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

by Mindy Quigley

  Simmy smiled. “It’s so nice that we’re all together like this. We’ll have such a nice time at the beach. Did you bring the sandwiches?” she asked, looking suddenly worried about the possible absence of refreshments.

  “Okay, I know you have a concussion,” Lindsay mumbled, returning to the daunting task of trying to lift Sarabelle into the truck alongside Simmy. Getting her mother into the truck required her full concentration; it was like picking up vanilla pudding with a pair of tongs. Finally, Lindsay managed to get every stray body part within the cab of the truck.

  “Lindsay, honey?” Simmy called in a sleepy voice. She was looking over the top of Lindsay’s bowed head. “Can you ask that man if he brought the sandwiches?”

  Lindsay spun around. There, lurching across the sand towards them, was Leander Swoopes. He had crept up soundlessly while her attention was focused on Sarabelle, and now he was mere steps away.

  Lindsay screamed and dove into the truck on top of her mother and Simmy. She slammed the passenger’s side door shut and pushed the lock button just as Swoopes reached for the outside door handle. The truck had a single bench seat, which Lindsay clambered across to reach the driver’s side. While she fumbled for the key, Swoopes rounded the truck to the driver’s side and tried that door. When he found it, too, was locked, he banged on the glass with the handle of the butcher’s knife. “You better let me in, girlie,” he shouted through the glass.

  Trying not to make eye contact with Swoopes, Lindsay found the key and put it into the ignition. To her immense relief, the engine turned over on the first try. She could barely reach the pedals—the seat was adjusted to Swoopes’s height, but there was no time to change it. She slammed the truck into reverse, propelling it quickly away from him. Terrified that the wheels would get stuck in the soft sand next to the house, Lindsay spun the wheel hard to the right, trying to maneuver onto the beaten track. The rapid movement, though, sent Simmy and Sarabelle careening into her like riders on a Tilt-a-Whirl. As their inert bodies pressed Lindsay against the driver’s side door, her foot slipped off the accelerator. She shoved them across the seat and slid back into position at the wheel.

  As her eyes snapped back to the windshield, she saw a large object hurtling towards her. She barely had time to duck before it made impact, shattering the windshield and showering her hair with fragmented safety glass. When she looked up again, a large rock rested on top of one of the wiper blades, which was now bent back into the empty opening that used to hold the windshield. During the seconds it took for Lindsay to regain her position, Swoopes covered the distance between them. He sprang on the hood of the truck and reached through the void into the cab. His bloody fingers clawed the air just in front of Lindsay’s chest as she pressed herself backwards into the seat. In order to shift into Drive, she had to edge forward ever so slightly. As she did so, Swoopes grabbed hold of the front of her jacket. For a brief moment, Lindsay felt herself being pulled forward. She gripped the steering wheel, trying to keep from being lifted from the truck. When Swoopes’s fist closed around her jacket, though, she felt the material rip. He cried out in pain and relaxed his grip. Lindsay looked down to see that her angel pin, which Swoopes had affixed to the front of her jacket only minutes before, was now sticking out from the middle of his palm like a stigmata. That split-second distraction was all Lindsay needed to slide forward, slam on the accelerator, and twist the wheel, throwing Swoopes off the hood.

  She steered onto the sand road. When she chanced a glance in the rear view mirror, Swoopes was nowhere to be seen. She kept her foot glued to the accelerator, flying past the desolate beaches and shuttered vacation homes along the way, not slowing down until she reached the twinkling lights of Corolla.

  Chapter 26

  Lindsay pulled into the CITGO station north of the lighthouse. She climbed painfully down from the truck and took a few panic-stricken moments to check all around the vehicle and inside the truck bed. Although the rational part of her knew it would be physically impossible, she’d half expected to find Swoopes clinging to the side of the truck like some kind of malevolent, otherworldly barnacle. Her mind eased somewhat, she staggered inside the gas station. A lank-haired teenage boy slouched behind the counter.

  “I need to use your phone,” she said.

  He eyed her suspiciously. “My manager said I’m not supposed to let customers use the phone,” he said.

  She placed both of her hands down on the counter. She could see her own reflection clearly in the night-blackened plate glass window behind the boy—torn clothes, blood-spattered body, wild eyes. When she spoke, her usual, almost undetectably mild North Carolina lilt came out as a full-on redneck twang. “Look at me real close, boy. Do I look like I give a flyin’ monkey’s behind what your manager says? Now hand me the damn phone. And if you have one of those buttons that summons the police, I suggest you go on ahead and press it.”

  Usually Lindsay would’ve felt guilty for terrifying the poor kid. But tonight, she was more than happy to watch as he triggered the store’s alarm with shaking hands. He slid the receiver of a cordless phone across the counter and retreated into the back of the store, locking himself in a room marked “Employees Only.”

  Lindsay took the phone, dialed 9-1-1, and gave a rapid outline of the evening’s events to the amazed dispatcher.

  “Remain at the gas station,” the dispatcher instructed. “Don’t try to drive anywhere. The paramedics and police are on their way to your location.”

  “Don’t you worry. I’m not driving anywhere. Now that the adrenaline has worn off a bit, I’m not sure I’m even going to be able to walk back out to the car.” The full weight of her narrow escape had come crashing down on her. What if I hadn’t had the screwdriver in my pocket? What if I hadn’t been able to figure out how to fire the gun? What if Warren hadn’t told me the combination to the safe? What if Swoopes hadn’t grabbed hold of the angel pin? She breathed deeply and calmed herself. She had counseled so many people in the ER who’d had narrow escapes—along with many others who hadn’t been so lucky. What if the smoke detector had gone off a moment later? None of us would have gotten out in time. What if I’d just found her lying there a moment sooner? Maybe I could’ve done CPR and saved her. In truth, our lives were forever balanced on the narrow knife’s edge of What if…?, poised to slide down one side or the other of that blade.

  “The ambulance should be with you in…seven minutes,” the dispatcher was saying. “Please stay on the line with me until it arrives.”

  “Sorry, I can’t,” Lindsay replied. “I have another call to make.” Even though her immediate danger had passed, she still felt a sense of urgency, a sense that she might run out of time. She hung up and dialed Warren’s number.

  “I thought you were dead!” Warren exclaimed as soon as he heard her voice. “Where are you? This has been the worst twenty minutes of my life.”

  “Twenty minutes?” Lindsay asked incredulously. She knew from looking at the wall clock in the gas station that more than two hours had passed since she left the Sandpiper to walk Kipper.

  “Yeah, I just got a call from Claire to say that Paul, uh, Kipper had been shot. A guy found him when he came back to the Sandpiper, and he called the police. I guess the guy knew you because he mentioned that you’d been walking him earlier.”

  “Kipper came back to the Sandpiper? He’s alive?!”

  “Barely. Drew and Anna patched him up as best as they could and drove him to the vet hospital in Kitty Hawk. Every police officer from here to Nags Head is out looking for you. Where are you anyhow? What happened?”

  Lindsay gave Warren a condensed, highly edited version of events. “Look, I’d better go check on Simmy and Sarabelle. The ambulance should be here soon.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Warren replied.

  “Aren’t you going to go after Swoopes?” She could hardly believe her ears. Warren was again foregoing a chance to be at the center of the action in order to come to her.


  “Other people will do that. I just need to see for myself that you’re okay.”

  When Lindsay returned to the truck, she was surprised to find both Simmy and Sarabelle were more or less conscious. Sarabelle’s head was nestled in Simmy’s lap, and Simmy was gently stroking her hair.

  “Lindsay? Is that you? Where are we?” Sarabelle asked. Her eyes were so swollen that she could open them only a fraction, and her words were almost unintelligibly slurred as they emerged from her battered mouth.

  “We’re safe. We got away from him. The police and paramedics will be here in a few minutes,” Lindsay soothed. A cold wind came blasting in through the broken windshield. Both Sarabelle and Simmy were shivering in their light clothing. Although she, too, was freezing, Lindsay removed her jacket and spread it over them as best as she could.

  “Where’s that ugly man from the beach?” Simmy asked, snapping her fingers as if she was trying to recall the name of an old movie. She looked extremely wan and shaky.

  “Swoopes? I don’t know,” Lindsay answered. “But he can’t get far.”

  “Baby?” Sarabelle said, trying to sit up.

  “You just relax, honey,” Simmy said. “You fell down and bumped your head.”

  “What is it, mom?”

  “It was me who helped Leander get rid of the gun. I thought he was going to hurt you if I didn’t.”

  “I know,” Lindsay replied. She took her mother’s ice cold hand and squeezed it gently.

  A spark of recognition suddenly flickered into Simmy’s eyes as she addressed Sarabelle. “Don’t you dare say anything to the police about helping that man,” she said. “You need to be out here, taking care of your daughter, not locked up in prison somewhere.”

  “But the police already know it was her who helped him get rid of the gun, remember? She’s already been arrested,” Lindsay said.

  “Oh yeah. Maybe I can take the rap, though? Or we can pin it on Wynn Butterworth? I never liked him. His pants were always too tight with that big, fat rear end of his. That’s why Patty calls him Sausage Butt.” She leaned back wearily and closed her eyes. “Anyway, I’ll think of something when I’m not so sleepy.”

  “Simmy, stay awake, okay?” Lindsay said.

  Simmy frowned. Her voice weakened, and again, her eyes fluttered closed. “I had the nicest dream we all went to the beach together. We were so happy.”

  “Simmy, stay awake. Listen to me. Being a good grandmother shouldn’t have to include taking the rap for a felony. Can we just agree that everyone will tell the truth for once and deal with the consequences?”

  “Whatever you say, honey. You make sure you tell your mama what I told you as soon as she feels better, okay? I’m just going to rest for a little minute.” Simmy said, her voice whispering out like air escaping from a long-sealed tomb

  “Simmy, can you hear me?” Lindsay pinched Simmy’s arm, but the older woman just slumped onto her side.

  “What’s going on, baby?” Sarabelle murmured.

  “Don’t worry, mama. We’ll get you to the hospital soon.” By now, Lindsay could see two ambulances, a fire truck, and several police SUVs—a veritable parade of emergency vehicles—making its way up Highway 12 toward them. She sprang from the truck to flag them down. The ambulances and fire truck turned into the parking lot, but the police vehicles zoomed onwards, presumably to try to intercept Leander Swoopes.

  ###

  Warren arrived just as the two ambulances carrying Simmy and Sarabelle were pulling away. To Lindsay’s immense relief, Simmy had come to again shortly after the emergency vehicles had arrived. For a brief while, the paramedics discussed calling in an airlift to take the two women to the larger hospital on the mainland in Elizabeth City, but since they seemed stable, it was decided that they could endure the 45-minute ambulance ride to the closest hospital in Nags Head. Simmy was still dazed by her concussion, but she seemed to be growing more lucid. And although Sarabelle had a fractured jaw and a dislocated hip, she, too, seemed to be safe from any life-threatening complications.

  Lindsay sat perched on the rear fender of Deputy Burke’s SUV, trying to recount the events of the past several hours. Warren sprang from his car without even turning off the engine. He rushed over to Lindsay and gathered her into a tight hug.

  “Ouch!” she yelled.

  The paramedic who had been examining Lindsay glared at him. “Her ribs are broken.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Warren said. He bent down to try to kiss her, but struggled to find any place on her face that wasn’t covered in blood or bruises.

  Lindsay extended her hand to him. He smiled and pressed her fingertips to his lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever been gladder to see a person.”

  Deputy Burke’s kind eyes twinkled at them. “Well, I think I have what I need for right now. I know you want to get to the hospital to see how your mama and your great grandma are doing, and by the looks of you, you’re gonna need an extended visit there yourself. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “What’s going to happen to them?” Lindsay asked.

  Claire looked at her solemnly.

  “Just tell me. I can handle it.”

  Claire sighed. “It’s likely that Simmy will be investigated in connection with Patricia Harding’s death. If the autopsy and forensics verify her story about how the gun discharged, then it’s very possible that she won’t be charged. But even still, we have a lot to wade through with your mother. I hope your family knows a good lawyer.”

  “What does Simmy have to do with your aunt’s death?” Warren asked.

  “Aunt Harding hid the truth about Nancy Mix from everyone and then when Simmy wanted to tell us, Aunt Harding tried to shoot her, but then she shot herself by accident.”

  Warren raised his eyebrows and intertwined his fingers with hers. “You know what? I’m not even gonna ask. From now on, I’ll just assume that anything I want to know about your family, I can read about in official police reports.”

  “I wish I could be offended by that,” Lindsay said, shaking her head. “Other families have photo albums. Mine has mug shots.” She sighed. “Any word on Swoopes?”

  “I was listening to the scanner on the way here, but there’s still no news,” Warren said.

  “Yeah,” Deputy Burke concurred. “We’ve got boats in the water and helicopters in the air. Road blocks set up all down 12 and at the bridges. The Virginia State Police are sending patrols down to watch their side of the border. Local police, state police, FBI. Everybody’s getting out of bed for this one. We’ll get him.”

  The paramedic returned from the fire truck, bearing another ice pack for Lindsay’s bruises. As he placed it against her temple, he said, “Another ambulance should be here in about 15 minutes to take you to the hospital, okay?”

  “Why don’t I just drive her?” Warren suggested

  “Fine by me,” the paramedic said. “Just be careful over the bumps.” Deputy Burke nodded her agreement.

  ###

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Warren said, for what seemed to Lindsay like the thousandth time. She had just finished talking to her father, who, thankfully, had yet to hear anything about her being in danger. Now Warren and Lindsay were halfway into their drive from Corolla to the hospital in Nags Head. Although the paramedic had given Lindsay a painkiller, the drive seemed interminably long. The passenger’s seat was leaned back as far as possible, and Warren’s coat lay on top of her like a blanket. Still, Lindsay felt each bump in the road as if it were an electrode zapping the pain sensors in her brain. Corolla might be a nice place to body surf or eat crab legs, but it was certainly a less-than-ideal place to sustain an injury or have a heart attack.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said, responding to Warren’s most recent expression of concern. “It means a lot to me that you’re here.”

  “When I thought that something had happened to you, it nearly killed me. I’d been so close to apologizing to you. I even followed you to the Sound right after our fight, b
ut then I chickened out. If I’d just gone up to you and apologized, then we’d have been back together and then maybe I’d’ve been there to protect you.”

  “Wait, you followed me? Was that on the day after Christmas?” Lindsay asked.

  “Yeah, after our fight.”

  So Warren was the mysterious figure that Owen and Mike saw on the beach. The mysterious, cigarette-smoking figure. “Since when do you smoke?!” Lindsay said. She twisted to face him, but instantly regretted the sudden movement as a thwack of pain rocketed up to her brain. She wasn’t sure how many more shocks to the system she could endure tonight. Although she herself had smoked as a teenager, and central North Carolina was the tobacco capital of the world, the revelation of Warren’s habit seemed utterly incomprehensible to her. He was one of the most careful, meticulous, and controlled people she’d ever known—but all the while he’d been sucking down cancer sticks like a Frenchman in a café.

  Warren’s mouth fell open. “How did you know?”

  “Woman’s intuition,” she replied wryly. “How long have you smoked?”

  “Since I was 18,” he said sheepishly. “It’s only when I’m nervous, or when I need to think. I’ve always kept it secret. My mother would’ve snatched me bald-headed if she ever found out.”

  “Why’d you hide it from me?”

  He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. Why do we hide anything from each other?”

  Although she knew it was a rhetorical question, Lindsay reeled off a list of answers anyway. After all, it was a topic that had occupied her mind a great deal lately. “Shame. Fear. Pride. With all the reasons to hide things, I suppose it’s a wonder that we tell each other anything at all.”