The Outsmarting of Criminals: A Mystery Introducing Miss Felicity Prim

by Rigolosi, Steven

  Celia paused a moment. “Just one thing, Sister. There is a somewhat worrisome aspect. Almost, but not quite, a bit of danger lurking near you. It is most likely emotional danger, but it could conceivably be physical danger. Please, dearest, do take the proper precautions. ”

  To calm Celia’s fears, Miss Prim told her sister about the protections afforded by the Laser Taser 3000.

  *

  It had been a long and somewhat tiring day, but there was still one task left to accomplish. Miss Prim had vowed she would call Doctor Poe before the day ended. So, while Celia engaged in her nightly beauty ritual, Miss Prim brewed another cup of tea and prepared to place a call to the doctor.

  She had just made herself comfortable on the couch when the phone rang.

  “Good evening, Rose Cottage,” Miss Prim said cheerily.

  “Miss Prim, is that you? Amos Poe here.”

  Miss Prim had long appreciated Doctor Poe’s old-fashioned and formal way of introducing himself. As Mama had always said, formal too long is infinitely preferable to informal too quickly.

  “Yes, Doctor, it is I. I think our connection may not be the best. You sound somewhat crackly.”

  The doctor made a sound of frustration. “It is this newfangled ‘smart phone’ that Norah made me purchase. It seems to be good for everything except actually having a conversation. And now she wants us to purchase computers for the office, too.”

  “I have been thinking about all of you, Doctor. How are Dolly, Zoroastria, Viveca? Has Mrs. Higgenbottom finally accepted the necessity of taking her medication?”

  Thus followed a lively conversation, in which the doctor brought Miss Prim up to date on office events. In return, she regaled him with selected details of Celia’s visit. She did not, however, mention the body in the basement (she did not wish him to worry) or the secrets revealed by her father’s journals (information best conveyed in person, not on the phone).

  As the conversation drew to its natural conclusion, a silence settled on the line. Then, abruptly, Doctor Poe said, “Miss Prim, may I be so bold as to ask a question? Have you missed us at all? Or, more importantly, have you missed me? I must admit, I am finding your absence to be quite painful.”

  Miss Prim was touched by the doctor’s openness. “Oh, yes, Doctor Poe. I miss you all. Particularly Dolly and … you. I’ve been quite wrapped up in events here, but I have found my thoughts returning to you, which I take to be a sign of … something I have not yet been able to define, or to clarify in my own head.”

  “Very well, Miss Prim. I shall not push my agenda too hard, I promise; but nor shall I allow you to forget me. As we bid each other good evening, know that I am counting the minutes until you use my given name.”

  *

  By the time Miss Prim disconnected from the call with Doctor Poe, Celia had completed her ritual, and it was Miss Prim’s turn to apply her nightly unguents. Afterwards, she joined Celia in the guest room, where the two of them happily chatted in their bedclothes about men, life, and personal philosophies.

  Around 11 pm, Celia announced she was quite exhausted, and Miss Prim returned to her own bedroom to turn down the bed. The night had become a bit nippy, so she walked across the room to close the window. As she pulled down the sash and prepared to engage the lock, she noticed a movement from the corner of her eye. Was that a dark-clad figure running through the far reaches of her backyard? Or just a deer, or perhaps even a bear?

  It was most certainly a deer or some other form of local fauna.

  Miss Prim locked the window, placed the Laser Taser 3000 on her nightstand, turned off the lamp, and shut her eyes, trying to ignore her rapidly beating heart.

  15

  Lunch at Maude’s

  The following morning, the Prim sisters rose late. Celia declared that the lavender sheets combined with the bracing country air had given her the best night’s sleep she’d had in months.

  After the morning tea had been sipped and the morning muffins baked and enjoyed, Celia expressed the desire to see all that Greenfield had to offer. She also requested the privilege of holding Bruno’s leash as they strolled to the green.

  Locals stopped to pat Bruno’s head as the sisters sat in the town square, intensely discussing their plans for locating their half-sister. So deeply immersed in conversation was Miss Prim that she failed to notice the large shadow looming over her.

  “Miss Prim?”

  Miss Prim turned her head and recognized Josh, the foreman of the moving crew that had hauled the cartons of books into her attic.

  “Good morning, Josh. How nice to see you again. May I introduce my sister, Miss Celia Prim.”

  “Hey, what’s up?” Josh said, extending a paw that completely enveloped Celia’s. “Yo, Miss Prim, the other day, I forgot to tell you. I do handyman work around town and a lot of old—I mean, a lot of ladies call me when they need furniture moved, et cetera. So, feel free to give me a call. Here’s my card. My prices are good and I live right on Harrington Street.”

  “I shall certainly do that, Josh,” Miss Prim said, slipping the card into her handbag.

  “Cool. OK, later, Miss Prim.” Then, to Celia, “And welcome to Greenfield, Miss Prim the Second. Miss Lavelle down at Prothero’s was having a meltdown about you coming. She thinks one Miss Prim is enough.”

  And off he loped.

  Celia raised her eyebrows. “Prothero’s? Miss Lavelle?”

  “Well, Sister, all I can say is this: Word travels at an alarming rate here in Greenfield.” Miss Prim then recounted the details of her donnybrook with Miss Lavelle as Celia gasped in shock, horror, and disbelief.

  It was nearing noon and Celia suggested that they enjoy lunch in town, the better to soak up the local color. Though Greenfield offered several pleasant-looking eateries, Miss Prim decided that for the truest taste of the village, Maude’s was the obvious choice.

  Miss Prim waved to Maude as they entered and felt like quite a beloved and longtime tavern patron when Maude waved back, a single movement of his out-turned palm from left to right. The sisters sat at a table in the center of the dining room, with Celia facing the front door so that she could observe the comings and goings of the townspeople and thereby draw conclusions.

  As Celia grabbed a folded, laminated menu, Miss Prim looked at the table tent. One side listed the day’s specials: chicken in a basket, lobster roll, New England clam chowder. She turned the table tent around to read the other side:

  TRY OUR DELICIOUS

  JUNUSAKEY LEMONADE

  With just a hint of mint

  $2.00

  WITH A KICK! $3.50

  Miss Prim came close to sputtering but did not wish to disconcert Celia, who was viewing the menu with delectation and engaging in a running monologue on the merits and demerits of each item.

  “Hello again, Maude,” Miss Prim said pleasantly as Maude arrived to take their order. “How are you this lovely day?”

  “Good.”

  “May I introduce my sister Celia, who’s here for a visit. She wanted to enjoy a meal at a fashionable Greenfield eatery, so of course I suggested your tavern.”

  Maude turned to Celia. “Hi.”

  Was that a blush spreading over Celia’s face as she batted her eyelashes? “Simply delighted to meet you,” Celia said. “I bet this tavern has a rich history, Maude. I’d love to hear about it sometime.”

  “K.”

  The women placed their orders. Miss Prim selected a Mediterranean salad, which she would soon discover was simply lettuce, tomato, and onions with a dash of vinegar and olive oil. Celia ordered the haddock while flagellating herself for choosing fried food. Maude didn’t write down either order; he simply nodded as each woman rattled off her request.

  “Maude, before you go, may I ask you a question?” Miss Prim said. “This Junusakey lemonade that you’re offering today … I was wondering, from whom did you get the recipe?”

  “Deb.”

  “Is she the young lady who works at the Two Oaks
railroad depot?”

  “Yup.”

  “Do you know her parents or someone else in her family?”

  “Sis.”

  “What is her sister’s name?”

  “Peg.”

  “Is that Peg over there?” Miss Prim gestured toward a young woman mixing drinks at the bar.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, please add two glasses of the lemonade to our order. Just the basic version. By the way, what gives the other version its ‘kick’?”

  “Rum.”

  “Whose idea was that?”

  “Mine.”

  What a relief, Miss Prim thought. She’d heard stories of the younger generation’s fixation on alcohol, as well as their insistence on drinking spirits before the law permitted them to do so. But it seemed that Miss Prim’s young friend at the Two Oaks train station had indeed shared the lemonade recipe with her sister. Had the two of them bonded over a glass of that loveliest of concoctions? Miss Prim was disposed to believe that they had.

  “Well, Sister,” Celia was saying with admiration, “I must say, you have developed quite a knack for speaking with the locals. I am not surprised in the least. You have always been quite adaptable.”

  “I cannot take the credit, Sister. I’ve made a new friend here, Lorraine Koslowski. She’s been invaluable in terms of acquiring insight into the personalities and quirks of the townsfolk.”

  “Does she have her sights set on Maude?”

  “Oh, no. She is quite happily married to a man named Lucian, whom I have yet to meet. Tell me, do you ask that question for any specific reason?”

  “You will call me crazy, Sister, but I cannot deny the vibrations of synchronicity that Maude and I experienced as he stood there. Such intense vibrations are difficult to come by; and, I have learned, one ignores them at one’s peril.”

  What could Miss Prim say? Asking Celia not to pursue a man who had captured her interest would be like asking the sun not to rise, the tide to remain permanently high, the earth to stop spinning.

  Celia continued rhapsodizing about the intricacies of the male-female syzygy while Miss Prim nodded, not fully understanding her sister’s theories but finding them fascinating nonetheless. Several parallels to her situation with Doctor Poe briefly entered her mind but eluded her grasp, which was a frustrating and yet somewhat satisfying experience, for a relationship too easily categorized likely lacked the depth required to sustain it.

  As the sisters enjoyed their lunch, the tavern filled. Men jostled for spots at the bar while women stood patiently (or not) on the outskirts, waiting for a table to become available. The bell over the door jangled—Miss Prim was becoming accustomed to the sound—and Olivia Abernathy walked into Maude’s, the feathers on her colorful hat almost poking out the eyes of several of the establishment’s patrons. Olivia slithered through the throngs to greet Miss Prim.

  “Well, hello, Miss Prim,” she said with the smile Miss Prim had never successfully deciphered. Olivia flashed the same toothy smile at Celia. “And whom do we have here?”

  “Miss Celia Prim,” Celia responded. “I am Felicity’s older sister.”

  “Visiting? Or are you so charmed by our little town that you’ve decided to find yourself a lovely cottage here, too?”

  “A visit only. I’m rather committed to the urban lifestyle, as frustrating as I sometimes find it. That means, I’m afraid, that I shall remain on West 16th Street for the foreseeable future.”

  Was it Miss Prim’s imagination, or did Olivia’s smile become somewhat less bright, her eyes somewhat less twinkly?

  “Would you like to join us, Olivia?” Miss Prim asked, using Mrs. Abernathy’s first name. Olivia had insisted upon this, the better to create the agent-client bond.

  “Oh no, that’s quite impossible. I’m meeting Gladys Lavelle for lunch. She’ll be here any minute, and I fear our friendship would never recover if she saw me sitting at your table. How did you two manage to get off to such an awful start, anyway?”

  Miss Prim was about to protest her innocence—for hadn’t Miss Lavelle swooped down upon her, as an owl swoops down on a helpless rodent?—but remembered one of Mrs. Charity Prim’s cardinal rules: If you can’t say something nice …

  Miss Prim changed the topic. “I understand Detective Dawes has spoken with you about the cottage’s hidden basement.” Olivia nodded. “And you knew nothing about it?”

  “That’s right, Miss Prim. I would love to see it sometime. Hidden basements aren’t that uncommon around here, actually. In a lot of the older houses, they were used to shelter hidden slaves escaping to the far north via the Underground Railroad. A lot of those basements were used to hide hooch during Prohibition, as well.”

  “But the cottage isn’t old enough for either of those scenarios,” Miss Prim pointed out. “Lorraine Koslowski told me it was built in the late 1970s.”

  “That can’t be right. There are plenty of other houses in town that look like yours, and most of them were built in the 1950s and 60s. Gil Fellowes at the historical society will likely have more information, if you’re looking to dig into these matters. Somehow he manages to get copies of all the property records. Which is a blessing, because we share our tax assessor with four other towns and she’s never here. But you can take my word for it. I am a real-estate agent, you know. I am paid to know these things.”

  “I wonder if I might talk with Elizabeth Saxe-Coburg also. Lorraine tells me she is still living in the area.”

  Olivia pursed her lips disapprovingly. “You can try, Miss Prim, but the dear old thing is quite senile. Still, she might not mind the company. I think that the nephew who stuck her in that home doesn’t visit much.”

  “Do you know which retirement community she lives in?”

  “Heavenly Pastures in Two Oaks.”

  Miss Prim made a mental note of the information as Olivia Abernathy turned to greet Miss Lavelle, who had just entered the tavern.

  “I must go,” Olivia said, slipping away guiltily.

  Celia watched Olivia depart and noticed Miss Lavelle staring daggers back at her.

  “Her,” Celia said to Miss Prim, pointing directly at Gladys Lavelle and refusing to break eye contact with Prothero’s longtime head cashier. “She’s the murderer. You mark my words, Sister. When all is said and done, she will be involved somehow. The last time I have encountered energy so dark was in the tomb of Amenhotep the Fourth.”

  The sisters finished their meal and Miss Prim paid, leaving cash on the table, steadfastly blocking Celia’s numerous attempts to pick up the check. As they made their way to the front door, Miss Prim literally bumped into Detective Dawes, who explained that he sometimes indulged a hankering for Maude’s chili dogs.

  “My sister, Miss Celia Prim,” Miss Prim said, gesturing to Celia by way of introduction. “Tell me, Detective, has there been progress on any front?”

  “Nothing since we spoke at your cottage yesterday. But I’ll keep you posted. You’ll do the same for me, yes?”

  “Of course, Detective. Would you excuse us? Celia would like to see more of Greenfield before she leaves for home, so we have limited time.”

  As Miss Prim untied Bruno’s leash from the bike rack, Celia folded her arms and peered down at her sister, a knowing smile on her lips. “‘Nothing since we spoke at your cottage yesterday’? Well, Sister, I think we now know the identity of the third party in your love triangle. And do not deny it, dearest, for I know you too well.”

  16

  Cambria & Calibri

  As the sisters strolled along the east side of the square, Miss Prim noticed a bookshelf displayed outside Cambria & Calibri. She squinted (her vision wasn’t quite what it used to be) and read the hand-lettered sign over the display:

  HALF PRICE

  BEAUTIFUL BOOKS ON ARCANE SUBJECTS OF LIMITED INTEREST

  “Let’s visit the bookshop,” Miss Prim suggested to Celia. “I haven’t been inside yet.” As Celia nodded enthusiastic assent, Miss Prim added, “I must w
arn you, the shopkeeper may be a bit of a termagant.”

  “This town seems to have more than its share of them,” Celia noted, perhaps an allusion to the dark vibrations emanating from Miss Lavelle. “But fear not, Sister. If we can brave the bookshops of New York City, the two of us can certainly take on”—she looked at the sign over the bookshop’s window—“Cambria & Calibri.”

  As they approached C & C, Miss Prim pondered her sister’s point. As a young woman, Miss Prim had ventured into the City’s wonderful old bookstores—so many of them now gone—expecting to meet a society of kindred spirits. Here, she’d thought, I shall find my niche, those burgeoning and established intellectuals who love learning, who yearn for witty discussion about the great books as well as the current best sellers, who spend their money on books first and on life’s other necessities second.

  Her disappointment had been extreme. Employees, it seemed, did not wish to help but rather to condescend. She once asked a clerk for a copy of Thomas Nashe’s The Unfortunate Traveller, which had been assigned in her Birth of the Novel class. The clerk had responded peremptorily, “The book’s title is Jack Wilton,” walking away without a further word and without helping her find the book. Her efforts to engage other shoppers in conversation had met with little success, with the book browsers either giving clipped responses or ignoring her completely.

  Mama had provided soothing words of guidance. “Felicity, you must not become upset over these matters. As you know, ours is a city of great thinkers, and great thinkers often live in a world of their own construction. It is not that they are spurning you. Rather, they are what the Jungians call introverts, or those who tend to be more comfortable in their own company than with crowds or strangers. I urge you not to cease your attempts to know your fellow humans, for through these efforts you will meet lifelong companions and friends. As for that wretched clerk, his snobbery bespeaks a sense of insecurity about himself, and his rudeness bespeaks a misguided upbringing. For the record, you are absolutely correct. Mr. Nashe did title his book The Unfortunate Traveller; the subtitle is The Life of Jack Wilton. Leave the clerk to his ignorance, my dear, and let us enjoy a cup of tea together.”