The Barker Street Regulars

threw Artie into a panic. He neither fled nor carried out his revised plan. Rather, he rushed at Jonathan, grabbed the shovel, and silenced him forever. Taking the murder weapon with him, he departed. Until reading the newspaper, he had no idea that he had inadvertently left traces of cocaine on the body. That was Irene’s story, anyway. I have wondered whether the police challenged her about the obvious inconsistency in her account. If I’d had the opportunity, I’d have wanted to know why a psychic , for heaven’s sake, had had to wait for her confederate’s admission. If she could read dogs’ minds just by looking at photographs, couldn’t she read guilt on a human face?
    So far as I know, no one questioned Irene Wheeler about Tracker, either, and I know for sure that the numerous charges brought against Artie Moore were limited to drugs and murder, and included nothing about animal cruelty. Not that Artie is innocent of the official charges! But viciousness is viciousness. I witnessed his myself. Lacking Irene Wheeler’s paranormal gifts, I do not know whether she asked her confederate to rid her of her unwanted cat. Perhaps she asked him to dispose of Tracker at a shelter, where the ugly, old, sick little animal would immediately have been put to death. I do know that Althea was right about Tracker’s ownership. According to Irene Wheeler’s neighbors, the cat I saved from drowning—my cat—was definitely Irene’s.
    Irene Wheeler and Artie Moore made the Boston papers, which seized the opportunity to commit to print a countless number of headlines about Wheeler and the Dealer, Wheeling and Dealing, and so forth. Indeed, the nomen omen again. Gloria and Scott—-remember Gloria and Scott? Steve’s accusers? Irene’s shills?—remained loyal to Irene for a few days after the story broke. Once word spread throughout the world of dogs, however, Gloria heard from a number of people she’d referred to Irene who were furious that Gloria had recommended a con artist. What turned Gloria against Irene wasn’t resentment about those complaints or disenchantment with the psychic’s paranormal powers. Rather, Gloria discovered that she’d received her kickback for only half the people she’d sent to the psychic. According to a rumor I heard at a show, Gloria is planning to take Irene to small claims court to recover the money she says Irene owes her. I really don’t care how that case turns out. I’m just glad that Gloria is now so focused on Irene Wheeler that she has apparently forgotten all about Steve.
    Speaking of Steve, I should report that he has forgiven me for interfering with what I now admit was none of my business. In fact, he accompanied Rowdy, Kimi, and me to the celebration held at Ceci’s house a month after the arrests of Artie Moore and Irene Wheeler. The festivities were not some sort of tasteless celebration of incarceration. Indeed, the party was notably tasteful. It took place on an exceptionally foggy spring evening. Hugh and Robert were there. So was the false Simon, as I still thought of him, the Great Pyrenees, whose name was, in fact, Bear. With him was his owner, Rita’s patient, Mary Kingsley, who kept apologizing about the terrible state of Bear’s coat and who pinned Steve in a comer to interrogate him about whether dogs suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and if so, whether Bear now had it. Rowdy and Kimi behaved remarkably well in Bear’s presence. Both were perfect angels during dinner, but only because I took the precaution of crating them in the car just before the food was served. Ceci offered them the run of her fenced yard, but I declined. I just didn’t trust the place. Also, I harbored a neurotic fear that they might desecrate Simon’s newly restored grave. Accepting the finality of his departure from this life, Ceci had filled in the hole and planted it with spring flowers. The dog had been unearthed too many times already, I thought. He didn’t need living dogs digging up his grave.
    Tracker was also invited. Ceci understood completely when I explained that the cat was happiest in my study and was only beginning to make brief, carefully supervised trips to the top of my refrigerator. For the obvious reason, car trips had unfortunate associations for her. Also, she wouldn’t enjoy the company of three big dogs. Bear might be fine with her, for all I knew, but Rowdy and Kimi had yet to complete my love-the-little-kitty retraining program. In