The Barker Street Regulars

were a consideration. “The foundation,” she said in a reluctant tone, “is not on the solid footing I had hoped. The endowment campaign”—she let the phrase hang for a moment—“has fallen short of my goals.” Without giving Ceci a second to respond, she added, “I must remain focused on the crucial importance of the work as a whole. I cannot sacrifice my greater mission. The global possibilities simply must take precedence over my ability to meet the needs of a few individuals, no matter how deserving.”
    “But Simon is so close!” Ceci protested. “You can feel his presence! You felt it only five or ten minutes ago!”
    “This very evening, he may yet appear,” Irene said. “I have waited and waited! I have done everything!”
    “Perhaps there remains some small impediment we have overlooked.” Irene was stalling. Had Simon’s impostor failed to turn up for a scheduled appearance? “The impediment may be my own discord,” she confessed. “My worldly worries are perhaps creating a field of negativity.” In an unusual burst of what sounded like genuine frustration, she exclaimed, “How I loathe and despise being weighted down by these petty material concerns!”
    Ceci was not to be diverted. “Could Jonathan be interfering again?” She made her murdered relative sound like some bothersome character in a soap opera.
    “Jonathan has repeatedly assured us,” Irene reminded his great-aunt, “that he is at peace. Now that his eyes are open, he fully understands and appreciates our earthly efforts to awaken him to beauty and fullness.”
    “And,” Ceci added, as if speaking a line that Irene had absentmindedly forgotten, “he has forgiven me completely.”
    “He has passed beyond blame. If he forgives you, you must forgive yourself.”
    “If I’d had the least idea that he’d go wandering out chasing away the burglar, I’d have warned him not to trip and fall on the sundial. But whoever would have thought that he’d go out?”
    “The workings of the universe are just that,” Irene said firmly. “Accept his messages of love and peace.”
    “Oh, I do, but I still can’t help blaming myself, not enough to drive Simon away, but I keep wondering—” Irene interrupted. “Yes! We are making progress now. Listen to yourself! Keep wondering ! Maintain the sense of wonder! It is the great secret of childhood and the great secret of animals! The wonder of it all! Remind yourself of what Simon has told us. He has brought us messages of the wonder and awe of eternal love.”
    Irene, it seemed to me, had gone a bit further than she had intended. Ceci was now crying audibly.
    But Irene knew what she was doing. “We must not be selfish about those messages. We must not be miserly. It is our duty to share this miraculous reality with everyone. By temperament, I am drawn to helping individuals, spirit by spirit, to using my gifts to unite and reunite all creatures. But these gifts are not mine to keep to myself or to share with the few I can help directly. A foundation is not my personal wish. As you know, the notion goes against my grain. But I am a very small part of the cosmos. It is only my mission that is large.”
    “My only mission,” replied Ceci, “is to see my Simon again. I would give anything, anything at all, to see my Simon again.”
    Neither woman spoke explicitly. Neither needed to. Irene’s threat? No check, no dog. Unless Ceci funded her foundation, she would move to California, taking with her the messages from Simon and all hope of his material return. And Ceci’s reply? No dog, no check. Stalemate.
     

Chapter Thirty-one
     
    I HAD HEARD ENOUGH. Ceci had not murdered her grandnephew. She blamed herself for Jonathan’s death, but only because she had failed to warn him about Simon’s half-open grave. Irene was conning her victim on a grander scale than I had realized. In assuming that Irene was a small-time operator, I had greatly underestimated her ambition. Irene didn’t want to spend the rest of her life grinding away at dog-photo thought transference, diagnostic hocus-pocus, and kitty-cat spirit rapping. Rather, her daily labor was a way to establish trust in her and in her psychic powers. All along, I’d thought of her as a con artist, but I hadn’t understood that the conning I’d observed was only a preliminary step in a true con game, the necessary phase of gaining a victim’s confidence. Irene wanted Ceci to endow a foundation. Ceci and how many