The Barker Street Regulars Read Online Free Page A

my ancient Bronco. I prefer to be the first. And the only. Robert’s mother, I thought, should have taught him not to make personal remarks. Hugh’s mother, too. Never mind Sherlock Holmes’s.
    “Crates,” I corrected.
    “Crates?” Hugh inquired.
    “Dog people don’t say ‘cages.’ We say ‘crates.’ And Maine was easy. You saw the bumper sticker. MAINE: THE WAY LIFE SHOULD BE .”
    “Elementary,” said Robert, without a trace of self-consciousness.
    “Elementary,” I repeated. I might mention now, as I didn’t then, that as I’d been leaving the Gateway on Friday, I’d applied my own observational skills and deductive powers. Parked two cars away from mine had been an ancient Volvo sedan in that gray-matter color favored by intellectuals determined to pass off their vehicles as mobile human brains. Without even pulling out my Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass or taking samples of the dirt embedded in the tire treads, I’d brilliantly deduced that it belonged to Robert or Hugh. It bore a single, if rather telling, bumper sticker that read THE GAME IS AFOOT! Speaking of games, two can play. Or three. “You,” I said to Robert, “are intimately acquainted with libraries. Once you generated this hypothesis that I was a writer, you checked an index of periodicals. Maybe you even bought a copy of
Dog’s Life.
”
    With a jarring mixture of scorn and pride, Robert contradicted me by reporting that Hugh surfed the Web.
    “So you’re not clairvoyant after all,” I teased.
    “A.C.D. to the contrary,” Hugh replied.
    A.C.D.? To the contrary?
I suppressed the urge to lapse into baffling jargon of my own.
J.H., CD., O.FA.!
I wanted to reply. Unfortunately, I could think of no way to turn the conversation to Junior Hunter and Companion Dog titles or to squeeze in a cryptic reference to the Orthopedic Foundation for Animals. My annoyance must have shown on my face. Its source was, as I’ve just said, natural resentment at being addressed in a language I couldn’t follow, as opposed to justifiable indignation at finding myself the target of unwelcome snooping. Robert, however, cleared his throat and said, “We keep a close eye on Althea.”
    Hugh expanded. “We prefer to know who her friends are.”
    Was Althea so tremendously wealthy that gestures of apparent friendship toward her required scrutiny? Had the men suspected me of being an innovative con artist who’d hit on the scheme of identifying potential marks by cruising nursing homes with a canine confederate disguised as a therapy dog? I must have looked puzzled. In apparent response, Robert said, “Althea is a woman of extraordinary wit.”
    “And quickness,” Hugh chimed in.
    “Resolution,” added Robert.
    “In brief,” said Hugh, “she eclipses the whole of her sex.”
    Robert glared at him. “
Eclipses and predominates.
”
    I finally caught on. The adventure was “A Scandal in Bohemia.” The reference was to Irene Adler,
the
woman in the Great Detective’s life. Not yet knowing about the late sister-wives, I said gently, “Althea is
the
woman.”
    Robert, of course, corrected me. But not about the wives. “Is
always the
woman,” he said.

Chapter Four
    A LTHEA BATTLEFIELD’S SISTER, CECI, was ten inches shorter than Althea and her junior by ten years. It took me a minute to realize, though, that the principal difference between the sisters was that Ceci had a streak of foolishness. What briefly fooled me was that Ceci made a fool of herself over Rowdy, who is always glad to make a fool of himself over anyone. I must add, however, that fool that I am over Rowdy, I took a liking to Ceci that endured even after it slowly dawned on me that she’d pulled a fast one and that Althea knew she’d done so.
    It was the Sunday after Hugh, Robert, and I had had coffee in the Square. On Friday, Rowdy and I had paid our regular visit to the Gateway. Helen had been having her hair done, Robert and Hugh hadn’t been there, and Althea had had a