Shortly, the door was opened to a security stop by a woman with a strong face and coarse black hair, who could have been any age from thirty to fifty, wearing a casual red sweater and tan pants. Her expression, resigned at first, changed in a moment to one of welcome.
“Ohl I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I thought it might be the pigs–or one of my clients turning up without an appointment. But you’re Lora Turpin, aren’t you? Come on inl”
She released the security stop and flung the door wide.
Lora hesitated, while Sheklov’s eyes seized greedily on what details of the interior of the apartment he could
make out from where he stood. Books-twenty times as many as in the whole of the Turpins’ home! A ouija board, hung from the wall on a bit of string! Visible on a low table abandoned presumably when the bell rang, a tarot pack!
It was like coming home.
So who was this woman, anyway-Danty’s mistress? That seemed unlikely. Vaguely he heard Lora asking whether Danty was in; equally vaguely, he registered the reply: “No, but he could be back at any time. Please come in and wait if you’d like to.”
“Well . . .” Lora looked to Sheklov for guidance.
“That’s very kind!” he exclaimed, and this time took her arm, encouraging her over the threshold. “Apparently you know Lora,” he added. “I’m Don Holtzer.”
“Oh, yes. Danty said he met you at the Turpins’. I’m Magda Hansen.” Shutting the door and waving them to chairs. “Do sit down. Maybe you’d like some coffee?”
“Please,” Sheklov said firmly.
“I’ll go plug the percolator in. Just a moment.” And she headed for the miniature kitchen in the corner.
Out of the side of her mouth, looking ill-at-ease, Lora whispered, “But that’s the-uh-the girl Danty’s living with. I saw her when I woke up this morning. That was why I.. ”
“Turned tail?” Sheklov supplied equally softly, finally putting two and two together. “Well, she doesn’t seem to mind your coming to call, does she?”
And that was all he had the chance to say before she was back and sitting down on one of the built-in couches, facing them. Recollecting her tarot cards, she leaned forward to gather them up. Sheklov decided to risk commenting on them.
“That’s an unusual deck you have there. Is it what they call-uh-tarrot?” Mispronouncing it deliberately.
“Yes.” Collapsing the cards with strong, thick fingers into a neat pile. “Haven’t you seen them before? Like to look?”
“Well, thanks,” Sheklov said, reaching to the full stretch of his arms to take them from her. He realized at once they were a design he didn’t know. But good. The hanged man, in particular: a black surrounded by hooded Klansmen. Very apt. He gave them back, and Magda turned to
park them on a vacant section of one of the many bookshelves at her back.
“Did you say you thought it might be police at the door?” he inquired, since Lora appeared to be tongue-tied.
“Could have been,” Magda said with a sigh. “Those radiated pigs are on a harassment kick right now-come crashing in, mostly on Sundays or in the middle of the night-just to turn everything over and make a mess. If they break a few things, so much the better.”
“But-uh-what excuse do they have for . . .?” Sheklov let the question trail away, thinking of the days when that had been the perennial nightmare of anyone on the other side who had dared to reveal an original turn of mind.
Magda gave a shrug. “Oh, they always say ‘suspicion of illegal drugs,’ you know. But that’s so much shit. It’s just the thing they don’t need a warrant for. Fact is, they hate rebs, and that’s all there is to it.”
“I see,” Sheklov said, for want of any better comment. He felt at a loss. This woman, much older than Danty, had a similar disconcerting quality in her dark gaze and in her tone of voice. He could almost imagine himself saying something to her, as he had done to Danty. that would be a betrayal of his cover, and without being able to help it even though he realized it was happening.