Miss Prim heard a noise at the rear of the room. She craned her head around a large stack of desiccated magazines to see a man emerging from a back room, wringing his hands. He was followed by Officers Spike Fremlin and Martin Reed.
“Gil, relax,” Spike was saying. “I don’t know how you can even tell something is missing from this place. Gee whiz, it’s a pig sty! I could write my name in the dust. I read somewhere you can get tuberculosis from breathing in too much dust. Plus I bet there’s a lot of mold, too. That’s even worse. It gets in your lungs. Miss Brim! What are you doing here?”
“Good morning, Officer Fremlin, Officer Reed. I was hoping …”
“Listen, Miss Brim, your timing isn’t so good. Gil here thinks he had a break-in last night but he can’t tell us what’s missing. How do we find something if we don’t know what we’re looking for? You tell me that, Gil Fellowes. Because we have a lot of other stuff on our plates right now.”
Martin Reed stood silently behind Spike Fremlin, seeming to accept his lot in life and perhaps thinking about the ways éclairs and crullers might ease the pain.
“Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Fellowes,” Miss Prim said. “I am Miss Felicity Prim.” She slightly accented her surname for Spike Fremlin’s benefit, though she didn’t expect it to do much good. “You may have heard that I discovered a corpse in the basement of a house I purchased not too long ago.”
“Oh, yes,” Gil responded, shaking Miss Prim’s hand. “It is tragic at a human scale, but important historically. We have almost no crime here in Greenfield, except for some crazy woman who has been drag racing through our quiet streets lately. All history is psychological, so I have begun a project to trace the emotional effects of your discovery on the lives and psyches of the locals. Such effects reveal themselves gradually over a period of years, perhaps even decades, so it is best to begin as soon as one can. But one needs quiet to examine the connections and interlinkages, and I’m afraid Officer Fremlin here does not have a healthy respect for silence.”
“You’ve got your nerve, Gil Fellowes. You were the one who called the station with your knickers in a twist.”
“I specifically asked for Officer Reed.”
“Well, Reed and I are partners. You don’t get one without the other.”
“What happened, Mr. Fellowes?” Miss Prim asked, before Spike could commence another bout of hypochondriacal logorrhea.
“Miss Prim,” Gil Fellowes began, “you appear to be an organized, well-put-together woman. I am sure you have experienced the phenomenon of walking into an accustomed space and knowing, simply knowing, that someone has been looking through your possessions. Many small details add up: A book is slightly out of place, a chair has been moved a tiny bit, a vase is a skosh to the left of where it should be. These were my impressions when I arrived at the Society this morning.”
Spike rolled her eyes. “And so I ask you again, Gil, what exactly is missing? You don’t even lock this place up half the time. Maybe some tourist walked in while you were getting a cup of something at Beantown.”
“I’ve already told you, Spike. I was here late last night, and by the time I left it was quite dark. Anyone who entered the offices between the time I left for home and the time I returned this morning would not be a tourist. The hours on the door clearly state that we are open from 10 am to 4 pm and closed an hour or two for lunch around midday. Anyone who enters outside those posted hours clearly has theft on his—or her—mind.”
“Did you lock the door last night?” Reed asked.
“I’m not sure I did, Martin, and if it turns out that a thief has stolen a precious part of Greenfield’s history as a result of my lapse, I will never forgive myself. But you see, I was intent on developing a blueprint for an oral history regarding the death in Miss Prim’s basement. I had been wondering if and how geopolitics played into Miss Prim’s voluntary relocation to Greenfield, as well as how recent events might be related to the ethnography of the Junusakey lemonade fad inexplicably sweeping the region, and I got so wrapped up in my ideas that I may have left the door unlocked. It’s happened before, I’m afraid. Surely you understand, Miss Prim? You have a look of the scholar about you.”
“I may have some insight into the Junusakey lemonade phenomenon, Mr. Fellowes,” she replied. “Perhaps we might have tea sometime, and I will tell you all about …”
“Here’s where we exit!” Spike interrupted. “Listen, Gil, if you can come up with something a little more concrete, call us back and we’ll see what we can do. We’re busy, you know? Come on, Reed, let’s get a cup of coffee. And no, you can’t have a donut. Don’t give me that puppy dog look, it’s not gonna work! I work hard at staying in shape for this job, and you should, too. You’re getting to an age where you have to be careful about all that belly fat. It’ll give you a heart attack. And I bet you’re a prime candidate for gout, too. I read somewhere that gout is one of the most painful things a man can experience. Ha! It’s nothing compared to childbirth, so don’t look for any sympathy from me.”
Miss Prim caught Reed’s eye. The poor man looked utterly defeated, and Miss Prim had a flash of insight: With Spike’s ongoing tirades, and Valeska Reed’s dominant personality, perhaps sugary baked treats were among the few pleasures left in Martin Reed’s life.
“Excuse me a moment, Mr. Fellowes,” she said. “Officer Reed, might I have a word before you go?”
“Don’t keep him too long, Miss Brim,” Spike replied, moving toward the staircase. “Ezra will have a cow if we’re late for the ‘status meeting.’ You tell me, Miss Brim, how we’re supposed to do our jobs when we have to be in meetings reporting on progress we haven’t made.” As Spike continued down the stairs, Miss Prim could hear the running monologue becoming fainter and fainter: “God, these stairs! It’s like being in a fun house. I’d better stop and buy some Vitamin C, I bet I’m gonna get sick after being in this place. Would it kill him to dust once in a while? Get a job with the police, my mother said. ‘You’ll have an easy life,’ she said. Ha! … mumble mumble mumble.”
Miss Prim touched Reed’s arm sympathetically. “She’s a bit of a handful, isn’t she?”
“She means well. I think.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, Officer, do you think your taste for baked goods helps you cope with the … shall we say demanding women in your life?”
Reed considered the question. “I guess it’s true that something sweet takes my mind off things.”
“Officer, not to give away the secrets of womanhood, but we women sometimes show concern, even love, in ways that men do not fully comprehend. The sexes have encountered these communication difficulties for millennia, with little progress made. However, as a woman, I can see that both your wife and Officer Fremlin care about you deeply, and they exhibit that care by focusing on your waistline. It is quite simply that they want you to live a long and healthy life, so that they are never denied your company. You must believe me, for I am quite positive it is the truth.”
“Maybe,” said Martin Reed, skeptically. “But they could be a little nicer about it.”
“May I make a suggestion from my own experience? I have recently got myself into better physical shape after a fairly long period of indolence. In the process I discovered many recipes for tasty, filling snacks that are much kinder to the waistline. I have a friend, Dolly, visiting me this weekend, and I’m sure we will do some baking. If you’d like to stop at Rose Cottage on Sunday afternoon, I’d be happy to share some of my healthy treats with you.”
“Well, everyone talks about your cinnamon rolls, and if you can make a diet version that tastes just as good, I’m willing to try them. So, sure, I’ll stop by on Sunday. I’ll see if Valeska wants to come, too, if you don’t mind. I think she likes you.”
As Miss Prim nodded her enthusiastic agreement, a voice from outside nearly shattered the windows. “Reed! What’s taking so long?”
Reed sighed and made his way down the staircase, looking like a worn-out
Atlas tired of balancing Earth on his shoulders.
Miss Prim turned back to Gil Fellowes. “Now, Mr. Fellowes, I’d like your help in determining the year my house was built. And about that Junusakey lemonade …”
*
As Miss Prim walked back to Rose Cottage, she found herself wondering if there might be a connection between Kit’s visit to the historical society and the alleged break-in. Miss Prim remembered the stunts her brother Noel had pulled during his teen years, which helped her imagine the workings of Kit’s teenage mind: I need something from the historical society, it’s closed right now but everyone knows the door is often unlocked, I could just borrow it and have it back before anyone notices it’s missing …
She was lost in thought as she passed Cambria & Calibri. A familiar voice snapped her out of her reverie.
“Miss Prim! Do come in.”
The voice was Valeska Reed’s. She held the door open and beckoned Miss Prim into the bookshop.
“Valeska, how nice to …”
Valeska Reed lost no time in grabbing Miss Prim’s hand and arm, then pumping them up and down enthusiastically. Again Miss Prim felt an authentic affection in Valeska’s greeting.
“You’re quite wonderful, Miss Prim. I heard that you spoke with Maude, and I’ve had numerous reports that he took down his free bookshelves. You, my friend, are a miraculous lady.”
“I can accept no kudos for any of this, Valeska. All credit goes to Maude. As I suspected, he is quite as community-minded as you are.”
“You’re too modest, Miss Prim. But you have my thanks. And you also have a 10 percent discount in perpetuity. I’d give you 15 percent, but the margins are way too thin and I have to pay the rent.”
“That is unnecessary, Valeska, but I fear I would regret turning down your kind offer, so I accept. Still, it is Maude you should be thanking, not me. Promise me you will do so?”
Valeska nodded. “I promise, Miss Prim. I’ll go there with a peace offering this afternoon. I have several nice titles on mixology that I will gift to him.”
“While I’m here, Valeska, I do have one topic I’d like to discuss with you. I hope you won’t consider me too forward …”
“Say what’s on your mind, Miss Prim. We are women who may speak freely with each other.”
“This is difficult for me, in that, as a single woman, I have never had to manage a husband. However, I have observed many marriages, including the very successful one between my parents, and I think I have learned a thing or two about the factors that lead to happy couplehood.”
“Is this about me and Martin? All right, I’m listening.”
“Valeska, I cannot help but notice how much the people of Greenfield care for your husband. He is a sweet, gentle man, is he not?” Mrs. Reed nodded, and was that a tear forming in her right eye? “And of course we all wish him to be healthy and fit. His taste for calorie-laden sweets works counter to that goal, does it not?”
Valeska nodded again.
“I have had an insight into the situation, just suggested to me by your husband himself. He was talking about the stresses of his job, and he mentioned that ‘something sweet’ helps keep his mind off his troubles. I could not help but think that the phrase something sweet might be taken metaphorically as well as literally. You know how men are, Valeska. They respond well to compliments and to kindness, and they sometimes act passive-aggressively if they do not feel they are being sufficiently appreciated. Of course, as women, we know the depths of our love and concern for them, but they are not good at sussing out the deeper emotions. It is simply a limitation of their gender. Do you see what I am getting at?”
Valeska Reed lowered her eyes.
“I do, Miss Prim. I do.”
24
The First Disappearance
Now that she was offering to cook for Greenfield—not only tasty meals for Kit, but also dietetic delights for Martin Reed—Miss Prim decided that yet another trip to Prothero’s was in order. This time she would go by foot; it seemed silly to drive just a few blocks. She stuck her head out of the cottage’s front door to determine the weather. The gray sky hinted at rain. As she grabbed her handbag and her umbrella, Bruno sprang to life.
“Not this time, Bruno,” she said kindly, removing from a closet the wheelie-cart that had served her so well during her years in Manhattan. Negotiating that cart, which often seemed to have a will of its own diametrically opposed to hers, would require all her concentration and energy. She imagined she would look quite the fool attempting to steer the cart and Bruno simultaneously.
Walking to the market, the cart bumping obstinately behind her, Miss Prim thought the time had come to venture a rapprochement with Miss Lavelle. Her track record in improving human relations seemed to be quite good lately, given her successes with Maude and the Reeds. Perhaps she would approach Miss Lavelle, invite her for a cup of tea, and begin the diplomacy that would lead to the beginning of a détente.
As she entered Prothero’s, she glimpsed Faye standing behind one of the cash registers. She’d tied her dreadlocks back to prevent them from falling in her face. Miss Gladys Lavelle stood behind her, training her on the finer points of cashier work.
“Now, dear,” Miss Prim heard Miss Lavelle saying, “this is romaine lettuce, not chicory. Chicory is pointy. Romaine is sold by the pound, so you must weigh it and use produce code 4583. In contrast, iceberg lettuce is sold by the head. Therefore it does not need to be weighed. Be sure to bag produce separately and gently. Never bag it with canned goods or meats. It will be destroyed by the time the customer gets it home.”
Miss Prim couldn’t help but notice how gentle Miss Lavelle’s voice sounded. She’d called Faye dear, and she’d said the word kindly, even affectionately. In contrast, all the terms of endearment Miss Lavelle had lavished on Miss Prim had been sarcastic, angry, bitter. Miss Prim noted, too, how very seriously Miss Lavelle took her job as head cashier, as demonstrated by the way she coached Faye on the finer points of bagging groceries for transport. A person so dedicated to her job could not be a bad person, Miss Prim thought. She also remembered Lorraine’s contention that Miss Lavelle had engaged in a long-term extramarital affair with Ethan Prothero. Perhaps that explained her dedication to his business.
Miss Prim happily strolled the aisles, loading her cart with reduced-calorie ingredients, sugar substitutes, and low-fat cheeses. Then she made her way to the front of the store, where she caught Faye’s eye.
“Miss Prim! Come to me!”
Miss Prim wheeled her cart to Faye’s station and began unloading her items onto the belt.
“How are you enjoying your new job, Faye?” Miss Prim asked.
“It’s great, Miss Prim. One of my screenwriting books says you have to be in the world to write about the world, and I think the author’s right about that. I’m talking to so many people I’ve seen around town but never spoken to before. Of course, I could never set a screenplay in a grocery store. Just the way novelists shouldn’t set scenes in a supermarket. Too mundane.”
Miss Prim glanced up and noticed Miss Lavelle glaring at her. So much for the rapprochement. Miss Prim averted her eyes and continued chatting with Faye.
“You heard about the break-in at the historical society?” Miss Prim asked.
“Yeah, and I wonder if Kit had something to do with it. He was there the other day, for a school project or something, and he’s always touching things. He might have moved something, which might have made Gil think someone stole it.”
“What kind of project is Kit working on? I have a fondness for history and a somewhat deep level of knowledge on the subject. I may be able to help.”
“He’s looking for information about historic houses in Greenfield. It does sound kind of interesting, but he hasn’t shared many details yet.”
Miss Prim paid for her purchases and was attempting to negotiate her wheelie-cart through the market’s sliding glass doors when she sensed a presence behind her. She turned around to discover M
iss Gladys Lavelle an inch from her face. Complexion scarlet and nostrils flaring, Miss Lavelle attacked.
“You stay away from her, Missy, do you hear me? You want Heavenly Pastures? Fine, it’s all yours. But Prothero’s is my place. If you want to gad around town with crazy Lorraine Koslowski, that’s your business. But don’t think I’m going to let you charm Greenfield’s young people into your web. Valeska Reed may have fallen for your shtick, but I won’t let Faye and Kit fall into the same trap.”
“Really, Miss Lavelle,” Miss Prim sputtered. “You have quite the wrong idea …”
“Ha!” Miss Lavelle spat. “I know exactly what you’re up to. I’ve dealt with women like you my whole life. I know a social climber when I see one.”
Miss Prim could count on one hand the number of times she’d become truly furious. As Papa had always said, anger was not only counterproductive but also self-defeating. But to be called a social climber! This was the one and only type of person for whom Mama and Papa had no patience. “These people,” Mama had pronounced, “live on the surface of life and make a habit of choosing the wrong priorities and the wrong people. They are parasites, and they will betray their closest friend for an invitation to the right party. Avoid them like the plague, children, and devote your time and energies to those with kind hearts and giving natures.”
“Miss Lavelle,” Miss Prim said slowly, “I am many things, but a social climber is not one of them. I simply try to enjoy my life and the relationships I have developed. If people choose to be my friend, it is because they sense I will be a devoted friend in return. And I daresay most, or all, of them would tell you that I have not disappointed them in that regard. If you ever decide to view me as a friend rather than an enemy, I will be most happy to reciprocate your goodwill. Until then, I would be grateful if you would not accost me viciously in public, for I do not deserve it. Good day.”
The Outsmarting of Criminals: A Mystery Introducing Miss Felicity Prim Page 17