Milicent Le Sueur

by Margaret Moseley

  “Yes, please. And tell her I said thank you for the gowns and the flowers.”

  Betty looked at the vase of spring flowers on the windowsill. “Oh, those are from Chief Tate. Sent them yesterday. You were restless all day yesterday, and Dr. Apple said that was a sign that you would be waking up soon. He said you were totally exhausted when you came in here. That’s why you had the breakdown. That, and you hadn’t been taking your pills like you should have.”

  “From Wade Tate. Imagine that.”

  “Isn’t that something? He said they would make you feel better when you woke up.”

  “Well, Betty, he’s right.”

  Dr. Apple came in and was a visual disappointment; tall and angular, nothing like the short, robust man my mind had conjured up to go with his name. The name tag on his blue lab coat read J. Apple, MD. I first thought he was an orderly as he came in carrying a covered tray and asking me if I was hungry.

  “I think I’ve been well fed.” I laughed and indicated the IV needle in my hand.

  “That’s just the appetizer,” he said. “Let’s get that out of there. Nurse!” he commanded, and Grace snapped to and in three shakes of a lamb’s tail had that needle out of my hand. She then raised the bed with the controls, and I found myself sitting upright with a tray table in front of me loaded with stuff to eat. Jell-O, rice pudding, and some mashed potatoes.

  “Oh, boy. Real food.”

  To his credit, the efficient doctor laughed. “I know. I know. But remember, your stomach’s been on vacation.”

  “Well, it wasn’t to the Bahamas, let me tell you. You know, this doesn’t look half-bad. I must really be hungry.”

  I ate the Jell-O, letting it slide from the spoon into my mouth. It was cool and comforting and most important, took that medicine taste from my mouth. “Is your first name John?”

  “How did you guess? Want to guess my nickname?” he asked.

  “I think I can imagine it.” I laughed.

  “I think mothers should let their children choose their own names when they grow up,” Dr. Apple said as he leaned against the wall in my room.

  “Well, sometimes that backfires too,” I told him. “I had this aunt who let her son choose his own name when he was about five. He came up with George. What would you have chosen, Dr. Apple?”

  Merry eyes peeked over half glasses as he answered, “Well, Milicent, I think I would have been John after all. I’ve thought about it, and I’m just a John, and that’s it.”

  We talked on a few more minutes while I ate, and then he took the tray away and said, “Well, Milicent, you seem to be stable and in a good mood. Your appetite is good. How do you feel?”

  “Good. A little stiff.”

  “But not anxious about anything?”

  “Hmm…don’t seem to be. Everything seems fine to me. Well, I was concerned about who is paying for all this, but Betty said not to worry.”

  “She’s right. Chief Tate worked some deal with the hospital. They take so many charity cases a year, and you get to be one of them. Especially after he explained that he wanted you close and not at the state hospital.”

  Dr. Apple sat down in the chair Betty had been using and told me more about my condition: how I had been suffering from exhaustion and a touch of pneumonia when I had been admitted. “And of course you hadn’t been taking your medications, had you?”

  “Probably not. I remember being confused as to when I had taken them and when I hadn’t. It’s hard to remember when you work at night and sleep during the day. Especially if you haven’t been sleeping. I don’t like the idea of being a charity case, though. I’ll try to figure out a way to pay them back.” I wrinkled up my brow, thinking of how I would do so.

  “You seem okay to me, so if you promise to take your Stelazine regularly, and you can get up and around on your own, I don’t see any reason you can’t get out of here tomorrow. The next day at the latest.” He made notes in the chart he had in his lap.

  Be quiet.

  TWENTY

  “Hey, Seedy.” Tate Wade came into my hospital room and greeted Dr. Apple.

  “How’s it going, Boots?” Dr. Apple said.

  “Can’t complain. How’s our patient doing?” Wade Tate looked from the doctor to me.

  Remembering how I had last seen him, it was hard for me to meet his eyes. We were both blushing when he asked me, “How are you, Millie? Welcome back to the land of the living.”

  “I’m fine, thank you, Chief Tate. I’m sorry I went over the edge in your office. And thank you for the flowers.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “What’s with this Seedy and Boots thing?” I said as I changed the subject. “I can figure out the Seedy, but Boots?”

  Both men laughed.

  Dr. Apple answered. “We go back a long way, Milicent. Wade and I were friends in elementary school, and when he took to calling me Seedy, I remember telling him, ‘Oh, yeah? Well, you’re just a pair of wading boots.’ Not very original, I admit, but we were only about seven. And to answer your question, Boots, Milicent here is just fine. Just told her she could get out of here tomorrow or the next day. That is, if she has a place to go.”

  “Just in time for the next snowstorm,” Wade Tate told me. “And she’s got a place to go. Miss Vinnie called me at the office before I came over here and said to reassure Millie that her room was still there.”

  “That’s settled then, Boots. Milicent, I can’t do a thing more for you, and I’ve got some really sick patients to see. I’ll check back with you tonight, see how you’re doing.”

  “Thank you for everything, Dr. Apple.”

  “You can call me Seedy too. Everyone does now, thanks to Boots here.” Dr. Apple gathered up his charts and headed toward the door. “And your thanks go to Boots too. He’s the one who called me in on this case.” He gave a half salute to us and left.

  “Seems I have a lot to thank you for besides the flowers,” I told Wade Tate.

  He waved aside my appreciation as he sat in the vacant chair. “It’s all water under the bridge. Forget it, Millie. I have.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  “Stop that.”

  I smiled, but I was dying inside. How could he ever forget that awful scene in his office?

  “You seem different. Calmer.”

  “Stelazine will do that to you,” I said. “That and some good sleep.”

  “I should have realized how exhausted you were that day. You had one busy day, Millie. Do you remember what we talked about in the car?”

  “Yes, and I remember what Titus said in your office too. I think he killed those women, and he says I did it.”

  “We’re still investigating both stories. The Woodburns do say that Angie knew Titus very well. Titus and Mary didn’t have any kids. Angie’s parents said Titus treated her like a niece or godchild. If there was more to it, they didn’t know. If it’s any comfort to you, they don’t think you did it either. They just want to get on with the investigation.”

  “And Titus?”

  “Well, now, that’s a different story. He’s already pressuring the city attorney, Len Buskin, to take what evidence we have to a grand jury.”

  “Len Buskin? The city attorney?” I thought I remembered him. “Evidence against me?”

  “Yes. You were in the vacant lot when Angie was killed, and it turns out to be your knitting needles that killed Mary Moore.”

  “Sounds bad against me,” I said.

  Wade Tate nodded his head in agreement. “I won’t bullshit you, Millie. It looks damn bad.”

  “I can see that. His word against mine. Me saying he did it, and him saying I did. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who the jury would believe.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I still don’t think you did it. And I don’t want you worrying about it right now.
You just do what Seedy tells you and go on to Miss Vinnie’s when you get out of here. I’m still the police chief here, and my word carries some weight too, you know. It will all sort out.”

  Oh, right, I thought. I’ll just bet it will, but could I take it to the rock?

  “Thank you, Chief Tate,” I said.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It’s very easy to become institutionalized.

  By the next afternoon I was able to get up and practice walking down the halls of the hospital. I was a full-blown institutional case. I had become accustomed to people helping me up and helping me down. Laying out my towels for a shower and giving me a clean gown to wear. Helping me into the green robe that matched the rosebud leaves on all the gowns Miss Vinnie Ledbetter sent me. And to the Candy Stripers in their pink and white pinafores asking if they could help me.

  One Candy Striper was particularly insistent.

  “No, thank you. I don’t need a book from your cart or any candy. I appreciate the offer, but I just want to walk around and get my strength back.”

  “May I write a letter for you?” This girl just did not get it that I wanted to be alone. Or as alone as a shadow from Wade Tate’s office allowed me to be. Betty had gone back to the office for the day, but a clerk had come over to watch over me. I still didn’t know why. I wasn’t under arrest. It was like Wade Tate was protecting me from something or someone.

  “I don’t want to write a letter, and if I did I would do it myself, but I don’t know who I would send it to, so, no. No letter.”

  “Not even a thank-you note to Miss Vinnie Ledbetter for the gowns and robe?” was the nagging reply.

  I turned and finally looked at the persistent girl at my elbow. Before I could think, I said, “Miss Vinnie is coming to see me tonight. I’ll thank her then.” Then I added, “Oh, my God. Gypsy!”

  “But a note would be a nice touch,” said the girl, who added in a whisper, “Keep your head down and keep walking.”

  “Writing a thank-you to Miss Vinnie Ledbetter. What a good idea,” I said loudly. “Claire, why don’t you take a break while this lovely young lady helps me write a thank-you note?”

  As I had suspected, there is nothing more boring than watching someone walk up and down a hall, so Claire the clerk was happy to skip off down to the break room while I had someone watching over me.

  Gypsy and I went back to my room and shut the door.

  “Where on earth have you been?” I asked.

  “I can’t leave you alone for a minute, girlfriend. You’re in a fine kettle of fish here.” She sat down in the chair.

  He.

  “You don’t fool me for a minute, Gypsy. I know you are a man. Dick told me and so did Jean Valjean down under the highway.”

  “I fooled you for lots of minutes, Milicent. But that wasn’t the point. I was just getting in touch with my other self. The feminine side of me. Lots of men dress up as women, and why not, I ask you. Women wear men’s clothes all the time, and nobody gets into an uproar. Besides I had fun when we went shopping, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yes,” I admitted. “But it’s not fair to fool people.”

  “Oh, no? What do you call what you’re doing now?” Gypsy asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everyone all over town is talking about how you are cured and sane. It was even on the front page of the paper today. The story is all about how you are up here in this hospital room talking like a normal woman and that you are never going back to the streets again.”

  “So? What’s wrong with that? I woke up a new woman, that’s all.”

  “A new woman, my eye. A smart one is what I would say if you weren’t playing right into their hands. The paper also says that Titus Moore is going to get the city attorney to call a grand jury to look into the evidence of you killing Angela Woodburn and Mary Moore. Says your knitting needles were the murder weapon that killed his wife. That he’s not going to rest until you are off the streets of Portsmith and brought to justice for your crimes.” Gypsy paused to take a breath and added, “But, Milicent Le Sueur, if you’re so damned smart, you’d be acting more crazy than ever. At least you could plead insanity.”

  “I don’t need to plead squat. I didn’t kill those women.”

  “That’s not how the jury will see it, I don’t think. No, sirree.”

  “You think I need a lawyer?” I was worried.

  “I think you need a passel of lawyers. But what you get is a court-appointed one. Word is, they are sending Buddy Hoffenmeir over to be your lawyer. With that ass as your lawyer, you might as well march on down to the police station and hold out your hands for the handcuffs.”

  “Sounds serious,” I admitted.

  “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be you.”

  Gypsy sure did look pretty in that Candy Striper uniform. It was a little short on him. I guess most Candy Stripers are not as tall as he is. “How’d you get that uniform, Gypsy?”

  “You’re changing the subject, Milicent, but I got it from the staff area. I had on scrubs and a name tag, and no one stops you in a hospital when you have on scrubs and a name tag. You like this wig better than the other one? I thought I’d try being a brunette for a while.”

  “It’s fine. Lovely. Oh, Lord, Gypsy, what do I do now?”

  “Well, what was your plan? And don’t go be telling me you didn’t have one.”

  “Between us?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “All I had planned was just to get out of this hospital. Go on over to Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s for a few days. Wait for everything to blow over and cool down and then go back to my place and start all over again. I have to find some new bags, though. Tate Wade says mine are being held for evidence.”

  “See there. Evidence. And for what, I ask you? Why, to convict you, Milicent Le Sueur. Cool down? Blow over? I don’t think so, Milicent. Things are just starting to pop around here for you. Better watch your backside, sister.”

  “Wade Tate is doing that for me,” I said. “He has someone here around the clock to watch out for me.”

  “Oh, he does, does he? Are you sure that’s why they are here? You trust police chief Tate that much? Someone who smells like Typhoon? Wouldn’t it make perfect sense for him to play you like a violin? Take care of you, and then, slam bam, thank you, ma’am, say, ‘Oh, Millie, dear, I think you would be safer in old number four for a spell.’ And lock the cell door and never let you out again.”

  There was silence in the room as I thought about it.

  “Tate Wade would never do that. He loves me.”

  “Does he? Does he indeed?”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Claire popped her head in the door about that time, so Gypsy left, mouthing at the door over Claire’s shoulder that he would be back later. He left me with the first confusing thoughts I’d had since I woke up from my long sleep.

  I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head, curling myself into a fetal position under the hospital-issue thermal blanket.

  That’s how Miss Vinnie Ledbetter found me when she came to visit.

  “Milicent? Is that you under those covers?”

  I sat up at the sound of her voice. “Miss Vinnie Ledbetter? Is that you under those packages?”

  The dear lady was loaded to the gills with Columbus sacks, which she promptly dumped on the end of my bed.

  “Excuse me, Miss Ledbetter, but I have to check all those before you give them to Milicent,” said Claire.

  “Why on earth for, child? Is Milicent under arrest? Whoop-de-do. Of course she isn’t. Do you think I would bring something that would harm her? Of course I wouldn’t. Just a few comforts is all. Now, child, you can take a break while Milicent and I open these happies. Go on, skedaddle now. And bring us back some tea, dear. Shopping is thirsty work.”

  You gotta love a Miss Vinni
e Ledbetter. Like Tate Wade, she’d made my language her language.

  I knew from experience that protesting her gifts was a futile gesture, so I piled into the sacks with enthusiasm. New sweats. Green and black sets. Oh boy! And fresh underwear from Victoria’s Secret. First class all the way.

  She pulled one sack away from the others and handed it to me, “Now, Milicent, I know how much you loved that striped bag I gave you and since that stupid ass Wade Tate tells me all your bags are being held for evidence, I was lucky enough to find another one just like it.” And she pulled out a duplicate of the only bag I’d had that I hated; but this time around, I loved it.

  “It’s my favorite,” I said, and this time I meant it.

  It takes time to accumulate ten perfect bags to carry around. Now I had two to start on: the green one was in the closet of my hospital room, full of money and my tennis shoes with the curlicue shoelaces. “Can I have one of the Columbus bags, too?” I asked.

  “Of course, dear, you can have them all.”

  “Oh, no. One Columbus bag is all one should carry at a time.” Tears welled up in my eyes. “Miss Vinnie Ledbetter? Why are you so good to me?”

  She sat in the chair and reached over and patted my hand. “Milicent, I thought you would have guessed by now.”

  “We’re long-lost sisters?” I conjectured. “I’m one of the Murphy Ledbetters?”

  “Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely? But, no, I don’t have any sisters. Or brothers. Or any kin left at all. Just my house and all that money. Oh, no. I love you because you are my other self.”

  “Pardon?”

  Miss Vinnie Ledbetter leaned in close. “If I had the nerve, the gumption, the sass that you do, I’d be living just like you. Since I am a born chicken, I have to get my excitement with life through you.”

  “My life does take strange twists,” I agreed.

  She was off on a tangent. “Do you know what a burden stuff is? Houses and furniture? Knickknacks and heirlooms? Money and lawyers? In my heart I just want to shuck it all and live on the streets, but I don’t have the daring to do that. So, like a coward, I just watch you and wish I were on your adventure.”