A Death in Duck: Lindsay Harding Cozy Mystery Series (Reverend Lindsay Harding Mystery Book 2) by Mindy Quigley
Authors: Mindy Quigley
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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 Island 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
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 Island 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
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