The Barker Street Regulars

prolonged the syllables. The name alone almost sounded like a question. Her voice broke.
    Sympathizing with the ill-timed death of her husband, I said, “I’m sorry.”
    “Coal-black, he was,” Ceci replied, “not a white hair in his coat, only five years old.”
    Althea, whose hearing was sharp, let forth a peal of triumphant laughter. “Ceci, Holly thought you meant your husband!”
    “Ellis?” Ceci inquired. “Why would she think I meant Ellis? I wasn’t talking about Ellis, was I?”
    “No, dear,” Althea assured her, “you weren’t. Ceci, this is Holly Winter. She brings Rowdy to visit. My sister has already introduced herself.”
    Perhaps sensing the tone of the remark, Ceci took a step backward.
    “How do you do?” I said while taking advantage of the opportunity to squeeze past Ceci and lead Rowdy to Althea.
    As Althea administered a perfunctory pat to the top of Rowdy’s head, Ceci said to me, “You knew what I was talking about when I was telling you about Simon, didn’t you?”
    “Certainly,” I lied. Out of the comer of my eye, I caught Althea’s smirk.
    “Simon’s name,” Ceci said, “was from one of their stories. My late husband, Ellis, was utterly obsessed with Sherlock Holmes.”
    “Lord Saint Simon,” Althea contributed. “Which story, Holly?”
    “I haven’t...”
    “ ’The Noble Bachelor.’ You must.”
    “I will.”
    “It was one of their little jokes,” Ceci explained petulantly. “Our Simon was a surgical bachelor. We bought him as a pet, pet quality, you understand, excellent breeder, poor bite, and we promised to, uh, do what we did. And noble he was. The perfect gentleman.”
    Translation: The breeder had insisted that a dog with a poor bite be neutered.
    “Ceci,” ordered Althea, “enough dog talk!”
    Ceci responded by accusing Althea of failing to respect her feelings about Simon. Althea replied that Simon had been dead for two years and that it was time for Ceci to stop indulging herself in prolonged and excessive grief. With genuine pain in her voice, Ceci said that Simon had been her soul mate, her dearest friend, and her constant companion. Furthermore, what kept her going now was the knowledge that his spirit was still with her.
    “Piffle,” said Althea.
    “Conan Doyle didn’t think it was piffle,” Ceci snapped. “Nor, may I point out, does he now.”
    I had no idea what she meant. Althea looked uncomfortable. I assumed that she felt as awkward as I did about the presence of a stranger during a family spat. I tried to leave the sisters to their incomprehensible argument, but when I said goodbye and reminded Althea that Rowdy and I would be back on Friday, Ceci announced that she was leaving, too. Hugging Althea and kissing her tenderly, she said, “I love you dearly, you know.”
    Althea replied, “I love you, too, Ceci. Thank you for coming. You have brightened my life since the day you were born.”
    In the corridor, Ceci tagged along with Rowdy and me. “It breaks my heart that Althea has to be in this place,” she confided, “but she was completely unable to manage. She’s ninety, you know.”
    I pressed the elevator button. “Rowdy, wait.”
    “But she’s as bright as ever. She was always the smart one. George, our brother, was the practical one.”
    “And you’ve always been the pretty one?” I smiled. Ceci beamed. Then her face, which really was pretty, turned grave. As the elevator doors opened and we stepped in, she said, “The one who never gets taken seriously. Simon, for example. When I lost my Simon, all I heard from everyone but Althea was ’only a dog.’ ” She repeated the phrase. “ ’Only a dog.’ ” Ceci and Rowdy and I were alone in the elevator. “I understand about Simon,” I said impulsively. “Sometimes I still miss my Vinnie in the same way.”
    “Is he still with you?”
    “She,” I corrected. “Yes, she is.” It was painful to talk about Vinnie, and the more vividly I sensed her presence, the more painful it became. I rested a hand on Rowdy’s head. He entered my life soon after Vinnie died. He did not replace her. Rather, he came to me as my personal therapy dog.
    Placing a gentle little hand on my arm, Ceci said, “They aren’t gone, you know.”
    “They are and they aren’t. I always remind myself that all Vinnie did was die. She didn’t stop loving me.” It was a moment of odd intimacy. As the elevator reached the first floor and the doors opened, Ceci dug into her purse,