“Piper, honey, come on down, sweetheart,” Mrs. Williams calls up the grand staircase. Above her head hangs a spectacular chandelier, with a dozen glistening prisms. A ragtime record spins on the gramophone.

Piper’s living room is bigger than our whole apartment. It’s twice as long, twice as wide, and twice as tall too.

By the piano a man dressed in khaki pants, a white button-down shirt, and a narrow black tie holds a feather duster. His hair is short, yellow and tightly curled, and he’s wearing the kind of tortoiseshell spectacles that college professors and good spellers wear.

“Buddy Boy, this is Scout McIlvey.” Mrs. Williams is just as warm with Buddy as she is with Scout. I’m not sure where Piper got her raspy edge, but it doesn’t seem to be from Mrs. Williams.

Buddy Boy glides across the carpet and offers his hand to Scout, whose eyes dart in my direction. Scout sucks in a big breath and shakes Buddy Boy’s hand with his own trembling one. It’s easier to be sure of myself with Scout here getting nervous for me. I stick out my hand and Buddy Boy shakes it hard and slow. His eyes, magnified behind his glasses, are sharp and gray like stones under water. He smiles at me, then smiles again as if he has a whole lot of smiles and he wants to make sure I see every one.

Piper appears at the top of the grand staircase, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with a large green ribbon.

“Scout.” Piper half skips down the steps. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m glad we finally get to meet,” Buddy Boy says in a low tone. I glance over at him thinking he’s talking to Scout, but he’s not.

“Yes, sir,” I say, hoping Scout doesn’t hear this. I don’t know if you’re supposed to call a convict sir, and I don’t want Scout to see me acting dumb around the cons. I’m the one who’s supposed to know what I’m doing.

“Come to think of it, I believe I’ve met your mother, Scout… Mabel McIlvey?” Mrs. Williams asks.