Milicent Le Sueur Page 3

  Wade Tate came on up the walk. “Ready for breakfast, Millie?”

  “You buying? I’m between the rock and the hard place.”

  “Someday I’m going to find that rock, Millie. And then I’ll know all about you.”

  Stupid. I knew where the rock was, and I didn’t know all about me.

  Wade Tate bought me a biscuit and sausage and some orange juice and coffee. He brought it on a tray to the back table. I liked to sit next to the front windows so I could get up and go outside and yell, but for some reason, he always preferred the back table. Tate Wade fed me a lot.

  This is why I have a personal Police Chief buying me breakfast on a regular basis. Portsmith is a small town, and when I moved in the neighborhood, everyone got real excited about having their own bag lady. Now there is lots of homeless in Portsmith: Compassionate Friends feeds about fifty every day, but I’m the only bag lady in town.

  Before I found my place, I used to wander around looking for a good place to stake out, and this seemed to upset the Ladies in town. They took to calling Wade Tate, and he finally drove around trying to find me. It didn’t take a rocket scientist or a bloodhound to locate me. I was right where I was.

  I have always loved men and fell head over heels when Wade Tate got out of his Police Chief car. Fell out of love when he told me who he was. And what he wanted.

  “Who’s scared of me? I haven’t done nothing wrong. I haven’t taken a cent that wasn’t mine. And I work hard every day.” I thought what might be of interest to him. “And I go to church.”

  “Now, lady, don’t get excited. I just want to talk to you, that’s all.”

  “Yeah? About what?”

  Well, Lord, he wanted to know everything about me. My name. Where I was from and all. And how I made money. And where I lived. And what my plans were.

  I didn’t even tell Ricky all that.

  Tate Wade took me downtown to his office and ran me through the system. I don’t know what that entailed, but all I did was sit in number four and eat some lousy bologna sandwiches.

  When he finally let me go, he said, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Millie.” It was the first time he called me Millie. At that time in our relationship, I didn’t feel it was prudent to correct him.

  It was right after that first meeting that I found my place and the rock.

  The next time I saw him, he drove up to the left tree by the curb and asked me if I would go downtown with him again. There were some folks who thought I might be their kin. Well, I was real emotional, thinking I had kin, so I jumped in that car faster than a cat on a mouse. I asked him all kind of questions on the way downtown. Like what was their name and was I their mother or their sister or a first cousin, two times removed? And were they good-looking and would I be proud to call them kin?

  “How does the name Joann Putnam sound to you, Millie?”

  “I’m a Putnam? Is that the Savannah Putnams or the New Orleans Putnams?”

  “That would be the Rocktown Putnams.”

  “Never been to Rocktown. I don’t think. Maybe once. But not twice. That I remember well. Would that be P-U-T-N-A-M? I don’t feel like a P-U-T-N-A-M. No, I definitely am not a P-U-T-N-A-M.”

  And I wasn’t.

  Which was good.

  For a second, when I saw how disappointed the two women were, I almost wished I were a Putnam, but they didn’t want a Le Sueur, so I went on back to the place.

  Since then, Wade Tate was always picking me up and taking me to his office to be people I am not. I’ve not been a Murphy, a Sanchez, or a Robinson. I was almost a Dillard, but, no, too much had time had passed for them to be sure. I smiled and posed in lots of positions, but, no, too much time had passed.

  “Who am I today, Tate Wade?” I asked him as he ate his own KFC biscuit.

  This made him laugh. “You’re the one and only Milicent Le Sueur. I’ve given up hope of anyone ever claiming you, Millie. I just wanted to see how you were today.”

  “About like I was yesterday?” I never knew what Wade Tate wanted from me, so I kept looking for answers that would please him.

  “You remember the killing? The girl?”

  “Oh, that. Yes, sir, I do remember that.”

  He added too much sugar to his coffee. “Thought maybe you would remember something else this morning. Thought I would drop by and see if you recollected something new. Do you, Millie? Remember something else?”

  Vaguely I remember telling Dick something I hadn’t told Tate Wade. “I told Dick he smelled.”

  “Dick smells?”

  “Well, yes, but he smells like cigarettes and cheese. I mean, the shadow who hit Angel smelled.”

  “Smelled like how?”

  “Oh, you know the black-and-white squares smell.”

  The reason I fell back in love with Wade Tate is that I hardly ever have to explain to him. He gets it right most of the time. “Like Columbus’s, you mean?”

  Portsmith has its own exclusive department store, and boy, do they hate to see me coming. But I like their bags. I always paid my twenty-five cents for them at the self-bag serve. If they didn’t have shopping bags for sale by the front entrance, why would they not like a bag lady? Now that, I haven’t figured out.

  After you get the bags, you can go on in the store. It’s in the mall, and they have this great big opening to Columbus at the far end. To get to the real stuff in the store, you have to cross over the black-and-white square tiles. The rest of the store is gray carpet, but they have the black-and-white square tiles at the perfume and cologne counters so that when you pick up a bottle and drop it, it falls on the squares, and you have to pay for it.

  “Would you recognize that smell again, Millie?”

  I thought about that. I’m pretty good with smells. “I think so. It was a different kind of smell than I know. Woody. With a touch of musk. Maybe a hint of lemon.”

  “If I get some smells together, would you come down to the office and smell them for me?”

  “I’m working tonight,” I said.

  “I mean before work.”

  “Will I have to be locked up?”

  “Nope, not this time. Just some quick sniffs, okay?”

  “So you don’t know who did it yet?”

  Wade Tate crumpled his empty coffee cup in his hand. He put it on the tray with the other paper trash. “Lord, help us, Millie. You and your nose are our only clues.”

  “Guess I could come smell, then.”

  SEVEN

  “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail,” I sang as I walked the curb to my place. A cold wind was blowing off the river; looked like a blue norther blowing in for sure. Singing about spring stuff made me feel warmer. I wanted to wait as long as I could before I dealt with Miss Vinnie Ledbetter. Wade Tate told me that the good woman was back in town and coming to see me.

  I was hoping that terrible, horrible news of Angel being killed had died down and that people would get on with their lives and clear out of my place, but there were still cars coming by, slowing down at the curb where she died. I had to stand there and yell and shake my fist before the traffic seemed to thin out.

  At last I could go to the rock.

  Whoop-de-do.

  I was just lifting it up when I heard someone say, “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

  I sat down on the rock like a light going out. “Who are you saying ‘Whatcha lookin’ at?’” I asked before I even looked up.

  “I’m Karen.”

  “Would that be K-A-R-E-N?”

  “Yes, it would be. And you’re the bag lady, right?”

  “Stupid. See the bags? What you think? I’ve been to the grocery store?”

  “Just making sure. Calm down.”

  K-A-R-E-N was mighty tall and stood high over me. Her blond hair splayed in the wind, and I was caught
up in the strands that swirled around her face. “I don’t have any money,” I said.

  She squatted down beside me in the leaves. “What makes you think I want your money?”

  “Well, what do you want? I’m busy. What are you doing on my place anyway?”

  “It’s not your place. You got a deed?”

  Lord, I hate homeless people.

  “Look, you. You want to know if this is my place? You just go call Police Chief Wade Tate or Miss Vinnie Ledbetter. They’ll set you straight. Or you could call Fred and Ethel. Now go away. I’m busy.”

  But K-A-R-E-N settled in on the ground, smoothing her long red skirt around her ankles. “Cool it, lady. I’m just being sociable.”

  “Well, be sociable with someone else. I’m not friendly today.” I brightened up at a thought. “Go on down to Compassionate Friends. They’re friendly there and cook real good.”

  “They’re the ones that sent me to you. They cook okay. We had bacon for breakfast.”

  I guess the meat truck had come in to Compassionate Friends. And if I could just get rid of this homeless woman, I could find out if my rock knew it was the first of the month. “Go away,” I said plainly. Then I asked, “Why did Dick send you here?”

  “Because you’re a bag lady, and I’m one too.”

  “Get outta here. You’re no bag lady. You’re a homeless person. I’m the only bag lady in Portsmith, and I like it that way. Go on down to the river. That’s where the homeless live. Under the bridge. Go on, get out. Before I count to ten,” I threatened.

  “Hush up, you. I just came by to be friendly. I have my own place staked out.” She just wouldn’t go away.

  “Your bags are ugly,” I said. I pride myself on the quality of my bags. Right then they were laid out around me like Easter in a fall basket. I liked the look. Next year I would put leaves in my Easter basket instead of grass.

  K-A-R-E-N just laughed and held on tight to her brown canvas bag. The tapestry one she had was tucked under her arm. I would never admit it in a thousand years, but it wasn’t half-bad. I looked closer at the woman.

  There had been a few bag-lady wannabes come and go since I hit Portsmith, but none of them lasted long. This one seemed different. Besides being tall, she was beautiful, with makeup and jewelry. She had fantastic skin, golden pink and smooth as new snow. Looking at her purple velvet jacket, I had to admire her style but said, “Police here don’t cotton to gypsies.”

  “Shut up, you. I just wanted to tell you I’m in town. I’m five blocks down B Street. All the way to Twelfth.”

  I didn’t care if she was living with the Pope; I just wanted her to go away. “Good, good. Go on there now. Leave me alone.”

  K-A-R-E-N straightened up to her full height, shaking the leaves off her skirt as she got up. Pity. They looked good against the red. “Come see me if you get the time,” she said as she walked off through the leaves. I had to admit she looked colorful and beautiful walking away. Well, except for the big brown hiking boots. Not a bad idea, though, for a homeless person to have good shoes.

  “Keep on truckin’,” I yelled after her. “On outta town.”

  “You wish.” She laughed back.

  I counted six leaves hanging on to her skirt. “Wait,” I said. I got up and gave her four leaves I picked up as I crossed to where she stood.

  “What are these for?” She asked as she took them.

  “To make things come out even,” I answered. Stupid woman.

  I watched K-A-R-E-N pocket the leaves and felt better. Six is not my number.

  She walked on off, and I forgot about her.

  I walked over to the left tree and sat down. I knew I had something to do, but it would come back to me when it was ready. Four leaves fell off the tree, landing in my lap. Four was okay. Four was like money in the bank.

  The rock.

  See there, you sit and watch leaves, and it all comes back.

  I got up and went to the rock. I looked around carefully now, but no one was in sight. Being greedy makes one careless. Remember that, Milicent, I told myself.

  I raised the rock.

  Five new twenty-dollar bills were lying there on the ground. I grabbed them up before the wind could and stuck one in each bag I carried.

  Five is a good number.

  EIGHT

  There was a lot of clatter going on in Wade Tate’s office when I got there to do the smelling. It wasn’t your everyday office kind of clatter, it was more like the something-is-going-on clatter that comes with everyone being upset or excited about something.

  I picked up on it right away and sniffed out the source quick as a hound chasing a rabbit.

  It was the blond man standing in the middle of the outside office, no friend of mine, who was causing the ruckus. Wishing I had timed my entrance a little differently, I did my ape-crab walk over to the corner of the room, hoping he wouldn’t notice me.

  “See. See. She’s crazy as a loon. You’re making us the laughingstock of three counties, Wade. My phone has rung off the hook this morning. For God’s sake, for once and for all, can’t you put her away for good?”

  I made the sign of the cross with my fingers and held it up to the man. We had had dealings before. For some reason, I couldn’t imagine why my independent lifestyle on the streets of Portsmith offended our city manager, Mr. Titus Moore. Maybe it was the way I waved at the last car full of prospective industrialists he was touring around the city?

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

  Out of the red haze that surrounded him, the man continued to shake his finger at Tate Wade and Andy and Betty. His voice came in orange waves thundering around the room like heat lightning. “Three city councilmen called me by eight this morning. They want this murder solved and her gone. Two bank presidents and two preachers want her out of this town by sundown.”

  He was pointing that lightning finger at me. I was the her.

  Through the storm, I could barely hear Wade Tate. “Now, now, Titus, calm down.”

  “Calm down, my ass. And your ass too, if you don’t do something quick. For Christ’s sake, Wade, this is an election year.”

  Beware of men who speak in Christ’s name.

  “Titus, this is my investigation, and I’ll do it my way. And as far as Millie goes, if the state hospital would keep her, I agree that’s where she should be. But you know as well as I do that they won’t take her back. She’s not dangerous, and she doesn’t pander. And as for calls, I have just as many worrying about her well-being.” Tate Wade’s slow voice ebbed away at the orange. “Millie is an important witness to the murder. Let me do this my way, Titus, and you go on back to building dams and malls and sucking up to the council. As for the election, I’ll let the voters decide how I’m handling things around here.”

  Titus Moore stood there in a huff. Finally he said, “Angie Woodburn’s funeral is three days from now. That’s when the body is being released to Alan and Laura. Don’t you dare let that woman anywhere near that church, you hear?”

  As city manager, Mr. Titus Moore has lots of Power and Influence. Since I had reaped the wrath of his civic indignation over my attempt to welcome new industry to the city, I pretty much stay out of his way. He is just not my cup of tea.

  I watched in fascination as he left the office. The orange and red just seemed to follow him out the door, leaving only one smudgy patch over in the corner by the coffeepot.

  “Millie? Millie? Now don’t you go twisting off on me here. I need you,” said Wade Tate.

  “Go stand in that corner,” I told him, pointing at the one with the smudge.

  The Police Chief did as I asked, and I watched as the blue erased the orange.

  “Okay.” I sighed. “It’s gone. Is he an asshole, or what?”

  The whole room full of people, including the clerks, laughed, and the
room blossomed in yellow.

  Wade Tate started to say something, but I held up my hand to him. “Good job, Wade Tate. You caught the smell.”

  Betty came up and put her arm around me. “Really, Millie? Come on in Chief Tate’s office and tell us about it. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Donuts?” asked Andy.

  “Thank you, no. I ate at the Garden before I came over.”

  “The Garden? Millie, you cleaning their restrooms, too?” asked Betty. “The Garden is expensive.”

  “Oh, I have a little money in my green bag,” I said vaguely. I never told anyone about the rock. Well, they knew about the rock, but not what it was all about.

  “Wish I had a green bag,” said Andy as Betty led me into Tate Wade’s office.

  I made a note to get Andy a green bag.

  Wade Tate was already sitting in his chair behind the desk when we came in, running his hands through his thick hair. He stood up to let me have his seat.

  I surprised them all by saying, “Oh, no. Keep your seat. I’m fine.” The Police Chief is an elected official in Portsmith, and while I don’t vote, I could help out Tate Wade by helping him find the murderer. So, I focused real hard on the matter at hand. I liked the man, and besides that, I had him good and trained.

  Wade Tate sat back down. “Millie, don’t let Titus upset you. He’s getting lots of pressure from the press and the city council to find Angie’s killer. It’s my job, but they know they don’t dare call me, so they call him.”

  I reassured him, “I’m fine. Just fine. My, my, what’s all this?”

  On Wade Tate’s desk were some bottles of cologne. I counted them carefully. Ten in all. Now, if we had a new chief of police I would have to train him all over again about ten.

  “Are those pretty bottles, or what?” I asked him.

  Someone had taken the bottles out of their boxes and lined them up across the front of the desk. I could see the discarded containers in the Columbus bag on the floor.