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AS SHE PULLED INTO the parking lot of the hospital, Mary-Alice felt a surge of excitement, tinged with dread. Celia Arceneaux, Mary-Alice’s cousin by marriage, was not a pleasant woman in the best of circumstances. And these were not the best of circumstances.
Mary-Alice stopped into the small gift shop and bought a cheery floral arrangement from the cooler. It featured daisies, one of Mary-Alice’s favorite flowers. As she exited the elevator and made her way down the hallway, she found herself clutching the bouquet in front of her like a shield. To her great relief, she spotted a familiar face at the nurse’s station. Shonda was a good friend of Ida Belle and Gertie (technically the granddaughter of a good friend), and she knew Mary-Alice by sight.
Shonda showed Mary-Alice to Celia’s room and paused at the closed door.
“It’s awfully kind of you to stop by, Miss Mary-Alice,” Shonda whispered. “I believe you’re the only visitor she’s had so far. It’s probably a good thing no one’s come by, to tell you the truth. Miss Celia’s not in any shape to be dealing with a lot of people right now.”
Mary-Alice nodded, wondering how badly-off Celia could possibly be after her fictitious kidnapping.
“How did Celia come to be here?” Mary-Alice asked. “Did she check herself in?”
Shonda looked up and down the hallway to make certain they weren’t being observed.
“It was Miss Cookie who found her.” Shonda murmured.
“Found her?” Mary-Alice did not like the sound of that. “Oh, dear. Where?”
“I’m not sure.” Shonda paused and smiled at another nurse who was walking by. When the other woman disappeared around the corner, she continued. “I heard Miss Cookie’d just had Hot Rod rebuild her scooter to make it real fast and powerful, and she went out early in the morning to try it out when there wouldn’t be too much traffic. I believe Miss Cookie’s the one who called 911, in fact. If it hadn’t been for Miss Cookie being out so early in the morning, well, I can’t imagine...”
“What happened to Celia?” Mary-Alice asked. “I mean, what kinds of injuries and so forth?”
“I’m so sorry, I can’t share patient information. But between you and me, once you see her, I believe you’ll have a pretty good idea. Anyway, my shift’s ending in about a minute, so I won’t be here to see you out. But try to keep it short, Miss Mary-Alice. Don’t tire her out.”
Mary-Alice nodded, pushed the door, and slipped into the darkened room.
“Who’s there?” Celia’s voice sounded reedy. Mary-Alice hesitated. She had hoped to talk some sense into Celia, to convince her to give up this ridiculous kidnapping stunt. But what if Celia was really ill or injured? Mary-Alice set down the flowers on a side table and hesitantly approached the bed. As her eyes adjusted, Mary-Alice saw Celia’s bulk covered by a thin hospital blanket. An IV bag hung from a pole on the far side of the bed, and a pulse monitor beeped insistently.
“Celia, darlin’, it’s Mary-Alice.”
“Go away,” Celia rasped. “I don’t need your pity, Mary-Alice. You can just take your Little Miss Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt-In-Her-Mouth-Good-Two-Shoes act and—”
“I brought you flowers.”
“Hmph,” Celia said finally. “I prefer chocolate.”
“The lady at the gift shop said we’re not supposed to bring food,” Mary-Alice said.
“Cooyon,” Celia mumbled.
“Celia, what happened?”
“I’ll tell you what happened, Mary-Alice. Your little friend, Fortune? She did this to me.”
“What exactly did Fortune do to you?” Mary-Alice looked around for a chart, but in vain. Medical records were no longer to be found hanging from the foot of the bed for anyone to see. “I heard it was Miss Cookie who found you.”
“I don’t recall all the details,” Celia said to the far wall. “It comes back to me in bits and pieces. In horrific nightmares that fade, leaving only terror and desolation in their wake.”
“Do you remember anything at all, Celia?” Mary-Alice pulled up a rolling stool and sat next to Celia’s bed.
Celia kept her face turned away.
“She locked me in a closet and beat me. Brutally. She’s a monster, Mary-Alice. You have no idea. It was only my wits that allowed me to escape.”
Long ago, Celia had unsuccessfully tried out for the part of Blanche DuBois in a local production of A Streetcar Named Desire. Celia hadn’t been very convincing then, and her acting skills hadn’t improved much in the past thirty or so years. Mary-Alice concluded that in addition to lying about Fortune, Celia was most certainly exaggerating the severity of her injuries.
“Celia, darlin’,” Mary-Alice chided, “now think about what you’re trying to tell me. You say Fortune did this to you? Why that little girl’s so skinny I don’t believe she could—”
Celia slowly turned her face toward Mary-Alice. Mary-Alice forgot her manners and gasped.
Celia’s eyes were matched shiners, swollen shut. The rest of her face was one big, lumpy bruise.
“Celia,” Mary-Alice whispered urgently. “Who did this to you?”
“I told you,” Celia croaked. “Your little Yankee friend.”
Mary-Alice crossed her arms.
“Don’t you try to fool me, Celia Arceneaux. I know what you’re up to.”
“I’m speaking the truth,” Celia whispered.
“It’ll only get worse, darlin’. This time you landed in the hospital, next time it might be the morgue. You don’t have to protect him, Celia.”
It was impossible to discern any expression in Celia’s swollen features.
She started to move her lips, and then gave up.
“Celia,” Mary-Alice persisted, “You can’t just go around inventing stories about how this one kidnapped you or that one beat you. The sheriffs don’t take kindly to folks telling them falsehoods. Why, Deputy Sheriff Carter LeBlanc just went over to Fortune’s house today and tried to search it.”
Celia’s eyes widened by a millimeter.
“He did?”
“Well of course he did, Celia. Now, that girl knows her rights and she told him he was going to need a warrant. But he will get one, Celia, and he’ll be back, and you and I both know he’s not going to find anything. Not only that...”
Mary-Alice never liked to tell a lie, especially when she was in the middle of reprimanding someone else for doing the same thing. But she reasoned that a little deceit in the service of the greater good was no crime.
“I don’t believe you’ve been inside that house since young Fortune moved in, Celia. She’s made all kinds of changes inside, moved things around and such. What do you suppose is going to happen when your description of Fortune’s house is different from what Deputy Sheriff LeBlanc finds?”
“Don’t call it her house,” Celia whispered. “That Yankee strumpet will never own a house in Sinful as long as I’m alive.”
“Call it Marge’s house then, if you like,” Mary-Alice replied. “My point is that if Carter catches you out in a lie, you’ll be in trouble. Do you know you can go to jail for making a false statement to a law enforcement officer? Well, you can. And then whoever did this to you will walk free.”
Celia was quiet for a long time. Finally she gathered the strength to speak.
“Perhaps I misremembered,” she murmured.
“Don’t be afraid to tell the truth,” Mary-Alice encouraged her. “Who did this to you, Celia?”
“It’s coming back to me now.”
“Good for you, darlin’. You tell me exactly what happened.”
“The place I was held captive...it was the Old Cooper Place.”
“The...now Celia, you’re getting it all mixed up. The old Cooper Place is where I live!”
“I’m not mixed up at all, Mary-Alice.” Celia’s distended face was expressionless, but her tone was ice-cold. “And as you were prideful enough to show the place off after you fixed it up. I believe I could describe the interior quite accurately. Do you remember demonstrating how you’d organized your bedroom closet?”
“Celia!” Mary-Alice exclaimed. “You wouldn’t!”
“I was held captive at the old Cooper Place by my cousin-by-marriage, Mary-Alice Arceneaux,” Celia continued. “Mary-Alice wanted revenge, you see, because she wasn’t able to gain admission into the God’s Wives organization, of which I am president and Chief Executive Officer.”
Mary-Alice stared down at Celia in disbelief. It was true that when Mary-Alice had first moved to Sinful, Celia had blocked Mary-Alice’s admission to the GWs. But Mary-Alice had found she preferred the company of the GW’s rival organization, the Sinful Ladies’ Society, headed by Ida Belle and Gertie. Not only that, Mary-Alice found the name “God’s Wives” a bit heathen for her taste, like some sort of ancient fertility cult.
“Celia Darlin’,” Mary-Alice pleaded, “let me call a nurse for you. You’re havin’ visions and hallucinations and such, and that is not a good sign.”
Celia grasped Mary-Alice’s wrist as she reached for the call button. Her grip was surprisingly strong, considering her battered condition.
“I remember it all now,” Celia hissed. “The Old Cooper Place. You held me captive there, Mary-Alice. You did this to me.”
“Celia, darlin’, you are simply not in your right mind right now. And you are cutting off my circulation.”
“Who would disbelieve that my black-sheep cousin—not even my blood cousin, mind—would do me wrong? In fact, I’m in fear for my life right now. You tried to kill me, I escaped, and you came here to finish the job. I believe I’ll ring for help.”
Celia released her grip and pushed the call button. Mary-Alice backed away, flexing her fingers to get the blood flowing again. As soon as she reached the door, she turned around and bolted. It seemed like a better course of action than waiting around to see what further mischief Celia could stir up.