A Death in Duck: Lindsay Harding Cozy Mystery Series (Reverend Lindsay Harding Mystery Book 2)
Page 26
“I’m glad you know about the smoking. I don’t want to hide things from you. Especially how I feel about you.” He paused. “Lindsay, I want to marry you.”
“Huh?” It wasn’t perhaps the most articulate reply to a marriage proposal, but it pretty much summed up her feelings.
“I said I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”
Lindsay was silent for a long moment. “Is there anyway that I can take a rain check on that?”
“What do you mean? You either want to marry me or you don’t.”
“Warren, it hurts when I talk and when I breathe. I’ve just taken a pretty strong painkiller that’s kind of making me hallucinate. About an hour ago, I was almost murdered and recently found out that my aunt’s friend is my great grandma. Forgive me if I’m expressing surprise at being proposed to by the boyfriend I broke up with a couple days ago.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I just thought it would be romantic.” Her hesitancy had obviously stung Warren. Expressing strong emotions wasn’t his strong suit. Little wonder he hadn’t managed to gauge the timing quite right. He lowered his head and fixed his gaze on the road.
“I’m grateful to you for asking me. You have no idea how much it means to me that after all of this you still want to be with me. But I don’t want to be anybody’s girlfriend or wife right now. The truth is that you were right about me. Sometimes I do make it hard for people who care about me. There’s a part of me that doesn’t trust anyone and wants to stay locked safely away. I wish I could say that this week taught me some kind of Hallmark lesson about how to be more open to love, but if anything I’m more confused than ever. I’ve seen love so twisted, desperate, and jealous that it tore apart everything in its path. Love that made people lie and steal…and kill. If that’s what people call love, then I think it’s probably better if I just settle for some other emotion for the time being. Like, I don’t know, ‘fond regard’ or ‘genial coexistence.’ Is that okay? Can you and I just genially coexist for awhile?”
Warren rested his hand on top of hers. “Just so long as you to know that I regard you more fondly than I’ve ever fondly regarded a coexister before.”
“I regard you pretty fondly, too.” Lindsay replied.
“Can I still kiss you sometimes?”
“Sure. But not now. I don’t need kisses now. I need morphine and a bath.”
Chapter 27
“Looks like you’re gonna be discharged in time to ring in the New Year tonight,” Lindsay’s nurse, a rail-thin Nigerian man named Julius, said as he made notes in her chart. “Just make sure you take it easy, yah? Sounds like you had enough partying for a whole year.”
“Yeah, last night was some party,” Lindsay replied. She was propped up in bed, eating a lunch that consisted of three helpings of strawberry yogurt. The side of her jaw was so swollen from the blow she’d received the previous night that she found it difficult to chew anything substantial. In addition to her bruised face, she had two broken ribs, various cuts, and a severely bruised hip. The doctor who had treated her in the ER the previous night said she had “whine and wine injuries”—nothing broken, and nothing that could be helped with medical intervention. In such cases, all that the patient could do was whine about the pain and drink wine until they no longer noticed it. They had admitted her overnight anyway to allow her time to recover from the shock of her ordeal. Warren had stayed with her until she fell asleep, clinging to her hand as if she might float away if he let it go.
“Oh, your boyfriend came by while you were sleeping to bring your glasses,” Julius said. “He said he didn’t want to wake you.”
He handed her the case and she opened it like it contained buried treasure. She had been wearing contact lenses the previous night, but she had taken them out as soon as she arrived at the hospital. Since then, the people had floated in and out of her fuzzy vision like smears in an abstract painting. Although the arms of the glasses hurt her as they passed over her injured face, she sighed out of sheer relief at being able to see clearly again.
“If you’re in the mood for company, there’re some friends of yours outside who want to see you,” Julius said.
Before she could reply, she heard voices moving down the hall. Rob, Geneva, Anna, Drew, Mike, and Owen poured into the room, each wielding some token of well-wishing—flowers, Mylar balloons, and even a stuffed Doberman toy. The group was so crammed into the tiny room that Owen, Mike, and Rob had to perch on the windowsill.
“Wow. It’s…everyone,” Lindsay said, taking the Doberman from Anna. “How did you all get in here? They told me I could only have two visitors at a time.”
Anna spoke first. “I know one of the ER docs here. Actually, I know all the ER docs everywhere. We’re like a Masonic Order. Secret handshakes, the whole nine yards.”
“And I’m all too familiar with this ER,” Drew said, gesturing to the sling on his arm. Lindsay had completely forgotten about the ill-fated parasailing excursion that Mike had forced him to endure.
“I’m glad you have connections,” Lindsay said. “I’m going to need you guys to help me convince the doctors here to ship Simmy back to Mount Moriah with me once she’s released from here.”
“Who’s Simmy?” Geneva asked. “Is that the dog that got shot?”
“No,” Rob corrected. “She’s Lindsay’s great grandmother who had the baby with the German soldier.”
“Yeah, the one who tried to kill Lindsay’s aunt,” Drew said.
“No, it was the other way around,” Anna corrected.
Lindsay had asked Warren to relay the whole story to her friends, to save her the difficult task of rehashing the whole ordeal a half dozen times. Apparently some wires had gotten crossed in that particular telephone game.
“Anyway,” Lindsay said, “her concussion was pretty bad and she’s not going to be able to live by herself again anytime soon. She’ll have a few months of rehab and then she’s going to move in with me while all the legal stuff with my aunt’s death grinds along.”
“I know she’s your long lost great grandma and all, but are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Rob asked. “It’s a lot to ask to take an injured elderly woman into your house.”
“I might try to convince some of my friends to help. Most of them owe me favors. And they’re all a bunch of goody two shoes, do-gooder types,” Lindsay said with a mischievous smile.
“You got yourself a regular band of angels here,” Geneva said, casting a skeptical glance over the room’s inhabitants.
“Well, if you need any medical advice about brain injuries, I’ve got an in with a halfway decent brain surgeon,” Anna said, looking tenderly at Drew. Lindsay noticed that Anna’s fingers were intertwined with his.
Drew returned Anna’s affectionate smile and then turned back to Lindsay. “From what the doctor said, it sounds like your mom is going to be okay.”
“Yeah. Actually, when they let me see her this morning, she was pretty excited. They’re going to have to do some reconstructive surgery on her face as part of the operation to fix her broken jaw. Apparently, the operation is kind of like a facelift, so she’s expecting to come out looking 10 years younger. And she likes having her leg in a cast because it means that the cute male nurse has to give her sponge baths. So health-wise, she’s good. But Warren thinks she’ll probably end up doing significant jail time for supplying the gun that killed Lydia Sikes and then helping get rid of it.”
“Let me know if you need me to make some calls. The same way that Anna knows all the ER docs, I know all the lawyers. It doesn’t really matter who she gets to defend her, though. Even a halfway decent public defender could probably cut a deal if she testifies against Leander Swoopes,” Mike said.
“Only if they find Leander Swoopes,” Lindsay said flatly. All of the warmth and liveliness was temporarily sucked out of the room by the invocation of his name. The police had done a house to house search in Corolla and the 4x4 beaches, but the murderer had so far m
anaged to elude them. They found a rowboat adrift in the Sound near Aunt Harding’s house, but no trace of Swoopes.
“I can’t understand how that man could’ve got away,” Geneva said, clicking her tongue. “When I came over the bridge this morning, they were going through every car with a fine tooth comb. Never seen so many police in all my days.”
“Well,” Mike said, “let’s hope that the bastard ended up at the bottom of the Currituck Sound.”
A heavy silence fell upon the room, and they all spent a moment looking at the floor.
Owen, ever the master of smoothing over awkwardness said, “We went to Kitty Hawk this morning to see Kipper. He’s doing really well.”
“Yeah,” Anna agreed. “The bullet missed all his vital organs. The vet expects him to be discharged in the next few days. We ran into Warren there, too. I guess he stopped in to check on Kipper.”
“Really?” Lindsay said. She couldn’t quite get used to this new Warren, who seemed to prioritize those that he cared about over catching bad guys.
“If he ends up living with you, I’ll walk him whenever you want,” Owen said. “He’s such a cool dog.”
“Thanks for the offer, but won’t you and your dad be going back to Thailand or Kathmandu or wherever your next adventure takes you?”
“We’re moving to Mount Moriah,” Owen announced, smiling broadly. He looked younger somehow—more like an excited kid than a wise old soul.
“We’ve decided to settle down for awhile,” Mike said softly. “Owen and I talked this morning and decided that small town North Carolina would be our next big adventure. If this week’s any indication of what life is like around here, I don’t think we’ll be bored.”
There was a general commotion as everyone began to recommend neighborhoods to live in and restaurants to avoid.
“Hey guys?” Lindsay said, interrupting the celebratory melee. “I’m so glad you all came to see me, but I’m awfully tired, and all this smiling hurts my face.”
“Oh, we just have one quick thing to do before we leave,” Anna said. She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and handed it to Geneva. “There’s our marriage license.”
“What’s going on?” Rob asked.
“We decided not to have a wedding,” Drew said.
“That’s right,” Anna nodded. “We’re going to have a marriage instead. Lindsay helped me see that I want the marriage. It was the wedding that I didn’t want.”
“But what about everybody back at the hotel? Your mom and all the other guests?” Lindsay asked.
“We’ll still have the reception party tonight. That’s what we came out here for after all. To be together and celebrate with our family and friends.” Anna turned to Geneva. “Will you officiate, please?”
“Well all right, then,” Geneva replied. “I know I didn’t drive all this way to work on my suntan. Let’s have us a marriage.”
“Well, we’ve got our minister. We’ve got some witnesses,” Anna said.
“Oh no,” Mike said, looking stricken. “I didn’t bring the rings. I know you told me to keep them on me at all times, but when the wedding got called off, I put them in the hotel safe.”
As he was talking, all eyes fell on Anna, awaiting the reemergence of the dreaded Bridezilla. “Who cares?” she shrugged. She grabbed the vase of flowers that they’d brought for Lindsay and removed the plastic “Get Well Soon” message from among the blossoms. She handed the flowers, vase and all, to Lindsay. “Are you ready to hold my bouquet?”
“Absolutely,” Lindsay replied, balancing the flowers carefully on the bed next to her. “I’ve got a maid of honor badge to earn.”
Thanks for reading!
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Want to find out how it all started? Check out A Murder in Mount Moriah, Book One in the Reverend Lindsay Harding Series.
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Acknowledgements
I’m blessed with an amazing lineup of readers and advisors, without whom this book would still be sitting on my laptop, sucking. Thanks to Tanya Boughtflower, Jaime Gagamov, Megan Hohenstein, Lori Hohenstein, and the Reverend Elizabeth Harding for listening to ideas, reading drafts, and sharing your wisdom. I must single out Bethany Keenan for special praise. “Thanks” for your “helpful” comments and suggestions. You’re the best (really). My fellow writers Jane Goette and Charlotte Morgan were an unstinting source of inspiration, support, and sound writerly advice. Flippin’ flapjacks, you gals are great! Nicole Loughan, my publisher at Little Spot, provided the inside scoop on the publishing industry and some much-needed cheerleading. Danke sehr also to Paige Nowak, for setting loose your design skills on my book cover. I’ll think of you whenever I see a potato that looks like Hitler.
Giant, overflowing buckets of thanks go, as ever, to my wonderful husband, Paul. I love you so much that I named a made up dog after you.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Acknowledgements