A Death in Duck: Lindsay Harding Cozy Mystery Series (Reverend Lindsay Harding Mystery Book 2) (14 page)

In the early days of World War II, German subs stalked the shipping lanes off the coast, downing a number of American vessels. The U-352 had been part of this lethal underwater flotilla until it was finally sunk by the USS
Icarus
. While most of the U-boat’s crew perished in the attack, 33 survivors were picked up by the
Icarus
and returned to Charleston, where they spent the rest of the war as prisoners. The boat now sat at the bottom of the Atlantic—an artificial reef and a Mecca for divers.

“Have you been down to see it?” Mike asked.

“Nope. I get plenty of thrills on dry land,” Lindsay replied. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “You know that the wreck is really far from here, right? It’s basically at the total opposite end of the Outer Banks. It would take you all day to drive there. And you’re out of season for all the organized diving trips.”

              “Yeah,” Mike shrugged. “But I figure we’ll charter a plane or a helicopter from Pine Island to Beaufort and then hire a private boat and crew to take us out to the wreck. We should be able to get it done in a day.” He rattled the plan off like he was telling Lindsay the fastest bus route into town.

“That doesn’t strike me as the kind of plan that you throw together at the last minute,” Lindsay said, raising her eyebrow still further.

“Dad’s never been a big planner. He’s kind of a go-with-the-flow guy,” Owen explained. “Mom was always the one who looked ahead. She’s the one who arranged all kinds of insurance and trusts and stuff so we’d always be taken care of. And now that we have all this money, everybody seems pretty happy to just go whichever way Dad’s flowing.”

Mike’s cheeks colored slightly, as if he’d realized how his nonchalant reference to chartering helicopters might make him sound. He self-consciously rubbed the bridge of his nose where his facemask had left a red mark. “So, are you staying at the hotel? I didn’t think anybody else was coming until closer to the wedding date. So far, it’s just been us, a couple of Drew’s frat brothers from college, and the happy couple.”

“You forgot about that woman with the scary laugh,” Owen chimed in.

“Oh, yeah. Anna’s mom is some jet-setting Amazon who keeps telling Owen that he looks like ‘a young Will Smith’ and hugging everybody. I can’t remember her name.”

“We all call her Big Lindsey,” Lindsay said with a saintly smile. “We’re sharing a room.”

“Oh, sorry! Are you friends with her?” Mike sputtered. “I didn’t mean to call her an Amazon. She’s just…”

“Don’t say ‘a big woman,’ Dad,” Owen said, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry. Big Lindsey and I aren’t exactly close,” Lindsay said.

“Thank goodness. No offense, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who has friends.”

“Dad…” Owen said.

Mike held up his hands. “You’re right. I shouldn’t speak ill of her, even if she is more Bride of Frankenstein than mother-of-the-bride.”

“Dad!” Owen said, more sharply.

“Okay, okay. But that was funny, you’ve gotta admit. Well, we’d better head back out in the water. We want to get back to the car before dark. Will we see you at dinner tonight? I guess there’s a big holiday thing in the main dining room. They’ll have a band,” Mike said.

              “I’m not really in a party mood, I’m afraid. I’m just going to hang out with Kipper and try to get some sleep.”

              “Well, come on down if you change your mind,” Mike said. “I’ve been teaching myself how to play some flamenco on the guitar, so I might try out my skills.”

“Please don’t,” Owen said, closing his eyes wearily. He hoisted his oxygen tank over his shoulders, while Mike helped him situate it on his back.

“Hey, I meant to ask,” Mike said to Lindsay. “Was that person who was here before a friend of yours?”

“What do you mean?” Lindsay asked.

“That was part of why I came over here. You were laying there like you were hurt and then somebody in, like, a big jacket and a baseball cap was standing in the trees back there smoking.” Mike said, indicating a clump of thickly clustered trees a few dozen yards behind her. “I thought maybe you were a little kid who was sick or something, and that person was your parent. But the way they were just watching you and smoking was kind of weird.”             

“I don’t know who that was,” Lindsay said. She turned toward the place he pointed out, trying to keep the rising fear out of her voice. “Probably just somebody who wandered down to watch the sunset.”

“Yeah, probably,” Mike shrugged. “Anyway, we’ll see you back at the ranch!”

Lindsay forced a smile and waved to them as they trudged back into the water with their unwieldy gear. As soon as Mike and Owen dipped below the surface, Lindsay lead Kipper over to the sheltered grove Mike had indicated. As they approached, Kipper tugged at his leash. He scratched the ground and sniffed the area with keen interest. Sure enough, there was a trampled-down spot in the sea grass with three cigarette butts scattered around it. Whoever had been watching her had been there for awhile, waiting very patiently indeed.

Chapter 15

It was past midnight and Big Lindsey was sleeping soundly, having completed her pre-bedtime ritual of beauty cream applications, facial mists, and yogic breathing. Lindsay, however, lay wide awake in her bed with Kipper snoring at her feet. She’d had a difficult time convincing Anna’s mother to accept the dog’s unexpected presence in their room, and an even more difficult time convincing Kipper not to rip Big Lindsey to shreds. The two ferocious animals seemed to have declared an uneasy truce, but Lindsay couldn’t be sure how long it would hold.

Try as she might, Lindsay couldn’t stop her mind from returning to the disturbing events of the previous days. She contemplated drowning her thoughts by raiding the room’s minibar, but ultimately decided that alcohol was unlikely to solve the particular set of problems that confronted her. Her aunt had supplied a murderer with the gun he’d used to kill his girlfriend, and then she herself had been murdered. Her no-good mother, who seemed to know far more than she was telling, had gone on the lam. Lindsay had broken up with her boyfriend, who, until recently, she’d thought was the love of her life. And now she was trapped in a hotel room with a stolen dog and a globetrotting blueblood who wanted to hang her from a Christmas tree.

She decided to give up on sleep and step out onto the hotel’s patio for some fresh air. She donned her jacket, unlatched the French doors, and walked out into the cool night. Kipper had awoken as soon as she stirred, and trotted along at her side. After the near encounter with the mysterious stranger on the beach, she was glad of his solid, reassuring presence. She was still raw-nerved and jumpy, and from what she’d seen of Kipper’s behavior towards strangers, she felt that he was almost as good a weapon as a loaded gun.

No sooner had she passed down the short staircase that led to the hotel pool than Kipper began to pull her backwards, to the dark space in the recess of the stairs.

For a moment, Lindsay thought a raccoon or a possum might be cornered in the small, hidden area. But the creature that confronted them was another kind of pest altogether. “Sarabelle?” Lindsay said, for there, on the narrow concrete slab below the stairs, sat a middle-aged woman who looked very much like her mother.

“I wish you’d call me ‘mama,’” Sarabelle replied. Even in the semi-darkness, it was clear that she, for perhaps the first time in her adult life, wasn’t wearing a drop of makeup. Her blonde curls clung to her scalp in thin wisps, almost as if they had been drawn on her head with a yellow marker. In shabby clothes and minus her usual armor of big hair, fake eyelashes, and cosmetics, Sarabelle Harding looked like an entirely different woman. Her complexion was sallow and dotted with sun damage. Her blonde eyelashes and wisp-thin eyebrows melted invisibly into her face. Lindsay made a mental vow to avoid cigarettes and tanning beds like the plague.

Sarabelle stubbed out her cigarette on the concrete next to her and kneeled up to pet Kipper.

“What on earth are you doing down here?” Lindsay asked.

“Well, I was tryin’ to get upstairs to see you, but some lovey-dovey couple—I think it was that doctor friend of yours and her man—were slobbering all over each other in that gazebo over there for the past hour, so I was stuck hidin’ out under here.”

“Why are you here, though? I thought you’d be halfway to Mexico by now.”

“By rights, I should be. But I swear I have the worst luck. I must’a knocked down a mirror factory at some point in my younger days. What happened was, I didn’t want to take Patty’s truck, because I thought the police might be lookin’ for it. So I set off walking. But walking down that sand road in heels wasn’t working out so good, so I hitched a ride with some tourist from New Jersey who was passing on his way back home. He’d had a fight with his girlfriend and decided to cut his vacation short. I told him that the same thing had just happened to me, and he seemed to take my word for it. Well, that dingbatter forgot to stop at the filling station and reinflate his tires. And I was so discombobulated that it hadn’t even occurred to me to remind him. Anyways, we only got but a few miles south of Corolla and had a blowout. I had to walk all the way back to Simmy’s.”

“Simmy’s?! You dragged Simmy into this?!”

“Well, she was always nice to me back when your daddy and I used to stay out here, when we were first dating. She’s come by the Food Lion sometimes when I’m working to talk to me.”

All of Lindsay’s thoughts screeched to a halt as she tried to absorb this new revelation. “Wait. Simmy knew that you were at Aunt Harding’s?”

“‘Course she did. What made you think different?”

Lindsay replayed the scenes from Christmas Eve in her mind. She couldn’t remember Simmy directly lying to her, but she certainly hadn’t let on that she knew. But why hadn’t she warned Lindsay? There was no doubt that Simmy had deliberately misled Lindsay. Why? The question flashed before Lindsay like a Broadway marquee.

“Anyway,” Sarabelle continued, “on Christmas Eve she told me if I ever needed anything, I should come see her. She even took me aside and said how much she wanted to be friends with me. Reminded me where she lived and said I could stop by any time I liked.”

“I doubt she meant that you could use her house as a hideout when you were wanted for questioning in a murder investigation.”

Sarabelle pouted. “I didn’t have a choice. I don’t hardly know nobody out here. Patty didn’t like for me to go out anywhere. Said it was too risky. I had to go behind her back to get the job at Food Lion. I was going stir crazy just sitting out there day in and day out. But like I was saying, I only really know Simmy and the people from the Food Lion. I couldn’t rightly show up on my manager’s doorstep on Christmas day saying that I need a place to hide out from the law, could I? Turns out Simmy made good on her word. She’s not the kind to abandon somebody in their hour of need. Unlike some people.” She glared pointedly at Lindsay.

Lindsay ignored the remark. “She just took you in without any questions?” Before her mother could answer, another thought suddenly occurred to Lindsay. “Wait, didn’t the police come over and talk to Simmy? I thought that Warren and the woman from the sheriff’s office were heading over there right after I left that day.”

“Well, it’s not like they were searchin’ the place. You don’t have to be Houdini to hide in that house anyway. I just went in the spare room and climbed into a big ole’ wardrobe that had some old National Geographics and whatnot in it. With all the stuff she has lying around there, I believe I could’a just stood in the corner of the living room with a lampshade on my head and they wouldn’t have noticed me.”

“Why’ve you come back here? Why not just lay low for a few days and then make your escape?”

“Truth is, my conscience is weighing heavily on me.”

For the briefest of moments, Lindsay thought that her mother might confess some involvement in the murders. Even when Warren raised the matter, it hadn’t occurred to her for a moment that Sarabelle could be guilty of the crimes. She couldn’t be sure whether this was because, despite Sarabelle’s countless flaws, Lindsay knew in her heart of hearts that her mother was no cold-blooded murderer, or because she had once again fallen for Sarabelle’s manipulations and lies.

Sarabelle lowered her careworn face. “You see, Leander got that gun from me. The one he used to shoot that girl he was friendly with. You know how I owed him all that money? Well, that’s part of how I tried to pay it.”

“After all that Aunt Harding did for you, you stole her guns and gave them to a murderer?” Even though Sarabelle’s admission wasn’t the proverbial smoking gun that implicated her in the crimes, it was in fact the literal smoking gun that tied her to the crimes.

“Keep your voice down,” Sarabelle cautioned. “I didn’t think she’d mind. She had so many. And it was only that one gun. I knew it was worth a lot of money, so one time when she was putting something away in the safe, I just distracted her for a minute and swiped it.”

“What about the German one? The one that was with Aunt Harding’s body?”

“I don’t know how he got that one. Honest to goodness, I don’t. That wasn’t even one of the ones he said he wanted when he came out to the house. He was mostly interested in the newer stuff.”

“He came to Aunt Harding’s house?!”

“Hush! Yes, he promised he never would, but he did. On Christmas Eve. That’s why Patty didn’t pick you up in town. That gun hadn’t been worth as much as I’d thought, and he wanted more. He knew Patty had all kinds of guns.”

“How did he know?”

Sarabelle looked at the ground. “I guess I’d let that slip. But Patty chased him off. Sicced Kipper on him and told him next time he came knocking, a double barrel would greet him at the door. I expect it was him that almost ran you and Simmy off the road. He drove outta there like his pants were on fire.” The corners of Sarabelle’s mouth twitched upwards at the memory.

Lindsay found no humor in the story. “And then he came back the next day and shot her dead.”

Sarabelle’s face fell and she nodded gravely. “I really thought she’d scared him off. Mean as he was, she could be a thousand times meaner when she wanted to be.”

“How long had they known each other?” Lindsay asked.

“What’re you talkin’ about? They never met each other before that night.”

“The police found out that Aunt Harding was with Leander in Alamance County last week,” Lindsay began.

“You been talkin’ to the police?” Sarabelle interrupted.

“Yes, and so should you if you’re interested in helping them catch Leander.”

“No way am I talkin’ to the police. I got an outstanding warrant already from a little shoplifting misunderstanding that happened after the money from Leander ran out. Between that and the gun charge, they’ll lock me up and throw away the key.”

“Maybe they’d cut you a deal if you tell them what you know,” Lindsay suggested.

“What for? I don’t have any information they want that bad,” Sarabelle answered glumly. “I’d pull a
Thelma and Louise
before I’d go back inside.”

Lindsay felt a momentary twinge of pity for her mother. “We could get you a lawyer,” she offered.

“Next question,” Sarabelle snapped, shooting Lindsay a cold look.

“Fine,” Lindsay said. She crossed her arms over her thin chest and set her jaw firmly. The small thawing in their relationship iced back over. “The police said that Aunt Harding helped Leander get rid of the gun that was used to kill Lydia Sikes.”

              “That couldn’t have been Patty,” Sarabelle shook her head decisively. “I told you already. Patty never even met Leander before he came to the house on Christmas Eve.”

“How do you know for sure? Maybe she snuck off without you knowing.”

“Can’t be. I would’a noticed if she disappeared for a whole day.” Sarabelle laughed mirthlessly. “It wasn’t her. I’m 100% sure.”

“Say that I believe you—and I’m not saying that I do. How do you explain her being seen in Alamance County selling a gun alongside Leander?”

Sarabelle smirked and rolled her eyes. “You’re the college girl. Maybe you can figure out how somebody can be in two places at once.” Sarabelle lit another cigarette. She pulled the smoke in, a row of tiny wrinkles creasing her upper lip.

“Okay, since you’re in a coming clean mood, why don’t you tell me whose ashes are in Aunt Harding’s safe?” Lindsay asked.

              Sarabelle took a long drag of her cigarette, her eyes narrowing into little half moons of icy blue. “My mama’s.”

              “Your mother’s?” Lindsay knew only the barest details of the life of Sarabelle’s mother, Nancy Mix. From what she’d heard, Nancy was an unsavory character—prone to weeklong drinking binges and violent outbursts. She’d kept a roof over her daughter’s head, barely, by working as a maid for one of the big hotels in Virginia Beach. In the off season, she drank her way through whatever money she’d managed to save during the summers. Even Sarabelle, with her rock-bottom opinion of human nature and her own checkered history as a mother, didn’t hold Nancy Mix in high esteem. She had died in a car crash long before Lindsay was born; Sarabelle was only a teenager when she was orphaned and left to fend for herself. 

              “I been carrying ‘em with me since she died. Don’t you remember I used to keep that box out in the carport by your daddy’s tools when I was livin’ at home?”

“No. I suppose an old metal box out in the carport probably didn’t rate very high on my list of things to notice back then. Usually when you left, I was more concerned about making sure that all the change in my piggy bank was accounted for.”

“Now don’t go gettin’ sassy,” Sarabelle said, crossing her arms.

Lindsay softened her tone. “Why did you keep them with you?”

“Don’t ask me. I keep meaning to do something with ‘em, but I guess I don’t know what. I can’t really afford to bury ‘em. I know for a fact that she wouldn’a wanted to be scattered to the four winds or plunked into the ocean. Seems sacrilegious to chuck ‘em in the trash, although that’s probably better’n she deserved. Anyway, I had ‘em with me when I came to Patty’s. She set great store by them for some reason or other. Said she wanted to keep them in the safe. For over 30 years that damn box has lived in closets, under beds, and in the trunks of cars. Patty’s gun safe seemed as good a place as any for her to stay.”