Four of the five pairs of eyes turned from me to the other hairdresser, a tall, slim woman in her late twenties with wavy russet hair. She blinked at me, not sure what to make of my visit.

"You been keeping secrets from us, Mira?" said one of the customers, a wide-faced brunette woman with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "And what a handsome secret he is."

"Careful, Paula," said the first hairdresser. "Don't let your husband hear you talking like that."

Paula made a show of peering under her chair and checking each corner of the salon, calling, "Ephraim, Ephraim, are you here, dear?" She winked at me. "What do you know? It appears my husband is out of earshot."

The other women laughed. All except Mira Roth, who narrowly eyed me.

"So, Mira," Paula said, "you gonna introduce us to your handsome friend?"

"I have no idea who this man is," Mira said, her cheeks reddening.

"Oh?" Paula turned to me. "What's your name, dear?"

"Adam Lapid. I called earlier."

"Nice to meet you, Adam," Paula said, obviously the leader of this little group. "How nice of you to come calling on our darling Mira. I assure you you won't find a better girl, would he, ladies?"

"That's quite enough, Paula," Mira Roth said. The others chuckled. "And the same goes for the rest of you." Recovered from her momentary embarrassment, her voice had reacquired the same strength and authority I had detected in it over the phone. She crossed the salon in three forceful strides and, upon reaching me, planted a firm hand in the middle of my chest and pushed me out onto the sidewalk. She followed me out and shut the door to the salon. "I thought I made it clear I did not wish to speak to you or anyone from your lousy newspaper."

Her mouth was set in a hard line. Her amber eyes were narrowed to menacing slits. Her left hand was planted on her hip. I noticed she was clutching a pair of scissors in her right hand and that muscles bunched and twitched in her forearm, as if she were getting ready to plunge the scissors into my chest.

This was an Irgun member, I recalled. It was quite likely she had killed before. I hastened to defuse the situation.

"You misunderstood me, Ms. Roth. I am not a reporter and I don't work for Davar. I'm a private investigator and all I want is to ask you a few questions about the Salonika."

"I don't want to talk about that. Not now, not ever. Go bother someone else."

"Please, it's very important."

"It's been ten years. What could be so important?"

"I'm working on a case. My client is a woman named Henrietta Ackerland. Ten years ago, she gave her baby boy for safekeeping to a passenger on your ship and—"

"Esther."