Milicent Le Sueur

by Margaret Moseley

  He pointed a filthy index finger at me as I asked him about the missing Gypsy.

  “Well, her real name is K-A-R-E-N, but I call her Gypsy.”

  “Ahh, sweetheart, that one! Why didn’t you say so? But she’s no lady, you know what I mean?”

  “I do now,” I answered.

  “Cross-dresser, that one. Confuses the hell out of a man. Don’t know whether to pinch them or belt them. Why are you looking for that one?” He stopped and peered those dark eyes into mine. “I know you. You’re the bag lady from down on B Street. Little far from home, ain’t you? Whatcha want with that one?”

  It was only a mile from B Street to the highway underpass where the homeless people stayed, but it seemed like a planet apart. I used to think that being a bag lady was the worst nightmare a person could have, but being homeless under the underpass with snow pelting down like cotton balls from the clouds suddenly seemed the worst thing that could happen to a body.

  “I call him Gypsy, and he’s my friend. Or at least the she part of him is. I haven’t met the he part.”

  “None of us have, sweetheart. In fact, he could be here with us right now and we’d never know it.” And he swept his eyes over the small group gathered around the campfire, which was blazing in a metal barrel. Demonic sparks from the fire sprayed high into the air.

  “Aren’t you afraid those sparks will catch your boxes on fire?” I asked.

  “Good idea,” he said and laughed in a way that made me cross my gloved fingers in a cross behind my back.

  “You looking for a gypsy, eh? Look around. Look around.” I’d heard that his name was Jim, but I called him Dr. Death in my head.

  He strode over to the barrel, and I looked around.

  There seemed to be an argument going on as to whether to eat the food steaming from a pot balanced over the barrel or to go on down to Compassionate Friends. There was lots of loud talking, but no one moved away from the small comfort the fire provided.

  I walked around them, looking at how they had improvised their cold weather attire to fight the falling temperature. Under battered gimme caps tied with dirty pieces of cloth, their eyes were bright and glassy. There was no way that Gypsy was one of those shiny-eyed men who stood clumped like cows caught out in a snowstorm, not knowing the way to the barn.

  “You leaving, sweetheart?” Dr. Death called as I turned to go.

  “Yes, he’s not here. But if you see him, tell him I’m looking for him, okay?”

  He laughed that netherworld laugh that made me shiver and said, “I will. I will. If he’s in jail, that is.”

  “Jail?”

  Dr. Death circled that long index finger to include his friends, “Yes, we’ve made a decision. We’re all going to the Quick Stop and steal some bread. That’ll get us a night in jail, and maybe it won’t be so cold tomorrow. If it is, we’ll go to the drugstore and steal some cough medicine. That’s always good for two nights.”

  “Good plan,” I told him. “Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s TV said it was going to snow on through tomorrow.”

  “You need a place to go?” he hollered after me. “You can steal the first loaf.”

  In my head, I changed his name from Dr. Death to Jean Valjean. I could see where you could get Jim from that name. “Thank you, no. I’m on my way to somewhere.” I turned so fast in the snow-covered ice that I almost fell. “But you stay out of number four, you hear me? It’s mine.”

  Gypsy. Gypsy. Where are you? You’re not at the junkyard. You’re not at the homeless home. Okay, I’m going to give up on you. “Ollie ollie out. You’re in free. You hear me? I’m not playing anymore. I’m going back to Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s and eat some cinnamon toast. Hot chocolate. You interested in hot chocolate? Bagels with cream cheese?”

  I yelled inducements to my missing Gypsy all the way to Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s backyard. In the quiet stillness that snow brings, my voice was the only sound in town except for the sometimes pleasant sound of a stray car going by with chains on its tires. Now that’s a sound like no other.

  I began to chant the chains-on-the-tires sound, trying to get it right, as I made my way through the snow to Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s. “Clunk go. Clunk go. That doesn’t sound right. Rattle slide. Rattle slide. Nope, that’s not it either.”

  “Miss Vinnie Ledbetter,” I yelled as I stomped the snow off my sneakers in her mudroom. “I’m a failure. I can’t get the tire chains right.”

  She came through the kitchen to the mudroom. “I’ve been trying to get that sound down myself, Milicent. Does clunk go work for you?”

  “I tried clunk go. It’s not quite right.”

  “I didn’t think so, either,” she said. “Oh, my, get out of those wet things, Milicent, before you catch your death. I’ll put some chocolate on the stove for you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Vinnie Ledbetter. I was just telling a friend about your hot chocolate.” I went back to my very own room and stripped out of my catch-your-death clothes. I put on my Miss Vinnie Ledbetter flannel gown and fuzzy slippers. The snow muffled every single outside sound, and all you could hear in the house was Miss Vinnie Ledbetter and me, trying to duplicate that special sound that car tires make when they’re covered with chains.

  “Oh, no, dear. You can’t wear your gown,” she said when I entered the kitchen.

  “Oh, no, I can’t.” I turned to go back to the bedroom. I stopped at the door. “Why can’t I? I’m sure not going back out in that again.”

  “Because, dear, I have to call the police and tell them that you’re home. I’m sure they’ll be here right after that.”

  “Now that’s nice of Wade Tate to worry about me being out in the snow, but I’m sure he has other worries today. Don’t tell, but there’s going to be a robbery down at the Quick Stop. Besides, he’s not speaking to me.”

  She paused from stirring the hot chocolate on the stove and turned to me, one finger on her chin and said, “He was quite insistent, dear. I’m to call him just as soon as you come home, but I think you have time for the chocolate.”

  “Now isn’t that sweet of him,” I declared. “Maybe he’s back to loving me.”

  “That would be lovely, dear, but I think it’s about the murder.”

  “Angel’s murder? Did they find out who did it?” I edged back into the kitchen, although it seemed I was not correctly dressed for the occasion.

  “Oh, no dear. It’s been on the TV all afternoon. It’s Mary Moore. Titus’s wife? She was found dead out in the alley behind their house. Killed with some knitting needles.”

  “Oh, dear,” I said.

  FIFTEEN

  “Portsmith Police Department. How may I direct your call?”

  “Lost and Found, please.”

  “We don’t have a Lost and Found Department. Are you reporting a missing person?”

  “No, I’m reporting a missing bag.”

  “One moment, please, I’ll connect you with Robbery.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Robbery detail. Detective Spinx speaking. All lines are busy. Please hold for the next available detective.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Robbery detail. Detective Spinx speaking. All lines are busy. Please hold for the next available detective.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Detective Hernandez speaking. How can I help you?”

  “I want to report a missing bag.”

  “Name?”

  “I call it the pink bag.”

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s my office bag. Of course, my red bag and the striped bag and the trash bag are missing too.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “As well as my Columbus bag and the small paper bag.”

  “Is this a breaking and entering?”

  “Actually, they are all missing except for my green bag.”
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br />   “What is your name, please?”

  “Milicent Le Sueur.”

  “And Ms. Le Sueur, what is your address?”

  “Which address?”

  “Where you live?”

  “Ahh, I am wintering with Miss Vinnie Ledbetter.”

  “Is this where the robbery took place?”

  “No, it took place at my place.”

  “And where would that be? Please be clearer with the information. I’m trying to help you, ma’am.”

  “My place is at B Street.”

  “The number?”

  “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Is that enough numbers?”

  “Ma’am, we don’t have time for jokes here. We have robberies going on all over town.”

  “I know. Jean Valjean told me.”

  “Excuse me? Is this Gene a suspect?”

  “No, he actually did it.”

  “Stole your bag?”

  “No, stole the bread at the Quick Stop.”

  “Oh, I get it. Your bag was stolen during the robbery at the Quick Stop? Don’t worry, ma’am, we have the suspects in custody and will question them about your bag. Can you tell me the contents of the missing bag? Something we can use to help identify it?”

  “Yes, I can. My purple steel knitting needles were in it.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “And my Scotch tape.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Le Sueur. We’re much too busy right now to take information involving Scotch tape thefts. Can you call back later?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, wait.”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Can you give Tate Wade a message from me?”

  “Chief Wade Tate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course. What is the message?”

  “Tell him that I think my missing knitting needles were used to kill Mrs. Mary Moore. Hello. Hello. Are you there? Can you tell him that for me?”

  “Ms. Le Sueur, will you hold on, please?”

  “Sure.”

  “Now don’t go away.”

  “Okay.”

  “Millie?”

  “Wade Tate?”

  “Millie, what in the hell is going on? Where in the world are you? What’s all this about knitting needles and missing bags? Shut up, Hernandez, I’ll do the talking now. Millie? Millie, answer me.”

  “Don’t yell at me, Tate Wade.”

  “I’m not yelling at you. I’m yelling at Hernandez.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Let’s start slow, at the beginning, Millie. Where are you?”

  “I’m at my wintering place at Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s. It’s cold outside, and we’re having cinnamon toast and hot chocolate.”

  “Andy, get over to Miss Vinnie’s and pick up Millie. Now, Millie, tell me about your missing bag.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one with the knitting needles in it.”

  “The pink one.”

  “Yes, the pink one. When did you notice it was missing? Do you know who took it?”

  “About two or three this morning, and I don’t have a clue.”

  “Where did you last see the bag? I don’t care if they stole the whole damn bakery, get someone over to Miss Vinnie’s now.”

  “Tell Andy to put chains on his car, it’s icy out.”

  “Yes, I noticed. Now, Millie, where did you last see the bag?”

  “Tell him.”

  “Andy, make sure you have chains on the car. It’s icy out. Now where did you last see the bag?”

  “At my place. I buried it under the leaves with all the others, and when I went to pick them up this morning, they were gone.”

  “And you had knitting needles in one of them? Purple knitting needles?”

  “Yes, in the pink one, and I think maybe they were used to kill Mrs. Mary Moore.”

  “Well, we certainly don’t want to jump to any conclusions, Millie, but it might be worth investigating.”

  “Yes, I agree. That’s why I called. I would have just dropped by, but it’s icy out.”

  “Tell you what. You just stay there with Miss Vinnie. I’ll send Andy on over to pick you up, and he’ll bring you down here for a talk about the bags. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, you aren’t going to go twisting off on me, are you, Millie?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You taking your meds? You focused?”

  “Tate Wade, how can I take my meds? They were in the red bag. I have my shoelaces though, so I’m focused, yes.”

  “He’s on his way, Millie. Stay calm.”

  “I’m calm. But I do have a question.”

  “What?”

  “How come you never asked me who Gypsy was?”

  “Gypsy?”

  “My friend Gypsy, who is also known as K-A-R-E-N?”

  “Okay, Millie. Who is Gypsy?”

  “Too late, Wade Tate. I can’t forget you had a yellow Post-it note too.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It has to do with bad smells. I’m off, Wade Tate.”

  “Oh, no. Wait, Millie. Don’t hang up on me, you hear?”

  “Okay, I’ll just lay the phone down here on Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s desk.”

  “Don’t do that, Millie. Stay there. Dammit, is he there yet? What do you mean, flat tire? Millie, are you still there? Millie? Millie? Oh, shit.”

  SIXTEEN

  “Whatcha looking at?”

  It was about an hour after I left Wade Tate dangling off Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s desk. I came out of the alley on 24th Street and was thinking of the sound of the car I had just heard. Clank, clank, clank…brrrr…brrrr…brrr. That was my new attempt at catching the elusive sound of car chains on snow.

  That’s when I noticed that the car had stopped at the end of the alley, and its driver was watching me through the windshield—a dark blur behind the wipers that were in full swing over the glass; a futile effort to swipe away the blizzard of snow falling.

  I stopped so fast I almost slid right into the blue car that had the makings of a fine snowman on its fenders. “Whatcha looking at?” I yelled again as I caught myself on the door handle.

  The answer was simple and direct. “You.”

  “Oh, Tate Wade. Hello.”

  “Millie, get in the car now.”

  Well, of course, I didn’t.

  “Please.”

  “Okay.”

  I guess I wiped off three snowmen and one snowlady’s worth of snow as I made my way around to the passenger side of the car, but it was the only way I could keep my balance. Another snow bunny bit the dust as I wrangled with the door handle. Finally, I stamped off the excess wet stuff and got in the front seat of the car. “Whew. Thanks for picking me up, Wade Tate. It’s getting nasty out there. Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s TV says it’s a record-breaker for sure.”

  “Would have been nice if you had stayed in front of Miss Vinnie’s TV and waited for me,” he said in an even voice that didn’t fool me for one minute.

  “Wade Tate, tell me this. That look you have on your face. I bet you donuts in the sky that that look is the same one your mother used to give to you when she said, ‘Go to your room this instant, young man.’ Would I be right?” I turned the rearview mirror toward him. “Look. I think it’s something in the way you raise your brows. Or maybe the crinkled forehead?”

  He didn’t even glance in the mirror. “Millie, may I ask what you’re doing in this alley?”

  “Boy, it feels good in this car. Boy, it’s cold out there. And, yes, you may ask.”

  “Okay, I’m asking.”

  “I cannot tell a lie, Tat
e Wade. I was looking for clues.”

  “Clues?”

  “Think I’m a dummy? Think I was born yesterday? Come on, Wade Tate, two murders that have a trail right back to the crazy bag lady? Coincidence? I think not and neither do you.”

  “I was thinking along those lines, yes,” he replied. “And what do you think you could find in the snow, Millie?”

  “I found what I found.”

  He stopped his staring look and glanced down at the frozen mess that lay between us on the seat. “I thought you said your bags were stolen?”

  “Stolen and found. Stolen and found. Do you think they will be all right when they defrost?”

  “And you found them in this alley behind Titus Moore’s house? You just knew they would be there?” Was I imagining it, or was there sarcasm in his voice? Maybe a hint of skepticism? “Millie, this is serious business. Tell me about the bags.”

  I didn’t wait for please; this was serious business.

  “Well, I knew that whoever killed Mrs. Mary Moore used my knitting needles. So, that meant they took my bags. Now I don’t think they took my bags saying, ‘Oh, I bet Milicent Le Sueur has knitting needles in her pink bag that I can use to kill Mrs. Mary Moore.’ No, I think it was more like ‘Let’s see what this bag lady carries in her bag, and maybe I’ll find something there to use to kill Mrs. Mary Moore and everyone, including Tate Wade, will think Milicent Le Sueur killed Mrs. Mary Moore.’”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m cold.”

  He reached into the backseat and brought up a thermos. After he poured me a cup he said, “Drink this. It’s all I’ve got. Trust me, Millie, it’s better you tell me now before we go downtown.”

  I sipped the coffee and felt better instantly. I love the way warm things go down your throat and into your stomach. I pulled off my ice-and-snow encrusted mittens so I wouldn’t cool down the coffee too fast. “Thank you. Now, where was I?”

  “What are you doing, Millie?”

  “I’m looking in my green bag for my sneakers so I can focus. Miss Vinnie Ledbetter wouldn’t let me wear them in the snow. Made me put on her fur-lined Land’s End boots, so I just packed the sneakers in my green bag to look at when I need to focus. Here they are. Give me a second.”