The Outsmarting of Criminals: A Mystery Introducing Miss Felicity Prim

by Rigolosi, Steven

  Miss Prim took in this information. “I see what you are getting at, Detective,” she said. “We’ve been assuming that the murderer dumped the body in the basement. If the killer carried the victim downstairs, there should have been a set of footprints going both up and down. If the murderer surprised the victim in the basement, there should have been two unidentified sets of footprints going down the staircase, as well as one set of those footprints going back up the staircase.”

  “Exactly,” Dawes said. “Which means, Miss Prim, that we have a locked-room mystery on our hands.”

  14

  A Beloved Sister

  After Dawes’s departure, Miss Prim made up the bed in the guest room with the lavender-scented sheets that Celia found so relaxing. Then she cut roses from the bushes—really, there were so many blooms, she could have roses every day, all summer long—and arranged them in a small vase that her mother had purchased on a trip to Sri Lanka (known as Ceylon in those days). She placed the vase on the nightstand in the guest room, retrieved the Laser Taser 3000 from her bedroom nightstand, and patted Bruno’s head, admonishing him to be good while she was away. For a moment, Miss Prim wondered if she’d hurt his feelings, for the look on his face very clearly said You know I shall be good while you are not here, and I am insulted that you would imply otherwise.

  The Greenfield train depot was located not in Greenfield but rather in the neighboring town of Two Oaks, Connecticut. As she navigated the Zap through downtown Greenfield to access the feeder road to Two Oaks, Miss Prim could not help but notice the behavior of the other motorists. If they chose to drive so excruciatingly slowly—almost at a snail’s pace, really—why not just walk instead? Still, one could not fault the politeness of the New England driver: Several cars rather abruptly swerved to the right or left to accommodate her. Miss Prim waved in thanks and could not understand why some people responded by shaking their fists at her. Was this perhaps a Connecticut-specific greeting, a regionalism she would come to appreciate? Perhaps, but in the meantime she had a sister to retrieve.

  In the train station’s small lot, Miss Prim easily found a parking slot for the Zap. As she awaited her sister’s arrival on the 4:04 from New York, Miss Prim entered the ticketing station, where a refreshment stand sold beverages and snacks. She ordered a fresh-squeezed lemonade, a confection for which she and Celia had developed an inordinate fondness during their teenage summers on Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard. She asked the girl at the stand, who could not have been more than 15 or 16 years old, if she would mind adding a sprig of mint to the lemonade. The girl did so, her eyes registering distrust, for who would add mint to lemonade?

  “You must try lemonade with mint sometime,” Miss Prim volunteered. “My sister and I discovered this recipe when we were about your age. On Martha’s Vineyard in those days, in summertime, our parents enjoyed sitting on the veranda and sipping mint juleps. Of course, we were much too young for the juleps, so Mama would pour large glasses of sweet tea or lemonade for us instead. But in true teenage fashion, Celia (my sister) and I always felt as if we were missing out on something by being restricted from the juleps. One day, Mama had the brainstorm of making our beverages taste more like theirs by adding mint to our lemonade. Well! It made all the difference in the world. We felt so sophisticated, and then we introduced the recipe to our friends, and we became quite popular. Of course, we didn’t bother to mention that the recipe had been Mama’s idea.” She winked at the girl conspiratorially. “Anyway, my sister is coming for a visit today, and I can think of no better way to welcome her.”

  “If you say so,” the girl said. “My sister’s kind of a pain in the neck.”

  Miss Prim instantly became crestfallen. “Oh, you must never think of your sister that way! Perhaps you do not understand this just yet, but a sister is the greatest gift the world can give you. Trust me, my dear, others come and go with the ebbs and flows of life. But a sister—well, a sister is forever. Promise me you will cherish yours! You are at an age where the two of you are bound to have conflicts. These are quite normal. See them for formative experiences they are, and you will develop quite another perspective.”

  The girl continued to look skeptical. “Maybe. What’s a mint tulip by the way?”

  “It’s actually called a julep, not a tulip. It’s an alcoholic drink favored by women in the South. Now, here is the secret of mint juleps. They are really quite awful. Mint lemonade, and sweet tea with mint, are much, much better.” She opened her handbag to retrieve her wallet, pushing the Laser Taser 3000 off to the side and hoping the girl did not see it and get the wrong idea. After paying for the lemonade and providing a generous tip, Miss Prim once again rummaged in her handbag, retrieving the Ziploc bag in which she stored her emergency supply of Mrs. Mallowan’s Lemon Sugar. She handed the girl four of the precious packets. “Take these, please. When you get home, mix up a batch of lemonade and add two packets to the pitcher. They will give the lemonade a certain je ne sais quoi. Then, crush a few mint leaves and stir them in. Serve the lemonade over ice, then add a few more whole mint leaves. If you are feeling particularly decadent, you might sugar the rims of the glasses, but make that only an occasional indulgence, my dear, because—well, I don’t have to tell you about the dangers of too much sugar.”

  “All right, why not,” the girl said, taking the packets and sticking them in the pocket of her apron. “You do make this Junusakey lemonade sound pretty good.”

  At that moment a whistle announced the train’s arrival. Miss Prim took the plastic tumbler filled with lemonade and turned to go. As she exited the station house, she heard the girl say, “Thank you, by the way.” More evidence, Miss Prim thought, to support her theory that surly, truculent teenagers are simply teenagers who have not been spoken to as if they are real people, with valid feelings, going through a difficult transitional period.

  As the passengers disembarked from the train, Miss Prim craned her neck to look for Celia. Miss Prim expected her sister to be the last passenger to leave the train, and in this expectation she was not disappointed. Celia sometimes lacked organizational skills; she was forever leaving something behind, or getting involved in puzzling conversations with handsome men, or reading tarot cards for strangers who always ended up wondering how, exactly, Celia knew what she knew. “It is the cards that know, not I,” Celia would respond. “I am merely their vessel for passing along that knowledge, along with, perhaps, some advice.”

  Sure enough, five minutes after the last passenger appeared to have left the train, Celia exited, carrying her usual assortment of ragged carpetbags. She was chatting with someone behind her, and Miss Prim was not surprised to see the (male) conductor following Celia down the stairs, looking quite infatuated to boot.

  Upon seeing Miss Prim, Celia dropped her carpetbags (Celia had always had a penchant for turning movie scenes into reality) and ran to her sister. The two embraced fervently, as if they had not seen each other in a decade.

  Miss Prim knew that Celia had up-ended her life to help her recover after the mugging, though Celia herself would never have admitted it. Celia was the more free-spirited of the Prim sisters. While Miss Prim had maintained the most stable of lives, Celia had always been more prone to flights of fancy, becoming a private, live-in chef for this person (despite having no talent in the kitchen); flying off to take part in a dig in Iraq with that person (despite having no interest in archaeology and being intolerant of heat); taking part in a month-long regatta with yet another person (despite a tendency to become quite seasick). Of course, these various persons were all of the male variety. Celia’s appreciation of the opposite sex had driven Mama and Papa to distraction, but Miss Prim admired her sister’s willingness to follow her heart, despite its tendency to lead her into sometimes unwise decisions.

  “Sister, let me look at you!” Celia exclaimed, breaking the embrace and holding Miss Prim at arm’s distance. “How marvelous you look! So svelte! And with such a glow! It must be this New England air. And
it goes without saying that nothing helps a woman’s complexion like knowing a suitor will simply die if she rejects him.” Of course Miss Prim and her sister had spoken about Doctor Poe’s recent admissions, and Celia, being Celia, had urged her sister to accept the doctor’s proposal immediately and worry about the consequences later.

  “For you, Sister.” Miss Prim extended the mint lemonade—or, as the girl had called it, the Junusakey lemonade. Celia squealed with pleasure.

  As Miss Prim began retrieving her sister’s dropped carpetbags, the conductor, who had returned to the train, watched them wistfully through a window.

  “Have you conquered another heart?” Miss Prim asked, motioning with her eyes to the conductor.

  “Such a lovely man, Sister, I cannot even tell you. I must say, life on the railroad seems quite fascinating. Paul has invited me to travel the full length of the train system with him, as he often does what he calls the ‘transcontinental run.’ Wouldn’t it be fascinating to see the heart of our country, as well as the hinterland? The only issue is that I become quite ill from the rattling of a train, but I suppose there are ways to overcome that with a strong mind and the proper diet.”

  The two sisters walked to the Zap, Miss Prim struggling with the bags while her sister sipped the lemonade. Miss Prim’s task was not made any easier by Celia’s insistence on walking arm in arm with her, but, so delighted was Miss Prim at seeing her sister, she found all reason to be joyful and no reason to complain.

  As they drove back to Greenfield, Miss Prim noticed the death grip with which Celia held onto the dashboard. Celia had gone quite white in the face, her pupils turned to pinpricks with terror. Might Celia have developed a fear of automobiles, or was she simply unaccustomed to traveling in them? This too shall pass, Miss Prim thought, for Celia had a long history of developing inexplicable maladies that departed as quickly as they had arrived.

  Back at the cottage, Celia stumbled out of the car and took a minute or so to find her legs. Then she straightened up and took in the view: the pleasant cottage with its quasi-Tudor façade, the well-tended shrubberies and rose bushes, the barn, the ridge above and the woods behind.

  “What can I say, Sister?” Celia asked with wonder. “It is everything I expected it to be from the photos, and more. As always, your taste is simply flawless.” Miss Prim unlocked the door and Bruno bounded out, stopping respectfully at Celia’s feet, where he sat and promptly began licking her hand. The two became friends instantly.

  As Celia settled into the guest room—after providing many compliments on the cottage’s décor and ambience, a food that Miss Prim found altogether nourishing—Miss Prim began preparing the leek-and-onion quiche that had long been one of Celia’s favorite dishes. Celia emerged and began to set the table, knowing instinctively where Miss Prim stored the dishes and cutlery.

  Miss Prim had not yet told Celia about their father’s love child, their missing half-sister. Nor had she broken the news about the dead man in her basement. Some news was just too delicate, too personal, to deliver over the telephone. Rather, she wanted to reveal her secrets over a good meal, for the sisters had a long history of sharing intimacies while dining together.

  “Sister, I’ve determined what exactly makes the energy in this cottage so right,” Celia declared as she began uncorking the wine. “I know you are not trained in such matters, but you have the feng shui exactly correct. The site of the cottage is ideal, and the windows and doors are positioned to allow the natural spirits proper ingress and egress. Really, I think nothing bad could ever happen in this house. Now, make me wait no longer. Tell me all your secrets, and I shall tell you mine.”

  Miss Prim began.

  “Well, Sister, it has been a most eventful few days. Take this wooden star. You see that star-shaped impression next to the cupboard door? Fit the star in there properly and push. That’s exactly what I did, and you’ll never believe what I discovered …”

  *

  “Well, Sister,” Celia said, after Miss Prim had completed her narrative, “you certainly know how to make an impression when relocating! What I find most difficult to fathom is the … appropriateness of it all. Of course I am not suggesting that the poor man deserved to be murdered. But given your new career plans”—of which Miss Prim had spoken with her sister many times—“it does all seem rather … fortuitous. What I am trying to say, I suppose, is this: If the man had to be murdered and had to be dumped in somebody’s house, it is probably best that it was your house. I know you will not rest until you have brought the perpetrator to justice.”

  “But Sister,” Miss Prim continued, “believe it or not, the body in the basement is not the only secret that this cottage has revealed. This next secret is very personal, and it is of the utmost importance to both you and me. It is the reason I asked you quite urgently to pay a visit …”

  Miss Prim related the tale of discovering her father’s journals again after they had been in storage for so many years. She ended her narrative (throughout which Celia remained mostly, and uncharacteristically, silent) with, “So, you see, we have a task ahead of us. We must find Providence.”

  Celia was resolute. “Of course I shall put everything else aside until we can locate her. What a gift this is for us, Sister. I am quite overwhelmed.”

  “I could not agree with you more,” Miss Prim replied. “But I am left with so many questions. Why would Papa not have shared this blessed event with us? Why would he have orphaned Providence or allowed her to live without knowing the joys of our family and traditions? Can it be he was ashamed of his behavior? Or that he was ashamed of us, his own daughters? What could we have said or done to make him behave thus?” So strong were the emotions engendered by these questions that Miss Prim found her voice becoming quite wobbly. “Oh, Sister, there is a part of me that feels so betrayed by Papa! Since his death, I have treasured my memories of him, and our family, and everything we shared. But now I almost feel as though I never knew him.”

  “You must not think this!” Celia replied vehemently. “If there is one thing of which you and I can be sure in this life, it is our parents’ love. Papa had nothing to be ashamed of. As the journals make clear, Mama had been long departed when he found himself involved in the amour that led to the birth of our sister.”

  “Do you think he did not tell us for fear we would reject O.? That we would not embrace her because of our devotion to Mama?”

  “That is not it, Sister. Of that I am sure. I distinctly remember conversing with him on this topic after Mama’s death. Several years after her passing, as I saw him looking lonely, I sat him down and assured him that he must not condemn himself to isolation. I know, Sister, you would not have had such a direct conversation with him, but I felt I must, so I took the proverbial bull by the horns. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that no man had better judgment, or better taste, in women. I also assured him that, should he find the right partner for his later years, you and I would welcome her as the dearest of friends. The poor main fairly wept with gratitude. So, no, I cannot, I will not, believe he would have kept our sister from us unless he had very good reasons for doing so. The journal refers to ‘A.’s and O.’s wishes.’ I can only assume that these people asked for Papa’s discretion. And Papa, being the man he was, respected their wishes, despite his misgivings.”

  “Do you have any idea who A. and O. might be?” Miss Prim asked. “I have been racking my brain to no avail. Of course, I shall go through all of the journals, line by line, to find hints. But given the number of journals, that may take some time.”

  Celia Prim pursed her lips. “I cannot think of any likely candidates right now,” she admitted. “But I shall begin my research as soon as I return to the City. I exchange holiday cards with the children of some of Papa’s business associates, and I know that some of their parents are still with us. Why, Nathaniel Branson lives only a few blocks from me, and I believe Miss Spry”—Papa’s longtime secretary—“is living quite happily in Westchester with the m
an she married in her seventies. Of course, this means I shall not be able to accept Paul’s kind offer—at least not yet—but the railroads have been with us for centuries. They can wait. A sister cannot.”

  Thus in this, as in all important matters, the sisters were in agreement, and a plan was made.

  “Now,” said Celia, as Miss Prim poured the tea and retrieved cinnamon rolls from the refrigerator, “we must conclude the evening with some fun. This meal has been rather more intense than usual. Let us see what guidance the cards give us.”

  Celia retrieved her well-worn tarot deck (which she’d bought in Lily Dale, New York, in the 1960s) from one of her bags. She asked Miss Prim to shuffle the cards and then laid them out in front of her sister, making small noises as she revealed each card. When the layout was complete, Celia took a sip of her tea and decreed, “There are many puzzling situations here, but also many prospects for happiness. Missing people everywhere! I see not one or two, but perhaps even three or four, missing children. And yet the presence of the Sun indicates that all will be found, with happy endings for almost all concerned. I fear that at least one of these children bears a heavy weight, but I think it is not our sister … no, as the Page of Cups suggests, our sister is quite a strong, independent woman on her way to great success in life. She is closer than we think, Sister! And what have we here? Well, if it is not a love triangle—with you at its center. I see you still have some untold secrets, Sister. Well, you will tell me about this mysterious suitor in your own time. He is the King of Swords, I see—a man with dark hair and light eyes. Oh yes, a deadly combination in the right man. He is a man of authority, with a strong but understated personality. It cannot be your Doctor Poe, whom I recognize here in the King of Pentacles. I see quite a challenge for you in resolving this, but the cards indicate that you will make the right choice.”