The Outsmarting of Criminals: A Mystery Introducing Miss Felicity Prim

by Rigolosi, Steven

  The sisters embraced just before Celia boarded the train, promising to be in touch as soon as either had information to report.

  “In the meantime,” Celia added, ostensibly as an afterthought, “do mention me to Maude every so often and report back to me on his reaction. For there is something there, Sister; I am quite convinced of it. Do, please, inquire as to his marital status and other matters. As you know, I prefer not to traipse down paths that may lead to ruin.”

  *

  By the time Miss Prim returned to the cottage (for some reason, the trip home seemed to be much, much quicker than the trip to the train station) Bruno had been returned. He was lying in the yard, tied to his tether, chewing on the bone that Kit had brought him. He rose instantly upon seeing his mistress and with his eyes requested permission to accompany her indoors. Miss Prim granted his wish.

  As she entered the cottage, she found a note from Lorraine lying on the floor of the entryway.

  FP:

  Feel free to drop by sometime in the afternoon, if you are available. I wouldn’t mind some company. Bring Bruno, of course. Or just give me a call: 860-555-8989.

  LK

  Miss Prim was filling Bruno’s water dish when her phone began ringing.

  “Good afternoon, Rose Cottage.”

  “Miss Prim! I’m so glad you’re there.”

  Miss Prim was delighted to hear Dolly’s voice. She kicked off her shoes, tucked her legs under herself on the couch, and settled in for a chat.

  Miss Prim explained that Celia had just departed, forbearing to mention anything about her lost half-sister. This was first and foremost a family matter, and what would happen if, for some reason, Providence did not wish to acknowledge their familial bonds? Though she longed for a genuine, mutually loving relationship with her new sibling, Miss Prim would have to respect her half-sister’s wishes, which might include the desire for confidentiality.

  “But you’re calling during the day, dearest?” Miss Prim asked. “Has the office hit a lull?” Lulls were rare indeed in Doctor Poe’s office, primarily because the good doctor, being of the old-fashioned variety, liked to spend time with each patient—all very well for the patient who was with the doctor, but not particularly functional when the waiting room was full of “impatients” (as they were dubbed by the office staff) tapping their feet nervously.

  “Zoroastria is handling the hordes, Miss Prim. I hate to keep calling you for advice, but really, everyone comes to my problems with their own agendas! Zoroastria has that Sex and the City approach to men, which may work for her but doesn’t work for me. And Viveca just wants me to marry someone, so her advice isn’t much help, either.”

  It was true, Miss Prim thought, that Zoroastria’s methods worked for the socially in-demand receptionist. It was a rare evening when a heavily tattooed gentleman did not show up at closing time to take Zoroastria to hear live music somewhere on the Bowery. Yet Viveca’s approach had also been successful, permitting her to marry her teenage sweetheart and have six children with him while successfully training him to remember her birthday and their anniversary. Clearly, different approaches work with different kinds of men, Miss Prim thought; it is just a matter of using the correct technique on the man in question.

  “I am all ears,” Miss Prim said.

  “Things seem to be getting stranger with Benjamin, Miss Prim. After you and I talked last time, he called me and was his usual charming self, so I took your advice and went with the flow. He asked me to dinner last night, and I said yes, of course. Zoroastria got on my case about that because she says you never accept an invitation unless you have 48 hours notice. Well, whatever! He picked me up and we went to a cute little place in the Village. The waiter had just brought the appetizer when the bartender came over and asked to speak with Benjamin privately. So Benjamin went over to the bar, and the two of them talked, and it looked like they were both pretty agitated. I asked Benjamin what it was all about. He said they were in one of the same classes and were talking about their professor.

  “I had no reason not to believe him, so we picked up where we left off, but a few minutes later he excused himself to go to the men’s room. Well, there’s an emergency exit off the corridor that the restrooms are in, and when he thought I wasn’t looking, he slipped out the exit. And no alarm went off. I sat there by myself for about ten minutes not knowing what to do. Then I saw the bartender walk down the corridor to the emergency exit and open the door, and that’s when Benjamin slipped back in! He went into the men’s room, and a minute later he came back to the table like nothing had happened.”

  Miss Prim bit her lip. She didn’t like the sound of this, not one bit. “I suppose he acted as if he’d been in the men’s room all the while?”

  “Not only that, but he actively lied about it. I jokingly said, ‘I thought you left!’ and he laughed sort of uncomfortably and said, ‘Sorry about that, there was a wait.’ I would have believed him if I hadn’t seen him slip out with my own eyes. But then things got even stranger.”

  “Go on, dearest.”

  “He was on edge for the rest of the evening and barely touched his food. We had talked about maybe going out for dessert, but he said he had a lot of reading to do for his seminar on Gabriel García Márquez, so he wanted to call it a night. He walked me back to my apartment and gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and then he was gone.

  “I tried not to think too much about it, but then this morning when I was getting ready to leave for the office, he called me and asked me to hold one of his books in my apartment. He said he’d stop by within an hour, but he never showed up. I waited two hours, and I tried calling him a few times, but he didn’t answer. I went home at lunchtime and the doorman said Benjamin hadn’t been there and hadn’t left any package. In the meantime, I’ve left him a couple of messages asking if he’s OK, but he hasn’t called me back. Am I right to be worried? Or am I being crazy?”

  It was all very cloak-and-dagger, Miss Prim thought. Perhaps the argument with the bartender could be explained by competing claims on the book apparently in Benjamin’s possession? The explanation seemed to stretch the imagination, however. Miss Prim could not quite picture a young graduate student slipping out of a restaurant into a dark alley in order to purchase (or sell) a book of interest only to those who study magical realism.

  No, the more likely scenario was a problem too often experienced by a generation facing horrific pressures regarding housing, career advancement, and their prospects for the future: drugs. She’d seen what narcotics could do to even the most mild-mannered of women who’d come to over-rely on their oxycodone or lorazepam. And these were relatively civilized pharmaceuticals. Miss Prim could only imagine the challenges of getting involved with street drugs or with the people who sell them.

  “I think, Dolly,” Miss Prim said, cautiously, “that you are quite right to be concerned. Something is happening with Benjamin that he doesn’t wish you to know about. It may be innocent, or it may be not so innocent. I think it is in your best interests not to hold any parcel for him, either on your person or in your home. I fear that doing so may put you in danger, though this is only a hunch. But in my new profession, we are trained not to ignore our hunches. Quite often they are based on unconscious observations and are therefore valid.”

  Dolly lowered her voice. “Do you really think I’m in danger, Miss Prim? That freaks me out a little.”

  “I think you are probably not in any real danger, Dolly. But discretion is the better part of valor, and you must not risk putting yourself in harm’s way if Benjamin has become embroiled in a situation he cannot control. Perhaps staying with a friend might be a good idea?”

  “I could stay at Zoroastria’s for a few nights …”

  “Then please do so, Dolly.” Miss Prim had a sudden brainstorm. “And why not come up to pay me a visit, sooner rather than later? The weekend begins in just a few days. Greenfield will be a good place for you to forget your cares.”

  “I’d love th
at, Miss Prim! But am I being a bad person for leaving Benjamin stranded if he’s in trouble?”

  “The best you can do is offer guidance if he asks for it, dearest. If you hear from him and you suspect something is seriously wrong, I beg you to advise him to go to the police. This is not one of those situations that a rank amateur”—she did not add such as myself—“is qualified to handle. Do you promise?”

  “I promise, Miss Prim. I could take the train after work on Friday. I bet it would get me to you by about seven o’clock.”

  “Lovely. I shall bake some cinnamon rolls and we shall have a nice chat before bed. Then on Saturday we can enjoy what Greenfield has to offer.”

  “That would be wonderful! I’ll call you back after I check the train schedule.”

  “Oh, Dolly—would you kindly let Doctor Poe that I send my affection?”

  “Of course. I’ll be sure to say it in front of Norah so that I can watch her go pale with jealousy.” Dolly chortled, and Miss Prim indulged in a titter of her own.

  Checking her watch, Miss Prim saw that the afternoon was getting on. As she was putting on her shoes to begin her walk to Lorraine’s, the phone rang again. Had Dolly forgotten something?

  “Good afternoon, Rose Cottage.”

  But there was no response, just the sound of a connection being broken.

  18

  A Derelict Mansion, Inhabited by Eccentrics

  Miss Prim was excited by the prospect of a walk to Lorraine’s house on the ridge. Of course Olivia Abernathy had driven Miss Prim along the ridge during one of her early visits to Greenfield, perhaps to give her a sense of Rose Cottage’s proximity to greatness.

  As Miss Prim remembered Ridge Road, it was a quiet street with a characteristic that would have surprised nobody in the real-estate business. All of the houses faced the view, with the result that one could see the fronts of the houses only from below. When one approached them in an automobile, one saw only gated driveways and backyards. Most of the houses, Miss Prim had noticed, seemed to fit into Lorraine’s “white elephant” category, with bits and pieces in various states of disrepair: a crumbling chimney here, a dilapidated porch there. Such observations, gleaned in a car, would be confirmed or contradicted by a leisurely stroll that would permit closer inspection.

  Miss Prim attached Bruno’s leash to his collar, then retrieved the dinner bell from the credenza and placed it in her handbag. Lorraine might offer treats to the canines, or Bruno might inappropriately beg for any tea snacks Lorraine might offer, and Miss Prim did not want to miss any opportunity to continue the Boxer’s anti-drool training.

  Walking up to the ridge on a road that seemed much steeper on foot than it had in an automobile, Miss Prim was thankful for the exercise regimen that had helped unlock her newer, nimbler self. Within minutes she had arrived at the rear gates of Ridgemont.

  Although Ridgemont’s property was fenced, Miss Prim could see a series of holes dug around the perimeter. An explanatory factor in the Koslowskis’ dogs’ tendency to wander the neighborhood?

  When Miss Prim called Lorraine to say she and Bruno would soon arrive, Lorraine had told her to enter through the rear gate, then follow the path along the right side of the house to the front door. Miss Prim attempted to proceed as directed, wishing she had brought a machete to chop through the overgrowth. Staying close to the house to avoid the face-shredding brambles encroaching on the pathway, Miss Prim could swear she felt the house vibrating. The closer she got to Ridgemont’s front door, the louder the booming became. Even more disconcerting was this: Miss Prim was sure she heard a man screaming at the top of his lungs, raving like a homicidal lunatic. Oh, dear; was this to be her first experience of Lucian Koslowski?

  Lorraine was waiting at the door. At least Miss Prim thought it was Lorraine. Gone were the long, squaw-like tresses; today Lorraine sported a bouffanty blonde wig that appeared to be made of cotton candy, and she wore a tight, revealing red minidress.

  “Lorraine, is that you?” Miss Prim asked.

  “In the flesh!” Lorraine replied. “How do you like the new look? Marilyn Monroe meets Courtney Love. Being blonde is back, you know. All of the Hollywood starlets are doing it, even the men. Psychological research shows that blondes really do have more fun, you know.”

  “Lorraine, is Lucian all right?” Miss Prim asked tentatively. The screaming in the background had not abated and had perhaps become even louder and more psychotic.

  “Yes, he’s fine. He’s wandering around the house looking for his reading primers from first grade. He’s convinced that the U.S. government used Dick and Jane books as the keys for messages encrypted during World War II, and he wants to crack the code once and for all. By the time he finds the books, he’ll forget why he was looking for them in the first pace, and I’ll have had an afternoon of blissful peace.”

  “No, I mean … well, Lorraine, he appears to be screaming his head off.”

  Lorraine laughed heartily. “Felicity, that isn’t Lucian. That’s Ozzy Osbourne.”

  “Ozzy Osbourne?”

  “One of the great voices in rock and roll. I have the iPod on shuffle, so I have no idea who’s coming up next. Could be Judas Priest, could be Alice Cooper, could be Faith No More.”

  Judith Priest? Alice Cooper? Faith Nomore? Who were these women? Miss Prim had no idea; and as far as dance steps went, she was well acquainted with the Alley Cat and the Winchester Cathedral but had never heard of the Eyepod Shuffle.

  “I see,” Miss Prim said doubtfully. “I’m having just the tiniest bit of difficulty hearing you, Lorraine,” she added, not untruthfully, for anyone would have difficulty hearing over the furious rantings of a singer who sounded as if he’d just gulped down a large swig of Drano. “Do you suppose we might listen to some Vivaldi or Chopin instead?”

  “I never listen to that stuff. So boring! I mean, where are the words? You know what, let me just turn it off for now. Come on in, I’ll send the dogs out to say hello. Make yourself comfortable, Felicity. We don’t stand on formality here at Ridgemont. By the way, use the house’s name a few times in conversation with Lucian, please. It’ll tickle him and get you two off on the right foot.”

  Miss Prim entered as Lorraine strode purposefully down the hallway toward the source of the enraged demonic manifestations. Lorraine whistled—a very loud whistle, one that Miss Prim could hear quite distinctly over the din—and two large dogs, one Alsatian and one Doberman, came barreling down the staircase, running straight at Miss Prim and Bruno with alarming speed.

  Her self-defense course had covered situations like this one. Miss Prim stood her ground and let the dogs charge, one at Bruno, one at her. Bruno could take care of himself; indeed, his tail was already wagging, for even the most inexperienced of animal lovers could see that the dogs were charging joyfully, not aggressively. Still, it would not do to be knocked over, so she stood still until the Alsatian sprang. At that instant, she calmly stepped to the side. The dog flew out the front door with a whimper of puzzlement, then returned a moment later, eyeing Miss Prim with stunned admiration. Perhaps to save his mistress any further effort, Bruno chased the animal out the front door while the Doberman brought up the rear.

  The noise emanating from the rear of the house came to an abrupt halt, and Miss Prim felt as if she had been set free from a mental asylum. She was about to chase after the dogs (she did not want to be responsible for allowing them to get loose, or for one of the town harpies, such as Miss Lavelle, calling the pound), but Lorraine shouted from the other end of the hallway, “Don’t worry about the dogs. They’ll be fine. Come on down. We’ll have tea and coffee in the breakfast nook.”

  Having saved herself from canine onslaught and having been resolved of responsibility for the dogs, Miss Prim took a moment to look around her. Ahead of her was a large, wide, almost impassable staircase. Bric-a-brac of all types (the kind person’s way of saying junk) sat on the stairs: candlesticks, newspapers and magazines, unfolded clothing, hockey sticks and base
ball bats, mason jars, light bulbs, dolls with missing limbs or no heads, cardboard tubes around which paper towels and toilet paper had once been wrapped, hair curlers, brassieres, large ceramic platters. To get up or down the staircase one would need to very carefully place one’s feet on tiny sections of exposed stair, and a false step might prove to be one’s last.

  The hallway was marginally less cluttered. Miss Prim recognized wallpaper of the type that had been fashionable when her parents had redecorated their Fifth Avenue apartment in the late 1950s. Photos, or other framed items, had once adorned the walls, but the framed items had been removed, leaving dusty rectangles surrounding comparatively brighter patches of the wall covering.

  Entering the kitchen, which overlooked Ridgemont’s rear yard, Miss Prim ducked to avoid being blinded by a riot of herbs hanging from the ceiling. The kitchen’s planar surfaces were filled with hundreds of coffee mugs, some full to the top with cold coffee, some with just a few dregs left in them, and every level in between. Four pots boiled alarmingly on the stove, as they would have done in a mad scientist’s laboratory.

  Miss Prim took a seat in the nook and watched Bruno cavorting with Henry and Albert. Bruno and the Doberman were taking turns holding each other in a viselike headlock that looked quite dangerous but was probably all in good fun. Or so Miss Prim hoped.

  Lorraine placed a cup of weak-looking tea in front of Miss Prim, then poured a cup of coffee for herself. Watching the three dogs playing fetch with no human aid, Lorraine said wistfully, “Almost makes me wish I’d had children. But everyone knows that dogs are much better behaved, and much more grateful, than kids. Plus, the dogs sleep 22 hours a day. You’re lucky if kids sleep six.”

  “Oh, you and Lucian have no children?”

  “The idea was there in the back of our heads for a while, but we never quite got it together. We were busy traveling, and Lucian had his business, and we kept putting it off. Then the day came when I said to myself, It’s too late. I think if we’d really wanted children we would have made the time, so I tell myself we made the decision by not making it. Plus, can you imagine raising kids in this house? They’d get lost in the junk and I’d never see them again.”