The Outsmarting of Criminals: A Mystery Introducing Miss Felicity Prim (3 page)

“But Miss Prim, you help people now! Every day, at the office. Half of my patients do not come to see me. They come to see
you
.”

Miss Prim was touched.
“Doctor Poe, to hear such compliments from someone for whom I have the greatest respect is …”

“Is that what you feel for me, Felicity? Respect?”

“Of course, Doctor. But not only respect. Admiration. Affection. These are just a few …”

She was not permi
tted to finish her sentence. Doctor Poe threw his arms around her and dragged her into his embrace.

“But ca
n’t you see, Felicity? Your feelings for me may be those of respect, admiration, and affection. But I love you with all my heart. You must stay with me. Please, say you will stay.”

A Stranger Comes to Town

Long a
person able to handle anything life threw at her, Miss Prim found herself somewhat overwhelmed. The stresses of purchasing a small home were, she was sure, soon to be outweighed by the joys of having four walls of her own, with no rambunctious children or argumentative couples living above, below, or alongside her (an all-too-rare blessing in her years on East 26th Street). For now, though, getting the utilities set up; purchasing comfortable furniture; hiring workmen to paint the place in those difficult-to-find upbeat yet relaxing colors—all these arrangements ate up surprisingly large chunks of time.

T
he stresses were not lessened by her conflicted feelings regarding Doctor Poe. His admission had come as a surprise, if not a complete shock (since the death of the doctor’s wife, Celia had repeatedly insisted that Doctor Poe’s affections were Miss Prim’s for the asking); and the unresolved nature of their future relationship made for some awkward moments at the office.

“You cannot tell me, honestly, that you have no feelings for
me, Felicity,” Doctor Poe had said, after she had sputtered unintelligibly following his declaration of love. “We have known each other far too long, and far too well, for me to believe that my affections are unrequited. The time has come for us to be fully honest with each other.”

“I will admit, Doctor
Poe—”

“Amos. For the love of God,
call me Amos.”

“
Doctor Poe, I cannot deny that I hold great … affection for you. I have always thought that you and I would remain the dearest and closest of friends until … well, shall we say, until the end. I have sometimes marveled at the … comfort … of our relationship. We have known each other for decades, and yet rarely have we disagreed or come into serious conflict. Each day I have looked forward to seeing you, to starting our days with our chats over our tea”—here tears began to spring into her eyes, an awkward situation not improved by Doctor Poe’s taking and holding her hand at that moment—“and I have thought, many times, how lucky I am to have such a dear and trusted friend in you.”

She had pulled herself together and continued speaking. For Miss Prim was not
a repressed older woman unable to get in touch with her feelings. No, despite outward appearances and her dedication to her privacy and dignity, she had known passion, and intimate affairs, and dangerous liaisons; and all of these had taught her that long-term decisions regarding lifemates must not be made at moments of peak emotion but rather as a result of intense intellectual reflection on the assets and liabilities of the relationship. For indulging in an
affaire de coeur
is one thing, Miss Prim knew; and marrying (and then living with) someone is quite another.

“But Doctor Poe,
” she had continued (she could not use his given name, she simply could not!), “it is only a year since your beloved Lavinia passed on. How can we know, at this time, whether your romantic intentions toward me are those on which a future can be built, or whether you are quite understandably missing the companionship and affection of your wife of more than forty years? No, do not protest. Surely a man of your intelligence and wisdom understands that both of us must feel assured of the permanence of our own, and the other’s, feelings before we can make life-altering decisions. You married wisely, and I have long been content in my solitary state. Neither of us, I am sure, would wish to rush into … something … without being quite confident that doing so would not jeopardize our current friendship.

“
So, allow me to offer a modest proposal. Let us take six months to think on this, to continue as we always have, and to discuss the matter, as we see fit, when we have something to say about it. And then, at the end of that period, we shall decide whether to remain the best of friends or to further our commitment. We shall visit each other over the next six months, and if our relationship progresses to something more intimate, we will then have the joys of sharing an apartment in Manhattan and a home in Connecticut. Does this sound like a reasonable plan?” This arrangement seemed rather appealing to Miss Prim, who could envision returning to work in Doctor Poe’s office for, say, three days a week after spending long weekends at Rose Cottage.

“It is not what I
hoped for, Felicity,” Doctor Poe replied, “but I must respect your wishes. And I suppose six months is not too long to wait, in the big scheme of things. But I make one request. Now that I have declared my intentions, you must use my given name. Amos. No more Doctor Poe.”

Miss Prim had thought long and hard.
Though she considered herself a forward-thinking woman, she did not hold with modern ideas of instant friendship and rushed intimacies. No. As in all important matters, one must take one’s time.

“Let us
agree as follows,” she had suggested. “The day I begin using your given name is the day I consent to be your wife. Is that acceptable?”

“It
is,” Doctor Poe had replied, kissing her hand tenderly.

*

The good-bye party was a sorrowful/joyful affair, filled with kind gifts, loving testimonials, and heartfelt best wishes. Fearing a lack of support from people who might pooh-pooh her aspirations, Miss Prim had confided her plans to become a criminal outsmarter to only three people—Doctor Poe, Dolly, and Celia—so her post-retirement career was not mentioned at the going-away party.

Her last stop before leaving New York City
—
leaving
: such a sorrowful word after so many happy years—was at Franklin Motor Works on Eleventh Avenue, where she picked up her sporty new Zap sedan. As a younger woman she’d had a coupé she’d quite loved, but as a burgeoning countrywoman she thought a four-door model would be much more practical in terms of grocery hauling, visits to and from the garden center, and so forth. As she drove along the West Side Highway and merged onto the Henry Hudson Parkway, she couldn’t help but notice how slowly everyone else was driving. She was also taken aback by the number of drivers slamming on their brakes, blasting their horns, and displaying their middle fingers to her. When, exactly, had people become so rude? New York was a city perpetually on the move, after all. One would think drivers would be motivated to get to their destinations, instead of crawling along like lazy inchworms.

She thought her fellow drivers mig
ht become less pokey when outside city limits but, alas, this prognostication proved untrue even on Interstate 684, where slow-moving cars in the left lane swerved crazily into the center lane as she approached them. She remembered an old saw much repeated by her mother—“Everyone thinks he’s a good kisser and a good driver”—and she recognized the wisdom in these words as her spirited little sedan passed monstrous SUVs, 18-wheelers, and foreign sports cars whose drivers didn’t seem to understand they were driving on an
expressway
, not a winding country road.

Two hours later she was placing her key in
to the uncooperative lock on the front door of her new home. She gazed with pleasure at the hand-painted new mailbox (a gift from Dolly) and at the sign above it (a gift from Celia):

ROSE COTTAGE

Celia had bestowed the name on the house after seeing photos of the gardens. Miss Prim smiled; she was enough of an Anglophile to admit to a certain pleasure in owning, and living in, a house with a name instead of an apartment with a number.

Reaching into her handbag a
nd rummaging under the Laser Taser 3000, she pulled out her to-do list. So much to do—where to begin?

1. Do grocery shopping
   
2. Buy w
   ine and spirits for guests
   
3. Explore downtown
   
4. Get to know bank and post office personnel
   
5. Volunteer somewhere
   
6. Adopt trusty animal companion
   

Points 1-5 could wait. Until the refrigerator and freezer were stocked, one could dine at charming local eateries; downtown would still be there tomorrow; volunteer organizations would still need people next week. Point 6 seemed the most urgent. So, after dropping her valise into her sweet, sunny bedroom, she returned to the Zap and drove to the Greenfield Animal Shelter.

Thoughts of
an animal companion had occupied her obsessively for a number of weeks. Her new career made adopting a pet an absolute necessity. All the literature made the case for a cat, or cats. Their presence would establish the mood of conviviality and secret-sharing that was essential in her line of work. A couple of cats would allow her, when necessary, to play the role of the dotty older woman who cannot be taken seriously. She knew she would have achieved an important milestone in her career the first time she heard someone, most likely a criminal, whisper at a party, “Oh, that’s barmy old Miss Prim! An absolute dear, but quite out of it.”

Y
et, despite all the factors pushing her towards felines, she could not ignore certain facts. One: She had a long and abiding affection for large dogs, having loved them as a child. Two: Despite the security afforded by the Laser Taser 3000, a trusty canine companion would undoubtedly be better at dissuading, or mauling, intruders than a cat would. In Manhattan she would have had to choose a small dog, one that could live comfortably in an 800-square-foot apartment. In Greenfield, with her acre of property, she had no such constraints.

Miss Prim felt instant affection for the young woman
volunteer, whose smile and enthusiasm reminded her of Dolly’s. Phoebe took Miss Prim to see the many healthy, neutered or spayed cats and dogs currently calling the shelter home, and Miss Prim needed to marshal all her strength to prevent herself from adopting every one of them. How she wanted to offer a home to that beautiful Samoyed with the bright but somewhat sad blue eyes; she longed to hug that timid Alsatian to her bosom; she wanted to scoop that little Yorkie into her arms and carry it home in her bag (but only after removing the Laser Taser 3000, as one did not want to risk any accidents). But it was a large muscular brindle Boxer named Bruno who would not let her walk away. There he stood, his rear end shaking with unfettered delight at Miss Prim’s attentions, as if daring Miss Prim not to be dazzled by his charms. When Miss Prim’s concentration was momentarily distracted by a chocolate Lab trying to get her attention, Bruno let out a small whimper of terrible emotional pain.
You will
not
walk away from me
, Bruno seemed to be saying,
for you are a person of impeccable taste and judgment, and you know a good thing when you see it
.

And so the decision was made.

Bruno seemed impatient as Miss Prim underwent the third degree and filled out reams of paperwork. First, she assured Phoebe that she had already purchased everything Bruno would need to be comfortable in his new home; she also promised to provide ample exercise opportunities for her new companion. Phoebe provided a list of local veterinarians, recommending Dr. Emerson as her favorite while admitting that she found him to be rather cute.

Phoebe got down on her knees to say goodbye
to Bruno. “I’ll miss you, B,” she said, hugging the Boxer around his neck.

Bruno gave Phoebe a big
, sloppy lick. But Miss Prim saw the twinkle in his eye.
I’ll miss you, Phoebe,
Bruno seemed to be thinking,
but I am
out of here
. Woo hoo!

The Secret Passage

One of the really lovely things about adopting a mature pet, Miss Prim acknowledged, was the built-in discipline, for Bruno was already fully trained in terms of the correct times and places to do his business. Upon arriving at his new home, Bruno quickly sniffed the perimeter of the rear yard and christened his first tree, gazing excitedly at all the other trees to be conquered. Miss Prim looked wistfully at those same trees and exhaled with pure joy. In Manhattan she’d had to share the trees in Madison Square Park with millions. These trees were
hers
.

“Come, Bruno,” she said
emphatically—as with children, one must be firm with animal companions in the early days of the acquaintance—and watched with alarm as Bruno sprinted toward her with distressing speed. Oh no, was he about to jump on her? She was not an unsturdy woman, but it would be most indecorous to be knocked to the ground on her first day of residence in the cottage. As Bruno rapidly approached, she stood her ground, pointed a finger, and commanded, “Heel.” Bruno stopped dead in his tracks and did as directed.