“I petitioned to have my name changed back to Buchanan after Seth died. It became final a couple of weeks ago.”
Gina settled into an old wooden rocker on the other side of the room. She wondered what kind of a woman didn’t want to keep her husband’s name after his death.
What had happened between them?
“But, please, call me Maggie.”
Gina felt like she needed to enter the conversation—not be some gawking onlooker. “We were sorry to hear about your husband’s death. And your father’s.”
Maggie opened her mouth to say something, then stopped herself. Instead, she cast an obligatory, appreciative smile. “Thank you.”
Suzanne opened her notebook. “Do you mind if we get started?”
“Seems like the thing to do, since that’s why you’re here.” The look in Maggie’s eyes matched her cool demeanor.
Suzanne studied the woman’s face for a few seconds, then thumbed through her notebook. Gina knew her boss didn’t need to review the contents. They’d talked about them during their drive from Tallahassee to Pensacola, where Maggie had lived for years. “The file indicates you were home from college when Barbara Landon was murdered.”
Maggie nodded.
“You were home for the summer?”
“In between summer and fall semesters. Only a couple of weeks.” She twisted the ring on her right hand. “Maybe three.”
“You went to school here in Pensacola?” The University of West Florida was a small state university in town.
Maggie’s smile seemed real this time. “The first in my family.”
“Congratulations,” Gina said.
Maggie tipped her head in acknowledgment.
“Where were you at the time of Barbara Landon’s murder?” Suzanne asked.
“At my dad’s house. Next to the store.” According to the file, Maggie’s mother had passed away when she was twelve.
“The store where the murder took place?”
Some of these questions seemed basic, but Suzanne had said earlier how sometimes the simplest things were overlooked. Things that could help determine a man’s innocence or guilt. Like the whirring of a sawmill blade.
“Yes,” Maggie said.
“And where was your father?”
“He’d gone to deliver a load of wood up to the mountains in North Carolina.”
“This was a normal occurrence?”
Maggie nodded. “It’s what my father did for a living. He harvested cypress trees from the marshes and delivered them for building log cabins.”
“He would deliver logs to a lumberyard?” Gina asked. Maybe there would be a record of the delivery to verify this.
“Not a lumberyard.” Maggie shook her head. “A building site. And by that time they weren’t logs. He milled them behind the house. Cut them to spec for each cabin. They arrived on-site ready to build. Like Lincoln Logs.”
“The file indicates that Martin Vista was with him on the trip.”
Maggie nodded.
“Can you be certain of that?”
Maggie stilled for a moment and raised her chin, as if pondering the question. “Martin always went with him. Dad would cut the wood and Martin would go up there to help him unload it.”
But Landon’s father had been a regional manager for Davidson Automotive. “Martin Vista had a full-time job working for someone else,” Gina said.
Maggie turned toward her. “Daddy made friends with anyone who liked to gamble. He and Martin would take a load up, then go to the casino in Cherokee, North Carolina. It was like their weekend getaway.” She looked down at her hands. “I think Daddy spent most of the money he made on gambling.”
“And you’re certain Martin Vista was with him that weekend?” Suzanne asked.
Maggie thought for a moment. “His truck was at our house the whole time.” Her shoulders rose. “I guess they were together.”
“Did you see them leave together? Come back together?”
Maggie’s chin rose in defiance. “No.”
“A witness says they heard the sawmill running that day.” Suzanne spoke slowly. Cautiously. “Did your father have other employees?”
Maggie glanced at Gina, then back to Suzanne. She toyed with the collar on her crisp, white blouse. “No.”
“Who would have been running the sawmill?” Gina scooted to the edge of her seat. “In your father’s absence?”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “I . . . don’t know.”
“Was there anyone else at the house with you that weekend?” Suzanne’s voice was tinged with sternness. Apparently she, too, felt like Maggie had information she hadn’t yet shared.
“Seth . . .” The word barely squeaked out of Maggie’s mouth. She cleared her throat. “Seth came to visit me that weekend.” She looked down at her hands crossed on her lap. “Daddy didn’t know. He wouldn’t have approved.”
“You’re saying Seth Rowling was at your house that weekend?” Suzanne’s voice was calm.
But this was new information. Had no one asked Maggie Buchanan that question before? Had she not offered that information, knowing a murder had taken place next door? Gina wanted to jump up and shake the woman by her collar until she gave them all the information she had.
Maggie looked up. Her nod was barely perceptible. “Yes.”
“Did the police know that?” Gina asked.
“Daddy was good friends with Buster McCauley.”
Buster McCauley, the chief of police in the small, rural county at the time of the murder.
Suzanne seemed to know exactly what had happened. “You didn’t tell the police that Seth Rowling was staying with you because you didn’t want Buster McCauley to tell your father?”
“I was a college girl. Unmarried.” Maggie got up and paced the living room. “Daddy would have been ashamed. Embarrassed. I didn’t want him to know.”
Suzanne leaned forward. “Did Seth Rowling stay within your sight at all times? Was he ever away from you?”
Maggie stopped with her back toward them. “I mean, I . . . took a shower every morning.” She turned to face them. “And a nap one day.”
“Do you have a picture of your husband, Ms. Buchanan? One from when you were in college?”
“I . . . I’d have to dig to find a picture from back then.” She opened a drawer in an old buffet near the dining table. “But here’s our church directory.” She opened the booklet to a specific page while she walked it over to Suzanne.
The older woman swallowed and quietly passed the book to Gina.
The picture above Seth and Maggie Rowling’s name showed Maggie with a fortysomething man with closely cropped hair. The gray in his hair blended with what appeared to be a lighter color.
Gina’s heart quickened. “What color was his hair? Before it turned gray?”
“Kind of a dark dishwater blond.”
Suzanne had apparently seen the same thing Gina had. “And when he was in college?”
“It was a lot lighter then. Almost white blond.”
For the first time that afternoon, Suzanne slid a sideways glance in Gina’s direction.
Gina shot up, unable to control her energy. “How tall was he? What was his build?”
Maggie face paled. “You”—her voice was weak—“you don’t think he had anything to do with that woman’s murder, do you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
How tall was he?” Suzanne’s voice was stern as she repeated Gina’s question to Maggie Buchanan. “What was his build?”
Maggie placed her hands on her hips as she stood in the living room. “Should I get a lawyer?”
“Only if you killed Barbara Landon,” Gina said.
“Or have withheld evidence,” Suzanne added.
Maggie looked out the side window for several seconds. “He was
six feet two.” Her gaze fell to the floor. “Very muscular.” Her voice cracked. “But long and wiry.”
Just like Cyrus Alexander.
“Barbara Landon was murdered that Saturday afternoon,” Suzanne said. “Where was Seth Rowling that day?”
Maggie’s pacing started again. “He was with me all day. At Daddy’s house.”
“Doing . . . ?”
Maggie stopped and faced Suzanne. She gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “We had a house alone to ourselves. We were kids in college. We made out. Watched movies. Smoked some pot.”
“Had sex?” Suzanne asked.
Maggie’s gaze fell to the floor. “I was on my period.” She paused. “Seth wasn’t very happy about that.” She ran her right hand down the side of her face. “That was the first time he ever hit me.”
“Because you wouldn’t have sex with him?” Gina tried to hide the surprise in her voice.
“Yes.”
“Did the violence continue?” Suzanne asked.
Maggie’s eyes seemed to glaze over. “Yes.”
“And still you married him.” Suzanne didn’t ask a question. She already knew the answer.
Maggie’s face showed no emotion. “Seems pretty stupid, doesn’t it?”
Now Gina understood why Maggie had reverted to her maiden name after his death.
“It happens to the best of us,” Suzanne said, comforting Maggie.
Gina’s gaze shot to her boss. She never would have imagined such a strong, independent woman would allow herself to get into a relationship like that. Had it been her Key Biscayne lover who had abused her?
“He . . .” Maggie continued. “He said he’d come all the way from Pensacola thinking we’d have sex and I was wrong to lead him on like that. I had thought it would be nice just to . . . to spend time together.”
Gina knew how strong the need for sexual release could be in a college-age man. She’d grown up being taught to never leave her drink unattended, to never get in the car with a boy she didn’t know. Twitter was filled with news of sexual abuse in high school, in college, from professional athletes. The whole notion sickened her. Still, she was eager to steer the conversation back to Barbara Landon’s murder.
“You were with Seth Rowling that entire afternoon?”
Maggie’s hand flattened on her sternum. “Yes.”
“But the sawmill. Lan—” Gina stopped herself. “A witness heard the sawmill running the day of the murder.”
“Seth said he knew how to run it. There was some scrap wood. He’d been asking me if he could cut some for bookshelves at his apartment back in Pensacola.”
“Were you with him when he ran the sawmill?” Suzanne asked.
Maggie shook her head. “That was . . . right after he hit me. I wanted to get away from him. I went up to my room. That’s when I took my nap.”
“With the noise of the sawmill?” Gina remembered Buford Monroe saying his mother hated that noise. “You took a nap?”
“My bedroom was on the other side of the house,” Maggie said. “And when your daddy runs a sawmill for a living, you learn to sleep through it.”
Suzanne jotted something in her notebook, then looked up. “How did you learn of the murder at the store next door?”
“The police came the next day to ask me about it. I didn’t know until they told me.”
“Did they question Seth, too?” Suzanne asked.
Maggie stilled. Her eyes widened.
Suzanne leaned forward. “Maggie?”
“Seth was really drunk when I woke up from my nap, but he just kept drinking and drinking. Finally, he passed out.” Maggie looked down at her hands. “He was a violent drunk, even back then.”
Gina and Suzanne exchanged a worried look.
Maggie continued. “When I woke up the next morning, he was gone.”
“So the police never questioned him?” Suzanne asked.
Maggie’s gaze rose, meeting Suzanne’s. “By the time the police got there, Seth was gone.”
Landon sat in the bleachers of the small-town gym, wondering how the teenage players could run up and down the basketball court in such stifling heat. Though the school was air-conditioned, the old units seemed to be losing the battle against the brutal Florida summer. He pulled his T-shirt away from his chest, hoping at least one molecule of cool air might find its way to his skin.
Once he’d set his mind to it, it hadn’t been hard to track down Tim Alexander, Cyrus’s son. Not when the local newspaper covered high school sports like it was the only thing going on in this tiny little town. Probably because it was.
He’d thought coming here today might be a good way to clear his brain, which still clung to memories of his night with Gina like it had happened five minutes ago. How the hell did someone have sex like that, then just walk away? For the first time, his heart had been part of the equation, too. At least until he’d found the file notes in her apartment.
He ran his hands through his hair as the fortysomething woman sitting next to him glanced sideways at him for about the tenth time since he’d sat down. He wished he could tell her to stop staring, to leave him the hell alone. But he’d learned long ago that he was expected to be a nice guy. Accessible to the masses, even when he’d rather not be. So instead, he tried to ignore her, which became increasing difficult when she nudged the guy on her other side and whispered in his ear. The guy, presumably her husband, leaned forward to look at him. She leaned backward, giving him a better view, then the two shared another whispered conversation.
Landon tried to watch the basketball game, sensing that his private afternoon was about to be violated.
“You’re Landon Vista, aren’t you?” The woman interrupted his thoughts about Gina. She laid her hand on his arm, like she had some right to touch him because of who he was.
An older man in front of her turned around and looked at him, too.
Landon gave a slight nod, then returned his gaze to the basketball court in front of them. Tim pulled down a rebound and shot it out of the lane to the point guard.
“My Randall has been best friends with Tim since kindergarten.” She pointed to the guard taking the ball down the court. He had the same orange-red hair as her husband. She shook her head. “It’s a lot for a boy to go through.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. Would she not shut up? The old man in front of her turned around to look for the second time.
She touched Landon’s arm again. “Kind of funny how the best-behaved, most respectful kid in the class is the one whose dad is in prison for murder.”
Landon didn’t say anything, but he knew how the kid felt. Like he always had something to prove. But for now, he wanted the woman to shut up before the entire section of bleachers heard her. The news of Cyrus’s case being reopened had to be huge news in a tiny town like this one. And he certainly knew what it was like to be a boy awash in the middle of a murder case. How people stared. Assumed you weren’t as good as they were because of something that had happened beyond your control.
“I thank the Lord every day that John’s here to help me.” She motioned toward the man with orange-red hair who listened to their conversation. “Raising boys is hard work.”
“Is Tim’s mom here?” Landon asked, looking around for someone who might look like the boy.
The woman jabbed a thumb toward the wall behind her. “She had the morning shift out at the plant. We brought Tim with us.” The woman smiled and held out her hand. “Patti McIntire.” She leaned back. “And this is John.”
Landon shook hands with them both, then returned his attention to the game. Patti spoke on and off throughout both halves, asking about his football days, sharing tidbits about Tim’s life.
“The boys would like meeting you some day,” Patti said when the game was over and the hometown team had won handily. “A real coll
ege football player and all. Most of ’em play in the fall. Of course, the school only has a hundred and thirty kids, so pretty much everyone makes the team.”
“I . . .” Landon grasped at words. Was she talking about her own boys? Or Tim Alexander? Did Landon want to meet Cyrus’s son? Would it do the kid any good? It would likely mess with Landon’s head, so what would it do to a sixteen-year-old? “I don’t know if that would do them any good.”
Patti opened her purse and fished around inside. “Well, let me give you one of my business cards.” She pulled a dog-eared card from the depths of the bag. “I do hair. Women’s,” she clarified. “Not men’s. Except my boys.”
He glanced down at the phone number and logo for Patti’s Shear Designs as she leaned toward him. When her closeness made him look up, she gave him a death stare that she’d undoubtedly perfected on her own kids. “You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t want to meet him.”
“I . . . I don’t want him to know I was here today.” Landon wasn’t sure what he thought. He wanted to sort out his feelings before he involved a kid who’d already had a tough sixteen years. “I . . . don’t want to upset him.”
Patti laughed. “You’re a stranger here. Well, I mean you don’t live here. And you’re Landon Vista. The whole town knows you’re here today. Everybody who’s not here has already heard about it by now.”
“If he and I do meet”—Landon wasn’t sure what he was saying—“it should be private.”
“That’s why you have my card, honey.” She picked up her bag and motioned to her husband that she was ready to go. “And don’t you ever think I’d do anything that might hurt Tim. That child deserves all the kindness anyone can give him.”
Landon placed his hand on her arm to stop her. “You won’t tell anybody about our conversation?”
“I’ll give you a while to get in touch with him.” She winked. “And after that, it’s the best story anyone’s ever told at bunco night.”
He stood motionless as she clattered down the bleachers, greeting other parents as she went. Probably the same parents she’d gossip with about him when the time was right. But he did trust that she’d look out for Tim’s best interests. She’d had that motherly look in her eye when she talked about him. The one that would turn to fierce protection if anyone tried to harm him.
The Truth About Love Page 21
