Broken Grace Read Online Free

I’m not as good as Mom was, but I like to think I’m an artist.”
    “Can I see some of your work?”
    She shook her head quickly. “Oh no. Nothing in here is ready for anyone to see. And it’s a mess. Let’s go.”
    At the bottom of the stairs, large pocket doors closed off a room to their right.
    “What’s in here?”
    “Too much.” Lisa opened the doors a few inches. It was nearly impossible to enter with boxes piled high, a desk and built-in shelves barely visible behind them.
    “There’s a lot to do to fix up this place. Our parents were kind of pack rats. I tend to clean by moving piles, so the living and dining room are pretty decent now, but I haven’t had the strength to tackle this room yet.” She closed the doors, and Grace wandered ahead of her back to the living room, touching, holding, examining everything—furniture, books, figurines.
    “Are there any more pictures?”
    “Not really. Mom and Dad had pictures of us all over the place, but they’re in storage. I guess we’re not big on photos.” Lisa called from the kitchen, “You hungry?”
    “No. But I’ll take some water.” The nausea and cotton mouth had returned. She’d felt this way for days. Nurse Molly said it was the meds. She sat back on the couch, exhausted, and stared up at the water-stained ceiling.
    The chime of a doorbell rang out slowly, eight notes climbing up and down a scale, the sound sparking something. It was connected to good things. It made her smile.
    Lisa went to the door and Grace listened, unable to stand and look for herself. She heard voices without understanding their content until Lisa ushered two men into the room and subtly signaled Grace to sit up. Lisa’s face gave no hint as to their purpose, but those raised eyebrows must have meant she was surprised by their arrival. “Grace, these officers are from the Chikaming Township Police Department. They’re hoping to speak with you.”
    A big man in a black leather jacket held out his hand. He was maybe forty, more belly than legs. “How you doin’,” he said rhetorically. His dark under-eye circles and scratchy tone mirrored her exhaustion. He looked serious, maybe angry. “Detective Bishop,” he said, his arm still outstretched toward her. She didn’t react quickly enough; he withdrew the hand, scanning the room.
    A young man dressed in a police uniform followed behind. He was taller, fit, a little more fantasy cop than real cop. Dark hair, olive skin, a bright smile, perfect teeth. She slowly rose to greet him. But he seemed to be trying to control his demeanor, as if he wanted to emulate his partner’s stoicism. He wiped the smile from his face as their eyes met, and he offered his hand. “Hello, Grace.”
    That voice. She stretched out her hand cautiously, watching his changing expression. He held her grip a little too long, staring into her eyes, studying her. “Do I know you?” she asked.
    He looked over, and the big one, Bishop, answered for him. “This is Officer Hackett.”
    Hackett . It didn’t mean anything.
    Lisa gestured to the men to sit, then joined Grace on the couch. Hackett grabbed the nearest chair, pulled out his pen and notepad, and looked to his partner.
    “So I guess this is about the accident?” Lisa said.
    “Accident?” Bishop said.
    “Grace was in a terrible car accident a week ago on Red Arrow Highway,” Lisa said, perched on the sofa’s edge, her back straight, her hand patting Grace’s knee. “A deer hit her car and she ran into a tree somewhere near Warren Dunes State Park. We literally just got home from the hospital.”
    Bishop nodded. “Miss Abbott, can you tell us exactly when this accident occurred?”
    Grace turned to Lisa for help. “It was a week ago yesterday,” Lisa said. “What would that be? December seventh. Saturday morning.”
    “And where was she going?”
    “I don’t know,” Lisa said.
    Everyone looked at Grace. She just shrugged.
    Lisa kept patting her knee. “She took a pretty