The Barker Street Regulars

temporal perspective, it seems unfortunate that I had the bad judgment to leave the shovel lying there, but Irene assures me that far from being my fault, everything occurred as it was meant to occur, you see, and there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it. Irene has reminded me that if fate had decreed otherwise, I might have been murdered in my bed.”
    “Has, uh, anyone said anything about who this burglar was?”
    In dire tones, Ceci said, “A stranger.”
    “Anything more specific?”
    “No, except that he is now far away, and I must say that I am extremely annoyed with him, whoever he is, because he went and frightened Simon away just when we were making such wonderful progress, and frankly, I am not pleased to have Irene diverted by this business of communicating with stones and fences and crocuses and blades of grass. After all, what’s done is done, and we know what happened, and we know that it was meant to be, don’t we? So, with Simon out there waiting, what do I care about listening to stones? I care nothing whatsoever for blades of grass. Simon is there, and I want him back here now!”
    “I understand,” I said inadequately. Selfishly switching back to the point of my call, I said, “So, I don’t suppose you and Irene have ever discussed the gray cat.”
    As if explaining everything, Ceci said, “It has nothing to do with me.”
    “I just wondered.”
    “I’ve never heard of this cat before,” Ceci said, “but clearly the animal has some sort of special meaning for you, which is, I must tell you, precisely the sort of thing that instantly communicates itself to Irene. I hope I’m not prying, Holly, but I must say that you sound rather upset, which is perfectly natural at first, I felt the same way myself, but really, when you think about it, haven’t you known all along? Your own dear dog, for example. I’ve forgotten her name.”
    “Vinnie.”
    “Well, haven’t you known all along?”
    “That...?”
    “That she still exists ? That her essential being did not simply vaporize?”
    “This is completely different.”
    “Irene,” declared Ceci, “loses sight of the effect she has on those who are unprepared.” It hit me as a ridiculous statement to make about a clairvoyant, but Ceci went on unperturbed. “I see it all now. You had this gray cat in mind, and Irene’s telepathic powers came as a shock to you, so naturally you are grasping for some sort of everyday explanation.”
    “Yes. Exactly.”
    “There is none,” Ceci said. “And if I may be so bold as to advise you, I would suggest that you stop wasting Irene’s powers on trivia. As you have discovered for yourself, Irene has great gifts. Don’t you long for contact with your Vinnie?”
    I made a soft noise.
    “I assure you that you can tell Irene absolutely everything. I have done so myself, and I have found her utterly trustworthy. Holly, my dear, I can hear that you are frightened, but you really need not be. There is nothing at all to fear from your Vinnie, is there? Or from Irene, either. In your heart, haven’t you known all along that your dear dog still loves you and aches to be with you?”
    In a way, what Ceci said was true. I had never lost the magical sense of Vinnie’s presence. During her existence in this sphere, she had behaved as if she read my mind. As if? Had she actually done it? Could she do it still? And Rowdy and Kimi? Were they, too, blessed with telepathic powers? I have to admit that I was crazy about the possibility. Dreams fulfilled! Nothing, I realized, would make me happier than knowing for certain that dogs could read my mind. It was simultaneously clear to me that I loathed the idea of having even one human being do the same. And if it had to be one human being, I didn’t want it to be Irene Wheeler. I called her. We had a brief, businesslike conversation. I made an appointment with her for the next day.
     

Chapter Twenty-one
     
    I N WHAT I VAGUELY sensed as a skirmish in the battle of the psychic’s powers against mine, I sat at the kitchen table to plot my strategy for training Rowdy, Kimi, and the ill-tempered cat. My plan had everything to do with positive reinforcement and nothing to do with mental telepathy. Pushing aside the new issue of The Malamute Quarterly, I grabbed a pad and a pen, and started planning on paper. I devoted one page of yellow legal pad to the dogs and one to the cat. At the top of the dogs’ page, I spelled out my goals. Did I want