Stranded

the toilet,” Tully said to Maggie without taking his eyes off the woman, “than she was about someone breaking in here.”
    “Can’t a gal go to the bathroom without an audience?”
    Then the woman laughed, a smoker’s dry rasp, and Maggie got a glimpse of blackened teeth, a couple of gaps with only rotted nibs. It was enough for Maggie to start examining the woman’s arms and legs. There were more sores on her forearms but Maggiecouldn’t see any needle marks. She tried to remember what she knew about methamphetamine users. Were they dangerous? Psychotic? They didn’t always inject it. The crystals or “crank” were smoked. The powdered form could be snorted or eaten.
    Maggie glanced across the hall into the bedroom behind her, the one with the paisley bedspread. She saw dirty white sneakers, a pair of jeans, and other clothes left in a pile on the floor where they had been taken off. Beside them was a huge leather shoulder bag surrounded by trash, mostly candy bar wrappers and soda cans.
    On the dresser was an assortment of candles, melted down to different sizes. A hint of white powder blended with dust. An obvious swipe had been made quickly and recklessly through the middle. Also on the dresser top were dollar bills wadded up and discarded like trash. Maybe not dollars, Maggie realized when she noticed Benjamin Franklin on one not crushed as tightly.
    “How ’bout you tell us who you are,” Tully said. “And what you’re doing here?”
    “This is my place.”
    “Of course, it’s your place,” Tully told her. “I really like the decor. White sheets go with everything.”
    “Just ask the owners. They’ll tell you they gave me permission to stay here anytime I want.”
    Maggie noticed that the woman didn’t seem to be fearful, not paying attention to either Tully’s or Maggie’s weapon.
    “Is that so?” a man, accompanied by Sheriff Uniss, said from down the hallway.
    The man wore a suede jacket, blue jeans, and a ball cap. He stood as tall as the sheriff but was in better shape, lean, maybe in his early to mid-thirties. Black glasses framed probing black eyes but his face was friendly.
    “Agent Tully, Agent O’Dell,” the sheriff said. “This here’s Howard Elliott. He’s the executor of this property. In other words, the most recent owner. Do you recognize this woman, Mr. Elliott?”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Miss,” Uniss said in a polite tone, “there hasn’t been anyone living here for almost ten years. If you knew the owner, what was her name?”
    The woman snorted another laugh. “If she’s been gone for ten years how the hell would I remember her name?”
    The men just stared. Maggie caught herself feeling sorry for her.
    “Maybe we should start with
your
name.”
    But now she seemed to be thinking, her eyes scrunched, the lines of her forehead making her look older than Maggie’s earlier assessment.
    “Helen.”
    “Your name’s Helen?” Tully asked.
    “No, asshole. Mine’s Lily. The woman who lived here. I stayed here when I was a girl. When I was thirteen. She fostered me. She was very kind.”
    All eyes looked to Mr. Elliott for confirmation.
    “Helen and her husband did take in a lot of kids,” he admitted. “In fact, I was one of them.”
    “I didn’t realize. She must have died the year after I left,” Lily said.
    Silence made Lily’s eyes dart from one face to another.
    “She’s been gone only ten years,” Tully finally said.
    “Yeah, exactly. I’m twenty-four, asshole. I know you all think I look more mature and sexy.”
    She was greeted with more silence.
    “Hey, back off,” she yelled, though no one had moved.
    She became so agitated Maggie thought Lily might start swinging at Tully.
    “I don’t like the way all you bastards are drooling over me.” She was serious and now visibly angry.
    “Drooling?” Sheriff Uniss said in almost a whisper of disbelief rather than sarcasm.
    Maggie tapped Tully on the shoulder for him to step out of the bathroom doorway.
    “Why don’t you come with me, Lily,” she told the woman. “You can put some clothes on. You must be chilly.”
    “Chilly?” She cackled and Maggie couldn’t help thinking her voice sounded like the raspy wear of someone who had abused her body for decades, not years.
    “It’s hotter than hell in here,” Lily said, and she brushed at the loose strands of hair that had fallen back into her face and were sticking to her sweaty forehead.
    Maggie realized the woman was