The Outsmarting of Criminals: A Mystery Introducing Miss Felicity Prim (20 page)

A moment later Dawes placed a steaming cup in front of her.

“So, you are a Lee Child fan,” Miss Prim said. “Tell me, do you wish you were Jack Reacher? Many men do.”

Was it Miss Prim’s imagination, or did Detective Dawes appear to blush? “Well, Miss Prim, I wouldn’t say I want to
be
him, but I do admire his ability to cut through the red tape that us real people have to deal with. And he’s indestructible, isn’t he? That would be nice, too.”

“I see your
point, Detective. But remember, Reacher is a fictional creation. Those of us who fight crime on a daily basis know that it is not quite so glamorous, and that not every case includes a wild sexual experience with the attractive person
du jour
. Such plot developments occur in fiction, not in the real world. Perhaps this is why one reads fiction to begin with—to live a more interesting reality than one’s daily life. But on to more pressing matters. I’ve had no luck identifying the man in my basement. Have you?”

“None. It’s really frustrating. I’m still
waiting for the M.E.’s report, but I did get a copy of the guy’s prints, and he isn’t in any databases, anywhere. And nobody in Greenfield recognizes him or knows why he was here. Spike and Martin have checked all the hotels in a twenty-mile radius, and they’ve hit nothing but dead ends.”

“Have you asked Valeska Reed about him?”

“Valeska? What would she know?”

“Yesterday I showed her the altered photo that you printed for me. She told me she’d seen the man peering in her store windows at closing time.”

Dawes narrowed his eyes. “Why wouldn’t she have told Martin about that?”

“I get the sense that he may not have shown her the photo. Perhaps he doesn’t wish to bring his work home with him.”

“Or he’s afraid she’ll yell at him. You say she told you all of this yesterday?”

Miss Prim nodded.

“Then I suppose she could have told him about it last night,” Dawes continued. “I haven’t seen Martin yet today, but still, he should have called to tell me. It’s strange.”

“I agree, it’s all very perplexing,” Miss Prim said, hoping to cha
nge the topic of conversation. She did not want to gossip about what might be the troubled marriage between Martin and Valeska Reed. “Tell me, Detective, what will be done with our unknown man, eventually?”

“We’ll keep him
—uh, I guess you would say in storage—until we find his next of kin. If we can’t identify him or find his family, we’ll have to bury him in a potter’s field.”

How tragic that would be
, Miss Prim thought. If the man’s family were not found, she would pay for a proper, dignified burial.

“
While I have you here, Miss Prim,” Detective Dawes said, somewhat hesitantly, “I did want to remind you that the speed limit in Greenfield is 25 miles per hour.”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Prim replied. “I do apologize for Celia’s driving
. I fear she has not been behind the wheel of an automobile for quite some time. For novelty’s sake, I let her drive my Zap to the train station in Two Oaks. I realized she was poking along, but I hadn’t realized she was driving at a speed so far under the required 25
mph
. I do hope she didn’t inconvenience other drivers too much. We Prims were raised with a healthy respect for the rules of the road.”

Dawes cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, well,
that’s good. And maybe you would like to make sure that you, too, abide by the speed limit? Greenfield is a small town and, uh, you know, I want to minimize complaints.”

“Of course, Detective. I do not blame you for being vigilant. I, too, have noticed that the people of Greenfield drive quite poorly. Being neighborly, of course I would never drea
m of making a formal complaint, but I
have
noticed the sorry state of driving in Greenfield, and truthfully, I have occasionally found it frustrating. But look at the time! I simply must be going. Thank you so much for the lovely tea, Detective, and I shall be in touch as soon as I have any information worth reporting.”

Drawing the Battle Lines

As Bruno settled in for a nap, Miss Prim loaded the groceries into her kitchen cupboards. At some point she would turn at least part of th
e basement into a pantry, but until the murder victim was identified, she thought it disrespectful to use the space as a larder.

Still, it might be worthwhile to have a look at the basement again, to see if s
he had missed any details. Hadn’t fiction taught her that revisiting a crime scene, and viewing it with a fresh eye each time, might yield insights that had been overlooked in the initial rush of investigations? Prepared for a possible epiphany, she removed the wooden star from the cupboard and pushed it into the depression on the wall.

The door popped open quietly, and she felt a tiny tingle of fear. Miss Prim was not a fanciful woman
—never had been, never would be—but the draft coming up the staircase seemed to carry a whisper of menace. Her rational mind told her that the basement must be empty, but even so, it did not pay to take chances—not when so many of the heroines in her beloved mystery novels had been led down the primrose path into the waiting clutches of a madperson. Those heroines almost always survived, which was a consolation, but Miss Prim saw no romance in being traumatized, not even briefly. She roused Bruno with a clicking of her tongue and felt somewhat reassured as he followed her down the staircase.

Standing in the center of the basement floor, she looked around. Neither she nor the members of the
Greenfield PD had been able to deduce how the murderer and/or his (or her) victim had made it down the staircase without leaving footprints in the dust. Detective Dawes had said the crime-scene unit had found only one unidentified set of footprints, with those going
up
the staircase. But the basement was completely underground, with no outdoor access, and the space was completely without windows. Perhaps a trap door was hidden somewhere? No, that was sheer fancy. Nonetheless Miss Prim got down on her hands and knees (a professional criminal outsmarter must not be afraid to get her hands and knees dirty) and shuffled around the perimeter. The floor was hard-packed dirt, with patches of rough cement in places. The cement was uncracked and looked as if it had been poured decades earlier.

She was examining a small imperfection in the wood paneling that covered the walls when she heard her telephone ring. She ran up the stairs, Bruno close on her heels.
She clicked the door closed behind her and picked up the receiver.

“Good afternoon, Rose Cottage.”

A loud crackling. “Miss Prim? I …
crackle
… and …
hiss
… you.”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Prim said. “I’m afraid we have a terrible connection. This is Miss Felicity Prim. Would you kindly repeat w
hat you just said?”

“Oh, blast it. Miss Prim
—Felicity—Amos Poe here. It’s this …
crackle, hiss
… cell phone that Norah has forced upon me. Hold the line, please. I will find a place with better reception.”

As Miss Prim filled a teakettle and placed it on the stove, Doctor Poe returned, sounding fru
strated. “Is this better? Yes? Well, that is a relief. In our day, phone connections were clear as a bell. Now we are perpetually jockeying around to orient ourselves to some unknown constellation, or to some fortuitous wind or data stream, in order to make ourselves heard. It is all quite maddening.”

Miss Prim smiled. Although Doctor Poe was the gentlest of men with his patients, he had been known to become bristly when dealing with fools and/or newfangled, overhyped technologies. Miss Prim knew that Doctor Poe’s fit of pique would pass quickly, and he would return to his gentle self. In the meantime, she would be patient; Mrs. Charity Prim had taught her daughters that women must indulge men’s conniptions, because males simply do not have the self-control, or maturity, of the female of the species.

“Anyway, Miss Prim, I had a quiet moment here at the office and I thought I would check in with you. Is all quite pleasant in Greenfield, Connecticut? We have had some humid weather, and just yesterday I was called to hospital unexpectedly. Mrs. Higgenbottom is having anxiety attacks and will be comforted only by me.”

“Doctor, we have been
saying for years that you must allow Mrs. Higgenbottom to stand on her own two feet. She quite rules you and I daresay she likes it. She finds attention from handsome men in short supply, and when she cannot earn it through charm, she will obtain it through guile.”

“Why, Miss Prim,” Doctor Poe said, his infinite delight evident in his voice, “are you implying that I am
handsome?”

Miss Prim was grateful that nobody was in the cottage to see her blush. How had she made so adolescent a slip of t
he tongue? Was it one of those Freudian slips that one reads about, which seemed to occur much more in fiction than in daily life? Then again, why be coy? As Mrs. Charity Prim had often advised, there comes a time when one’s cards must be laid on the table.

“You have caught me out, Doctor Poe,”
Miss Prim responded. “But you do not need me to tell you that you are an appealing man. Your female patients, as well as your staff, have always appreciated your countenance, and they are not going to stop now.”

“Dear Miss Prim, you have made my day. I quite miss you. I cannot tell you how many times I turn to my left, or to my right, expecting to see you there; and each time you are not, I feel disappointed all over again. To speak with you on the phone makes me feel as though we are still connected, but I confess it is not the same as having you near, to advise and to
—well,
entertain
is not the right word perhaps, but who, really, can match you in the art of conversation? You have no equal, and you have spoiled me. Norah is trying her best, but she is no Felicity Prim.”

“Doctor, you must stop or I will grow quite conceited. Know, however, how m
uch your words mean to me. Now, tell me about Zoroastria, and Viveca, and Dolly.”

“Zoroastria is running wild, as always. And
woe betide the man who succeeds in taming her! I suspect Viveca may be with child again. You know how her cheeks glow a bit after she has conceived? Well, they have been the color of McIntosh apples lately, but I am pretending not to notice until she is ready to share her secret. As for Dolly, I can only say she has seemed somewhat distracted, as if something is worrying her. She is staying at Zoroastria’s apartment for a few days, perhaps for female companionship during a difficult period. I asked her if she is quite all right, and she assured me that she is, and you know I do not like to pry. I understand she will be visiting you this coming weekend? I was delighted to hear it. A jaunt may improve her spirits.”

“Yes, we have planned a girls’ weekend of fun and frolic. Greenfield has quite an active social scene, centered around Maude’s, a local tavern.”

Doctor Poe was quiet for a moment. “I hope you will not think me too forward, Miss Prim, but I am wondering when
I
will receive an invitation to Greenfield?”

“Doctor, of course you are welcome at any time! We have a local inn, which was once a brothel. I have not visited it yet, but I have been told it has a rich history.”

“I cannot simply show up on your doorstep, Miss Prim. I must have a proper invitation.”

“Then you shall have one, Doctor. The weekend is quite taken with Dolly’s visit
—but perhaps you would like to join us? You two could take the train together …”

The doctor sighed. “I wish I could. But I am on ho
spital rounds all weekend. May I call you next week so that we may set a date?”

“I would love that, Doctor. I truly would.”

“I see you are still calling me ‘Doctor,’ not ‘Amos.’”

“I continue to think about yo
ur very appealing offer, Doctor, and I reiterate my promise. If and when I consent to be your wife, I shall use your given name. And I shall call you very soon.”

“The fact that you actively consider my proposal will have to be enough to sustain me for now,” Doctor Poe replied. “And on that note, Miss Prim, I fear I have a waiting room full of surprises, so I must ring off. Until we speak again, my dearest Felicity.”

As Miss Prim put down the receiver, the teakettle began to whistle.
How like Doctor Poe this teakettle is
, Miss Prim thought.
He is
fairly boiling over with passion and steamy emotion
.

To her Earl
Gray she added a packet of Mrs. Mallowan’s Lemon Sugar and a teaspoon of honey. Then she gave Bruno a small treat (use of the bell was not necessary, as he did not drool) and took her teacup to the couch. She sat, picked up the phone receiver, and dialed Celia’s number.

Celia answered the phone on the third ring. “Miss Celia Prim here,” said her sister.

“Sister!” Miss Prim said. “You sound quite exhausted. Is all well there?”

“
Sister, your timing could not be better. I have run myself ragged all over this city since last we spoke. I had forgotten how much shoe leather is required in tracking down information from the various government agencies. Are you sitting down? I have a piece of very important news. I believe I have found Ophelia, and I am well on my way to finding the mysterious A. From there, it should be a simple matter to find Providence.”