No such luck. I stood before the aluminum screen door and rang a white plastic bell. I could hear a classical piano recording inside. It was pretty loud, and no one was answering the door, so I figured the music had drowned out the bell. I decided to knock.

"Just a minute!" came Mrs. Wilder's voice.

When the door opened, I felt relieved again.

Mrs. Wilder had a pretty, friendly face. Her hair was a beautiful deep brown, pulled straight back with a comb. She was wearing a string of pearls and a blue Laura Ashley dress. Her smile put me at ease. "Welcome, Clau-dia," she said, shaking my hand. "How nice to meet you. Come in."

"Hi," I said.

I glanced around. I noticed a framed Chagall print on one wall, a Matisse on another. That meant the Wilders probably had an interest in art. Definitely a good sign.

The music grew louder, and the sound was fantastic. You know how it is when you're in a new house. You take everything in and quickly try to figure out what to say first. You find something in the house you can compliment or talk about. I was going to mention the artwork, then say what a great sound system they had, then —

That's when I noticed that the sound system wasn't a sound system.

It was live.

A person was playing the piano in the living room. A girl whose feet barely reached the pedals.

"Rosie!" Mrs. Wilder said.

The girl kept playing. And I mean playing. Her fingers were flying over the keys.

Mrs. Wilder walked closer to her daughter. "Rosie?" she repeated.

The girl didn't look up. She was concentrating hard, with this grim expression on her face.