I could see her point.
“Well, why don’t you just say phttt to it all and just come along with me? You can have the right tree, and I’ll take the left. Unless you’d rather have the left one?”
“Would that I could, dear. Would that I could. It’s too late for me, but you’re just beginning.”
“I think I’m just ending,” I said.
“Why is that?” Miss Vinnie Ledbetter seemed alarmed.
“I’m really between the rock and the hard place this time. And I don’t mean my special rock. I mean time is up. The game is over. The fleet’s come in, and the nets are empty. Time to pack it in. Throw in the towel. The sponge. That ugly plastic pitcher.”
I could have gone on, but she interrupted me. “Milicent Le Sueur. I have never in all my born days heard such nonsense. That isn’t like you at all. What is your problem?”
“Problem? Well, I guess you could call it that. Titus Moore says that I killed Angel and Mrs. Mary Moore. One with a blunt object, and the other with my knitting needles from the pink bag. Wade Tate can’t do anything about it, though I think he’s trying. He’s keeping a close watch on me for my own protection. But when the grand jury hears the evidence that Titus Moore has piled up, I’ll be a cooked goose by Christmas.”
“Oh, dear,” she gasped.
“Oh, dear, is right. I’m at the end of my rope. On my last roundup. Washed out to sea…”
“I’m sure your lawyer will settle everything, Milicent.”
“Lawyer? Lawyer? You call Buddy Hoffenmeir a lawyer? I call him a loser. The last case he won was when his client hit him on the head in the middle of court and said, ‘Shut up, you boob, I confess.’”
Miss Vinnie Ledbetter thought for a second and said, “Wade Tate didn’t tell me that Hoffenmeir idiot was going to be your attorney. Well, no problem. We’ll just call in my lawyers. Kirkenberger and Pennebacker. I assure you, they are the best money can buy. I know. I throw money at them like water.”
“That’s all well and good, Miss Vinnie Ledbetter, but I’d rather take my chances with my plan. Not that I don’t appreciate it. But lawyers are no friends of mine.”
She sighed. “Or mine. Oh, I should have known you had a plan. You didn’t fool me for a minute, Milicent, with all that throwing in the towel business. What can I do to help? Do you need money? I have money growing on trees.”
“Well, I have money growing under rocks, so we’re even. This is how it is with money, Miss Vinnie Ledbetter. You get more than you need, and the money owns you. Money is worrisome when you don’t have it or when you have too much. I have just the right amount, sixty dollars in my green bag and maybe the promise of an emergency hundred from the rock, if my prayers are getting through to it. More than that, and a homeless person would just take it from me. I’m on shaky ground with even that much cash. They smell it out, you know?”
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Vinnie Ledbetter as she thought of this aspect of being a bag lady for the first time. “I didn’t realize. Well, Milicent, what is your plan, and can I do anything to help?”
“Matter of fact, there is something you can do,” I told her. “Are you game?”
“Whoop-de-do. Does Dick have a wide hatband? What do you need, Milicent?”
TWENTY-THREE
Kirkenberger and Pennebacker. Kirkenberger and Pennebacker. Kirkenberger and Pennebacker.
I hate it when a new phrase sticks in my mind when I am trying to think. It’s like someone singing “Deck the Halls” as they pass your tree, and you go around all day with fa la las in your head. Today it was Kirkenberger and Pennebackers.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
There, I exorcised the Kirkenberger and Pennebackers, but I had to think fast. You never knew when they would come back circling around in your head like Indians circling the wagon train.
I knew one thing.
If you want to see everyone in the world that you know, just check into the hospital. Especially people you don’t want to see. Like Mr. Titus Moore.
I had walked Miss Vinnie Ledbetter to the elevator when she insisted on seeing the babies in the nursery, so nothing would do her but that Claire and I accompany her to the sixth floor where they stored the babies. Now babies have never interested me, but Miss Vinnie Ledbetter and my shadow Claire oohed and ahhed, so I went in for a closer look through the glass, thinking, Maybe I should rethink babies.
A quick look at them all lined up in those plastic bassinets convinced me that my original assessment was correct: I didn’t want one.
“Miss Vinnie Ledbetter, did you ever want a baby?” I asked.
“At one time,” she said. “Now, Milicent, I guess I’m too old. When I could have borne one, it was considered too scandalous without being married, and I never wanted a husband. Now that it’s perfectly okay if you have the money, which I do, I’m too old to give birth.”
“That’s a shame,” I told her.
“What about you, Milicent?” Miss Vinnie Ledbetter asked as she waggled a finger through the glass at a crying baby.
I looked at the rows of blue and pink bundles lined up like cars waiting for the light to change. “Hmm…I don’t think so. No, I know so,” I concluded as I watched the little squealer turn on all the other babies’ boom boxes. We could hear them through the glass, which meant they had the volume up to at least twelve. Too many decibels for me.
“I have five at home,” offered Claire.
“Good Lord,” I said.
“That is wonderful, Claire,” said Miss Vinnie Ledbetter. “Tell me all about them.”
Fortunately a nurse brigade came to rescue the babies, and while we watched them being whisked off to presumably their mother’s arms, I didn’t catch most of what Claire told Miss Vinnie Ledbetter. Which is good if you have this thing with numbers. I didn’t need any more cluttering up my thoughts this day. Five years, thirty pounds. Three years, twenty-five pounds.
Kirkenberger and Pennebacker to the rescue.
We wished Miss Vinnie Ledbetter a good day, and Claire and I headed back to my hospital room while visions of baby Kirkenbergers and Pennebackers danced in my head.
Which is why I wasn’t concentrating on warding off evil.
Which is why Mr. Titus Moore caught me by surprise.
He was sitting on the side of my bed like a bump on a log.
Instinctively I made the sign of the cross with my fingers.
“Aha. I knew they lied when they said you were better. You’re still the same crazy coot you were before they medicated you.” He smiled gleefully and jumped up and did a little jig around the room.
“Oh, and you’re the sane one, I presume?”
Claire said, “Mr. Moore, you shouldn’t be here. Chief Tate said specifically you weren’t to come in here.”
“Well, now, he isn’t here, is he, missy? What are you going to do? Shoot me?”
To my surprise the mother of five drew herself up into a right dignified pose and said, “No, sir. I am just going to ask you to leave.”
“I will. I will. Don’t get your dander up. After I talk to the loony here.”
“Then I will just have to go call Chief Wade, won’t I, Mr. Moore?” And she turned and left me alone with the city manager who had this very strange smile on his face.
“I am in awe of your mourning habits, Mr. Titus Moore,” I told him.
“Cut the crap, Milicent. We just have a few minutes alone.”
“To do what?” I asked suspiciously.
“To get a few things straight. I want you to stop that bullshit talk about me killing my wife and Angie. Too many people are starting to take you seriously.”
“Imagine that.”
“Now, you listen up and you listen up good. There is no way in hell that you can pin these murders on me. That little scene you pull
ed in Wade’s office cinched that. You are a crazy psychopath, and no court in the world is going to listen to you. The only reason you won’t go to the chair is that you’ll win any insanity plea. But locked up for life works for me.” Mr. Titus Moore was really worked up, spitting little bits of spittle all around my room.
We could hear a commotion in the hall, so he spoke and spit fast. “Get this. You think you have Wade Tate wound around your little finger. Well, you’re dead wrong. He is a law-abiding man, and the law is gonna get you, crazy lady. Tate doesn’t have any choice in the matter. It’s my word against yours. And I’m betting my word carries a smidgen more weight around here than yours. Your goose is really cooked now.”
Here I was with a cooked goose, and it wasn’t even Christmas yet.
I had to hand it to Wade Tate.
He came sauntering into the room like he hadn’t rushed over from the police station in record time. “Well, Titus, I’ve been expecting you to pull something like this. I reckon it’s time for you to go on home now.”
“Well, hello, Chief Tate. I’m just here to wish the worst on this killer. Can’t blame a man who’s beside himself with grief, now can you?”
Tate Wade repeated, “Go on home, Titus.”
“I am. I am. But, oh, did I forget to mention that I talked to Kirkenberger and Pennebacker this morning? They aren’t too happy that you’re letting this loony-tunes bag lady out to go live with their favorite client, Miss Vinnie Ledbetter. Whatcha gonna do, Chief Tate, when the town’s most prominent citizen winds up dead like my wife and that poor little girl?”
“Is that a threat, Titus?” asked Wade Tate.
“Just a caution, Wade. Just a caution. You going to take that chance with Miss Vinnie’s life?” And Mr. Titus Moore sauntered on out of my hospital room just like Wade Tate had moseyed into it—calm and in charge.
Tate Wade sat down in my chair and put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his thick brown hair with the twin cowlicks until they stood up like little horns on his head. “He’s right, Millie. Right before Claire called, I got a call from Pennebacker. They’re threatening to get an injunction against you to stay away from Miss Vinnie’s.”
“She wouldn’t agree to it,” I insisted.
“She would if they took her to court and declared her incompetent, which is what they have wanted to do for years anyway. That way they would have control over all her money.”
He looked me right in the eyes. “Millie, I don’t have any choice right now. You are going to have to check out of here in the morning and come on over to the office for a spell.”
I knew that meant that good old number-four cell was going to be tattooed on my forehead forever. No more cheeseburgers and milk shakes and Fancy Ketchup for Milicent Le Sueur.
“I don’t think so, Tate Wade. I’ve got plans.”
“Just until this thing cools down, Millie. Give me time to do some checking around.”
“Wade Tate, do you believe what Mr. Titus Moore says? About me killing Angel and Mrs. Mary Moore?” I needed to know his answer.
“It doesn’t matter what I think, Millie. Titus is a powerful man, and I’m afraid of what he can do to you. Legally and otherwise. I’m just trying to protect you, Millie. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“I’m not scared of Mr. Titus Moore,” I told Tate Wade.
Actually, I was terrified of him.
Which is why as soon as Wade Tate left my hospital room, I called Miss Vinnie Ledbetter and moved up the timing on Operation Checkout.
TWENTY-FOUR
For once, everything worked as planned.
Well, almost.
I had a few anxious moments wondering if Gypsy would show up in time to help out, but she showed up in shocking pink hospital scrubs in time to get in on the action. And although she was reluctant to get involved again in one my fantastic ideas, she eventually complied.
Which is how come at about midnight, I was running free across the streets of Portsmith, dancing a jig every few feet.
All the thoughts that I had kept on the back burner since I had woken at the hospital rushed through my head at the same time, jumbling the real events in my head.
Free at last. Free at last. Oh, Lord, free at last. Whoop-de-do. God bless America.
I neared my place and was positively ecstatic.
Auntie Em. Auntie Em. I’m home. Come back, little Sheba, to me.
The plan had all depended on Gypsy making it to the hospital in time to make a connection with Miss Vinnie Ledbetter, who was thrilled to be part of the great escape. My two friends hit it off, and Gypsy soon returned to my room with yet another bag packed by Miss Vinnie Ledbetter, this time with requested contents. God bless Miss America Vinnie Ledbetter.
I ran over and put my arms around the rough bark on the left tree and hugged it tight. Then I did the same with the right.
“Miss me?” I said into the night. “I missed you. But I knew you would be waiting, you two, with your roots so solidly in place. Do I have a story to tell you. You’ll never believe what’s going on.” My voice echoed loudly though the otherwise silent night so I lowered it to a respectable whisper. “Hush, hush, they are after us.”
The trees and I listened to the night sounds.
“I can’t stay. I must be off. Only a bear hangs around the honey jar when the lid is off. But, first, let’s check the rock. Hello, rock.”
Rock was silent but cooperative, yielding five new twenties, even though it was the middle of the month. You can always depend on the rock.
“Thank you and good-bye, rock. I won’t be around for a while so you can count this as an advance. I like to be square with you. Take care of the left tree and the right tree, and I’ll be back someday.”
Then I ran on off, working my plan.
All the thoughts I had suppressed at the hospital came to the surface like champagne bubbles.
Especially those I had smothered about Dr. Apple.
Dr. Apple? Dr. Apple? Pineapple, shamapple, perpapple, minapple. Go, go, go, Dr. Apple. Is that a banana I see in your ear? Banana, shamana, perbana, minana.
The rhythm of the words carried me on down the street, straight to the junkyard, where I quickly changed clothes in the backseat of my red Nissan. Right out of the little beige designer number Miss Vinnie Ledbetter had sent to me via Gypsy and right into my new black sweats. I tore off the shoulder-length auburn wig, leaving it carefully in the front seat as a remembered promise to Gypsy who had absolutely loved it, loved it.
I grinned big-time as I recalled how Gypsy had taken my bags and left my room, and how I had then just walked cool as a cucumber out of my hospital room in my new disguise. I strolled right past Wade Tate’s nighttime guard who, after a few stunned seconds, followed me down the hallway calling, “Miss? Miss?”
She persisted all the way down the stairs to the lobby even though I took those steps two at a time at least. “Wait, I need to ask you a question.”
Finally in the lobby, I turned and said, “Yes?”
She was a young thing and had not yet left her mother. I sang “Billy Boy” in my head as she came near the lobby doors. “Are you Miss Milicent Le Sueur?”
“No,” I said. “I am Miss Meredith Le Sueur. Miss Milicent Le Sueur’s twin sister.”
Through the glass doors I saw Gypsy standing there with my bags in his hand. Freedom so close.
She might have been a young thing, but she wasn’t all out to lunch. “Miss Le Sueur, will you come back to the fifth floor with me for a chat?”
“A chat? Whatever for? I don’t think I know you,” I said.
When I saw her reach for the walkie-talkie she had hooked on her belt, I did what came naturally.
She might have been a cool one. She might have been a sharp one. She might have been the cream of the crop, but she was no match for me.
I loved how her mouth dropped open in awe.
Of course, she had never seen my ape-crab walk before.
I think I could have made it without any more hassles after that. If only my red roses nightgown hadn’t dropped from the hem of the little beige number just as I ran through the lobby doors. I thought I had rolled it tight around my waist, but then I had been in a hurry.
Gypsy and I met at the bottom of the hospital steps, and she gave me my bags and whispered, “Good-bye and good luck, Milicent. Don’t forget that phone number I gave you.”
Gypsy went one way, and I went the other.
Over my shoulder I yelled, “Good-bye and good luck, Gypsy. And may the good Lord take a liking to you.”
And then I was free with miles of road before me before I rested.
TWENTY-FIVE
By the time I changed clothes, I had lost steam. All I wanted to do was snug down in my red Nissan and sleep the winter away like a squirrel with a tree full of nuts who finds itself in the midst of a blizzard. Instead, I had to plod on—sans snow—to somewhere I could feel safe. Safe to sleep and think.
And the snow front didn’t look all that promising either. What should have been morning breaking over my car roof was looking more like the last days of Pompeii. Gray, smoky clouds billowed and stretched in the early morning air. A cold chill accompanied the clouds, bringing the forecast of bad weather ahead.
“Story of my life,” I said to Tag as I got out of the car.
You should always have an escape plan in the back of your mind for those times when you’re up to your armpits in life. I learned of mine months ago from Jean Valjean, my homeless friend from under the bridge.
We had been sitting on the back steps of Compassionate Friends with Dick, the men smoking their cigarettes to disgraceful butts, when the subject came up.
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