The Outsmarting of Criminals: A Mystery Introducing Miss Felicity Prim (15 page)

Indeed. The last time Miss Prim had seen Officer Martin Reed, he’d had calorie-laden confections
laid out in front of him. Of course she would not reveal his secret (or, as Zoroastria would have termed it, “narc’ed him out”). She sensed this was a sensitive subject between husband and wife, so she took the conversation in a different direction.

“Speaking of the police, Mrs. Reed
—”

“Valeska.”

“Speaking of the police, I wonder if I could ask you to look at a photo?” She reached into her handbag, pushing the Laser Taser 3000 out of the way (it seemed to share certain chemical properties with air, forever bubbling to the top) and handed the Photoshopped photo to Valeska.

“I was talking with Faye Cotillard,” Miss Prim continued, “and she mentioned that this man
—the unfortunate person whom I found in my basement—looked like someone she had seen before. Do you recognize him?”

“I certainly do,” Valeska replied. “I’ve seen him looking in my windows once or twice, late at night, when the shop is about to close. But he never comes in.”

Finally! A solid lead.

“Do you
know his identity?”

“
No. I do not try to entice customers into Cambria & Calibri. I am not a shill.”

This last statement did not quite accord with Miss Prim’s initi
al experience with Valeska Reed, but she chose not to contradict the imposing bookstore owner.

“Have you told the police about recognizing the man, Mrs.
—Valeska?”

“No.”

“But why ever not? You are married to one of the investigating officers. Surely he showed you this photo?”

“Nobody showed it to me and nobody asked me. And nobody can say Valeska Reed doesn’t mind her own business.”

This is a marriage
, Miss Prim thought,
that suffers from serious communication problems
.

“Well, thank you, Mrs.
—Valeska. If you don’t mind, I shall share your information with Detective Dawes.” Valeska Reed nodded her assent as Miss Prim checked her watch. “This was such a lovely conversation. But I’m afraid I must be taking my leave. My sister is visiting from New York, and I need to deliver her to the train station.”

“You’re not leaving without buying a book, Miss Prim?” It was phrased as a question, stated as a command.

“Of course not. I’d like to purchase the
ushabti
catalog for my sister.”

“That one’s not bad, if you go for that sort of thing. Cover price $39.95, half price $20.00, and I’ll give you another 15% discount, so let’s say $17 and an occasional visit from you, in which we can talk more about books and less about this tiresome murder.”

“That sounds both fair and delightful,” Miss Prim said, handing Valeska $17, including one dollar’s worth of pennies that she’d been trying to get rid of.

“One other thing,” Valeska added. “There was a man in here yesterday asking about you.”

“A man?”

“Yes. One of that new type of man who is rather too concerned with his appearance and looking youthful.”

“Did he give a name?”

“He did not. He asked if I knew you, and I said no, because we hadn’t been properly introduced yet.”

This is really most odd, and perhaps even worrisome
, Miss Prim thought, exiting the bookshop. Who could be seeking her in Greenfield? Her heart accelerated when she remembered the creature she’d seen in her backyard the previous night. Without realizing she was doing so, she touched the bulge in her handbag to reassure herself that the Laser Taser 3000 was still there.

Celia exclaimed delightedly at Miss Prim’s gift, then began worrying about where she would store the book in her tiny apartment. “Never you mind about that, Sister,” Miss Prim counseled, “for we both know you will
make
the room. That is what one does for the books one must have.”

Problems with the Opposite Sex

Though Miss Prim had suggested that Celia extend her visit a few more days, Celia had been unable to comply. Work awaited her in Manhattan; she was busy indexing a book on the politics of Antarctica for a man who had not yet declared his intentions.

“But Sister,” Miss Prim had asked, “since when do you have expertise as an indexer? Does the job not
require the most perfected of”—here she had to tread lightly, for fear of giving offense—“organizational skills?”

“That is one approach to the job,” Celia had conceded. “But I also believe one can be
inspired
to prepare an index. When that inspiration comes, everything will fall into place.”

“A
re you hoping that an index is the way to a man’s heart? Or at least to this particular man’s heart?”

“Oh, if it were only that simple! You recall Barbara Pym from
Mama’s bookshelves? In
Excellent Women
, Miss Pym made it very clear that indexing is the expected task of a helpmeet, though she also implies that indexing becomes an obligation only when one has accepted the inevitability of the relationship. I would not say I am at that point, just yet, as there always seem to be so many options. Still and all, it would not be a bad thing to add indexing to my résumé, as I am sure the skill is very much in demand.”

Thus
, after their visit to the bookshop, the sisters returned to the cottage, where Miss Prim did a bit of straightening while Celia packed up her carpetbags. In short order Bruno’s ears pricked up, and a moment later Miss Prim heard a knock at the door. Bruno charged forth, tail wagging like a metronome keeping the beat for a frantic disco song, and Miss Prim followed.

“Hi, Miss Prim,” Kit said, fending off Bruno’s tongue bath. “I’m here to get Bruno. I was goin
g to come earlier, but I heard you were at Maude’s with your sister. Here’s the list of foods I like. Please, nothing with watercress. Faye lives on it but it’s disgusting.”

Miss Prim
nodded, trading Bruno’s leash for Kit’s list. Boy and dog ran off.

In the meantime, Celia had emerged from the guest room, two bags in each hand. “I wonder, Sister,” Celia began tentatively, “if you would al
low me to drive to the train depot. It’s been a while since I’ve been behind the wheel, and one does not wish to become too rusty with regard to essential skills.”

“Of course
, Sister,” Miss Prim replied. “The Zap is really quite pleasant to drive, though its performance leaves something to be desired. When you step on the gas pedal, you will see that the acceleration is quite poor. You will feel as if you are poking along on a nag from the Old West.”

“T
hat may not be such a bad thing,” Celia declared. “You may have noticed that people drive altogether too impatiently these days.”

“Actually, I have noticed the exact opposite,” Miss Prim replied. “But y
ou will see for yourself.” She handed Celia the keys.

When the trunk was loaded with Celia’s carpetbags, Celia got behind the wheel and fastened her seatbelt. Miss Prim took the passenger seat and did the same, then walked her sister through the process of starting the car and engaging the automatic transmission.

“I don’t know about this,” Celia said, doubtfully. “I have always thought these automatic transmissions are a fad that cannot last.”

“Y
ou will quite get used to it, Sister. It is rather freeing, in a way, to have one hand free to adjust the radio and one leg free to tap one’s toes to the beat. Those manual transmissions, like the one in Papa’s old Packard, did make the driver feel rather like a marionette, with all limbs in action all the time. And you know what Mama always said, Sister: We must not fight modernity. It has its benefits.”

Miss Prim provided block-by-block directions as Celia navigated the narrow roads and comparatively congested streets of downtown Greenfield.
Really, so much traffic!
Miss Prim thought as she glanced out the Zap’s rear window. How had so many cars ended up behind them, and why had they begun honking their horns? Why did the gentleman driving that German car directly behind them appear on the verge of apoplexy, his face red as a beet? And for heaven’s sake, why was he driving so close to them, fairly crawling onto the Zap’s bumper? Why, whenever they stopped at a red light, did the drivers behind them gun their engines and then pass them aggressively?

“So, our plan is settled,” Miss Prim summarized as Celia pulled into the parking lot of the Two Oaks train station. “You will contact Papa’s business associates to try to discover O
.’s identity, as well as check the New York Public Records Office, just in case Providence’s last name is listed as Prim, or if Papa is listed as her father on the birth certificate.” The previous evening, Celia had called directory assistance in Manhattan looking for Providence Prim, and the operator (who sounded as if she were in India, not in New York City—but perhaps Celia had been imagining things) had informed her that no such person was listed. This did not discourage Miss Prim and Celia, however; Providence Prim might have an unlisted number, or she might have married and now be Mrs. Providence Something-or-Other. “In the meantime, I shall pore through the remainder of Papa’s journals to see if I can find any further hints as to O.’s identity and whereabouts.”

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 fir
st 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 c
alling 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 Zor
oastria’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.