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didn’t help, although, from a certain perspective, you’d think it might have. At least it proved I was capable of being a criminal.
    “Kid needs someone to keep an eye on him,” Grandad says. “Something to keep his hands busy.”
    “He needs a rest,” Barron says. “Besides, we don’t even know what happened. What if someone was after him? What if Zacharov found out what happened to Lila? He’s still looking for his daughter.”
    The thought makes my blood turn to ice.
    Someone snorts. I figure it is Philip, but then Grandad says, “And he’s supposed to be safe with you two clowns?”
    “Yeah,” Philip says. “We’ve kept him safe this long.”
    I draw near to the stairs, squatting down on the balcony over the living room. They must be in the kitchen, since I can hear them very clearly. I’m ready to go down there and tell them just how clearly I can hear them. I’m going to force them to involve me.
    “Maybe you don’t have time to worry about your brother, considering how much you should be worrying about that wife of yours. Think I can’t tell? And you shouldn’t be working her.”
    That stops me, foot on the first carpeted step. Working her?
    “Leave Maura out of this,” Philip says. “You never liked her.”
    “Fine,” Grandad says. “None of my concern how you run your house. You’ll see soon enough. I just think you’ve got your hands full.”
    “He doesn’t want to go with you,” Philip says. I’m surprised—either Philip really hates Grandad telling him what to do or Barron convinced him to let me stay after all.
    “What if Cassel was up on that roof ’cause he wanted to jump? Think of what he’s been through,” Grandad says.
    “He’s not like that,” says Barron. “He’s kept his nose clean at that school. Kid needs a rest, is all.”
    The door of the master bedroom opens and Maura steps out into the hall. Her flannel nightgown rides up on one hip. I can see the corner of her underwear.
    She blinks but doesn’t seem surprised to see me on the balcony. “I thought I heard voices. Is someone here?”
    I shrug, my heart beating hard. It takes me a moment torealize I haven’t been caught doing much of anything. “I heard voices too.”
    She looks too thin. Her collarbones seem like knives threatening to slice through her skin. “The music’s so loud tonight. I’m afraid I won’t be able to hear the baby.”
    “Don’t worry,” I say softly. “He must be sleeping like—well, like a baby.” I smile, even though I know the joke’s lame. She makes me nervous. She looks like a stranger in the dark.
    She sits down beside me on the carpet, straightening her nightgown and dangling her legs between the balusters of the stairs. I can count the knobs of her spine. “I’m going to leave him, you know. Philip.”
    I wonder what he’s done to her. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know she’s been worked, but if it’s a love curse, maybe it’s wearing off. They do, although it can take six or even eight months. I wonder if I can ask her if she’s visited my mom in prison. Mom has to wear gloves, but she could easily have picked out a few threads to let skin brush skin while saying good-bye. “I didn’t know,” I say.
    “Soon. It’s a secret. You’ll keep my secret, right?”
    I nod quickly.
    “How come you aren’t down there? With the others?”
    I shrug. “Kid brothers always get left out, right?” They’re still talking downstairs. I can’t quite hear the words, but I’m afraid to stop talking, for fear she might hear what they’re saying about her.
    “You’re not a good liar. Philip’s good, but not you.”
    “Hey,” I say, honestly offended. “I am an excellent liar. I am the finest liar in the history of liars.”
    “Liar,” she says, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Why did your parents call you Cassel?”
    I’m defeated and amused. “Mom loved extravagant names. Dad insisted that his first son be named after him—Philip—but