In the kitchen, there were several towering piles of empty tuna-fish cans. The walls were painted green, and for the first time, Raymie stood face-to-face with the grandmother. It was like looking at Louisiana in a fun-house mirror. The grandmother’s hair was gray and her face was wrinkled, but other than that she looked exactly like her granddaughter. She was tiny, not much taller than Louisiana, and she, too, had bunny barrettes in her hair, which was strange because you did not necessarily think that old people wore barrettes.

“Welcome, welcome,” said the grandmother, spreading her arms wide. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

“Yes,” said Louisiana. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” said Raymie.

Beverly shook her head. She wandered out of the kitchen and into the living room.

“It’s such a pleasure to make the acquaintance of Louisiana’s best friend,” said the grandmother to Raymie.

“Me?” said Raymie.

“Oh, yes, you. It’s ‘Raymie this’ and ‘Raymie that’ all the livelong day. It must be wonderful to be idolized so. Now. Just let me locate the can opener,” the grandmother said, “and we will have ourselves a tuna-fish feast.”

“Oh, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “I love it when we have tuna-fish feasts.”

“Where’s the furniture?” asked Beverly. She was standing at the threshold to the kitchen.

“I beg your pardon?” said Louisiana’s grandmother.

“I’ve been all over the house and there’s no furniture.”

“Well, why on earth are you going all over the house searching for furniture?”

“I —” said Beverly.

“That’s exactly right,” said the grandmother. “Maybe you could make yourself useful and find the can opener, since you enjoy searching for things so very much.”

“Okay,” said Beverly. “I mean, I guess so.” She stepped into the kitchen and started opening and closing doors.

“Oh,” said the grandmother. She put both hands to her head. “I just now have had a sudden recollection. The can opener is in the car.”

“It’s in the car?” said Beverly.

“Louisiana, run out there and get it for me, would you, darling? And do not return until you find it.”

“Yes, Granny,” said Louisiana.

Louisiana turned and left in a flash of orange and sequins and bunny barrettes. As soon as the screen door slammed shut behind her, the grandmother turned to Beverly and Raymie and pulled a can opener out of the sleeve of her dress.

“Ta-da,” she said. “My father was a magician, the most elegant and deceitful man who ever lived. I learned a few things from him that I’ve found to be of some use — sleights of hand, for instance, how to conceal things.”

She waggled her eyebrows.

“Were Louisiana’s parents really trapeze artists?” asked Raymie. “Were they the Flying Elefantes?”

Beverly snorted.

“The story of the Flying Elefantes is a story worth telling again and again,” said the grandmother.

“But is it true?” asked Raymie.

Louisiana’s grandmother raised her left eyebrow and then her right one. She smiled.

Beverly rolled her eyes.

“What about Marsha Jean?” asked Raymie. “Is she real?”

“Marsha Jean is the ghost of what’s to come. It’s good to be on the lookout for those who might do you harm. I need Louisiana to be cautious. And wily. I won’t always be here to protect her. She would have a very hard time if she ended up in the county home. I’m hoping that you two can keep an eye on her, that you’ll protect her.”

The screen door slammed.

“I looked everywhere, Granny,” said Louisiana. “I can’t find it.”

“No worries, darling. I’ve located it. And now we’ll feast!” The grandmother held up the can opener. She smiled.

How could Raymie protect Louisiana?

She didn’t even know how to protect herself.