“Not now. We had... a disagreement a few years ago. I’m not very responsive to authority. All Souls Legal Cooperative is where I work. But here I am, telling you my life story. What about you — how’d you get into the brush business?”
Clemente grinned broadly. “I’m a psychology graduate, and I’ve been a government parasite my whole career. I started as a prison guard while attending college. In the fifteen years since then, I’ve operated a halfway house and directed programs for counseling parolees. When the job with the Blind Center came up, I jumped at the chance to get away from felons.”
“I can understand. I don’t deal with too many, but a lot of the characters I come across are pretty shady...” My attention was drawn to the door behind Clemente, where Linnea stood. “Oh, there’s my friend.” I motioned for her to come over.
Linnea waved and walked toward the table. She wore jeans and a suede jacket that hugged her trim little figure. Her wheat-colored hair hung free, framing her face, which was still tanned from the Southern California sun she worshipped.
I made the introductions, and Linnea joined us, ordering a stinger in response to Clemente’s offer of a drink. “Hey, this is great,” she said to me. “You weren’t at the apartment when I got back from shopping, so I went over to the Superette, and Mr. Moe said he’d seen you go in here. Not bad detective work for an amateur, huh?”
“Damned good.” Linnea was sober and definitely in her manic stage. She smiled brightly and made animated gestures while she spoke, the many rings on her fingers flashing.
Clemente sat up straighter, looking at her with visible interest.
“Well, I’ve studied detection with one of the best,” Linnea replied, grinning warmly at me, our hot words on the telephone forgotten.
“So you went shopping?” I asked.
“For food and cleaning stuff. I had to. The place is a pit.” To Clemente, she added, “I’m staying with Sharon, and I’ve managed to destroy her apartment. Why I’m such a slob...” She smiled helplessly.
Clemente smiled back, obviously enchanted.
I studied them thoughtfully. A new romantic interest might be just what Linnea needed.
“Ah,” Clemente said, “you’re staying over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of my building. “Did you know the woman who was murdered?”
Linnea nodded, her eyes wide. “Did you?”
“Oh, yes. Her husband works for the Blind Center. In fact, it was Mrs. Antonio who suggested he apply to us.”
“How did that come about?” I asked,
“Gus had retired and was picking up bad habits. What they were, she wouldn’t say, but she wanted something for him to do so he would stay out of trouble. All she had in mind was a volunteer position, but fortunately we were able to pay him a small — very small — salary.”
Linnea leaned her chin on her hand, affecting fascination. Clemente’s gaze slid back to her.
“Even though you’re only an amateur detective, do you have any suspicions about who killed her?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It’s strange, coming right after she’d had such a bad session with her spiritual advisor.”
“Spiritual advisor?” Clemente and I chorused.
“Oh, that’s what she called her fortune teller. She said Madame Anya hadn’t been able to give her any advice that wouldn’t lead her into a worse predicament than she was already in.”
“What kind of predicament?” I asked.
“She wouldn’t say, but she was very upset. She said it was all because of the cards.”
“Good grief. Who is this Madame Anya?”
Linnea looked surprised. “Don’t you know?”
“No. I’ve never heard of her.”
“But she lives in your building.”
“A fortune teller in the building? That’s a new one!”
“She’s been there a long time. I guess you’re not around enough to meet the other tenants.” Linnea’s reproachful look indicated that I wasn’t around enough to suit her, either. “Anyway, it’s Mrs. Neverman, on the third floor.”
“Mrs. Neverman is Madame Anya?” I thought of the hatchet-faced woman, whom Greg had described as a witch.
“Yes. Wait, I’ll show you.” Linnea rummaged in the bottom of her big canvas purse.
I glanced at Clemente. He wore an amused smile.
“Here it is!” Linnea extended a tattered handbill to me. It was crudely printed, with Tarot figures around its edges. I took it and read aloud:
“ ‘Madame Anya — All Welcome.’ ” I looked up at Linnea. “Is this serious?”
“Keep going,” she said. “You won’t believe it.”
The handbill was headlined: CARD READER — PSYCHIC READER — SPIRITUAL ADVISOR. I read on, into the fine print.
One visit will convince you! Madame Anya has the God-given Power to Heal by Prayer. What you see with your eyes, your heart will believe. Are you suffering? Are you sick? Do you need help? Do you have bad luck? Bring your problems to Madame Anya today and be rid of them tomorrow. She advises on all affairs of life. There is no problem too great she can’t solve. She calls your friends and enemies by name without asking you a single word and reunites the separated. Madame Anya has devoted a lifetime to this work. From the four corners of the world they have come to her, men and women of all races and walks of life. Guaranteed to remove evil influence and bad luck. Lifts you out of sorrow and darkness and starts you on the way to success and happiness. Madame Anya invites you to her home. What your eyes see, your heart will believe!
It ended by promising a free lucky charm to all comers, and stated that all readings were private and confidential.
“Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “Just look what I’ve been missing. She certainly didn’t bring Molly good luck, though.”
“Or me,” Linnea said. “Would you look at this stupid charm?” She held up a little plastic statue of a bluebird dangling from a key chain. “Did you ever see the likes of it? No wonder she gives them out free!”
I looked at her curiously. “You went to her?”
“Once. Molly thought she could help me. And I...” She faltered. “I was ready to try anything.” Her chin came up defiantly.
Clemente looked perplexed.
“What was it like?” I asked.
“Strange.”
“Did she tell you anything useful?”
“No,” she replied sulkily. “If you’re so interested, why don’t you go see her yourself?”
“I think I’ll do that,” I said, standing. “In fact, I’ll do it right now.”
Linnea looked up in surprise. “My hard-headed, practical friend is going to visit a fortune teller?”
“Why not?”
She grinned. “Why not? We can compare notes later.”
I thanked Clemente for the drink, and he told me to stop in at the Blind Center sometime for a tour. At the bar, I paused to remove the lima beans from my grocery bag. The package was slightly damp, but still firm. I slipped it into my purse and checked the wine with Stanley for safekeeping. Linnea was starting in on her second stinger; by the time she got home, she’d be ready to drink all night, and I didn’t want the wine there to tempt her.
As I went out the door, I glanced back at the table. Linnea and Clemente were laughing, their heads close together. Her knee was pressed firmly against his thigh.
8
The dim orange bulb on the third-floor landing did little to illuminate the hall. I waited as heavy footsteps approached from within Mrs. Neverman’s apartment. The door opened a few inches, and I stared down the long barrel of a .22 revolver. Mrs. Neverman’s face peered out over the security chain, curiosity and apprehension accentuating the forward thrust of her jaw.
“Yes? What do you want?” Her voice grated harshly.