Free Madeline Mann by Julia Buckley Page B

his name!”
    Jack nodded grimly. “Sounds that way. I'm sorry, Madeline. I know he was a friend of yours.”
    I nodded. “He was, once. God, who would want to kill him?”
    Images came unbidden to my mind in answer to my own question. Jamie, haggard with resentment and frustration. The car that Jack and I had seen leaving Logan's right before we drove in. And Quinn Paley's living room, homey, fire-lit. One gun had been missing from the wall.

seven
     
    There were two police detectives, a man and a woman. Both appeared to be in their thirties, and both projected the professional solemnity appropriate to their jobs. They shook our hands and introduced themselves: he was Detective Krosky, and she was Detective Perez. I got the impression that the two of them hadn't been partnered long, because they sometimes repeated one another's words, and I sensed a hidden battle for superior position.
    Detective Perez was fairly short, with dark hair pulled back in a no-nonsense pony tail. Her skin looked prone to dryness, and her face looked weary. Maybe she was sick of justifying her status in the department to male cops.
    She asked me why I'd been at Logan's cabin, and I described my visit to Jamie. “Actually it was my brother who mentioned Logan was missing,” I said. “He's in a band with Logan. I said I'd talk to Logan's wife, and Jamie said he might be out here, because apparently he'd come here before—without telling her, probably. I got the impression Logan didn't feel the necessity of informing his wife where he was at all times.” I tried to keep the disapproval out of my voice. Logan was dead, and I didn't want to speak ill of him. Not entirely.
    “So you came all the way out here on your own?” asked Detective Krosky, with obvious skepticism. He was a tall, husky man with a clean-shaven face and two chins. He wore a creaky leather jacket, which he did not take off during our interview. It almost concealed, but not quite, the sizable stomach above his Dockers, and I wondered if he left the coat on as a matter of course. His blond hair was cut in military fashion, and he smelled like smoke.
    “Well, no, I was with Jack here. And I also planned to write an article for the Webley Wire on tourism in the area.” I felt suddenly defensive, as though they'd accused me of murdering Logan myself.
    “And you never saw or spoke with Mr. Lanford?”
    “Logan Lanford?” I qualified. “No.”
    Detective Krosky stood near the bed, where my chocolate wrapper still lay like the evidence of sin. He stared down at it and asked, “Was there ever anything between you and Mr. Lanford?”
    “Romantically?” I asked. “No. I really haven't spoken with him at length in years. We went to high school together, and we were friends then. I recommended him for my brother's band, and he actually worked in the mayor's office with my mother for a while. I saw him once in a while there, and I was going to see him this Saturday at the music festival in Webley. I was going to listen to the band.…” I trailed off as I thought of Fritz's reaction to this sudden violence. Fritz had liked Logan.
    The two detectives exchanged a glance. I strove to convince them; I've always felt a need to impress authority figures. “Is there some reason why my note might be important?” I asked.
    “Not your note,” Perez said softly.
    I stared at some light freckles on her nose while I tried to figure out what that meant.
    Krosky bullied his way into the conversation. “ He wrote a note for you. Apparently he was expecting you. And he made a reference to seeing you the other day.”
    I was dumbfounded by this information. “That's impossible. He must have been writing to someone else.”
    “It said, ‘Dear Madeline,’” said Perez apologetically.
    “I haven't seen or spoken to Logan since he was fired,” I insisted. “That was months ago.”
    The cops were starting to look like they whiffed the scent of a murderer. Jack stepped in front of me. “I