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I’m here with her mother and we can’t find French. Have you seen her?’ She buzzed them in and they went to her first floor apartment whose door was tucked behind the stairs. She opened the door the merest crack and peered at them shrewdly. Apparently, it had belatedly occurred to her that perhaps she shouldn’t have opened the door to strangers. Recognizing Aidan for who he said he was, she opened the door wider and gestured them across the threshold. ‘Good morning, Mrs. Hirschbaum. How are you today?’ Aidan asked politely. ‘This cold weather is making my bones ache,’ she complained the way she always did. ‘I should have moved to Florida years ago. I’m just getting too old for these Boston winters.’ ‘You don’t look or act a day over fifty,’ Aidan responded, the way he always did when Mrs. Hirschbaum fished for compliments. ‘Mrs. H, this is French’s mother, Marcheline Delauney. She’s here to visit her daughter, but French isn’t answering her buzzer. Have you seen her?’ ‘Why, yes, I.

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