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

by Mindy Quigley

  “Oh, Simmy, I’m so sorry that had to happen to you.” Lindsay reached out and squeezed Simmy’s hand.

  Simmy returned the gentle pressure and then took a meditative sip of her tea. “It was a long time ago, honey. It seems like another lifetime.”

  “What happened after you came back to Corolla?” Warren asked gently.

  “I moved on. Patty and I didn’t speak for more than a year, but eventually we patched things up between us. I was never much good at holding a grudge, and I knew she was sorry. She was never the same after that. She never went to parties. She hardly smiled. I could see that she was punishing herself for what happened, so I decided I didn’t have to punish her by cutting her off. Besides, she was the only one who knew exactly what happened with Peter and the baby outside of my family, so she was the only one who understood how I felt.”

  “Did you ever find out what happened to the baby?” Lindsay asked.

  “As the years passed, the baby was always in my mind, like a wound that wouldn’t heal over. I thought maybe I’d get married and have my own children—that that would help me forget. But my time came and went, and I never did. So sometime in the early 60’s I decided that I had to find her. I knew her name, so it only took me a couple of weeks and a phonebook to track her down. The family’s last name was Lutz, and they’d called the baby Rita.”

  “And Rita Lutz is Nancy Mix,” Lindsay said. Although she’d suspected it all along, it wasn’t until that point that her suspicions were confirmed.

  Simmy’s mouth dropped open. “You knew?”

  “There was an old news clipping about Rita Lutz’s death in Aunt Harding’s safe. I knew it had to have some meaning.”

  “Well, it does. A lot of meaning,” Simmy said bitterly.

  “Who’s Nancy Mix?” Claire asked.

  “My grandmother,” Lindsay replied quietly.

  If Lindsay had believed that the revelations about Aunt Harding’s betrayal and Simmy’s pregnancy would be the most shocking elements of the story, she’d been sorely mistaken. This elderly woman, sitting within touching distance of her, was Nancy Mix’s mother, Sarabelle’s grandmother, and her own great grandmother.

  Up to that point, Simmy’s words had come rushing out like water from a breached dam. But now she paused to let the new information sink in. When she began again, her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “I know you must be so mad at me for keeping all this from you, honey.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m… I don’t even know what to feel. What happened? How did Rita Lutz become Nancy Mix?”

  Simmy took a deep breath and continued, “When I started looking into it, Rita was easy to track down. I knew the name and the town that she grew up in. I found out that Rita’s adoptive mother had died when she was little, leaving behind Rita, along with four of her own children. Old Man Lutz was a drunk, so the children had been left to fend for themselves, more or less. Rita ended up working as a maid in the tourist hotels on the beach. I thought she’d be glad when I got in touch. By that time, I’d inherited some property and I thought maybe I could set things right by helping her out. I called her up one day and told her who I was. She cut me off before I even finished and put the phone down on me.

  “I tried to call a few more times, but she hung up on me every time. Finally, one day, I drove to Virginia Beach, where she was working. I know I should probably have stayed away, but I thought that if we could just see one another, she’d soften towards me. I caught up to her coming out of work. She was so beautiful, even in that tacky polyester maid’s uniform. She looked just like I’d pictured her. Blonde wavy hair just like Peter’s and the biggest blue eyes you ever saw. She was only about 20 years old, but there was already something so hard about her. All I could see behind her eyes was fire and all that came out of her mouth was ice. She said the most hateful things to me. I don’t know what those Lutzes had told her about her mother, but she called me a heartless slut and a selfish tramp and you don’t even want to know what else. She told me that she never wanted to see me again.

  “I thought that the day Peter was taken away was the worst day of my life, but that heartbreak couldn’t hold a candle to what I felt that day. I’ve lived for a long time since, and I still can’t think of it without crying.”

  “But how does this relate to Swoopes or to Sarabelle? Do you know where they are?” Claire said. She’d been growing increasingly impatient during the interview. To her, information was only relevant if it helped her crack the case.

  “I’m getting to that,” Simmy replied crossly.

  Warren shot a subtle warning glance at Claire. “Please continue, Ms. Bennett,” he said.

  “After that,” Simmy said. “I tried once to send her some money, care of the motel, but it just came back ‘Addressee Unknown’. Well, that was it. I tried to keep up with her from a distance, you know? Ask around and see how she was doing. But nobody seemed to know much about her. It’s only now that I realize that she must’ve been pregnant with Lindsay’s mother when I saw her, but back then I didn’t know anything about her having a child. All I could find out was that she moved away and got married. I just had to pray that she was okay.

  “That was the last thing I knew about it until about a month ago. I didn’t know that Rita had changed her name. She used her new husband’s last name, Mix, and she changed her first name to Nancy. To think that she probably did all that just so I couldn’t find her. What must she have thought of me? I can’t even begin to tell you how hard that is for me to think about. Anyway, Nancy Mix was the mother Sarabelle grew up with, and Mix was the last name she took for herself even though that man wasn’t her daddy, and he was gone before she even got to know him. Nancy and Sarabelle kept on bouncing from man to man, place to place, job to job. And you already know how Nancy’s story ends—in a Buick wrapped around a light pole. I don’t remember seeing that story in the newspaper, but even if I had, I’m not sure I would’ve realized it was her. So that would’ve been that.

  “But then I saw Sarabelle at the Food Lion a few weeks ago. I told you how Patty turned me away when I tried to confront her about it. Well, I guess I never learned my lesson to stay away when somebody says to.”

  Warren cast a meaningful look at Lindsay, which she interpreted to imply that the trait must be genetic.

  Simmy continued, “I still thought that Patty might need my help, and I wanted to find out what was going on. I started ordering a cake every couple of days from the Food Lion so I’d have a reason to talk to Sarabelle and try to get more information about what was going on at Patty’s. Lord knows what your mama thought I did with all that cake! Anyways, Sarabelle and I just talked about this and that, and we got along like a house on fire. There was something so familiar about her, like putting on a favorite pair of shoes.

  “Still, though, she couldn’t tell me anything about why Patty was acting how she was. Sarabelle seemed to like Patty, and Patty seemed to be treating her extra nice. I’d never known Patty to have a friend other than me, but that’s what it sounded like—that they were friends. Still if everything was so great, I couldn’t figure why Patty wanted me to stay away. And I didn’t like some of the things your mama let slip. Patty hadn’t wanted her to get a job. Patty liked her to stay in the house. It sounds odd to say, but it seemed to me almost like Patty was trying to keep her prisoner.

  “Then last week, on Christmas Eve morning, Sarabelle and I were talking about how it used to be on the Outer Banks, back before all the development started, and she mentioned that her mother had worked as a maid in some of the old motels that’ve been torn down now. I’d never known anything about her family—just that she never had anything to do with her father and her mother was long dead. But when she said that about her mama being a motel maid, it was like the scales fell from my eyes. I don’t know how I’d never noticed that Sarabelle had the same blonde curls and pretty blue eyes as her mother and her grandfather. The truth was standing there before me, covered in icing and wearing a F
ood Lion uniform.

  “I almost jumped over the counter and started hugging her right then and there, but I still wasn’t 100% sure. I’d never heard of Rita having a daughter, and it all just seemed like too big a coincidence. I could tell by looking at Sarabelle that she had no idea who I was to her or why I was asking about her mother. She must’ve thought I remembered her from the old days or something.”

  “So you never told Sarabelle that you were her grandmother?” Warren asked.

  “No. I wanted to, but I hadn’t had the right chance yet.”

  “Did Patricia Harding know the true relationship?”

  Simmy nodded. “But she didn’t tell Sarabelle either. We were the only ones who knew. So now I suppose you understand why I was so anxious to protect her. She was family.”

  A stunned silence fell over the room. “Thank you for that engrossing narrative, Ms. Bennett,” Claire’s said, with thinly-veiled irritation. “I’m still not sure I understand how this is relevant to finding your granddaughter and Leander Swoopes.”

  “It seemed important,” Simmy said weakly.

  Claire turned to Warren. “Detective Satterwhite, can you follow me for a moment?” The two of them stepped out the back door, shutting it behind them.

  “Are you okay?” Simmy asked Lindsay when the police officers had left the room. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am you had to find out like this. Ever since I found out myself, I had a picture in my head that you and me and Patty and Sarabelle would all take a nice walk together on the beach and we’d tell you. Not like this. With your mama missing and having it all come gushing out in front of the police.”

  “I don’t understand why Aunt Harding kept this from us. We had a right to know.”

  Before Simmy could say another word, Warren and Claire reentered the house.

  “Deputy Burke and I have to get on the road. We’re bringing the FBI in to help coordinate the manhunt, and we have to be back for a briefing.” Warren took Lindsay’s shaking hands in his steady ones. “Look, Lins. You’ve done what you can now. I'll drive you back to the hotel. It’s on my way. You should get some rest.”

  “I’m not exactly staying there anymore,” Lindsay said, her eyes on the table.

  “Where are you staying, exactly?” he asked.

  “My car,” she said feebly. “But I guess I can go back to the Sandpiper now that Anna no longer thinks I’m trying to steal her fiancé.”

  Warren began to say something, but he shut his mouth and started afresh. “I’ll call them and make sure they have a room for you.”

  Claire looked at Kipper, who sat alert, peering over the table as they spoke. “I suppose you should take the dog out of here. Our guys will be here shortly to search this place for evidence.”

  “Yeah, Paul doesn’t take kindly to strangers, but once you get to know him, he’s a big softie,” Warren said, scratching the dog under his chin.

  “Paul?” Simmy asked. “Who’s Paul?”

  “Long story,” Lindsay muttered.

  “Well, we better get to work,” Claire said. “There’re still a lot of unanswered questions.”

  By the time Warren and Lindsay walked out of Simmy’s house a few minutes later, the daylight had slipped away entirely, and night gripped the island like a cold hand.

  “I’ll drive you,” Warren said. “You look tired.” Warren did all the work of loading Lindsay’s luggage into his car, gathering up Kipper’s things, and getting the dog into the vehicle. He called the Sandpiper and ensured they had a room ready for Lindsay. All the while, Lindsay slumped uselessly in the passenger’s seat of his car, feeling like she wanted to shrink down into nothingness. She wanted to be invisible, the very memory of her existence to be erased from the earth.

  “I’m so sorry about all this,” she said as they headed down Highway 12. “Everything about my family is a train wreck.”

  “Your aunt’s death isn’t your fault, you know,” Warren said, glancing sideways at her.

  Lindsay just turned and stared out the window. The car was filled with the comforting, soapy smell of Warren’s skin, cut through with the mint of the gum he always chewed. The familiarity of it almost made her weep.

  “Connecting the dots between Sarabelle and Leander and the guns is a big deal,” he continued. “We missed that, and we have you to thank for figuring it out. It’ll help us a lot when it goes to trial.”

  She sniffed, trying to hold back the emotions that knotted her throat. “I’ve known for days that she gave him the gun and I didn’t say anything. I protected her. I lied for her. I knew better! I’m the one who always warned other people—my dad, Simmy, Aunt Harding—that she couldn’t be trusted. And I still fell for her act! I’m not sure what’s worse, that my own mother is a murderer, or that I helped her get away with it.”

  “We don’t know that she had anything to do with either of the murders.”

  “Other than supplying a killer with the murder weapons, you mean? And then helping him get rid of the evidence? Isn’t that enough?” She turned back towards him, abruptly changing the subject. “You know all the rules and advice in the Bible? They’re not for God’s benefit,” she said, her voice sinking to a low murmur.

  “What do you mean?” Warren asked.

  “Terminal patients in the hospital worry all the time that they need to ask God’s forgiveness for having sinned, for breaking the rules. I hold hands with them while they pray and beg for mercy. But, inside? I’m thinking that what they’re doing is like calling up the police and asking forgiveness for all the times you were speeding and didn’t get caught. The rules aren’t there to make us feel guilty; they’re there to protect us and other people from getting hurt. Those little twinges of conscience that we feel are there to keep us from messing up our lives. I felt this whole time that something wasn’t right, and I ignored that feeling. And now here I am.” She leaned her head back on the seat rest, too weary to support its weight.

  They drove down the section of Highway 12 that skirted along the coast. Here, the island narrowed to a thin ribbon of land barely 1,000 feet across. It was hard to see the water in the darkness, but she could feel it—almost like the pull of gravity. Out the windshield directly in front of them, a thin yellow cat’s eye of moon punctuated the cloud-filled sky. “Where do you think they are?” Lindsay asked numbly.

  “Well, we think they’re on the mainland already. Two different people said that they saw a man and woman matching their descriptions just outside of Elizabeth City. The timeframe matched based on when your mother escaped. But to be honest, I don’t understand it. We’ve had people watching both the bridges and the Ocracoke Ferry ever since that store clerk ID’ed Swoopes a few days back, and so far there’s been no sign. I can’t figure out how they’d’ve slipped through.”

  “Maybe they went ashore in a boat, then picked up a car somewhere” Lindsay guessed.

  “It’s possible,” he agreed. “We’ve put the word out at the marinas just in case. But the people who ID’ed them said they were driving a red pickup truck. I suppose he could’ve had an identical car waiting on the mainland…” he trailed off, allowing Lindsay to tot up the likelihood of such a scenario. “I wonder if they’re false ID’s. It happens a lot when people hear about something on the news. They think they’re being helpful.”

  “I don’t understand why they didn’t escape sooner. Why not just leave right after they killed Aunt Harding, before anybody even knew to look for them?”

  “That question troubles me, too,” he said slowly.

  “And why kill Lydia Sikes? From everything you’ve said, she seemed harmless enough. Just a sad soul trying to live out her days.”

  Warren paused, measuring his words carefully. “I thought you didn’t want to be my deputy.” The words were spoken without malice, but they stung nonetheless. It had been so easy to slip back into their usual mode of conversation, bouncing theories off one another, testing the mettle of their ideas. Lindsay realized that she had been reaching
out to him, seeking comfort in their familiar routines. He had reminded her that it was her choice to shut down that well-trodden path. The fact that he didn’t seem to want to hurt her with his words somehow hurt even more. She turned again to look out the passenger’s side window.

  Warren’s police scanner crackled with updates continually; he leaned over and turned the volume down to a whisper. He cleared his throat several times, as if he were working up the courage to say something. But ultimately, he just flipped the FM radio on and let the music fill the silence between them.

  When they arrived at the Sandpiper, Warren walked Lindsay and Kipper to the front door.

  “We’ll be okay from here,” Lindsay said, taking the top handle of her backpack from him. “I know you have to get back to work.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. So many times before, Warren had seemed to practically leap from her side the moment duty called. Now, however, he appeared to be playing for time, trying to think of a way to stay with her. “Do you want me to check in at the front desk for you? Can you manage your luggage okay?”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “What about Paul?” He paused and rephrased the question. “I mean, do you want me to walk, uh, Kipper for you?”

  Without preamble, Lindsay threw her arms around him, burying her tear-stained face in his shirt. She didn’t know why, but his calling the dog Kipper felt like the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her. Warren’s spine stiffened momentarily as he was caught off guard by her sudden action. But after only the briefest of pauses, he folded her into his warm embrace. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and stroked her hair. “You know you can always call me if you need anything,” he said quietly.

  Lindsay gave him one last squeeze and then took a step back. “Thanks,” she said, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Now go and catch the bad guys.”

  As Lindsay and Kipper made their way through the lobby, Lindsay saw Rob heading upstairs carrying a pizza box. “It’s kind of late for dinner, isn’t it?” she called.