The Outsmarting of Criminals: A Mystery Introducing Miss Felicity Prim (17 page)

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, a
nd 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.”

“I’m sure it isn’t junk, Lorraine,” Miss Prim said, touched by Lorraine’s
willingness to share confidences. “When I meet someone whose home is filled with intriguing objects, I always think of that person as an inveterate collector, as someone with big ideas who has every intention of doing something with all those items when the opportunity presents itself.”

Lorraine whacked herself on the thigh with her palm. “Felicity Prim, you’re a hoot and a half. You know very well I’m a slob.
Everyone
knows that, which is why nobody visits. They can’t stand the mess, and I don’t blame them. But I have to say—the phrase
inveterate collector
is a heck of a lot nicer than
sloven
, so I accept the new title and embrace it. From now on you can call me Lorraine Koslowski, Inveterate Collector.”

Miss Prim liked the sound of that. The title tripped off the tongue easily and would work quite well as the second half of an inseparable duo. Felicity Prim, Criminal Outsmarter and Lorraine Koslowski, Inveterate Collector.

Lorraine sipped long and deep from her coffee cup. “Nectar of the gods,” she said. “I don’t know how you drink that stuff,” Lorraine added, nodding her head in the direction of Miss Prim’s teacup. “Tastes like dirty socks to me.”

Miss Prim scanned the kitchen and noticed that no two of the hundreds of coffee mugs adorning
the countertops seemed to match. Lorraine, who’d followed Miss Prim’s eyes, explained.

“I know what you’re thinking: She may be a slob, but can’t she at least wash a coffee mug once in a while? I do it strictly to keep the peace, Felicity. Lucian is forever pouring himself a cuppa a
nd then getting distracted. He leaves the cup wherever he’s standing and then forgets about it. For years I tried dumping them out and putting them in the sink, with the goal of washing them eventually, but every time I did that, he’d come in looking for the coffee he’d just poured, and then we’d get into an argument. So I stopped and now we don’t argue.” Lorraine made a sweeping motion with her arm. “We bought almost all of these mugs on our travels. The truth is, I kind of like looking at them because each one reminds me of a different place. The one I’m holding now—I bought it in a souvenir shop in the ass-end of Paris in the 60s after Lucian and I attended a concert by a young singer named Bob Dylan.”

Miss Prim stared blankly. Bob Dylan?

Lorraine sighed. “I see that our musical tastes will never coincide, Felicity. But different strokes, right? My yin to your yang, and all that. But on to more interesting topics. Are you staying out of Gladys Lavelle’s way? Any luck in discovering the dead man’s identity? Or any other exciting news?”

“Actually, yes. My older sister Celia was here for a visit …”

“The woman you had lunch with at Maude’s?”

“Yes, that was Celia.”

“You two are
sisters
? Who would have guessed? She’s so Greenwich Village kooky, you’re so New England tweed. Rose Red to your Snow White. Shirley MacLaine to your Helen Mirren.”

“Well, yes, you are not the first to remark on our differences, but despite our different approaches to wardrobe and other matters of personal style,
Celia and I are the dearest of friends.”

Lorraine’s expression was
skeptical. “I have sisters myself, though saying we’re the best of friends would be a stretch. Lorna was a hardheaded, obstinate mule, and Loretta is so emotionally manipulative she would have sent Mother Teresa scrambling for an Uzi.”

“But surely you all love one another, yes?”

Lorraine considered this question. “Yes, I suppose so. Loretta isn’t a bad sort once you get past her passive-aggressiveness and her tendency to lapse into child-speak around attractive men. Lorna’s a different story. Lucian couldn’t stand her, so she and I didn’t spend much time together after I married, and I can’t say that I truly missed her. How do you miss someone who makes an art of complaining about
everything
and feeling sorry for herself no matter how good she has it?”

After successfully initiating a bonding
session between Deb (the girl at the Two Oaks train station) and her sister Peg (who worked at Maude’s), Miss Prim felt quite bullish about her ability to inject sisterly love into Lorraine’s life. “It is never too late, Lorraine. Of course Celia and I had our disagreements when we were younger, but I now see how her quirks have allowed her to lead a rich, full, and happy life. Perhaps you might invite your sisters to Ridgemont for a weekend and see what happens?”

“I don’t know about that, Felicity,” Lorraine said, not sounding at all convinced. “Besides, Lorna’s not with us any longer. She had an aneurysm more than a decade ago. Which wasn’t surprising, given how mad she always was about everything. Last time I checked, Loretta was somewhere in Europe, chasing some count around the continent. She always thought she should be European royalty and she’s dead set on making it happen before she dies. As if she could become European royalty with a name like Loretta Lipshitz.”

“Do make the attempt, Lorraine,” Miss Prim responded, resting her hand gently on Lorraine’s arm. “And if all else fails, well—you always have me.”

Lorraine, touched and momentarily lost for words, cocked her head, as if listening for a
distant train whistle. “There’s Lucian. Let me retrieve him and introduce the two of you.” She skipped away as Miss Prim gazed out the window. The dogs had decided to take a nap and were lying curled around one another.

A few seconds later Lorraine led Lucian into the room. He was a tall, thin, stooped man w
ith a head of wild white hair, almost as tall as Papa had been but without Papa’s excellent posture. Miss Prim thought he looked a bit like Albert Einstein, and the naughty side of her was tempted to ask him to stick his tongue out, in order to complete the Einsteinian effect. He was carrying a box filled with large balls of colored twine.

“Lucian, I want you to meet a friend of mine,” Lorraine said, taking the box of twine from her husband’s arms and trying to distract his attention from the coffee mugs. “This is Miss Felicity Prim. She just moved to Greenfield.”

Miss Prim rose and extended her hand. “Delighted, Mr. Koslowski. I was so thankful to be invited to Ridgemont. I had seen Ridgemont the first time I visited town, and I thought, ‘What a lovely home Ridgemont is.’ It is wonderful to be here in Ridgemont with the two denizens of Ridgemont.”

Lucian turned to Lorraine. “What?”

Lorraine raised her voice. “SHE SAYS, SHE LOVES RIDGEMONT.”

“O
f course she does,” Lucian said with a huff, as if Miss Prim were not standing directly in front of him. “Only fools do not love Ridgemont.”

Then he took Miss Prim’s hand and raised it to his lips. “Welcome to Ridgemont, Miss Tenacity. I am Lucian Koslowski, homeowner. And may I present my wife, Mrs. Lorna Koslowski.”

“Lorraine, dear,” Lorraine said.

“What?”

“LORRAINE. I am LORRAINE. You hate Lorna, remember?”

“Lorna? A horrible woman! We must not speak of her.”

“Then don’t bring her up, Lucian,” Lorraine said.

“What?”

Lorraine, perhaps weary of repeating herself, raised her voice a couple of decibels. “LUCIAN, GET YOUR COLLECTION OF SILVER MERCURY DIMES TO SHOW FELICITY.”

Lucian smiled widely. “Yes, I’d be delighted to. It is quite a collection, quite a collection. Will you excuse me a moment, Miss Duplicity?” And out he went.

“That should buy us a few hours,” Lorraine said. “He doesn’t
have
a collection of silver Mercury dimes.”

Miss Prim chuckled
.

“Now, you were saying,” Lorraine
continued, once they had settled themselves at the table again. “Catch me up on the latest details of your life, if you please.”

Miss Prim debated whether to share the information Detective Dawes had given her regarding the locked-room mystery in her basement. She deci
ded she had best not do so. That sort of information, if publicly disseminated, might give the killer an advantage. She opted for homier news. “When Celia and I had lunch at Maude’s, we ran into Olivia Abernathy. She confirmed what you said about Elizabeth Saxe-Coburg living in a retirement home, and it turns out the home is in Two Oaks. I shall pay Mrs. Saxe-Coburg a visit tomorrow. It is not likely that she will remember anything—she is apparently quite senile—but talking to her may yield some insights.”

Lorraine pursed her lips. “I’d go into it with low expectations, Felicity. Remember, she wasn’t a communicative woman even when she had all her marbles.”

“Still, I can’t see that it would hurt to try. At the very least, she’ll have some company. And who can say no to homemade cinnamon rolls? Along with a cup of tea, they have been known to invoke a stroll down memory lane.”

“Yo
ur cinnamon rolls can do that? Can they also create world peace, impose democracy, and cure all diseases?” Seeing Miss Prim’s look of distress, Lorraine added, “I’m joking, Felicity. Cooking was never one of my talents, and I felt it keenly for many years, mostly because Lucian loves to eat. I long envied cooks their talent, and I suppose a bit of that envy lingers. But listen to me, admitting my faults. That’s something I try not to do, since most people think I don’t have them. Seriously, I hope you enjoy your visit with Elizabeth. I’d ask you to say hello from me, but since she never said a word to me while we were neighbors, I doubt she’d want to hear anything about me now. And do take what she says with a few grains of salt, even if she seems to be making sense. I’d hate to see you going off half-cocked because crazy old Elizabeth Saxe-Coburg sent you on a wild goose chase.”

“Never fear, Lorraine. I always double check my information. That is standard procedure.”

Lorraine gave her a puzzled look, and Miss Prim realized that she hadn’t yet talked with Lorraine about her burgeoning career in criminal outsmarting. Might this be a good time to broach the subject? Perhaps not. It might be better to cement her relationship with Lorraine first, especially because it seemed inevitable that Lorraine would become her sidekick in future adventures. Why, Miss Prim could even see a highly talented novelist writing about her exploits. The book jacket would feature a slim, attractive woman in her rose garden. Under the title the words “A Mystery Introducing Miss Felicity Prim” would appear, thus positioning her tale as the first in a wildly successful, long-running series. But no—Miss Prim was getting carried away. All of that was fiction, and this was the real world.

Lorraine rose from her chair and opened the rear door. Placing two fingers in her mouth, she whistled shrilly. The three dogs, which had been fast asleep, rose instantly and ran for the door: Albert and Henry first (Miss Prim still wasn’t sure which
was which), followed by Bruno. As they entered the house, Lorraine reached for a jar of treats and Miss Prim unzipped her handbag to grab the bell in case Bruno began drooling.

Bruno took Lorraine’s proffered treat with alacrity (and without drooling), the D
oberman borderline rudely. The Alsatian turned aside snobbishly, as if disdaining the biscuit.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Henry,” Lorraine huffed. “Here, Felicity. You give it to him.” She handed the treat to Miss Prim, who in turn offered it to the animal. Henry the elderly Alsatian (she could see the gray in his muzzle and around his eyes) padded over to her and gently accepted the treat, sitting at Miss Prim’s side and allowing her to scratch his ruff.

“You lucked out with Bruno,” Lorraine said. “Believe me, you haven’t been insulted until a dog has snubbed you.”

“Perhaps he’s just having an off day,” Miss Prim offered. But she had to admit
to herself that Henry wasn’t
looking
off. His tail was wagging enthusiastically as he submitted to Miss Prim’s affections.

“
No, he’s Lucian’s dog, always has been. Never mind that I feed him and groom him and force the heartworm pills down his gullet. He just never took to me. Fortunately, I have my Albert.”

Upon hearing his name, Albert jumped up gently and placed his paws on Lorraine’s shoulders. Then he gave her a lick to demonstrate his undying love.