On Monday morning, as she and Willy were eating breakfast, Alvirah answered the phone and was delighted to hear the welcome voice of her editor, Charley Evans, announce that, while they never had been convicted, Vic and Linda Baker were clearly world-class con artists.

“Wait a minute,” she interrupted. “I want to record everything so I won’t forget a word.” She ran to the bedroom, for her sunburst pin, turned on the microphone and hurried back. “Okay, Charley, shoot,” she said as she held the pin to the phone.

“The Bakers make a habit of preying on elderly people with property,” Charley said. “The most recent case was in Charlestown last year, where they got friendly with an old man worth a couple of million bucks. He apparently ‘was mad at his daughter at the time, angry about the guy she married, but he never indicated that he intended to disinherit her. According to witnesses, these two crooks kept filling his ears with stories about his daughter and how she couldn’t wait to get her hands on his money. Guess what?”

“They came up with a new will,” Alvirah suggested.

“You guessed it. The old guy left his daughter a few bucks and her mother’s jewelry. Everything else went to the Bakers. You see, they were smart enough not to grab everything. That would have been easier to contest.”

“What about witnesses to the will?” Alvirah asked.

“Solid citizens, all of them.”

“That’s about what I expected,” she said with a sigh.

“I found two or three other similar cases in the last ten years, but you get the idea. The wills have all been contested, but each time the Bakers won hands down.”

“They won’t this time,” Alvirah vowed.

“I hope not, for your friend’s sake, but here’s a little free advice: Tell her to go down to Surrogates Court at 31 Chambers Street and file a notice of intent to contest because of undue influence. Otherwise the will could be probated in anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of months, depending on the judge. If she files the notice, it will at least delay transfer of assets. Who’s the executor?”

“Vic Baker.”

“They thought of everything,” Charley commented. “Okay, Alvirah let me know if I can help, and don’t forget-I want a column out of this.”

“You bet you’ll get one, and I’ve got the headline for it,” Alvirah said. “Write it down: EXPOSING THE SKUNKS.”

Charley chuckled. “Go for it, Alvirah. My money’s on you.”

Over her third cup of tea, Alvirah told Willy about the conversation. “Now, honey,” Willy admonished, “your jaw is sticking out six feet. I know you’re going to do your best, but you’ve got to promise me you won’t get into any danger. I’m getting too old to worry about your being pushed off terraces or drowned in bathtubs.”

“The Bakers aren’t the type to do anything like that,” Alvirah said dismissively. “They’re not violent, just sneaky. What has Cordelia got lined up for you today?”

“Home Base,” Willy said, shaking his head. “You know, honey, I have to agree with the inspectors. That place is falling apart. You can do just so much in the way of repairs with bubblegum and Elmer’s glue. After that you need to call in the heavy machinery. But anyhow, I’m going to get in an hour’s practice on the piano too. Cordelia heard me banging out ‘All Through the Night’ when I was over there to fix that leak yesterday, and now she’s decided to make that the closing song of the pageant and wants me to play it. She has some crazy idea that having me take part will show the kids that you can learn something new at any age.”

“That’s wonderful!” Alvirah said, her face beaming.

“Well, I think it’s a lousy idea,” Willy said, “but kids aren’t judgmental, and the parents will only be looking at their own kids, so maybe nobody’ll even notice me… Anyhow, what are you up to?”

“I’m going to stop in on Kate. You know how it is. When someone dies, everyone comes around for a couple of days, then after the funeral, the person who’s been left behind wakes up and it sinks in that she’ll never see that face or hear that voice again. That’s when friends are really needed, and doubly so in Kate’s case, because she has to put up with those crooks as well as missing Bessie. Then after I see her, I’m going to see Monsignor Tom and tell him I know who the young woman is who’s been hanging around St. Clement’s.”

With her usual efficiency, Alvirah tidied the kitchen, made the bed, showered and then dressed, choosing one of the simple but elegant pantsuits her friend Baroness Min von Schreiber had helped her to buy on Min’s last trip East. As Mm constantly pointed out, left on her own, Alvirah gravitated to wildly inappropriate styles and colors, an opinion Alvirah humbly accepted.

As she was about to go out, she paused long enough to listen to Willy at the piano, practicing “All Through the Night.” Proudly she noted that he was playing with increasing skill. Her lips silently formed the words as he sang the verses. The line “I my loving vigil keeping,” seemed to her almost like a prayer. Well, I’m keeping a vigil for you, Kate, she thought.

When she arrived at the townhouse, she was shocked to find a calm but resolute Kate, who announced that after much thought, she had decided to find some other place to live, even if it was only a furnished room. She said if Bessie wanted the Bakers to have her house, then so be it. Bessie’s intentions had been clear, and she had left Kate the use of the apartment and an income. “But I can’t live in the same house as these people, Alvirah,” Kate said. “Every time I think of Bessie, sick as she was, sitting at her desk and typing that will, then making sure to get witnesses in when she knew I’d be out-well, I just get a pain like a knife through me.”

“Kate, you just reminded me of something I hadn’t thought of. The will was signed last Monday, November 30th, right? But it was dated November 28th.”

“Exactly. That was the day after Bessie told Monsignor she didn’t like the idea of turning the house into a children’s center. So even when she was joking with me about it over the weekend, saying it was going to be my problem dealing with all those children, she was sitting at that typewriter while I was out.”

“How often were you out last weekend?” Alvirah asked.

“Just to morning Mass both Saturday and Sunday. But Bessie was a fast typist. You know how proud she was of that. She could have typed that will in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, Kate!” Alvirah said. Her heart ached as she looked at her old friend. All the fight seemed to have left Kate.

Her shoulders were slumped in defeat, and the spark that gave wiry strength to her small frame seemed to have been extinguished. Alvirah knew it was no use arguing with her-she had made up her mind. The best she could do was stall for time.

“Kate,” she said, “just do me one favor. I’ve been making some calls about the Bakers. Already I’ve found out that they are known to be con artists. They’ve just never been arrested-yet! Give me till Christmas to prove that Bessie didn’t write that will, and even though it looks like she signed it, I bet if she did, she never knew what she was signing.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “Oh, Alvirah, there’s no way to prove that.”

“Yes, there is,” Alvirah said with a hearty confidence she did not feel. “And I already know where to start. As soon as I see Monsignor Tom, I’m going to the James and Eileen Gordon Real Estate Agency and tell them I’m hunting for a co-op. Those two are going to see a lot of me in the next couple of weeks. Maybe they’re part of the Bakers’ scheme, or maybe they’ve just had the wool pulled over their eyes, but one way or another, I’m going to find out which it is.”