The Outsmarting of Criminals: A Mystery Introducing Miss Felicity Prim Read online

  Finally, after two months of taking Miss Prim to examine properties that were not quite right for one reason or another, Miss Prim’s real-estate agent took her to view a delightful, snug two-bedroom mock-Tudor cottage nestled on an acre of wooded property. Olivia Abernathy explained away the cottage’s shocking price by touting the benefits of the Greenfield school system, as well as the cottage’s “famous” rose garden and proximity to the town square.

  Miss Prim looked at the contract, spread out on Olivia’s desk. Once she signed it, there would be no turning back. She’d be leaving behind her sister and her dearest friends. Gone would be the spontaneous get-togethers, the confidences shared over cups of tea at local coffeehouses, the easy camaraderie of relationships developed over a lifetime. There was the phone, of course, and friends would pay an occasional visit; but everyone knows that the farther from Manhattan you go, the less frequent the visits. No longer would she have the security of the well-compensated job she’d held in Doctor Poe’s office for decades, and she’d be sacrificing that rarest and most valuable of New York commodities: a rent-controlled apartment with a million-dollar view. If she ever returned to Manhattan, she would end up living in an airless, windowless shoebox on a noisy avenue rather than in the bright, affordable apartment on the park close to the subway. Among Manhattanites, there is one unbreakable rule: You never, ever, for any reason, give up a rent-controlled apartment. Yet she would have to do exactly that to move to Connecticut, because she could not retire from her position at Doctor Poe’s office and support two homes on her savings. And her lease prohibited her from subletting her apartment.

  But the cottage … on a street of older homes, all lovingly cared for. And the charming town square, with its green, its eateries, its old-fashioned gaslight lampposts. And the cottage itself … so lovely, so bright, so quiet, so safe. And with so much space, Manhattan’s holy grail! A full acre of property on which to spread out. A barn for storage. An extra bedroom, an eat-in kitchen with miles of cupboards. And nooks and crannies in which to store and display books, books, and more books—those wonderful tales that lived forever in her memory but took up far too much space in her one-bedroom New York apartment. No more harassment from strangers to purchase one of those space-saving “Kindle” or “Nook” devices, which seemed to miss the point of books entirely. Even her parents’ books, long held in an expensive storage facility, would finally see the light of day again, as the cottage’s attic held ample promise for renovation into a library. Yes, a real library, with comfortable chairs, brass reading lamps, and plush carpets into which one might dig one’s toes while reading a particularly suspenseful novel.

  But first things first. Miss Prim took a deep breath and signed the contract.

  *

  Doctor Poe greeted Miss Prim’s announcement with shocked silence, and this reaction took her off guard. She had expected moderate to strong protests, appeals to her overall indispensability, even an impassioned entreaty to delay her move a year or two. Instead, the good doctor accepted her resignation stoically. Which was not, she realized, the response she’d been hoping for.

  Much more gratifying was the shock that greeted Miss Prim’s general announcement in the staff room of Doctor Amos Poe’s Park Avenue practice. Norah would be the least sorry to see her go, of course; Miss Prim’s departure would mean a staff vacancy that Norah longed to occupy. The agonized regrets of Viveca (the phlebotomist), Zoroastria (the receptionist), and Dolly (Doctor Poe’s assistant) were much more sincere, and much more prolonged, than Norah’s non-grudging acceptance of Miss Prim’s decision to take her life in a different direction. Viveca knocked a cup of coffee onto a manila folder containing x-ray results and burst into tears. “Miss Prim,” she said, “you can’t go. You cannot. We can’t run this office without you. I just can’t let you leave.”

  Well, Norah can, Miss Prim thought, noting the impatient look on Norah’s face. Already Norah appeared to be eyeing Miss Prim’s favorite chair, considering how she would adjust the tilt and lumbar support to better suit her ergonomic preferences. When I am gone, Miss Prim thought sadly, Norah will take my place. Soon, it will be Norah, not me, upon whom Doctor Poe relies.

  Meanwhile, Dolly Veerelf stood quietly next to Miss Prim, trying to be supportive of her friend’s decision. Miss Prim knew it would be as difficult to leave Dolly as it would be to abandon Doctor Poe, that dear man who’d been a trusted, valued colleague and friend since the early 1970s. In Dolly she saw a young woman whom she would have wished to have as a daughter of her own. For Dolly had little in common with the female patients Doctor Poe saw each day, many of whom suffered from a surfeit of self-confidence and a deficit of humility.

  Miss Prim had her consoling words at the ready.

  “My dearest friends,” Miss Prim said to the gathered staff, “you have all been so wonderful to me during my recovery, and you know you can call on me any time you need my help. Of course we shall remain in close touch. I’m moving to Connecticut, not to the end of the world. You all will come up to visit, as often and for as long as you like.”

  She embraced Dolly, who returned the hug with fervor.

  “Dear Dolly,” Miss Prim said gently, “you know my home will always be your home, too.”

  *

  That evening, as Miss Prim settled herself into her reading chair, she heard an urgent rapping of knuckles on her apartment door. Odd: The doorman had not called to announce a visitor.

  Looking through the peephole, Miss Prim saw Doctor Poe shuffling in the hallway, his hat in his hand. She undid the three locks, removed the safety bar from the floor, and welcomed her employer into her home.

  “Doctor Poe,” she said warmly as the doctor rushed in. “What an unexpected and delightful surprise. I was just thinking about brewing a cup of tea, perhaps you’ll …”

  “Miss Prim,” the doctor said, “I’m sorry to be peremptory, but we have an emergency on our hands. Or, rather, I do. You see, I’ve thought about it, and I simply cannot allow you to move to Connecticut. You must discard this notion of criminal outsmarting and stay with us, where you belong.”

  At last! The words she’d waited to hear. Fortunately, she’d already prepared her response.

  “Doctor Poe, I so appreciate your kind words. I cannot tell you how many hours I have spent in coming to my decision. Eventually I had to admit to myself that my life, and my way of viewing the world, have changed. After so many years of living in such a stimulating, rich, and unpredictable environment, I long to hear the crickets and see the stars. I want less stimulation and more predictability. And I believe that once I establish myself and my new career in Greenfield, I shall find a way to make my mark, helping people in small or subtle ways that will be meaningful nonetheless.”

  “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 permitted to finish her sentence. Doctor Poe threw his arms around her and dragged her into his embrace.

  “But can’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.”

  3

  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.

  The 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 might 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 into 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 and rummaging under the Laser Taser 3000, she pulled out her to-do list. So much to do—where to begin?

  Do grocery shopping

  Buy wine and spirits for guests

  Explore downtown

  Get to know bank and post office personnel

  Volunteer somewhere

  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.”

  Yet, 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.