Planes from Logan airport were flying, but a lot of white-knuckle types had canceled. Once we were above the clouds, the flight was smooth, and by seven o’clock my taxi was heading into the city. Caroline’s Fifth Avenue apartment occupied the entire floor of an exclusive old building. A bastion of wealth and prestige. The view of Central Park was extensive and sweeping. Caroline once told me that she had bought the apartment from the estate of her third husband’s mother, a notable grande dame. “Everyone thought I was crazy, the jumped-up heiress from Chicago just getting her kicks, but the high ceilings give me room for my grandfather’s old masters. Turns out most of them are fakes painted by an apprentice. That’s the grandfather who invented hairpins. Knew nothing about art.” I seldom visited, but the uniformed doorman greeted me with a smile. “Good to see you again, Mrs. Streat. I’ll have your bags sent right up.” Caroline’s elderly Irish maids had been with her for years. As I came out of the elevator, white-haired Minnie, wearing her black dress and starched white apron, met me at the door. “Ah, Mrs. Streat, ’tis a pleasure to see you. I…
