Sink Trap by Christy Evans

hiding place.
    “Barry? You in here?” I called out.
    “Down here,” he called back. “You ready for me to turn the water back on so we can check those valves?”
    I was going to say yes, but suddenly there was a strange woman standing in front of me. All that came out of my mouth was a startled squeak.
    “What are you doing in my house?” she demanded.
    I sputtered. I’m not proud of it, but this apparition with stringy gray hair, a wrinkled housedress, and dirty feet stuffed into shapeless bathroom slippers completely unnerved me.
    She clearly wasn’t Martha Tepper, and yet she seemed to think this was her house.
    It took a moment for me to recover my voice. The intruder bumbled around the dining room opening and closing drawers, as though searching for something.
    “Me?” I finally managed to squeak out. “Who are you? This is Miss Tepper’s house, not yours. What are you doing here?”

    I practically shouted the last few words. My voice had returned, but I was having a little trouble with the volume control. It could have something to do with the adrenaline surging through my body, or my racing heart. Fight or flight had kicked in, and I had obviously chosen fight.
    “I know it’s Martha’s house.” Her voice was controlled, unlike mine. “Lived here with her the last six years, didn’t I? My home, too, until she got it in her head to run off to some godforsaken desert without so much as a kiss-my- patoot!”
    She pushed past me and headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. She passed the bathroom and Miss Tepper’s bedroom, and opened the door at the end of the hall, into what I had thought was a guest bedroom.
    She rummaged through the drawers and closets as I watched from the doorway, unsure of what to do next.
    I could certainly stop her. I was at least thirty years younger, six inches taller, and probably had twenty pounds of muscle on her. Not to mention eight years of martial arts training. I could take one little old lady if I had to, but it didn’t seem like a good choice right now.
    She didn’t seem deranged, exactly. She was muttering to herself as she dug into the bottom of a drawer, pulling out a stack of neatly folded cotton pajamas.
    “Throw me out of my own house! Least they could do was let me take my clothes. But oh, no! Miss High-and-Mighty tells me I have to get out right now, can’t take anything, ’cause she doesn’t know what’s mine.”
    She grabbed a pillow from the bed, stripped the pillowcase off, and began stuffing clothes into the makeshift laundry bag. “Thought I didn’t know she left the door open, didn’t she? I saw her drive away, in that big car of hers.”
    I had a sinking feeling that Miss High-and-Mighty was someone I knew well, but I wasn’t about to ask.
    She whirled around and looked at me, as though she had just remembered I was there. “I’m only taking what’s
mine,” she said. “My clothes, and my books. I’ll bring the pillowcase back when I’m through with it. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I was taking advantage of dear Martha Tepper.”
    The venom in her voice when she said Miss Tepper’s name made me take a step back. Hurt and anger battled for control of her expression as she turned her back on me and continued her ramshackle packing.
    By now I was convinced she was mostly harmless, but I still didn’t know who she was or why she thought these things were hers. She was grabbing clothes out of the dresser, and stuffing another pillowcase.
    “Georgie?” Barry’s voice floated up the stairs. “Are you ready for the water?”
    When I didn’t answer immediately, I heard his heavy footsteps on the basement stairs. The loose stair three treads from the top creaked as he stepped on it, and I turned around.
    Barry shot me a quizzical look. “You didn’t answer. What are you doing—” He stopped, his gaze moving past me to the whirling dervish in the guest bedroom.
    “Who? What?” He sputtered, too. I was secretly relieved to know