was enough noise to alert me she wasn't alone.

“Guess who I found downstairs looking for you?” she asked. “You are Miss Popularity today, aren't you?” Flynn and Rodriguez followed Frances in.

“Detectives, so good to see you.” Their unexpected appearance flooded me with pleasure, taking me by surprise. “How are you?” What did it say about me that, after a clash with my sister, homicide detectives were a welcome sight?

Confused by my warm greeting, Flynn didn't answer. He ran a hand along his shaved head. Rodriguez, however, broke into a giant smile. “Miz Wheaton,” he responded in kind. “Gorgeous day, isn't it?”

I turned to face the windows, noting the overcast sky, graying snow, and general dreariness of Marshfield's expansive grounds. A dismal scene. To a man who'd recently faced his own mortality, however, every day on earth was a magnificent gift.

“Absolutely,” I said.

Frances interrupted. “Sure, beautiful. All that snow, the cold, the slush, the lack of sunshine. Yeah, I see it.” When she rolled her eyes, I got the impression that Flynn was tempted to high-five her.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” I asked as we settled ourselves.

Frances waved a hand in the air. “Coffee all around, I assume,” she said, and was out the door before any of us could respond. From the other room she shouted, “Don't discuss anything interesting. I'll be back in a second.”

Flynn sat on the edge of his chair, hands clasped. “Sorry to disappoint your sidekick,” he said, “but we do have news and we plan to get right into it.”

“About the man who was killed in the neighbor's yard?”

“The same,” he said.

“First though,” Rodriguez said, interrupting his partner, “we couldn't find anything on that woman who visited your house. Ran her name. Nothing popped.”

“No record, then?”

“Or it's an alias. Most likely she simply had bad information. If she shows up again, let me know.”

“Will do.”

Frances bustled back in carrying a silver tray laden with four cups of coffee and an assortment of cookies and treats. Her breath rasped with effort and the ceramic mugs jiggled against each other as she hurried to lay the tray on my desk before us.

“No way, Frances,” I said. “No way you poured coffee and arranged snacks that quickly. It's not humanly possible.”

Flynn had already brought a steaming mug to his lips, but grinned before he took a sip. “Who says she's human?”

Frances narrowed her eyes at him. “Next time maybe I'll find something special to add to yours.” She turned to me with a self-satisfied expression. “When I found these two downstairs, I called to the kitchen to send this up.” Again to Flynn, she said, “Of course I don't know why I bother when my efforts go unappreciated.”

“I appreciate you, Frances,” I said. When she turned back, clearly smug, I thought about the unwavering support she'd shown less than an hour earlier. “I really do.”

She took up a perch on the nearby sofa, her favorite spot for listening in when the local detectives came to call. She wiggled backward into the cushions, lifted her chin, and blinked expectantly. “You can go ahead now.”