For the past year the house had been eerily silent when Rufus entered it. Nothing like the home he had grown up in, bursting with noise and joy. Yet this afternoon he could hear raised voices as he let himself in the front door. He followed them to the parlor to see Alvin and their little sister tense and glaring at each other. Sloane's face was indigent, the same look was on Alvin's face, a shared look they had gained from their father.

"What's going on here?" Rufus asked sternly as if he had caught his children fighting over a toy broom or snitching cookies their mother had made from the kitchen.