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are?”
    â€œI’m Mr. Dandy.” If the old man had a first name, he didn’t admit to it.
    His striped shirt was spotless, but worn thin with frayed cuffs, and buttoned tightly at the wrist and the long, thin neck. He wore a blue-and-white tie, cuffed khaki pants that hung loose on a frame nearly skeletal, and brown leather suspenders that David guessed he wore every day of his life. His ears stuck out. His hair was short on the sides, thick at top, white and healthy and parted on one side. He was bony and tall, all joints and long, thin fingers.
    â€œI’m Eddie Eyebrows,” the man on the steps said. He offered David a hand, grinned at the Elaki, waved.
    David liked the way he said ‘eyebrows,’ as if it was the name he’d been born with. He had pulled the sting out of what was likely a constant taunt by taking ownership.
    â€œValentine,” the woman said.
    â€œJust Valentine?” David asked.
    â€œAll you need to know. You here for Annie?”
    David did not like the feeling he got here. He did not want to play the heavy with these people.
    â€œWe’re just here to ask her some questions.” Why, he asked himself, did he feel the need to earn this woman’s approval?
    Valentine folded her arms. “This time of night? When she’s got a sick baby on her hands?”
    David held up the teddy. “I’ve got the bear.”
    Eddie leaped up and clapped his hands. “He’s got it, Val; it’s the bear, Jenny’s bear!”
    The transformation was instantaneous and beautiful, smiles all around.
    â€œMy hero,” Mel muttered.
    Mr. Dandy held out a hand. “Right this way, good sir. I know one little girlie who’s going to be glad to see you.”
    Valentine folded her arms, nodded at David. “Just be sure you leave that door open when you have your little talk.”
    Mel waved a hand. “Yeah, Your Highness, whatever. Bring on the bear, will you, David, and let’s get on with this.”

NINE
    All of David’s children had loved a special cuddly when they were toddlers—Kendra’s had been a stuffed snake, Lisa had a Winnie the Pooh, and Mattie had only recently given up custody of a blanket named Pid. Trying to get one of them to sleep without their special toy was always a crisis—the kind of crisis Annie Trey was having with Jenny.
    Her apartment was known as a junior—two rooms, L-shaped, with a tiny kitchen attached to a living room, and a closet-sized bedroom off one side. She did not have very many things; a battered rocker with an old green cushion, a cubed plastic love seat—dirt-cheap even brand new. A wire lamp. Large-screen TV tacked to one wall.
    Everything that she had evidently wanted in the way of furniture was painted on the walls. Mel turned a circle, studying. He pointed a finger at Annie Trey.
    â€œYou the artist?”
    She jiggled the baby. Looked at Mel a long moment, then shrugged. “Yeah.”
    Her taste ran to the simple—chunky lines of Scandinavian furniture, blond wood, boxy silhouettes. There was a couch on one side, with end tables. The other side showed shelves that held a complicated sound system, a computer, stacks of laser discs. Another wall showed an entertainment center and a grandfather clock.
    Annie Trey paced the room, bouncing Jenny up and down in her arms. “ Hush , honey.” The baby clutched the teddy bear and burrowed her head in Annie’s shoulder, sobbing as if her heart would break. Annie looked at David, but didn’t really see him. She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, we’ll just have to talk while she cries, ’less you want to wait on this. I thought the bear would turn the trick.”
    String looked at David. “She is the artist of the stairs.”
    He nodded. It was the outside wall that drew him.
    She had painted a large bay window, where the architect had committed the sin of not having one.