Dick has dropped to his knees and rummages through a cabinet buffed, like the rest of the room's fixtures, to a high metallic sheen. Mattie's question is lost in the clanging and scraping and occasional rattle of kitchen implements, but he catches the inquisitorial note in her voice and hurriedly yanks his head from the cabinet.

The wild look of alarm in his eyes settles into habitual wariness when he realizes he's facing a girl not much older than himself.

"'scuse me," he says, quiet and somber. Carefully, as if it's a weapon or something of inestimable value, he lowers the strainer in his left hand to the floor.