“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, giving him a hug and holding on to him. “She was a kind woman. A bit of a mystery, but warmhearted. I could tell. And she talked about you and Kari all the time. Helen loved the two of you. She never explained her situation or what she was doing here, but I got the feeling over the years that she’d want me to tell you that.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me,” said Devin. “Things kind of got away from all of us.”

“It happens,” she said. “Sometimes there’s nothing we can do about it. Trust me, I know.”

“Are you headed out?” he asked.

“No. No. I saw you stop in your car and recognized you immediately. Got my old bones up to say hello,” she said.

“I’m glad you did,” said Devin. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise,” she said before moving out of his way.

They stepped inside, and Devin shut the door behind them, checking for a dead bolt or some way to make sure it was locked.

“It self-locks. You need to use the key every time when entering,” she said. “But if you lock yourself out, just wave through the window. One of us is almost always in the living room.”

“I will. Thank you,” he said before heading for the staircase.

“Oh, uh . . . Devin?”

He stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Yes?”

“Will we, uh . . . see you around much?” she asked.

“I can’t say,” he said, which was the truth.

He had no idea what he’d find up there.

“Well. I hope we see you around,” she said, opening her apartment door.

Devin nodded. “Okay. See you later.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” said Berg.

Henrietta smiled as she went back inside her apartment and gently closed the door.

Devin reached the third floor, with Berg following closely behind, and made his way to the only door in the hallway, which had no doorknob. Just a dead bolt. Henrietta and her family must have thought that was more than a little bit odd. He glanced around the hallway, unable to locate the camera he assumed was recording him. Security seemed a little light for something supposedly this important. Then again, looks could be deceiving.

It took him two tries to select the right key to turn what felt like a heavy-duty dead bolt. Without a doorknob, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do next, other than push his way in—which turned out to be the right answer. When the heavy metal slab swung inward, he quickly entered and located the framed print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night in the empty family room, tilting its left corner upward to reveal a basic alarm pad set into the wall.