The Truth About Love (21 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

S
uzanne’s old Audi pulled into the driveway of Maggie Buchanan’s run-down cottage, and again, Gina was reminded of how the woman inside didn’t match the character of the house. “Maggie seems so . . . put together,” she said. “And the house isn’t.” The white paint faded to gray in some spots, peeled at the corners, and the front porch drooped on one end.

“When you live with an abuser, it’s often about hiding the truth.” Suzanne turned the car off and opened her door. “As long as the people at work or at church or wherever don’t suspect anything or say anything outright, then a woman can go on not admitting how bad it is, but it seeps out in other ways.”

Gina was eager to go inside, to see what it was that Maggie Buchanan wanted to show them, but the dichotomy between the woman’s public life and private life intrigued her. “What did Seth do for a living?” The psychology of an abused woman was foreign to her. Did Maggie pour all their money into tailored clothes and expensive manicures?

Suzanne twisted toward the backseat to get her messenger bag. “I’m not sure he ever really had a profession. My guess is Maggie made most of the money.”

Gina knew that Maggie had been a branch manager at a locally owned bank and held a board position on the Pensacola Chamber of
Commerce. But thinking about what made a woman put up with abuse was something she’d consider at another time. For now, she wanted to get inside to see what Maggie Buchanan had to show them.

Maggie stepped out onto the front porch as Gina and Suzanne approached. She looked more haggard than before. It was more than just her attire—her tailored pants had been replaced by trim-fitting jeans, and she wore a knit top instead of a crisply starched oxford. Rather, it was the gaunt look of her face. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, making them seem sunken into her head. Her lips pinched more tightly than before. Her hair—neatly coiffed when they’d met the first time—was pulled back into a messy ponytail.

“Your questions the other day got me thinking.” Maggie skipped any pleasantries as Gina and Suzanne climbed the few steps to her front porch.

“About . . . ?” Suzanne asked.

Maggie looked up and down the desolate road, as if she didn’t want anyone else to know her visitors were here. “Please, come in.”

She turned to face them as soon as all three were inside the living room. “I thought Seth left early that weekend because I couldn’t have sex with him. I thought he was mad about that.”

Gina’s pulse quickened. She ran her palms down the front of her navy dress pants. Suzanne leaned toward the other woman.

“But I got to thinking,” Maggie continued. “After you all were here. What if he murdered Barbara Landon?” Her eyes grew larger. “What if that’s why he left so quickly?” She paced to the other side of the room. “I mean, I thought his behavior was a little odd, but he’d just slapped me that morning. I was happy to see him go.”

Suzanne was apparently as eager as Gina to know what Maggie had found. “You said you had something to show us.”

“Yes.” Maggie seemed distant. Like her body was here, but her mind wanted to take her elsewhere. Someplace far away. Her hand rose slowly as she pointed down the hallway of the old farmhouse. “In the attic.”

Suzanne pulled two pairs of latex gloves from her messenger bag, then dropped it on the floor. She had come prepared for evidence. “Can we go look at it?”

Maggie nodded slowly but didn’t move.

“You’ll take us there now?” Adrenaline rushed through Gina’s body.

Maggie blinked and shook her head as if waking from a slumber. “Yes. This way.”

She led them down the hallway to a doorway tucked beyond the last bedroom. She opened the door to a set of narrow, winding steps leading to the attic. Though it looked like she was poised to lead them upstairs, she hesitated. She took a deep breath. Then another.

Gina’s heart raced as she willed Maggie to hurry. Yes, it could be because it was Gina’s first time actually helping to build the case to set a man free, but this was also Landon’s life. Today could mean the difference between Landon knowing who killed his mother and not knowing. It could mean he might learn his testimony had helped send an innocent man to prison. She knew how that felt. And she knew she’d never get over it.

Finally, Maggie placed her foot on the first step, then stopped. Suzanne bumped into Gina and Gina almost ran into the back of Maggie as the somber procession came to an abrupt halt.

“We need to go up there, Maggie,” Suzanne said from behind Gina. “I know this is difficult.”

Maggie hung her head, but then took another step up. And another.

Gina followed her. Her heart raced. Her legs felt shakier than when she’d run that half marathon in college. She had to concentrate in order to put one foot in front of the other. Thank God there was a wall to hold on to. It felt warm on her fingertips. Though she’d been invited, she felt like a burglar. An intruder who had no idea what secrets lay ahead of her. She hoped to God whatever Maggie had found would help determine the truth. Something that would help Landon find the peace he deserved.

The air inside the attic got hotter and staler as they climbed. When they finally reached the top of the stairs, Maggie pulled a yellowed string to turn on a bare light bulb above their heads. She turned to face Gina and Suzanne. “There were some boxes up here that were taped shut. Seth had told me they were none of my business and told me to stay away from them. But after your visit the other day, I”—Maggie looked down to the floor—“I decided to look inside.” She raised her head. A single tear trickled down one cheek.

Suzanne slipped on a pair of the latex gloves and handed the other pair to Gina before walking over to two copy-paper boxes. Wide tape that had once been clear but was now a sickly yellow color wound around both ends of each. Beside them, a pair of kitchen shears lay on the attic floor.

“Are those the boxes?” Suzanne’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. As if she knew the importance of this moment to Maggie. And to Cyrus. And to Landon.

Maggie nodded.

Gina rushed over to the boxes and peered inside as she slid on her gloves. She lifted out each item and held each up for Suzanne to see.

A couple of high school yearbooks.

A family Bible.

A framed cross-stitch sampler with the words
Harold and Elizabeth, March 8, 1957.

“Seth’s parents,” Maggie said. “That hung at their house. Their wedding date.”

Next, there were two black-and-white pictures and a color photograph. The color picture showed a high school track team, posed in rows for what looked like a yearbook photograph. The other two showed a tall, gangly teenager with white-blond hair. In each, he was skateboarding.

“This is Seth?” Gina asked, holding up one of the black-and-whites.

Maggie nodded.

Gina held up the picture for Suzanne to see. The two exchanged a grim glance. He could have been Cyrus Alexander’s twin.

Gina set the pictures aside and reached into the box again. The last item, nestled in the bottom, among packing peanuts, was a tattered envelope. The kind they’d used when she’d worked one summer in the administrative offices at the hospital her father managed. The kind that would hold an 8½
"
x 11
"
sheet of paper and that was used to send things interoffice, with the little button and string on the back to keep it closed en route to its destination.

Slowly, she unwound the string from the button.

A weak whimper escaped from Maggie’s throat.

Gina looked up. Her hand stilled. Maggie’s face was pale and her lip quivered.

“Keep going,” Suzanne instructed.

Gina unwound the string two more times. It pulled free from the button. She felt dizzy. She took a deep breath and let it out.

Finally, she peered inside. Several yellowed newspaper clippings were tucked inside. She pulled the pile of them out and set the envelope on the dusty floor. She gently lowered the fragile newspaper clippings back into the box, then took them out, one by one, and unfolded them.

Each one featured Barbara Landon’s murder.

One from the day of the murder.

Several from the trial.

As soon as she looked at each one, she passed the clippings on to Suzanne.

“Why would he have been so interested in her murder?” Maggie’s voice shook as she watched them.

Suzanne took the last one as Gina handed it to her. “I think we all know the answer to that question.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

G
ina cringed as she thought of the way Cyrus’s eyes had begged her and Suzanne for help when they’d met with him at the prison. She’d tried to steel herself against their silent plea, knowing that so many people in prison claimed to be innocent.

But now she understood why his eyes had been so convincing.

He’d been innocent the entire time.

Maggie sank to the floor as if she couldn’t hold herself up anymore. “Does this prove he killed her?”

“It doesn’t look good.” Suzanne took the last article from Gina. “But it also doesn’t prove anything beyond the shadow of a doubt.”

“Will I be in trouble? For having this in my attic all these years?” Maggie’s hand covered her mouth. “And not knowing?”

“The authorities won’t be happy that you hid the fact that Seth was there that weekend.” Suzanne placed her hand on Maggie’s knee. “But we’ll help you as best we can.”

Gina, too, believed that Maggie hadn’t known. That she’d been in a violent relationship in which she would have been afraid to question her husband. Not in her own mind and certainly not out loud to her abuser. But she knew that Suzanne couldn’t promise a free ride to Maggie Buchanan. Not with so many parts of the legal system outside her control.

“Why would he do that?” Maggie’s questioning gaze begged the other women for an answer. “He’d never even been to my house before.”

Gina knew the crime scene had revealed no indications of robbery or attempted rape.

“You told us he’d just hit you. That he was mad you couldn’t have sex with him,” Suzanne said. “So he went next door. Men hurting women is all about establishing power.”

Gina lowered her head in an unspoken tribute to Barbara Landon. The other two women fell silent, too, each with her own thoughts.

After several seconds of quiet, Gina looked around the attic, wondering if there might be more evidence here. An old living room chair with a leg broken off sat in one corner. An artificial Christmas tree was bursting from its torn box. The handlebars of an exercise bike held a string of holiday lights.

She rose and looked behind an armoire that had been partially refinished, to the only place in the attic that wasn’t visible from the top of the staircase.

Behind it, a rusty, green metal tackle box like Gina’s grandfather had owned was tucked under the rafters. But unlike Gina’s grandfather’s, the lid was bolted shut with a thick lock.

“There’s something back here,” Gina called back to Maggie. “Do you mind if I get it out?”

Maggie’s shrugged approval looked like that of a woman defeated.

Gina closed the sagging door of the armoire to give herself more room. She knelt and twisted until she could get both of her hands behind it. She pulled out the tackle box and set it in the ring formed by the three women.

“Seth was a fisherman?” Suzanne asked.

“Not”—Maggie swallowed—“for years. I haven’t seen that thing . . .”

“Since?” Suzanne prodded her.

“I don’t know.”

“How do we get the lock off?” Gina asked, looking around for those big pincher things they used on cop shows. But, no, that would be wishing for too much to have a pair of those handy.

“Bring it downstairs,” Suzanne said. “Out to the yard.”

Gina’s eyes questioned her. Suzanne nodded toward the staircase.

Gina lifted the green metal box and scrambled downstairs, glad to get out of the stuffy attic. Her lungs gasped for the cool air of the hallway. She forced her legs to carry her through the living room and out the front door into the yard. Suzanne’s and Maggie’s footsteps followed behind her.

When she turned around, she saw that Suzanne had picked up her messenger bag as they passed through the living room.

“Set it on the ground,” Suzanne said as she pulled a small pistol from her pouch. “And stand back.”

Gina’s eyes widened. She’d never known her boss carried a gun. It hadn’t been in there during their visits to prisons because—surely—the guards would have confiscated it before letting her in to visit their clients. Their clients who were
convicted murderers.

She set the box on the ground and backed away, as her boss had instructed.

A single shot rang through the air. The lock spun on the latch and fell to the ground.

Gina looked at Suzanne in awe. She was a crusader, a role model, and Annie Oakley all wrapped into one.

“So open it,” Suzanne said impatiently. “See what’s inside.”

Gina knelt on the ground and unfastened the big, rusted silver latch. The lid squeaked open. Inside, two trays attached to the lid rose as the cover fell open. The little bins in the trays held rusty fishhooks and a couple of tiny bobbers. A dirty rag was bunched up in the bottom well, covering anything else in the tackle box.

She pinched the rag between one finger and her thumb and gently moved it aside. Underneath sat one item. An ornate wooden box.

Gina gently lifted the wooden box from Seth Rowling’s tackle box. Her heart beat faster, as if it knew what was in the box. Maybe, just maybe, the contents of the box would help them prove it was Seth Rowling and not Cyrus Alexander who had killed Landon’s mother.

She took a step, holding it out to Maggie.

“I don’t want it.” Maggie held her hands in front of her and backed away. “You open it.”

Gina looked down at the intricately carved box. She had visions of unleashing something evil, like Indiana Jones had done when he released those melting faces from the Lost Ark of the Covenant. She suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was inside.

“Go ahead,” Suzanne said.

Gina swallowed and looked down at the box, unable to make any other move.

“For Landon,” Suzanne said. “And for Cyrus.”

Gina’s hand shook as she slowly lifted the ornately carved lid. There were four objects inside.

A smooth, flat rock the color of butterscotch.

A folded-up slip of paper.

A tangle of bright purple yarn.

And a silver charm bracelet containing one tarnished charm—the silhouette of a little boy’s head.

Gina gently pulled the bracelet out of the box and turned her head to read the inscription.

L . . .

The charm spun a quarter turn on the end of the chain. Frustrated, Gina knelt to set the box down inside the tackle box. She laid the charm across her other palm so she could read it.

Landon.

A chill ran up Gina’s spine and spread like a lightening bolt across the back of her scalp.

She looked up at the curious face of her boss. Her scalp tickled with beads of sweat. “The charm. It says ‘Landon’ on it.”

Suzanne’s expression was grim. “A souvenir.”

If Suzanne was right, Seth had taken it when he’d murdered Barbara Landon. Gina tried to imagine what it must have been like for a young single mother to know she was about to be stabbed to death, leaving a young son alone with a killer.

Maggie turned away from them. She braced one hand on a tree next to her and threw up.

“What else is in the box?” Suzanne said, nodding toward it.

Gina knelt to set it on the ground in front of her. Her hands shook as she took the slip of paper from it. She eased it open, not wanting to damage it. Sloppy handwriting, slanted at a harsher angle than Gina had ever seen, was written in blue ink pen.

Dear Lord,

Please forgive me.

Seth Atchison Rowling

She handed the note to Suzanne, who read it quickly, then looked up at Maggie. “Seth was a religious man?”

Maggie was still bent over, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She scoffed. “Does a religious man beat his wife? Does he kill people?”

Suzanne read the note aloud to her.

Maggie rose and stilled for several seconds, as if she was soaking it in. Finally, she spoke, her voice tinged with hatred. “I guess if he’d felt really bad about it, he would have come forward while he was still alive.”

A wave of anger roiled inside Gina as she thought of Cyrus Alexander, s
itting in prison for fifteen years while Seth Rowling’s tackle box held his ticket to freedom.

“This was here the entire time,” she said. “You could have gotten Cyrus Alexander out of prison at any time.”

“I . . . I didn’t know.”

“But you had suspicions. You said so yourself.”

Maggie fixed her gaze on Gina’s and held it for several seconds. “Have you ever done anything you regretted?” Maggie’s voice filled with venom. “Or are you too young and perfect for that?”

Gina took a step back as if Maggie’s words had lashed out like a viper’s tongue in her direction. Of course Gina had done something she regretted. She’d done the exact thing Maggie had done. She’d allowed an innocent person to go to prison. Maybe it didn’t show on the outside, but Gina had done plenty that she regretted.

“You could have called the police,” Suzanne said.

Maggie turned, her anger aimed at Gina’s boss. “The same police who didn’t take Seth away when he broke my jaw? The same ones who acted like it was ‘my duty’ to have sex with him when he raped me? Are those the police you’re talking about?”

Suzanne spread her hands in front of her as if to diffuse the situation. She took three long, slow breaths while Maggie glared at her. “We’re in this together,” Suzanne said. “If an innocent man is in prison, we all want to get him out.”

A profound sadness settled over Gina like a fog settling into the valleys of a mountain range. Her body was suddenly very tired. Her brain was tired. Even her heart was tired. She didn’t have the energy for anything else today. “What do we do now?”

Suzanne knelt to place the slip of paper back inside the box. “We need to let the police know what we’ve found.”

Of course. They needed to act on the news that Gina was still absorbing.

Suzanne placed the lid on the box and tucked it under her arm. “The world needs to know what a bastard Seth Rowling was.”