She’s been bullied all her life by Bessie, Alvirah thought, as she enveloped Kate in her arms. “It’s for the best, Kate,” she said firmly. “If Bessie had survived that stroke she’d have been a total invalid, and that wasn’t for her.”

“No,” Kate agreed, brushing away a tear. “She wouldn’t have wanted that. I guess I’ve always thought of Bessie as both my sister and my mother. She might have been set in her ways, but she had a good heart.”

“We’ll miss her terribly,” Alvirah said, as behind her Willy breathed a deep sigh.

As Willy gave Kate a brotherly hug, Alvirah turned to Vic Baker. So formal was his mourning attire that Alvirah immediately was reminded of one of the Addams Family characters. Baker, a stocky man in his mid-thirties, with a boyish face, dark brown hair and shrewd china-blue eyes, was wearing a black suit with a black tie. Beside him, his wife, Linda, also dressed in black, was holding a handkerchief to her face.

Trying to squeeze out a tear no doubt, Alvirah thought dryly. She had met Vic and Linda for the first time on Thanksgiving. Aware of her sister’s failing health, Kate had invited Alvirah and Willy, Sister Cordelia, Sister Maeve Marie and Monsignor Thomas Ferris, the pastor of St. Clement’s who resided in the rectory a few doors from Bessie’s townhouse on West 103rd Street, to share the holiday dinner with them.

Vic and Linda had stopped in as they were having coffee, and it seemed to Alvirah that Kate had pointedly not invited them to stay for dessert. So what were they doing acting like the chief mourners? Alvirah asked herself as she dismissed Linda’s apparent sadness, assuming it to be phony.

A lot of people would think she’s good-looking, Alvirah conceded as she took in Linda’s even features, but I’d hate to get on the wrong side of her. There’s a coldness to her eyes that I don’t trust, and that spiky hairdo with all those brassy gold highlights is the pits.