Free Grace Cries Uncle by Julie Hyzy

Buchman.” She peered into the house, as though looking for something. “Can I come in?”
    Just like the FBI agent had the other day, Nina affected a shiver. She carried a brown leather tote that appeared filled to bursting, and she shifted from foot to foot, tapping her boots against each other to dislodge accumulated slush. The tote appeared weather-beaten and well-worn. The boots looked new.
    â€œMaybe if you tell me what it is you want?” I said, with a lilt to phrase it as a question.
    â€œSure, sure. Of course.” She laughed again. Her teeth were big for her small mouth, and with her über-narrow face and shiny hair she reminded me of a thoroughbred. Attractive, strong, willful.
    Bruce backed up, allowing me to take point. I felt him touch the back of my arm—a silent gesture of warning. But I’d felt it, too.
    She brightened her smile. “I’m new in town and interviewing for a job. I need somewhere to stay until I find a more permanent place.”
    I turned to Bruce and Scott. They looked as perplexed as I felt. “Why are you
here
, though?” I asked. “At our house?”
    Her eyes went wide. “Don’t you have a room here to rent out?”
    â€œNo,” I said. We did have a spare bed and bath upstairs and, at one point, had considered taking on another roommateto help with expenses. We’d scuttled those plans, however, once Bennett had insisted on paying for renovations.
    â€œYou don’t?” The tone in her voice went far beyond disappointed. More like disbelief. As though she knew about that vacant spot upstairs. How could she? A second later, her tone shifted completely. “Is someone else living here?”
    I started to close the door. “Good luck with your search.”
    â€œWait.” Again, she tried to see deeper into the house. “Could I come in for a little bit? Maybe you can give me ideas of where to look?”
    â€œAre you telling us that you moved to a new city with no place to stay?”
    â€œI have a hotel,” she said. “But I don’t care for the place. I really prefer a more homelike environment.”
    â€œThere are a couple of nice bed-and-breakfasts right off Main Street.” Scott indicated the general direction. “Three blocks that way and one block up. You can’t miss them.”
    She sucked in her top lip and gave another shiver. “What about for a few nights?” she asked. “You don’t have room for
one
person for a couple of nights? I could sleep on the couch.”
    â€œI thought you had a hotel.”
    â€œI do,” she amended quickly. “But the, um, convention is messing me up. I’m really in a bind, here. Can’t you help a girl out?” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She held a gloved hand to her mouth. “Please?”
    Bruce made a sound low in his throat. I couldn’t tell whether that meant he was caving in to her pleas or reminding me to stand strong.
    Too many odd things had happened in Emberstowne in the years I’d been here. Too many suspicious occurrences. Flynn’s warnings about the limitations of my burglar alarm popped like mini-fireworks in my brain. This woman looked helpless, but a nagging feeling of something being amiss—that tingle of fear that so many of us ignore—decided it for me.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. “We can’t help you. Good luck.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œSorry,” I said again. And as difficult as it was, I shut the door.
    â€œGrace,” Scott said. “Are you sure we can’t do anything for her?”
    â€œWhat if she killed the FBI guy?” I asked.
    Scott blanched. “Do you really think so?”
    â€œI don’t know. We can’t know. But don’t you think it’s weird that she knew my name? She knew we had a room here?” I pointed upstairs.
    â€œThat was a little odd,” Bruce said.
    Scott and I