The Barker Street Regulars

will be served rather soon now.”
    Institutional life, I’d noticed, had a peculiar way of turning people into dogs. Like Rowdy and Kimi, everyone at the Gateway lived for mealtimes. But I complied with Althea’s request by summarizing what I’d worked out. A week ago Monday, I said, Irene had staged the appearance of a spectral dog in Ceci’s yard. I emphasized that there had certainly been a real dog there, a white male of a giant breed.
    “Ah hah!” Althea exclaimed. “ ’The Copper Beeches’! But I am leaping to conclusions. Proceed.” In “The Copper Beeches,” a young woman, Violet Hunter, is offered a position as a governess and consults the Master for advice about whether to take the job. What worries Violet Hunter is that to accept the offer, she will be required to cut her long, beautiful hair very short. She must also agree to wear any dress given to her by her prospective employers. She takes the position, cuts her hair, and wears the dresses. As it turns out, what her evil employers really want isn’t a governess, but an unwitting impostor to be used in ridding the household of a devoted and persistent suitor.
    “A white dog,” I said. “A Great Pyrenees. At first, the color was all right, because after all, this was supposed to be a ghostly dog. But Lord Saint Simon was an entirely black Newfoundland. Eventually, he’d have to begin looking like himself. The black hair dye.”
    “Elementary,” said Robert rather snottily.
    Althea ignored him. “Chronology, please? Holly?”
    “Simon first, uh, appeared on the Monday before Jonathan was murdered. Ceci was so utterly convinced that Simon had come back that she couldn’t keep the news to herself. She told me about it when I first met her. She just couldn’t contain herself. Anyway, on Tuesday, Jonathan happened to phone Ceci, and she blurted out the joyous news. I think she made him promise not to tell you.”
    Althea nodded.
    “I think,” I continued, “Jonathan realized she was being conned. And he decided to come to Boston and stop the whole business.”
    “Jonathan was a rational soul. He must have been livid. He’d have had blessed little patience with Ceci’s blather about the reincarnation of a dog. Oh, my, no. No patience whatsoever. No more than I have.”
    “Once he got here, on Saturday, he had his fears confirmed. He was anything but tactful with Irene Wheeler. The two of them met. Ceci told me so. As I work it out, Jonathan arrived on Saturday, heard what Ceci had to say, and went...” I caught myself. “Became very angry. But he didn’t shake Ceci’s faith in Irene Wheeler. So maybe Ceci insisted that he meet the psychic and judge for himself. Or maybe Jonathan insisted. In either case, Irene Wheeler would hardly have refused the request to meet Ceci’s grandnephew. Ceci must be one of her best clients. Irene is sharp. She must have, uh, intuited that this was a major threat. And she probably thought that she could pull it off. I’m almost surprised she didn’t.”
    “Not everyone,” Althea said censoriously, “swallows poppycock. What on earth has this woman done to convince you ? And don’t tell me she hasn’t! I always used to tell my students, ’I have eyes in the back of my head.’ Now, they’re virtually the only ones I have left, but their vision remains as unclouded as ever. I have no difficulty in seeing through this paranormal malarkey and no difficulty in seeing that a web of it has been spun over your eyes.”
    Reluctantly, I said, “She told me things she couldn’t possibly have known except... Althea, she told me things that I would have sworn on Rowdy’s head that she couldn’t possibly have known.”
    “Indeed,” said Althea.
    I described my infatuation with the beautiful gray cat. “Irene Wheeler described that cat perfectly.” I gulped. Yes, purr-fectly. Sorry. Rita informs me that punning is a symptom of anxiety. “I’ve thought of every possible way she could have found out about that cat. I don’t really believe in mind reading, but... Althea, every other possibility is totally farfetched, practically impossible. And when you eliminate the impossible...”
    “Half the residents of this facility,” Althea cut in, “were identically infatuated with that foolish cat.” Sweeping an arm toward her roommate’s empty bed and toward the television, she added, “Helen used to ooh and ahh whenever that commercial was on. She even managed to remember the cat from one