Aria took the key out of her pocket and laid it on the table between them.
Madame Aubert didn't pick it up. She turned it with one gloved finger until the bow faced her, and the letters caught the grey light from the window over the sink.
"Alors elle l'a gardée," she said.
"So she kept it," Damien said.
"What does it open?" Aria asked. "Something here?"
Damien translated. The old woman shook her head.
"Rien ici."
"Nothing here," Damien said.
"Then why does it say J.S.?"
"Pour que tu viennes me voir d'abord."
"So you'd come to her first," Damien said.
Madame Aubert turned the key once more under her finger. "Elle est arrivée un matin avec cette clé. Les lettres venaient d'être frappées. Elle m'a dit : si un jour une fille vient avec ça, c'est la mienne."
"She came in one morning with this key," Damien said. "The letters were freshly stamped. She said, 'If a girl ever comes in with this, she's mine.'"
"Why you?" Aria asked. "Why would she trust a florist?"
