She’s tall but fine-boned, with sleek dark hair framing a sculpted face. Her brows are slender, sharp, arched above a pair of gray-green eyes. She regards me coolly, then crosses the kitchen and extends a hand.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she says.

Her voice is low and lush, very Bacall. It clots in my ears.

I don’t move. I can’t.

Her hand stays there, thrust toward my chest. After a moment I wave it away.

“Who is this?”

“This is your neighbor.” Little sounds almost sad.

“Jane Russell,” says Norelli.

I look at her, then at him. Then at the woman.

“No, you’re not,” I tell her.

She withdraws her hand.

Back to the detectives: “No, she isn’t. What are you saying? She isn’t Jane.”

“I promise you,” Alistair begins, “she is—”

“You don’t need to promise anything, Mr. Russell,” Norelli tells him.

“Does it make a difference if I promise?” asks the woman.

I round on her, step forward. “Who are you?” I sound raw, jagged, and I’m pleased to see her and Alistair scuttle back together, as though they’re cuffed at the ankle.

“Dr. Fox,” Little says, “let’s calm down.” He places a hand on my arm.

It jolts me. I spin away from him, away from Norelli, and now I’m in the center of the kitchen, the detectives looming by the window, Alistair and the woman backed into the living room.

I turn to them, advance. “I have met Jane Russell twice,” I say slowly, simply. “You are not Jane Russell.”

This time she stands her ground. “I can show you my driver’s license,” she offers, dipping a hand into her pocket.

I shake my head, simply, slowly. “I don’t want to see your driver’s license.”

“Ma’am,” calls Norelli, and I twist my head over my shoulder. She approaches, steps between us. “That’s enough.”

Alistair is watching me with wide eyes. The woman’s hand is still burrowed in her pocket. Behind them, Ethan has retreated to the chaise, Punch coiled at his feet.

“Ethan,” I say, and his gaze glides up to me, like he was waiting to be summoned. “Ethan.” I push between Alistair and the woman. “What’s happening?”

He looks at me. Looks away.

“She is not your mother.” I touch his shoulder. “Tell them that.”

He cocks his head, swerves his eyes left. Clenches his jaw and swallows. Picks at a fingernail. “You’ve never met my mother,” he mumbles.

I remove my hand.

Turn around, slowly, dazed.

Then they speak at once, a little chorus: “Can we—” asks Alistair, nodding toward the hall door just as Norelli says, “We’re finished here,” and Little invites me to “get some rest.”

I blink at them.

“Can we—” Alistair tries again.

“Thank you, Mr. Russell,” says Norelli. “And Mrs. Russell.”

He and the woman eye me warily, as though I’m an animal that’s just been tranquilized, then walk to the door.

“Come on,” says Alistair, sharply. Ethan rises, his eyes fixed on the floor, and steps over the cat.

As they file out the door, Norelli lines up after them. “Dr. Fox, it’s a criminal offense to make false police reports,” she informs me. “Do you understand?”

I stare at her. I think I bob my head.

“Good.” She tugs at her collar. “That’s all I’ve got.”

The door closes behind her. I hear the outer door unlatch.

It’s just me and Little. I look at his wingtips, black and spade-sharp, and remember (how? why?) that I’ve missed my French lesson with Yves today.

Just me and Little. Les deux.

The crack of the front door as it shuts.

“Am I okay to leave you alone?” he asks.

I nod, vacant.

“Is there someone you can talk to?”

I nod again.

“Here,” he says, thumbing a card from his breast pocket, pressing it into my hand. I examine it. Flimsy stock. detective conrad little, nypd. Two phone numbers. An email address.

“You need anything, you can call me. Hey.” I look up. “You can call me. Okay?”

I nod.

“Okay?”

The word barrels down my tongue, elbows other words aside. “Okay.”

“Good. Day or night.” He slings his phone from one hand to the other. “I got those kids. I don’t sleep.” To the first hand again. He catches me watching, goes still.

We look at each other.

“Be well, Dr. Fox.” Little moves to the hall door, opens it, gently draws it closed behind him.

Again the front door clacks open. Again it slams shut.