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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 probably still high. Meth runs could last up to twenty-four hours. Heavy users sometimes kept it going for days, even weeks. Judging by the sores and rotting teeth—despite being only twenty-four—Maggie knew that Lily wasn’t a novice drug user.
    Lily was still agitated but seemed to welcome the opportunity to get out of the bathroom and out from under Tully’s and the other two men’s scrutiny. She edged around him and Maggie motioned for her to continue to the bedroom across the hall. Maggie followed but not before exchanging a look with Tully. She glanced at Howard Elliott and noticed just a hint of a smile, as though he found all of this quite amusing.

CHAPTER 9

    PANHANDLE OF FLORIDA
    Ryder Creed heard footsteps, a soft tap-tap on the hardwood floor of his loft. Someone was either sneaking up on him or didn’t want to wake him. Either way, he didn’t much care. His eyelids twitched enough to see sunlight but refused to open. He wanted to stay in bed. It was perfect sleeping weather. A cool breeze came through an open window bringing dampness along with the smell of a wood fire. He was too comfortable to move, yet he slid his hand underneath the mattress and let his fingers wrap around the Ruger .38 Special +P.
    A dog’s tongue slobbered over Creed’s face. He hadn’t even heard the dog. He kept one hand under the mattress and with the other made half an attempt to brush the dog away. There was something comforting about the dog’s licking. That is until he began to whine.
    Creed’s eyes opened, blinking hard against the sunlight. It felt like gravel scraped under his eyelids. He pulled the revolver out before noticing the dog’s wagging tail. Then he saw the large black woman standing on the other side of his loft apartment.
    “How did you get in here?” He caught himself looking around like he wasn’t quite sure where “here” was.
    “You gave me a key.”
    “My bad,” Creed said and sat up, tucking the gun back under the mattress.
    “One of these days you’re gonna shoot somebody.”
    “That’s the idea.”
    He suddenly felt dizzy, like his head was disproportionately larger than his body. His mouth was dry, his throat scratchy. It was hard to swallow. He looked for a glass of water and saw only empty beer bottles. The woman—Hannah—had already started picking them up. There were scattered paper plates, too, filled