With a black loose-leaf binder tucked under one arm, she marched through the house with Laurie at her elbow, examining the furniture as well as the overall condition of the house itself. When she paused to swipe a pointy little finger through the dust on the top of the piano in the parlor, Laurie imagined herself clubbing the woman over the head with the brass candelabrum, then dragging her dwarfish body down into the sanctum of the dungeonlike basement. “When was the house built?” Ms. Canton quipped. “You know, I have no idea. Maybe sometime in the sixties?” “The woodwork is handmade. Do you see the detailing in the balustrade?” They were in the foyer now, with Ms. Canton pointing at the stairwell banister. This was their second lap around the house and the woman had yet to make any notes in her little black binder. “The spindles look hand-carved. Do you see the variants in each spindle? Do you?” Laurie leaned close and squinted at the balusters. “I guess so. . . .”
