Presently, she was precariously perched at the top of a ladder, one bare foot on the top rung, the other foot barely grazing the back curve of a freshly upholstered Queen Anne chair that had been delivered the day before.From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman enter the foyer. She didn’t have a clear view of the visitor, just a glimpse of nauseatingly straight, honey blonde hair. Before Grace had even had a chance to see the rest of the package, she had ascertained that the woman was trouble. She felt it from the roots of her wavy, dull brown hair to the tips of her cute red toes.She glanced toward her toes and groaned, noticing that one of them was not quite a cute as she’d thought. As a matter of fact, it was a horrible-looking, dark shade of purple. The combination of red polish and purple skin was not the best, and she had Lola to blame.The older woman’s arthritis had gotten so bad over the past few weeks that she’d been using a walker instead of her gold-tipped cane. Unfortunately, she had accidentally planted one of the walker’s tennis-ball-covered front legs onto Grace’s toe.
