Grace Cries Uncle by Julie Hyzy Page A

literally chewing on that information. “The Marshfield Hotel is booked up, isn’t it?” she asked. “You’re stuck with her at your house.”
    â€œI suppose I could make a few phone calls around town to see if there are any open rooms this week,” I said. “The FAAC convention has eaten up all the good places.”
    Frances adopted a singsong voice. “And you’re too much of a soft touch to force your sister to stay in one of the seedy hotels.”
    â€œIt’s not that, not this time at least,” I said. “Did you ever hear the famous saying? I think it comes from Sun Tzu, in
The Art of War
. He says, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’”
    Frances smirked. “Words I live by every day of my life.”
    I didn’t quite know how to take that.

Chapter 13

    Before leaving work, I called Scott and Bruce to alert them to the Liza situation. They had both met her, briefly, before my mom died, and were as happy to hear of her return as I’d been. “Hang in there, Grace,” Bruce said before we hung up, adding, “Thanks for the forewarning.”
    Liza wasn’t at the house when I arrived. I wasn’t surprised; she’d never been particularly prompt, especially when she had it in her power to make another person wait. The difference was this time it didn’t bother me. If she’d changed her mind and taken off again for parts unknown—whether she bothered to notify me or not—I could live with it.
    I parked on the driveway and let myself in the back door, cheered by the sound of Bootsie scampering down the stairs. Her paws slid on the floor as she spun around the corner to greet me. “How are you, baby?” I deactivated my alarm system then scooped her up and nuzzled her neck. Though she’d grown a great deal since she’d first arrived, she still held tight to kitten behaviors and now batted soft paws against my face, wanting to play.
    When she bounded to the ground, I washed my hands. Though I’d dunked them under running water less than thirty seconds after I’d freed the little furball, it still hadn’t been quick enough. My eyes began to water and I sneezed four times in a row. “Totally worth it,” I said aloud.
    On my drive home I’d had time to think about Liza’s stay here, time to come up with a few ground rules. I jotted them down on a notepad and dug out an extra key to the front door. If she needed to come and go, as I suspected she would, she’d require the means to get in. One key. Just one. That way as soon as she was gone for good I could call my buddy Larry the Locksmith to re-key one set of doors.
    Moments later, as I was pulling out ingredients for ratatouille, Liza showed up. Keeping vigilant and watching for Bootsie, I opened the door.
    â€œI’m back,” Liza said, extending her hands up, on either side of her head. “Party time.”
    â€œI thought you might change your mind.”
    â€œNot a chance, sister.”
    â€œCome in.” I closed the door behind her.
    She stomped her feet on the small braided rug we kept just inside the house, shaking the snow off her cotton flats. “Cold out there.”
    She wore the orange trench and carried the filled-to-bursting saddle purse. “Your coat is too flimsy for this weather. Your shoes, too. Where’s your luggage?” I asked.
    â€œThis is it.” She patted the bag’s curled leather straps. “I left in a hurry.”
    One second later, her eyes went wide as she focused on the floor behind me. “What is that?”
    I turned. “I took in another roommate,” I said, scooping her up. “This is Bootsie.”
    Liza recoiled. “You have a
cat
?” She reacted as though she’d spotted raw sewage running through my kitchen. “Mom hated cats.”
    â€œMom did not hate cats. She was allergic.” I sniffled. “Seems