The Alexander Baldwins never argue, but they are arguing now. Urgent whispers, rising up the stairway. Their three-story colonial is massive, beautifully restored (thick champagne-colored carpet recently installed throughout, even in the bathrooms; double-paned windows; an expensive new central heating system that works inaudibly), and so solid that it retains all sounds, all passions. The Baldwins stand in the dining room, where they've just eaten lunch, or perhaps in the wide foyer with its teal-blue Persian rug, where Laura confronts Alex before he can escape out the front door.

The foyer just at the base of the stairs. Where Alex has begun to shout.

"For heaven's sake," Laura hisses, "keep your voice down."