A shadow passed at the side window. I saw a hand, then a face in silhouette.
The porch light came on. I saw a dark figure looking at me through a small window. The shape looked female but I couldn’t be sure yet.
“Koko? It’s Janeway, from Denver.”
The shadow backed away from the window and a moment later the door opened just a crack. I saw nothing of a face, only the rims of her glasses reflected from the porch light. But when she spoke, I recognized her voice.
“Mr. Janeway?”
“I know it’s late. I’m sorry. I did try calling earlier.”
“I was meditating. I can’t hear the phone when I’m in that room.”
“I should come back tomorrow.”
I hoped she would counter but she said nothing.
A moment passed. I took a chance. “Listen, Koko, what I really need is to talk to you right now, tonight. Some things have happened since we spoke on the phone.”
I heard her take a breath. “This can’t be good if it brings you here at midnight.”
“A friend of mine has been killed.”
She leaned closer to the door and said, “I’m sorry.” I saw the shadow of her face move across the crack in the door and she regarded me with her right eye.
“How was he killed?”
“She. The police think it was just a neighborhood burglary.”
“Sounds like you don’t believe that.”
“I don’t know what I believe. It’s not like me to make up spooks, but I’ve been thinking all kinds of crazy things since I got to Baltimore.”
“Things that have to do with Josephine.”
Before I could confirm that, she said, “My manners are terrible. Come in.”
I stepped into a dark hallway. The entire house was dark except for the dim orange lamplight in the room off to my right, and Koko was still nothing more than a shadow. She led me toward what was apparently a living room and I had a vision of a slender girl with a shawl over her shoulders, surrounded by books. The shawl was dark, I saw in the lamplight from the doorway; the girl, from her own description on the telephone, would be a woman somewhat older than me, but the girlish image persisted as she crossed the room into the light.
There was a hint of incense in the air. The room was slightly hazy, like a scene in an art film. She turned and motioned me to a chair. She was indeed slim. Her face was young and unwrinkled, her age just hinted by the glasses and her hair, which now in the orange light looked to be black speckled with either white or gray. Even with the salt-and-pepper hair she looked no older than thirty-five. Her face like the rest of her was thin, but warm in the fuzzy light. I could see a line of sweat on her forehead, though the house was cool. She said, “Please sit,” and she took a chair facing mine.
I looked in her eyes, which seemed to be blue. “You’re younger than I thought.”
She smiled slightly. “I’m afraid that’s a huge illusion. If I look younger than I am, it’s because I’ve been doing the right things for about thirty years now. It’s no great secret—just do what they all tell you.”
“Who are they?”
“Herbalists, medicine men, a shaman or two. I stretch, I walk, I get violent, fierce exercise at odd moments of the day. Just before you came, as a matter of fact. I eat right. And I don’t smoke. That’s the absolute worst thing you can do to yourself.”
She had a kind smile, which began in her eyes and radiated through her face. She smiled now and said, “I’ll be sixty-two next month.”
“Get out of here!”
“You look pretty fit yourself.”
“That’s because I’m young at heart.”
“You look like you’re thirty-five and you talk like a wise guy.”
“I’m thirty-seven. I run obsessively, drink occasionally, take in way too much caffeine, and dispense more verbal trash than you’ll get from a dozen other sources in a month of Sundays. That’s the wise guy part of my nature. But I don’t smoke.”
“Good for you. Can I get you something? I was just about to have tea.”
“At midnight?”
