A Death in Duck: Lindsay Harding Cozy Mystery Series (Reverend Lindsay Harding Mystery Book 2)

by Mindy Quigley

  “Oh no!” Lindsay said, horrified. She could feel heat rising from her cheeks and knew that they must be burning redder than the pornographic cherries.

  Simmy and Sarabelle instantly exploded into torrents of laughter, and a hint of a smile even crept into the corners of Aunt Harding’s mouth. Always a master of comic timing, Simmy held the dish up at chest height to offer it around. “Dessert anyone?” she asked in a mock-breathy movie vixen voice. She gave a little Jell-O-wiggling shimmy as she held the dish out toward Aunt Harding. Lindsay’s embarrassment evaporated and she joined in as Simmy and Sarabelle collapsed into another round of hysterics.

  While the three other women laughed, the usual grim set returned to Aunt Harding’s jaw. She shook her head. “I don’t like sweet stuff. Makes my teeth hurt.”

  Simmy shoved the plate further toward her, causing the gelatinous bosoms to jiggle suggestively.

  Sarabelle laughed so hard that she almost fell out of her chair. “Come on, Patty. Live a little,” she said.

  Aunt Harding sniffed. “Live a little? For Pete’s sake, it’s boob Jell-O, not bungee jumping off a bridge.” While the others giggled and ate the obscene creation, Aunt Harding continued to wear her customary scowl, looking like a vegetarian in a slaughterhouse.

  After dinner, Simmy and Lindsay went back out into the night to retrieve Simmy’s truck. Lindsay had vigorously declined Sarabelle’s strange offer to send Kipper along for protection. Aunt Harding had made no offers of help, but after some initial objections, she did deign to allow them to use her Chevy pickup. By the time they reached the place where the truck had been abandoned, the initial band of rain had passed, and a mass of cold air had moved in to take its place. With numb fingers and sore backs, the two women struggled to attach the tow rope. Finally, after an orgy of tire spinning and a fair bit of cussing, they managed to pull the stuck vehicle free.

  Simmy sat in the driver’s seat of her truck, her wig crooked from exertion. She rolled down the window and spoke to Lindsay. “Well, honey, I hope you have a nice time with Patty and Sarabelle.”

  Lindsay frowned. “I just don’t get it. Why didn’t she tell anyone that Sarabelle was staying there?”

  “Maybe she was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew. I know I would’ve been.”

  “She was right.”

  “Well, you know Patty. She likes to keep things close to the vest.”

  “But she didn’t even know I was coming until I called her a few weeks ago. Why go through the trouble of hiding her all this time and lying to you about being sick?”

  “She must have a good reason. You’ll have to ask her,” Simmy said with unusual bitterness.

  “This sucks. I’m not sure I can go back there,” Lindsay said. “I mean, it really, really sucks, like a medieval leech doctor.”

  “It wasn’t as bad as all that. I thought it was nice, even. All being together like that?”

  “I just don’t think I can forgive Sarabelle. I don’t even think I should. I’m sure there are times when even Jesus ran out of cheeks to turn.” Tears sprang up in the corners of Lindsay’s eyes, and she inhaled deeply to keep herself from crying. “And Aunt Harding’s house isn’t exactly a trove of treasured memories for me. Maybe I should just stay with you.”

  “You know you’re always welcome, though you’d have to take a backhoe to the spare room before you could even get through the door. I’ve got so much stuff piled in there.” Simmy smiled sadly. “But you should go back. This is a blessing in disguise. Heaven knows I’m not in any position to give advice, but that’s never stopped me before. So I’ll just tell you that I know what it’s like when someone you love does you wrong. I know how holding a grudge can eat away at that love until there’s nothing left but dry, old bones.” She reached out the window and put her hand on Lindsay’s cheek. “Give your mama and Patty a chance to try to make things right.”

  “But that’s what I always do. I try to deal with one awful thing and if I manage to solve that, some brand new awful thing emerges. It’s like a Russian nesting doll of awfulness.”

  “Please try, honey. I really think things are gonna turn out all right. Just give it a few more days, okay? It’s very important to me. It’s very important to all of us, whether the others realize it or not. I think it could bring our redemption.”

  “Redemption?” The word struck an odd note with Lindsay. Simmy wasn’t known to be particularly devout, having dabbled over the years in Scientology, Kabbalah, and past life regression. Before Lindsay could ask Simmy what she meant, though, the older woman had rolled up the window and driven off into the night.

  Chapter 9

  Lindsay tiptoed into Aunt Harding’s house, praying that she wouldn’t be “greeted” by Kipper again. She found her mother sitting in the living room, paging through a magazine in the dim lamplight. An empty wine glass stood on the table next to her. Kipper sat at Sarabelle’s feet, growling quietly at Lindsay.

  “Oh, you waited up,” Lindsay said.

  “‘Course I did, sugar. I was worried about you and Simmy going out by yourselves at night in this cold weather. And you never know when you might run into somebody who wants to do you harm.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Lindsay looked pointedly at her mother, removed her sand-covered coat and shoes, and stomped towards her bedroom.

  “Hey, missus. Aren’t good Christians supposed to be forgiving? I’m really trying to turn over a new leaf.” Sarabelle was in full self-pity mode, her face a mask of suffering. Kipper laid his head in her lap, shooting an accusatory sideways glance at Lindsay.

  Lindsay stopped and turned to face her mother. “There’s being a good Christian, and there’s being a damn fool.”

  “I’ve really changed this time, and you won’t even give me a chance! I got myself a job. Patty says I can stay here as long as I like. And I’m finished with men. I think men were my problem, you know. I relied too much on them—for money, to tell me I looked nice, to tell me what to do. That’s what Patty says, anyways, and I think she’s right.”

  “Finished with men?” Lindsay said incredulously. “What about your little pen pal?” Lindsay watched as Sarabelle’s spine stiffened. “I bet you didn’t think I knew about that. Let me guess, the new and improved Saint Sarabelle is just trying to help that poor sinner in his hour of need?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, really? So you haven’t been keeping in touch with Leander Swoopes all these months? And I guess you didn’t order him to try to destroy our lives last summer, either?”

  Sarabelle sprang from her chair and grabbed Lindsay’s arms. “It’s because of me that you’re still alive!” Her eyes were glassy, her hands ice cold.

  Lindsay shook her off and backed away as if Sarabelle were covered in barbed wire. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know how far he’d go. I mean, not really. I didn’t know all this would happen!”

  “All what?”

  “I’m freezing,” Sarabelle said. Her lips were so pale they looked almost white.

  “Sit. Here.” Lindsay guided her mother into the chair next to the pellet stove and threw the fleece blanket at her. She pulled up one of the wooden chairs for herself to sit in. “Now tell me what you’re talking about.”

  Sarabelle wrapped the blanket tight around her shoulders. “A few years back,” she began, “I’d been livin’ with this man. He had a big house up in the mountains near Lexington. He treated me real good. Gave me $250 a month. That was just for me, to spend on anything I wanted, not even food or nothin’ like that, but just clothes or perfume or anything.” A hint of color returned to her cheeks as she recounted the memory. “But after a while he found somebody else, younger, prettier than me. And that was that. He gave me enough for a few months’ rent and sent me packin’. Severance pay, he called it.” She looked to Lindsay for some affirmation or sign of sympathy. Lindsay just stared at her, as stony-faced as an Easter Is
land monolith.

  “So I needed to figure somethin’ out quick,” she continued. “And that’s when I met Leander. It wasn’t romantic. I didn’t even like him that way. What with them big bug eyes and him being so scrawny. He said he had some work for me—real easy and it paid pretty decent. I just had to deliver packages for him now and again, run little errands here and there.”

  “Right. And I bet you never wondered what you were carrying. You probably just assumed he was in the organic broccoli home delivery business.”

  “It’s not like I had a lot of choices. I got a criminal record longer than a bullfrog’s tongue and I didn’t even finish the 10th grade. You know they wouldn’t even hire me as a waitress at Pizza Hut?” She smirked ruefully. “Said I didn’t have enough experience.”

  “Dad probably would’ve taken you back, or at least helped you out. He gave you so many chances,” Lindsay said.

  “Move back to Mount Moriah?” Sarabelle laughed bitterly. “So all those blue-haired old biddies at his church could whisper about me behind their hands? And your daddy following me around watchin’ my every move, prayin’ out loud for the salvation of my soul?”

  “If you remember, the divorce was your idea originally.”

  “Leander was the one who wanted me to say that. And anyways, me divorcing Jonah is different from him divorcing me.”

  “But last summer you said…” Lindsay started to remind her mother that she had threatened to move back to town and raise Cain in order to humiliate her (now ex-) husband.

  Sarabelle interrupted her. “Oh, I was blowin’ hot air. I couldn’t face that place again. Been there. Done that. Got the t-shirt.”

  “What does any of this have to do with keeping me alive? From what I can see, you’ve been doing your level best to put me in harm’s way.”

  “It didn’t start out that way, I swear. But you see, Leander just started wanting more and more from me. After a while, he said if I moved in with him, he’d promote me. I’d get more responsibility and get paid real money. The thought of it gave me shivers, but I thought that if I could just stand it for a couple of months, maybe a year, then I’d be able to save up a little nest egg. Maybe go somewhere nice, like Florida, and get my own place. But he…well, he’s not a nice man. After a month, I tried to leave. I didn’t care that I didn’t have anywhere to go—I just ran. But he dragged me back. After that, he wouldn’t let me handle any money anymore. He had to approve everything I spent, and he paid for it direct. Toothpaste, tampons, cigarettes. I didn’t have a thin dime to my name, but he sure made me pay. Every day, I paid.”

  Sarabelle’s voice had altered. She continued speaking, trance-like, her eyes fixed on some invisible point. “All that stuff last summer was… I didn’t know he’d take it that far. I thought that if I helped him get what he wanted, he would finally turn me loose and let me alone. But even after he went to prison, he got a friend of his to keep an eye on me.”

  “But you wrote to him.”

  “That was only a few letters, just to try to throw him off my track. I hightailed it out here tryin’ to get away. It worked for a little while, but when he got out, he found me again. Told me he didn’t want me anymore, that way. Just wanted the money and then he’d leave me alone for good.”

  “What money? I thought he never let you touch any money.”

  Sarabelle compressed her lips into a tense line. “Things hadn’t been going too good with his business last summer, when all that stuff happened with you and your daddy. The police were putting some pressure on, and his supplies had dried up. That’s how come he had the idea to get money from y’all. We’d had to clear out pretty quick, and he’d brought the last of his money to Mount Moriah in a big plastic bag. Almost nine thousand dollars. When he got arrested, I took it and ran.”

  “Are you crazy?! Did you think he was just going to forget about nine thousand dollars?”

  “I figured he owed me! He never paid me for all that time I worked for him. And besides, I thought he’d go away for a long time. Ten years, at least.” Sarabelle’s face crumpled. “I know it was stupid. I wish I could think through things the way you do. But I can’t. I’m just…I’m just…” Her shoulders sagged. “I’m not even pretty anymore.”

  Lindsay sighed. For almost 50 years, her mother had put all of her energy into becoming an object of desire and adoration for men. Now, with her looks fading, like the foolish man in the Book of Matthew, she was realizing that she’d built her whole world on a foundation of sand.

  “Okay,” Lindsay said. “So he said if you paid him back, he’d leave you alone? But couldn’t you see that he was lying? From what you’ve said, he hadn’t exactly proven himself to be a generous and forgiving person.”

  “Even I’m not that dumb. I didn’t believe him, but he reminded me that he knew where you lived.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “He said that you looked real pretty while you were sleepin’.”

  Lindsay wrapped her arms around herself to try to keep from shaking. Suddenly, she, too, was icy cold. She opened her mouth to speak, but found the words would not come.

  “I knew it was my fault that you got dragged into this mess, but it’s okay now. We don’t have to worry. Patty promised he’s not gonna come back. We’re all safe.” Sarabelle smiled like a child presenting a straight-A report card.

  Lindsay wasn’t reassured in the least. “Where’d you get the money to pay him back? Don’t tell me you socked away what you took from him last summer under a mattress somewhere?” Lindsay couldn’t imagine her mother would’ve managed to curb her natural inclination to spend money the moment it came into her hands.

  “No, that money’s long gone.”

  “So I guess you saved up nine thousand dollars working part-time at the Food Lion bakery for three weeks,” Lindsay said flatly.

  Sarabelle waved her hands as if shooing away a fly. “Never you mind the details. All’s you need to know is that it’s over now.” Lindsay heard a quiet buzzing from her bedroom. “Oh, your phone’s been going off while you been gone, sugar. You better see who it is,” Sarabelle said.

  Lindsay hurried to the bedroom, catching the phone on the last ring before voicemail picked up. “Hello?”

  “Lindsay?” Warren’s exhalation of relief travelled down the line. “Where are you?”

  “Aunt Harding’s house. The weather is awful out here. Can you bring some extra sweaters for me when you come? And I forgot my toothbrush. I don’t know what I was thinking when I packed. I remembered the Jell-O, but it melted into boobs.”

  “Whose boobs?” Warren asked, not catching her meaning.

  The phone gave three beeps in quick succession. “Never mind. Looks like my phone battery’s about to go. What’s up?” She shut the door and sat down on the bed.

  Warren inhaled sharply. “I’m heading out there first thing tomorrow. We need to talk to your aunt. It’s about Lydia Sikes’s murder.”

  “Lydia Sikes? What does my aunt have to do with Lydia Sikes?”

  “We’re not entirely sure yet. But you know how there was something strange with the gun?”

  “Yeah.” The phone beeped again. “Do you want to give me a 30-second update before my phone dies? Or should I find the charger and call you back in a little while? Actually, I’m not totally sure I packed the charger, but I could call you on Aunt Harding’s phone.”

  She heard urgent voices in the background. “No, it’s okay. I’ve gotta go anyway. I’ll tell you all about it first thing tomorrow,” Warren said. “I just needed to check that everything is okay with you. Take care of yourself, okay?”

  The phone went dead and Lindsay collapsed onto the pillow, exhausted. So many thoughts and emotions competed for her attention that she couldn’t even begin to process them. What did Aunt Harding have to do with Lydia Sikes’s death? Had Sarabelle drawn the old woman into some dangerous plot? Was that somehow related to her aunt’s promise that Leander Swoopes wouldn’t return? And how much of what her mother had told her was
even true? Overloaded, the circuits of Lindsay’s mind shorted out, and before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

  Chapter 10

  “Stop it,” Lindsay mumbled. In her dream, she was a child again. She was dirty after a day at the beach, covered in sweat and sand. Sarabelle was rubbing a rough washcloth across her hands and face, desperately trying to get them clean. Lindsay tried to swat her mother away, but she returned again and again, insistent. Finally, a gentle whimpering awakened her. Lindsay opened her eyes and found Kipper standing at her bedside. His apricot-colored eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his ears erect, listening.

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Kipper whined again. “What?” Lindsay asked. He paced back and forth in front of her, nails clicking on the wood floor. “Whatever you want, I’m sure Sarabelle or Aunt Harding will get it for you.” Kipper nudged her arm and whimpered. “Fine, but this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

  Lindsay rose from the bed, put on her glasses, and went down the hall into the main living area. She still wore the clothes she’d fallen asleep in the previous night. The woodstove had gone cold and no one had bothered to clean up the dinner dishes. The scene was perfectly preserved, like Pompeii. The only reminder that it was Christmas morning came from the blinking plastic tree that stood twirling on top of the gun safe.

  Thin, gray daylight seeped in through the curtains and the muffled drumming of rain echoed from the rooftop. Aunt Harding always rose shockingly early, usually well before dawn. Lindsay expected that she was already well into her day’s activities. Sarabelle, by contrast, was known to stay in bed for days at a time, especially when she’d been drinking.

  The Doberman whined and scratched at the front door. “All right. I’ll take you for a walk, because it’s Christmas.” As she opened the door, Kipper bolted out ahead of her into the fast-falling rain. “Kipper!” He ran quickly from sight. “Dammit,” she cursed under her breath, pulling on the rain boots and waterproof coat that hung by the door. She grabbed Kipper’s leash and jogged after him, following his tracks through the wet sand. She headed out towards the Atlantic side of the island, threading her way through the lines of dunes and scrubby trees that shielded Aunt Harding’s house from the worst of the ocean climate. Once she’d cleared the final sand ridge, the full force of the wind kicked sand and rain into her face.