Milicent Le Sueur

by Margaret Moseley

  “This morning. As soon as you called her, I guess. Why?”

  “Well, I only told two people I would be in Portsmith today. And I forgot to tell Miss Vinnie Ledbetter not to mention it. Not that I’m sorry she invited you to Christmas dinner. I’m just wondering how many other people she told.”

  “Good question, Millie. I know I told Seedy, and I guess he told his nurse. She’s the one who gave me the pills. Who was the other person you told?”

  I didn’t answer him. Instead I said, “You know that thing with numbers? You tell one person, and they tell one person, and before you know it, you’re counting millions?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “So anyone in Portsmith could have known I was coming back today, that’s all. Wade Tate, I need to go out for a few minutes. Do you think it will be okay? I forgot I told my friend Gypsy I would meet her at my tree this evening.”

  Wade Tate gave me his official look. “I’m hanging myself out to dry on this one, Millie. You’re not going anywhere. So far, we don’t know that anything has happened to Miss Vinnie. If you stay right here with me, no one can accuse you if something does turn up. Forget about your friend Gypsy.”

  We were silent as we thought of what might turn up.

  “Excuse me. Can I bother you for a minute, Ms. Le Sueur? We need a clean diaper for Harriet.” We looked up to see one of the women from Social Services standing in the doorway.

  “Of course,” I said. “I have some in her diaper bag. I’ll get them for you and a clean gown.”

  “She’s a lovely baby, Ms. Le Sueur. You’ve taken very good care of her. We’re just finishing up. I’ll be in to talk to you in a minute.” She took Harriet’s diaper and gown and went back into the bedroom.

  “It’s almost time for her bottle,” I said.

  I went back in to the kitchen and sat down by Tate Wade.

  “We’re in big trouble here,” I told him.

  “What? Did they say they were going to take the baby?” he asked.

  “No, not yet. They’ll be in to talk in a minute. No, that’s not the trouble, Wade Tate.”

  “Tell me, Millie.”

  “When I was in Upston, I bought some purple knitting needles to replace the ones that were stolen. I hadn’t thought of them as a weapon before Mrs. Mary Moore was killed, but I felt safer after I had them. Believe me, Tate Wade, Upston is not always a friendly place.”

  “Okay,” he said. “What about the knitting needles?”

  “Well, I put them in Harriet’s diaper bag. You can’t carry ten bags around when you’re carrying a baby, so sometimes now I have to double up.”

  “Millie!”

  “I’m getting there. When I gave that woman Harriet’s gown just now I felt like something was wrong. And I was right. Wade Tate, my new purple knitting needles are missing.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

  It felt so good to sit under the left tree and yell.

  In a few minutes I moved over to the right tree so it wouldn’t feel left out and yelled again, “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

  “You,” said the tree.

  “Whoa. Jump back. Who’s there?”

  I thought it was just me, the darkness, and the trees enjoying the early morning quiet that comes around four in the morning, but when the tree answered back, I felt the hair on my head stand up.

  “Milicent, it’s me. Gypsy.”

  “Whew, I thought I had gone around the bend again. Good morning, Gypsy. I’m sorry I missed our appointment yesterday. I couldn’t get away from Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s. Merry late Christmas to you.”

  Gypsy came out of the shadow of the right tree and sat down beside me. “I hear she’s missing. Got any clues?”

  I peered closely at her in the dark. “You look nice.”

  “I dressed up for you yesterday and haven’t had a chance to change.” Gypsy was wearing a heavy, full-length, red velvet coat with white fur around the collar and cuffs. “I found this at the Salvation Army store. I think it must have been someone’s idea of a Santa Claus coat. Don’t you think it fits the season?”

  “Yes, a real fashion statement, I must admit, but I’m so down, even your red coat won’t cheer me up.”

  “Want to tell me about it?” she asked.

  “I can talk about the Miss Vinnie Ledbetter part. Don’t ask me about the Social Services taking Harriet part. If I can find Miss Vinnie Ledbetter, one part will take care of the other.”

  I had known, from the first minute I realized that I had found a real, live baby in the trash, that I wouldn’t be allowed to keep it, but it still hurt when they took Harriet away. It had just been a matter of time before someone started asking about the bag lady and the baby. That was why I brought her to Miss Vinnie Ledbetter for Christmas. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t imagine anyone taking anything away from Miss Vinnie Ledbetter.

  “How can I help, Milicent?”

  I like that about Gypsy. Straight to the heart of the matter.

  “Tell me everything you know about Mr. Titus Moore,” I said.

  “That wouldn’t fill a nutshell,” she said. “But I know someone who knows just about everything there is to know in Portsmith.”

  Which is how we wound up at the back door of the Compassionate Friends at four thirty in the morning.

  Dick was sitting on the back steps just like it was broad daylight and seventy-five degrees. Smoking his cigarettes. He seemed genuinely glad to see us. “Coffee’s on. Let me get you a cup.”

  We warmed our hands around the hot cups as I filled Dick in on last night. He scratched his bald head under the black Army Surplus knit cap and said, “You do beat all, Milicent. I’ve been places and done things that would fill volumes, but you take the cake, all right. How did you finally get away from Chief Tate?”

  “Even a superman has to sleep sometime, Dick. I left him snoring away on Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s den couch. After hearing that snore, I’m rethinking being in love with him.”

  “Okay, what do you want to know about Titus Moore?” he asked.

  “When I was going through his trash a few months ago—right after Mrs. Mary Moore was killed—I saw some papers that said he was head of the Lakeside Community Leader’s Association. What does that mean?”

  “The LCLA is a group that runs the area around Lake Lottie. You know, where all the have gots have their weekend cabins. Titus Moore has had a house out there for about two years. I heard things were pretty disorganized before they elected Titus president of the association.”

  “Lake Lottie? Is that far from here?”

  “About thirty—forty-five—minutes from here. Why?”

  “I think that’s where Mr. Titus Moore has Miss Vinnie Ledbetter stashed away,” I told him.

  “Did you tell that to Chief Tate?” Gypsy asked.

  “Tate Wade wasn’t in a listening mood last night. And besides, I didn’t figure it out until the wee hours. There was something that Mr. Titus Moore said yesterday that kept bothering me. Took me that long and twenty minutes of listening to the Police Chief’s snore to shake it out of my memory tree.”

  “What was that, Milicent?” asked Dick as he took our cups in the house for a refill.

  “He said the proof was not in the pudding, but in the pie,” I told them.

  “I don’t follow you, Milicent,” said Gypsy.

  I took my fresh cup from Dick and said, “It’s like this—when I got to Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s, she had two pies baking in the oven. They were just about done, so when they were good and brown, I took them out. Now Miss Vinnie Ledbetter has this antique pie safe that she keeps pies in, so I put them in there.”

  Gypsy said, “What does that have to do with Titus Moore?”

  “Well, now, I’m getting to that. Wade Tate and I were sitting in the ki
tchen when Mr. Titus Moore came to snoop yesterday. He went all through the house, and I think he took my new knitting needles from Harriet’s bag. Anyway, he stood at the door of the kitchen and only came in the room when Tate Wade was off on the phone.”

  “And he ate the pie?” Dick guessed.

  “That’s my point, Dick. The pies were hidden away in the pie safe. There was no way for him to know about the pies.”

  Gypsy shook her head. “I don’t know about that, Milicent. Pies smell like pies.”

  “I agree, but how do you know that one is pumpkin and the other is apple?”

  Dick told Gypsy, “She has a point there. I’m a cook, and she’s right.”

  “And he said something about the pies?” Gypsy wanted to know.

  “Yes, something tacky about me eating pumpkin or apple. Now, if he didn’t take Miss Vinnie Ledbetter, how did he know there were two pies—and more important—how did he know one was pumpkin and the other one apple?”

  “That’s right,” said Dick. “I would have figured Miss Vinnie for a mincemeat pie for Christmas.”

  “She’s partial to apple,” I said. “But only someone who had actually seen Miss Vinnie Ledbetter put those pies in the oven would know she’d made both a pumpkin and an apple pie. See what I’m getting at?”

  “Okay, I’m kinda following you, Milicent,” said Gypsy. “If I’ve got it right, you think Titus Moore was at Miss Vinnie’s house, maybe watched her make those pies or at least saw her stick them in the oven, and then kidnapped Miss Vinnie and took her to his lake house? Why not his house here in Portsmith? And if he intends to kill her with your knitting needles, why hasn’t she turned up dead by now?”

  “Because he couldn’t be sure when I would be in town and I had to be here for him to pin it on me. Finding those new needles was icing on his cake, or ice cream on his pie, depending on your point of view. And I’m betting he didn’t take her to his house here in Portsmith. Not with everyone looking for her and with neighbors watching and all.”

  “So you reckon he’s killed her yet? Now that you’re back in Portsmith?” Dick asked.

  “He wouldn’t do that yet because he knew Wade Tate wasn’t letting me out of his sight,” I told them.

  “Excuse me, Milicent, but I don’t see no Chief Tate here right now, and I see you. You think Titus Moore knows you gave Tate the slip?”

  “Good point, Dick. That’s why we better hurry.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  There was a pale sun trying to break through the clouds as Gypsy and I drove through the back roads to Lake Lottie.

  “Snow’s holding off,” I commented from the passenger side of the truck we had borrowed.

  “Looks like it, yes,” agreed Gypsy.

  We talked about the weather because neither of us wanted to say what was on our minds which was that we were afraid we would be too late. Gypsy was a true believer in Mr. Titus Moore’s guilt and was as worried about Miss Vinnie Ledbetter’s safety as I was. We had wasted precious minutes trying to find a vehicle to drive to the lake. Homeless people are not known for their easy access to automobiles. The only one I had was in the junkyard with no wheels. Gypsy said she knew where to get a car, but one of Dick’s friends drove up in an old truck, and we borrowed it. After all, a bird in the hand was worth saving time over, or something like that.

  Gypsy drove.

  I thought I knew how to drive, but this was not the time to prove it.

  Gypsy was still wearing her long red velvet coat with the white fur cuffs, and I had on my green sweats with a big purple sweater pulled over it. Together we looked like the Christmas that never was.

  “I still think we should have called Wade Tate,” Gypsy told me as we rattletrapped our way to Mr. Titus Moore’s cabin.

  “Turn here,” I said. “I meant that last turn. Go back. And Gypsy, what if we’re wrong? Then Wade Tate would think we’re fools. I don’t need another fool mark beside my name.”

  “I’m more worried about what if we’re right,” she said as she turned the truck around and took the side road I had indicated. “Are you sure this is the right way, Milicent?”

  “No, all roads look alike to me, but it felt right.”

  We drove on through the half-frozen landscape as the sun gave up and surrendered the day to the clouds.

  “You want to tell me about the baby?”

  “My Harriet? Oh, Gypsy, she’s a keeper. Not for me, of course. Who would give a baby to me? But she’s perfect for Miss Vinnie Ledbetter. I know she’s always wanted a baby, just not all that bother with a man.”

  “Isn’t she about two months old now? Why did you wait so long to bring her to Portsmith?” Gypsy talked through rattling teeth as I indicated another, smaller turn off. The road was becoming decidedly more rural.

  “Well, I would have. Right away. But I had this obligation in Upston. I had to wait for closing night.”

  “Of what? Closing night of what? Milicent, tell me.” Gypsy demanded in an un-Gypsy-like voice.

  All of a sudden, the colors in the cab changed. A strong aura of orange burst forth from Gypsy’s head as if it had been hiding under a gray-blue bushel. I turned and gave her my full attention, forgetting to be the pilot in this rush to rescue.

  “Excuse me?”

  Gypsy’s words fumbled in the bright air as she tried to explain her abrupt demand. “We worried about you, Milicent, that is, I worried about you, and I am sure your friend Wade Tate did too. I mean, all I want is for you to tell me, in your own words, where you were and what you were doing.” Gypsy gave me a sideways glance, trying to read my reaction to what she was saying. “It’s really not important, forget it. It’ll all work out in the wash, trust me.”

  The red swirl that captured the orange came from more than the jaw-jarring rut the front wheels hit in the seldom-used country road. From somewhere in my past, I heard someone…maybe Ethel?…say, “Watch out for anyone who overexplains, Milicent. Remember it takes more words to tell a lie than the truth.” She had added, “And the words trust me are always said by the person you shouldn’t.”

  Oh, Lord.

  I looked at the Santa Claus wannabe driving the truck. What did I know about this he/she? This was a fine pickle of fish. Here I was, driving along a deserted road on a desperate mission with someone I didn’t really know. Miss Vinnie Ledbetter might be missing, but why did I have this sudden feeling that I was next on the milk carton list of rewards? Mr. Titus Moore might just be the asshole we all knew him to be and nothing more. On the other hand, what did I know about the mysterious Gypsy, who had shown up at my tree right after the angel was killed?

  I gulped and shook my head, trying to calm down the colors.

  “What’s the matter? Are you choked?” Gypsy asked.

  In for a penny, in for a pound. I shook my head. I didn’t know where this adventure was taking us. If this was a play at the Upston Community Little Theatre, I had strong feelings that my character would be the murder victim that ended act 2, but I decided to follow another piece of Ethel’s advice. “You bought the ticket, you take the ride.” Even if I wound up being written out of act 3, I might be able to find out what happened to Miss Vinnie Ledbetter before the curtain fell.

  Suddenly, I grabbed Gypsy’s hand on the wheel. “That’s it. There. Mr. Titus Moore’s cabin by the lake. Stop here.”

  I braced myself against the dashboard as the truck came to a lurching halt. “How do you know? Looks like any other cabin to me,” said Gypsy.

  “Maybe it’s the name Titus Moore on the mailbox?”

  “Oh, I missed that.”

  We sat there in the gloom, looking through the trees at the cabin about three hundred yards away. I couldn’t see the lake from our vantage point, but assumed it was there.

  “Now what?” asked Gypsy.

  “I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?”


  “Milicent! You always have a plan.”

  “Okay. First let’s get out of the truck. Then, let’s sneak up on the cabin. If we don’t see a car there, we can take a peek through the windows. Sound good to you?” And I figured this was my only chance to escape from the curious Gypsy.

  It must have been okay with her because in just a few seconds we were peering through fairly clean glass by the front door of the cabin.

  “I don’t understand it,” I told Gypsy. “Why would someone who has such a beautiful home in town want to come out to this godforsaken place on the weekends?”

  “It’s a getaway,” Gypsy said. “All the rich people have getaways. Now, hush. Do you hear something inside?”

  “No, not a sound.” Louder, I called, “Yoo-hoo, Miss Vinnie Ledbetter. Are you inside?”

  “Milicent, stop,” commanded Gypsy.

  “Why on earth for?”

  “It might be Titus in there. We don’t know,” she said.

  “Whoop-de-do. If he is there, I’ll just…I’ll just—”

  “What?”

  “I’ll just spit on him,” I declared and darted up on the porch.

  I tried the door, but it was locked. “I’ll go around to the back.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she said.

  “That’s okay. You say in front, I’ll go in back.”

  “No, I don’t want you on your own,” she replied.

  I surrendered to fate. What will be will be. “Right, I sorta figured that out already.”

  At the back of the house, we could clearly see Lake Lottie—it looked murky and gray on this cold day. A wooden pier sat at the end of Mr. Titus Moore’s property. Stacked metal lawn chairs sat under one of the trees near the water.

  We snuck quietly up the back steps and onto the red concrete porch. Gypsy led the way, but I was the one who pushed on the back door.

  “Wonder if this is open? I tell you, Gypsy, if I were rich, and I wanted to get away, I’d find some other place than a cabin by the lake. Can you imagine the mosquitoes?” I babbled on, trying to figure out my next opportunity to escape from Gypsy. The door opened slightly at my touch.