Sissy

by Madelyn Bennett Edwards

  "Miss Burton, it's a pleasure." He extended his hand and shook mine as though we were equal, not like I was some young, air-headed girl. I liked him even before he stared directly into my eyes as though I held his interest, somewhere behind my panicked look.

  "Sissy, Mr. Morris. My name is Abigail, but everyone calls me Sissy." I faced him inside the office door.

  "Then Sissy it is." He pointed to a round table with four chairs. "Have a seat. How's Rodney? And Susie? I think the world of both of them, you know."

  I'd already told his wife, Brenda, about the shooting, so I figured Morris knew that part. What he didn't know was why I wanted to meet with him.

  "Rodney was moved out of ICU to a step-down unit this weekend, which is progress." I sat in one of the chairs and crossed my ankles on the side. "He still can't speak, and there's no feeling in his feet and lower legs, but he seems to have survived, although barely."

  "Ever since Brenda told me about the shooting, I've wondered why I didn't know." He sat across from me and leaned on the table. "How could I have missed it in the newspapers?"

  "It hasn't been in the news." I folded my hands together on the table and leaned forward. "That's one of the reasons I'm here." I told him about the case, at least what little there was. I explained that there had been no police report and how I'd gotten the runaround in Jean Ville.

  "Judge DeYoung pressured someone at City Hall to produce a police report, but the DA closed the case. The judge would like to see the case reopened and thinks you are the one to do it." I didn't blink, and he was totally engaged.

  "Did the police show up at the scene?" He got up and went behind his desk, picked up an ink pen, and scribbled something on a legal size pad with yellow lined paper.

  "Yes, there were three police units, plus two ambulances, and the volunteer fire department at the church." I leaned my back against the chair and folded my hands on top of my purse that sat in my lap. I felt fidgety and deliberately held my hands together to keep them steady. I didn't know whether I could trust this man with my secret theft.

  "This is how the process works." He sat in the chair behind his desk, still holding the pen, poised to write something else on the yellow pad. "I can take the case if I have proof it should be reopened, or if the DA recuses himself. Would he do that?"

  "I don't think he would recuse himself, no." I stared at him, and he didn't blink. "I believe Mr. Borders wants to sweep this under the rug."

  "Why?" He sat back in the large, tan leather chair, and it creaked.

  "Rodney's black. He married a white girl." I looked at him as though he should understand how politicians in Toussaint Parish operated. "Poetic justice is what I believe they are thinking."

  "They?"

  "I don't think Borders is alone in trying to downplay this crime."

  "Do you have any idea who else might be behind this?" He was poised to write something on the pad, then changed his mind and put the pen down.

  "I have my guesses—the mayor, maybe the sheriff. The Klan, for sure, but I don't know who, specifically."

  "I forgot there are still factions of the Klan in some rural areas of Louisiana." He picked up his pen and jotted something down. "I'll give Borders a call and see what I can find out. Give your contact information to Millie at the front desk so I can reach you." He stood up, my cue to leave. Meeting over. "I'm sorry, but I have to be at a meeting at the Capitol in a few minutes. Please give my best to Rod and Susie. I'll be in New Orleans next week and will go by to see them. Would you leave their room information with Millie, too?" He pushed the knot on his tie up closer to his collar.

  "Sure. And thanks." I walked towards the door then turned around. "Mr. Morris…"

  "Robert, or Rob. That's what your sister calls me." He grinned and reached for his briefcase.

  "We can't let this go away. Louisiana is better than this." I stared at his reaction.

  "You're right. I'll stay on top of it." He started to walk towards the door. "If you can get a police report, though, that would speed things up."

  "I'm all over that!" I walked down the hall and noticed all the offices now had people in them, busy working, steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee on their desks. Robert Morris must have taken a rear exit because he didn't appear in the waiting room when I got there.

  Millie was a middle-aged woman with mousey-brown hair coiffed like a helmet. I almost laughed at her shirtwaist dress, thick shoes with rubber soles, and embroidered cardigan buttoned at the top, but thought better of it.

  "Hi, I'm Abigail Burton. Everyone calls me, Sissy." I reached my hand out. She looked at it and back up at me. "Mr. Morris asked me to give you some contact information."

  Millie picked up a pen and stared at the white paper in front of her. I spelled my name and gave her my address and phone number. I gave her Rodney and Susie's information, too and the phone and room numbers at Ochsner.

  "Anything else?" She looked up at me over her cat-eyed glasses.

  "There is one more thing. May I use your copy machine?" I smiled at her, and she nodded her head towards the machine that was behind her. I made a copy of the police report and put the original and copy in my purse. I was out the door before Miss Millie could question what I'd done.

  *

  I checked into the Capitol House Hotel downtown and used my dad's credit card for the room. I spent the afternoon sunbathing by the pool and dressed for dinner at six o'clock.

  Nikole Breaux had given me the address of their personal residence in a subdivision called Country Club of Louisiana. She said that since they were new to the governorship, they wanted to start out by having personal gatherings at their home rather than the Governor's Mansion, which was being renovated. When I arrived, she met me at my car, introduced herself with a welcoming smile, looped her arm through mine, and walked me through the double front doors under a portico of stone and plaster.

  "We are terribly disturbed about Rodney and Susie." She patted my arm with her free hand as we walked on the marble floors. "What happened?"

  "They walked out of the church after their wedding, and someone shot Rod twice," I spoke softly and tried to sound as sophisticated as Nikole.

  "Who would do a thing like that?" We were in a kitchen the size of a basketball court with marble countertops, tall dark-stained cabinets, and black appliances.

  "We don't know, and it doesn't seem that the authorities in Toussaint Parish are interested in finding out." I was guided to a bar stool on one side of a huge island made of stone and topped with marble. There was so much marble in the house that I wondered whether they had a quarry out back.

  "Greg will be so upset when he hears this, Sissy." She picked up two crystal wine goblets off a glass and silver tray that sat on the counter with an opened bottle of white wine in a silver chiller. "Greg and Rod have been friends since Rodney was in law school. He worked for Greg, who was the clerk of court for Baton Rouge Parish back then. Greg thinks the world of Rodney. They even exchanged letters when Rod was in the army."

  "Oh, I didn't know the connection. Susie just asked that I meet you and the governor. She isn't speaking very well, yet, so she wasn't able to explain the friendship."

  "We adore Susie, too." Nikole asked whether I'd like a glass of Maçon Village.

  "Sure. Thanks." I didn't know what Maçon Village was, but I crossed my ankles that dangled from the bar stool and acted sophisticated while she poured two glasses of white wine and set one before me. The governor came in through a back entrance, kissed his wife on the cheek, and walked towards me.

  "You must be Abigail." He extended his hand and stood in front of me.

  "Sissy, Governor." I shook his hand like a man. "Everyone calls me Sissy."

  "And you can call me Greg, just like Susie and Rodney do." His Cajun accent was thick and appealing, and bled into his laugh. He was tall, with dark curly hair, dark eyes, and skin that looked permanently suntanned. He asked me about the shooting. I described
what I knew and told him about the attitude of the political leaders in Jean Ville.

  "Everyone but Judge DeYoung." I took a sip of wine, and Nikole handed Greg a highball she'd mixed while we'd been chatting. "He seems intent on finding justice, although I think his hands are tied, to some extent. Although he did pressure on a few people, like Borders, Desiré, and Wallace."

  "Remind me who they are." He took a sip of his drink and sat on the stool next to mine, facing me.

  "Borders in the DA, Desiré is sheriff, and Wallace is the Mayor of Jean Ville." I turned to face him. "The chief of police and fire chief might also be involved in ignoring this crime—Marchand and Brazille."

  "Have you given those names to Rob Morris?" He stood up and motioned to Nikole that he wanted to move our conversation to the patio. It was a balmy evening, and we stayed outside about thirty minutes, until a pretty older lady in a black dress with a white apron came out and said dinner was on the table. Nikole took my arm again, and Greg followed us to the dining room that was set with beautiful, but casual, white china and silver.

  We all sat on one end, Greg at the head and Nikole and I on either side of him, and we ate crawfish étouffée over rice with French bread and a salad. An older gentleman came in and poured wine in our glasses and made sure our water was replenished. Greg thanked him and spoke with him as though he was an old friend, but he never introduced us.

  We talked about their kids, who had both graduated from LSU. The older, a boy, was in New York pursuing a career in finance while their daughter lived in Baton Rouge, was married, and had a new baby. I told them about Lilly, whom they said they'd met before Susie and Rod were married. I said that she would be at LSU in the fall. They mentioned how impressed they were with Lilly, and how they wanted her to call them when she was in Baton Rouge so they could have her over for dinner.

  "She was planning to attend Columbia, and had been accepted, but the shooting happened, and she doesn't want to leave Susie and Rodney to go back to New York." I folded my napkin and put it on the table, beside my plate.

  "Understandable," Greg said. "How are they? Rod and Susie?"

  "It seems like slow, small steps, but their doctor is happy with their progress," I told them about how far Susie and Rodney had come in the six weeks since their wedding.

  The conversation ultimately turned to who did it, why it wasn't on the news, and the way the politicians swept the crime under the rug. Greg talked about bigotry and discrimination. The governor reiterated how much he cared about and admired Rodney, "Not only for his brain and determination, but also for his ethics and character. He's quite a guy."

  "I couldn't agree with you more. He's the best, and you'd really be impressed with him if you could witness how hard he's worked to learn simple things, like how to lift his arms and use his hands." I sat back in my chair, and Greg motioned for the gentleman to refill our wine glasses.

  "Let's go to the den." Nikole stood up, and we carried our wine to a huge glassed-in room with two sectional sofas and a baby grand piano.

  "Oh, you have a Steinway baby grand." I ran my hand over the shiny black ebony as though caressing a baby's behind. "Do you mind?"

  "Please." Greg pulled the bench out, and I sat on it. The couple sat on the sofa behind me, and I started to play a slow waltz, feeling the ivory keys under my fingertips as though I were rubbing pearls. I worked my way to a boogie-woogie, and soon Greg and Nikole were standing on either side of the piano singing along with, When the Saints Go Marching In, and Kansas City, then I slipped into When a Man Loves a Woman and Unchained Melody. They danced to the final number.

  We drank more wine; I got loose and told some jokes, like a stand-up comedienne, which were really true stories about things that had happened in our family— Mama living with a Mafia guy in Houston, and Daddy nursing his sick liver with Cutty Sark. They were in stitches and said I could get a job as a stand up at the Roadhouse in Baton Rouge, or as a piano player at Pat O'Brien's in New Orleans.

  Greg insisted that his gentleman drive me back to the hotel in my Camaro and get a cab home. It was probably a good idea because I'd had lots more wine than I was accustomed to drinking.

  The next day when I called Susie, she said Greg had called her. She was laughing. "Greh say you, uh, um, good time."

  "They are a great couple." I yawned because I hadn't slept well. "They love you and Rod."

  "Luh-Key. Grey friends." I could almost see her smile because her joy seeped through her words and made me happy that she felt lucky.

  "I met with Robert Morris yesterday morning. Another good friend, I'd say." I sat on the side of my bed and rubbed my forehead.

  "Yea. I, uhm… him, too." She was saying more words, although some of her choices were not clear. Marianne told me that Dr. Warner said that her speech would return in time.

  "I'm working on things, trying to get someone to reopen the case." I yawned.

  "Than you, Sis."

  *

  When we hung up, I called Marianne. She told me that Susie had visited with Rodney twice.

  "She's impatient about her progress and bothers Lilly and me all day to take her to visit Rod. She doesn't understand the visiting restrictions for patients in ICU." Marianne sighed, and I could tell the stress was getting to her.

  "Look, I'm in Baton Rouge. I can drive down there tomorrow and take some of the pressure off of you."

  "That would be great. We need to discuss a long-range plan." Marianne's voice raised an octave.

  Chapter Five

  ***

  Jules Avenue

  "SUSIE WILL GET out of the hospital long before Rodney, maybe in a couple of weeks," Marianne whispered to me in the hall outside Susie's room as doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel walked up and down the hall, some pushing gurneys or wheelchairs, some rushing in and out of rooms, some talking with each other outside of doors.

  "Are you suggesting that they live here in New Orleans?" I was caught off-guard.

  "Susie won't leave Rodney." Marianne shook her head, indicating it was something we couldn't change. "Even after he gets out of the hospital, he'll be in outpatient rehab for months. His recovery could take as long as a year."

  Marianne and Lilly had been staying at the Brenthouse Hotel, which was expensive, plus Marianne needed some privacy if she was going to remain in New Orleans long term.

  "I'll be coming back and forth." I had already decided my role was to keep things stirred up in Jean Ville until we found the shooters. Marianne said we should talk to Susie about how to manage housing for the immediate and not-so-immediate future. We went to Susie's room to discuss our plan to find an apartment in New Orleans.

  "Close." Susie's eyes were wide as she formed the word that meant she wanted whatever living arrangements we made to be located close to the hospital.

  Jefferson, Louisiana was a small community of about 7,000 residents in 1984, around twice the size of Jean Ville. It was located North of the Mississippi River from downtown New Orleans.

  After two days of apartment hunting, we realized that rental units were cramped, lacked privacy, and had stairs that we weren't sure Susie would be able to handle for some time, and Rodney, maybe never.

  Susie agreed we should get a realtor and look at rental houses, or even a house she could purchase near the hospital. We found a three-bedroom bungalow for rent on Jules Avenue, about a mile from the medical center.

  "On good days we can walk back and forth." Marianne stood at the foot of Susie's bed, and I sat in a chair. Lilly, who refused to leave the hospital, was piled up in bed with Susie.

  "You'll need a car in New Orleans," I said to Marianne. I'd driven down in my Camaro, but Marianne had ridden to New Orleans in the ambulance with Susie. Mari said she planned to ride back with me in a couple days and return in her Datsun station wagon.

  Money was not an issue because when Josh Ryan died, he left his entire estate to Susie and Lilly, and it was sizable. Susie hadn't t
old Marianne or me how much it was, but it was probably more money than she could spend in her lifetime, even if she purchased a mansion in New Orleans.

  "We need to think about the present." I looked at Marianne, then at Susie. "With both you and Rodney in the hospital, Lilly doesn't have a place to live or an adult in charge of her unless Marianne stays here."

  "Mari?" Susie looked at her, and an expression of surprise crossed Marianne's face.

  "I hadn't thought about it." Marianne looked at Lilly, then back at me. "I mean. What would you do if I went back to Jean Ville?"

  "Lilly… stay Jean Ville? You and Toot." Susie was speaking a lot better, although not forming complete sentences. She was holding Lilly's hand.

  "No! I'm not leaving you and Dad!" Lilly sat straight up in the bed and looked as though she'd been slapped.

  "I can stay as long as you need me." Marianne laughed at Lilly's reaction. It was probably my place to stay with Susie because I didn't have a job or a reason to live in Jean Ville, other than the case, which wasn't really a case, yet; but I wasn't very nurse-y, and I reasoned with myself, Susie needed Marianne as a nurse as much as a sister.

  "When I, uhm, out… I take care, uh, my family." Susie's eyes filled with tears. "But now, Mari?"

  "I have a lot of paid vacation and sick leave accrued." Marianne took Susie's hand and smiled. "It'll be like a holiday for me, and I'll be with my favorite people."

  "You staying wouldn't have anything to do with a handsome neurosurgeon, would it?" I laughed aloud, and Marianne shot her eyes at me as if to say "Shut it!" I did.

  "Susie, we need to know how to pay for everything," I looked at Susie, who was still staring at Marianne. She shifted her eyes and stared at me. "We need to put a deposit on the house. We need furniture. I think Marianne has been paying for the hotel rooms and meals these past three weeks. She should be reimbursed." I hated to be the voice of reason, but I knew Marianne would never ask Susie for money.

  "Oh, God, Mari. Sorry. I didn't…" Susie stuttered, which meant she was upset, tired, or both. "Milton. Vernon Milton. My attorney. His business—my wallet."