Sink Trap by Christy Evans Page A

I wasn’t the only one. But Barry recovered a lot quicker than I had.
    “Pardon me, ma’am.” Barry’s natural courtesy resurfaced as he crossed the room. He walked around the woman until he was facing her, and she looked up at him.
    “Can’t you see I’m busy?” she snapped.
    “I’m sorry to interrupt you,” he said. Reaching over, he took the pillowcase out of her hand and set it on the bed. By now, he had her complete attention.
    “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing, and maybe we can help.”
    She looked from Barry to the pillowcases on the bed and back again. She reached her hand toward the stuffed pillowcases, and for a moment I thought she was going to
grab her bags and make a run for it. I was trying to decide if I would have to block the hallway and trap her, or if I should just let her go.
    Slowly, she drew back her trembling hand. She laced her fingers together to control the motion, and looked back at Barry, indecision furrowing her brow.
    “I’m getting my clothes.” She drew herself up, pulling her shoulders back, as though reclaiming all the remnants of her lost pride. Her voice steadied and grew stronger, and she seemed more in control.
    She appeared to come to a decision. Her posture improved, her spine stiffened, and she took on a tone of confidence. There was still anger in her words, but she was calmer. “I’m just getting the things that are mine. Your precious Martha Tepper left me high and dry, and that woman refused to let me take anything out of the house.”
    I winced at her “that woman,” knowing she meant my mother.
    “This was my home until dear Martha decided to run off,” she continued. “These are my things, I need them, and I’m going to take them. I suggest you just stay out of my way, and I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
    Barry glanced over at me and flicked his eyes toward the bathroom. I took the hint and backed away. I stepped into the bathroom with my tools and waited while Barry continued talking to the woman.
    “I don’t think we’ve met,” he said. “I’m Barry Hickey, Hickey & Hickey Plumbing. We’re just doing some work on the house.”
    “I knew your father,” the woman replied. “He was a good man. Honest as the day is long.”
    There was a pause, and I wondered what was going on. I wanted to peek out and see, but Barry’s meaning had been clear: he wanted me out of the way.
    “Janis Breckweth,” the woman continued. “I’ve lived here the last six years, taking care of Martha. I was her
cook and housekeeper, and I thought I was her friend. Doesn’t seem like it now, though.”
    The control slipped for just a second, and bitterness colored her last sentence.
    “I’m only taking what’s mine, Mr. Hickey. You have my word of honor. You can escort me to the door, if you wish, to make sure I don’t abscond with anything else.”
    Barry chose to ignore the barb in her tone and kept his voice low and soothing. “I’d be glad to see you to the door, Miss Breckweth. Would you like me to carry one of those?”
    A moment later the two of them passed the bathroom doorway, Barry following the stiff back of Janis Breckweth. They each had an overstuffed pillowcase; Ms. Breckweth clutched hers tightly to her chest while Barry carried his at arm’s length, as though he was reluctant to touch the contents.
    That made me grin. Barry was too much of a gentleman not to offer to help, but he was obviously uncomfortable carrying a stranger’s clothes. Especially a woman’s.
    He returned a minute later, minus the pillowcase.
    “Do you really think we should have let her take those things?” I asked. “I mean, how do we really know they’re hers?”
    Barry shrugged. “Sure didn’t look like the kind of stuff Martha Tepper wears. Don’t ask me to explain that,” he added hastily. “I don’t know anything about women’s clothing. I just know that those things didn’t look like Martha Tepper.”
    He peered under the sink and tugged at