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For a moment, I felt like arguing, but Anna took my arm, and I let out a long
exasperated sigh and gave in. Maybe the whole thing would look better
tomorrow. I took my pick out with me and propped it up against the front
porch.
Marjorie and the homely Miss Johnson stood silently in the doorway watching us
leave. They didn't even wave or smile.
As we turned around and started off down the drive, Anna twisted around in her
seat to take a last look at Winter Sails.
"Take a good long look while you're at it," I said bitterly. "I expect she'll
have it burned down by tomorrow. I haven't been so goddamned furious in
years."
Anna didn't seem to be listening. "Does she have two companions?" she asked
urgently.
"What?"
"Your godmother-does she have two companions? Miss Johnson and someone else?"
I shrugged. "Not that I know of."
"Well, who's that then? Look in your mirror. "
I quickly checked my rear-view mirror. I couldn't look for very long, because
the driveway was dark and winding, but I saw the silhouettes o£ Marjorie and
Miss Johnson and-
I jammed on the brakes. The Cougar slithered and bucked on the weedy gravel, I
stared back at the house, then looked at Anna with my mouth open. "I don't
know," I said hoarsely. "I only caught a glimpse. It looks like that person in
the robe."
"Do you think we ought to go back?" asked Anna nervously. "I would never
forgive myself if anything happened to those two."
I thought for a while drumming my finger on the steering wheel. The front door
of Winter Sails was closed now, and there were no lights showing. In the
distance, the surf gleamed fluorescent white through the darkness.
"Oh, what the hell," I said at last. "I've had enough of this for one day.
They've probably got a guest there they don't want me to meet. I don't know
why, but I'm too hungry to go back and find out. Let's find ourselves some
dinner and decide what to do on a full belly."
I released the brakes, and we drove off into the murky night. I felt worried
and unsettled about Marjorie, but there are times when godsonly devotion can
be overcome by irritation, fatigue, and a desire to entertain comely girls.
Over steak and salad in the candlelit restaurant of the Cape Cod Motel, Anna
and I talked some more about djinns and Arabian magic and Marjorie's
mysterious behavior. We had stopped to pick up Anna's suitcase at Hyannis
Airport, and she had changed into something more becoming than her funeral
suit. She wore a simple white evening dress, low-cut and silky, which showed
off her sun-tanned shoulders and an inviting amount of cleavage. In the
restaurant, there was Californian burgundy, plenty of hot rolls, piped music,
laughter, plush decor, and reality. After the events of the day, reality was
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something that both Anna and I sorely needed.
"Look at it this way," I said through a mouthful of steak. "Just because Max
Greaves had the jar of djinns in the house, that doesn't mean that the jar was
responsible for his behavior. If you ask me, it was the other way around. Max
went off his head and made everybody think it was the jar that was doing it"
Anna shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I'm trying to keep an open mind. You
have to admit that he went to an awful lot of trouble to seal up the jar in
the authentic ancient way."
"Of course he did. Eccentrics always do. They have a passion for detail. Half
the time, he probably thought he was a Persian magician from the fifth century
B.C."
"I'd like to know more about the faces," said Anna.
"What faces?"
"The portraits, the pipe, and all those magazines with the pictures cut out.
His own face, if it comes to that. There must have been a reason for it."
"We could always ask Dr. Jarvis."
"Is he the family doctor?"
I nodded. "He's been looking after Max and Marjorie for a coon's age. I think
if I talk to him in just the right way, he might tell me what happened. I had
measles once when I was staying at Winter Sails, and I kind of made friends
with him. He's very proper, but if I tell him I'm worried about Marjorie..."
Anna grated some black pepper over her steak. "It's worth a try. If you do
that, I'll have a talk with Professor Qualt out at New Bedford."
"Qualt? Who's he?"
"You must have heard of Gordon Qualt. He's America's foremost expert in
ancient folklore and Middle Eastern culture."
"Why the hell should I have heard of him?"
Anna smiled. "Don't get so offended. He was in the newspapers not long ago
when they turned up that marble-smuggling racket out of Iraq. He's very keen
on keeping treasures in the environment where they were originally created/'
I stabbed a piece of pickle. "I agree with him. I hate to see people losing
their marbles."
"You're impossible," laughed Anna. "I'm glad I found out what you were like
before I asked you to read my fortune. I might have believed it."
"Were you going to ask me to read your fortune?"
She made big foxy eyes at me. They sparkled in the soft candlelight, and
somehow I had the feeling that she was thinking of making a play for me. Don't
ask me how, it was just one of those remarkable intuitions that we
clairvoyants are prone to.
"Well," I said, "you mustn't let my naturally suspicious nature put you off. I
do tell a very mean fortune."
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"Will you read mine?"
"Sure, what do you want? Palm reading, Tarot, tea leaves, or crystal ball? I
can even read the bumps on your head."
She laughed. "What are you best at?"
"After I've read your fortune, I'll show you."
We finished our steaks and ordered Irish coffee. The piped music was playing a
treacly version of "Samba Pa Ti," and at the next table, a man with a loud tie
and a large mustache was laughing in great uncontrolled shouts. A middle-aged
woman wobbled past us in purple nylon ski pants, silver shoes, and a
green-rinsed, gray, beehive hairdo. Her husband, in yellow and red plaid,
looked like a character out of the Sunday funnies.
"What kind of a guy is Qualt?" I asked Anna. "Do you know him personally? I
mean, do you think he'll help us?"
"He's very sensitive and very understanding. I used to have a crush on him at
the university. I guess Qualt is one reason why I'm doing the job I'm doing. I
was always interested in antiques, but he really turned me on to this whole
thing of restoring Middle Eastern antiquities to their rightful owners."
I lit a cigarette. "What's he working on now? Giving Manhattan back to the
Indians?"
"Manhattan was bought. Most of the treasures of the Middle East were stolen."
I coughed. "I don't see that it makes any difference where antiquities are. As
long as people can see them, what does it matter?"
She sipped her coffee. "It's a question of national heritage. How would you
feel if some Iranian took the Statue of Liberty and set it up at the head of
the Persian Gulf?"
"Very offended. I've lived in the city most of my life, and I haven't had the
chance to visit it yet. If I can never find the time to get out to Liberty
Island, how the hell am I going to find the time to get out to the Persian
Gulf?"
"Well," said Anna, "you get the general picture of what Professor Qualt is
trying to do. He believes that it's important for countries to be aware of
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