Threads of Suspicion

by Dee Henderson

  She looked toward the stairs and then back to David. “I’ve got one of the best Triple M concert posters ever printed, but it’s framed on my wall. I’d love to show you. And maybe you could sign the playbill from the concert that night? Alongside Maggie’s? Please?”

  “I could do that for you, Lynne, sure.”

  “What a day to have not made my bed!” She turned toward the staircase. “Two minutes, then come up? I’m on the right at the end of the hall.” Lynne ran up the stairs, two at a time.

  Nancy looked between them, her worry showing. “You really came here to meet her, not to be asking questions about the Music Hall, didn’t you? You wonder what Lynne was doing the night Jenna went missing.”

  Evie stepped in to take that bullet. “Do you have any reason to think Lynne was involved with Jenna’s disappearance? You’re her mom, you love her, you know her. Is there anything that has caused you concern in all these years?”

  “No.” The shake of her head was firm.

  “Then relax, Mrs. Benoit, please. Yes, I wanted to meet your daughter. Jenna had photos of Lynne in her album. We’re meeting and talking with all Jenna’s friends. Lynne just happens to be one of them with a unique perspective because she was also at the Triple M concert that night.”

  “We’re looking for someone who is a fan of Triple M,” David said quietly. “Someone who travels, who may have been in Wisconsin, Indiana, Ohio, as well as Illinois.”

  Nancy’s hand slowly lifted to her chest. “Oh no . . . there’s more than just Jenna missing?”

  “We don’t know, Mrs. Benoit. We’re trying to figure that out.”

  “Lynne hasn’t traveled much. A concert in Milwaukee, a lot of downtown Chicago trips to see musicals, but that’s about it,” she answered shakily. “She’s got talent and a passion for her music; she just hasn’t had the break yet that gives her a chance. Maggie is both inspiration and role model, and she’s also a star to adore, has been for a decade. Lynne’s wall of fan memorabilia is . . . extensive.”

  David’s smile was comforting. “I understand fans, Mrs. Benoit. My famous girlfriend still screams when her favorite performer walks backstage to say hello. Not to mention the time Maggie got Bono’s autograph after a guest appearance at an awards ceremony. I thought I was never going to get her off the subject of Bono, his music, his band, his career, his lyrics.”

  Nancy gave a glimmer of a smile. “Yes. I can relate to all the trivia.”

  David tapped his watch. “I’ll go up for a bit, Nancy, if you’d like to come with me. No more than a few minutes, though. We’re on a schedule today.”

  “That’s fine, go on up. It’s kind of you to indulge her and sign Maggie’s program.”

  David nodded and headed upstairs.

  Evie wanted to go with him, but there was still too much ground to cover, and it was the mom who could best help her.

  Nancy looked back at her, a bit uncertain. Evie very lightly moved back to their conversation. “I know it was stressful when Jenna disappeared. Did you know Jenna well? Lynne and Jenna were friends?”

  “Yes, and it was a very hard time.”

  “How close were they?” She saw the instinctive hesitation and pressed as much as she could risk. “Please, I can only know Jenna through the insights of those who did know her. It’s important to get a clear sense of how you saw things.”

  Nancy sighed. “Jenna was a music connection for Lynne, and I liked that about her. But she wasn’t one of Lynne’s close friends from the neighborhood, like the girls Lynne went to middle school and high school with, who came over for sleepovers and movie nights. Jenna was a lovely girl, polite, good manners, bright, someone who enjoyed the college experience and classes. She filled a gap when Lynne was in college, gave her someone to socialize with, as Lynne’s friends mostly went to the state university rather than Brighton.”

  The woman looked away a moment. “It hit Lynne hard when Jenna disappeared. She searched the neighborhood and college with such intensity I seriously worried about her. But maybe I can say it this way: it was the placeholder Jenna provided in her life that Lynne missed more than the friendship. They didn’t have a tight personal connection—I could tell that whenever I saw them together. After a few years, Jenna’s absence was no longer a topic Lynne brought up. I was relieved. Lynne was able to move on, when so many times something like that would get her stuck, fixated, and she’d struggle to let it go.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Benoit.” Evie closed her notebook.

  “Tell me honestly you’re not looking at Lynne.”

  “You’re Lynne’s mother. Have you ever thought there was something to be concerned about?”

  “No. Until today, it has never crossed my mind.”

  “If Jenna and Lynne had some kind of ‘collision’ that night, I doubt Lynne would have remained a Maggie fan, loving one thing that happened that night while desperately trying to block out another experience. That doesn’t seem likely or even possible for Lynne—fixating on one, ignoring the other.”

  Nancy’s smile held relief. “No. It doesn’t sound like Lynne.”

  “Then simply help me rule her out. The night of Maggie’s concert—do you remember what time Lynne got home?”

  “Yes, because it wasn’t till dawn. She was floating, that one. She first came home with her autographed souvenirs around eleven-thirty, then took off to write her music. She came home for breakfast at seven with this thick set of song lyrics, sang several as I scrambled the eggs. She was happy, bubbling really. Whatever Maggie described as her writing process, Lynne latched on to it like a duck to water.

  “It’s not unusual, that schedule,” Nancy went on to explain. “Lynne doesn’t want to head straight to bed after a concert, and I can’t blame her. It’s the end of a workday for her. She’s been around a thousand people, and music is her thing. She needs a few hours before she can settle down to sleep.

  “So she’ll join others from the Music Hall for the midnight movie at the 4-Plex and then head to the restaurant next door and read until dawn. Or she’ll go over to a girlfriend’s, watch TV or DVDs, stretch out on their couch. She has a deal with me—she settles where she’s going to be by midnight, and once we both carried phones, she’d text where she was. The college years, she’d join friends at the campus union and take the early morning hours to study. If she’s out at night, she’s always home for our breakfast at seven.”

  Evie opened her notebook and added some shorthand comments for David later.

  Nancy smiled. “I know sometimes she would go join her boyfriend, Jim. He’d be closing the coffee shop at midnight, and they would hang out for a couple of hours playing music. He would walk her later to the destination of her choice. He was good to her. They shared similar circumstances—working evenings, each living at home, not wanting to go straight from the job to bed, but not wanting to disturb the folks. His dad owns the music store over on Tailor Street and the coffee shop beside it where they’ve got a small stage for live music. Lynne still sings there at least once a week, trying out her songs. She would haunt that music store as a child, learned what she knows about keyboards and guitars there, always ready to learn something more.

  “I liked Jim the best of her boyfriends—Jim Ulin—he was good for Lynne during those college years. After him Lynne was seeing Brad Nevery, a nice boy, just a bit rough in his language. He works as a mechanic over at Bushnell Autos. She’s between boyfriends now—by her choice, I think. Jim comes by occasionally to compliment a song she wrote, ask if she’s sung it for me yet. He’s got a good heart, that boy, didn’t go the college route but made himself something without it.

  “Lynne’s father and I, we’re lights out at midnight, and it’s hard in this old house not to hear someone moving about, even when she’d be doing her best to be quiet. She deserves to have some space—her music, her friends. She’d get an apartment of her own, but stays because she knows her father needs the certainty of someone being here, and I still work morning hours
. If Lynne is a bit quick to fixate, she comes by it from her father. He hears sounds and thinks someone’s breaking in, can get himself in a panic. But when family is here, he’s fine. We make it work. She deserves a life of her own, and I give her what space I can.”

  “I don’t see someone stressed about her life and wanting out of it, Nancy,” Evie commented. “She’s happy. That’s not a bad place to be when you’re her age.” Evie glanced at her notes. “Jim was her boyfriend throughout college?”

  “More like friends from grade school on, really. I hoped it would turn serious one day. Jim’s managing both the music store and the coffee shop now, and his dad’s mostly retired.”

  Evie heard David and Lynne, knew they would be coming down momentarily. “You’ve got a good daughter, Nancy, one who strikes me as happy with her life. I’ll figure out what happened to Jenna. It may shock a few people at first, whatever the truth is I eventually find. But it’s probably going to be a case where, on second thought, it’s not difficult to see. If there’s someone in the neighborhood who’s a person you have wondered about, would you call me?” Evie offered her card. “I promise, I eliminate quickly ninety-nine percent of the names that go on my list, yet every one of them takes me another step toward the truth.”

  “I’ll call you. If only because the truth removes all the questions once Jenna is found.”

  David rejoined them, and Evie knew him well enough to see he was thoughtful but not stressed. “Mrs. Benoit,” he said, “Lynne has a rare and classic Triple M poster in mint condition, one I also have on my wall. If she ever decides to part with it, I would be pleased to buy it for Maggie.” He smiled at Lynne as she stopped on the bottom step. “I’ll put my copy of tonight’s program in the mail after Maggie signs it. You’ve got a nice collection.”

  “I do so appreciate that.” Lynne waved a business card. “And this contact information for my music.”

  “I’ll tell him to expect that lyric notebook of yours.” David reached for the door, and Evie joined him, stepped out. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Benoit. Thanks, Lynne.” They walked back down the drive.

  Evie didn’t say anything as David drove two blocks, then pulled to the side of the road and handed her his phone. “I didn’t have to ask. Lynne thought Maggie might like to see her photo wall.”

  The spread was a classic homage to Maggie and the Triple M band. Maggie in multiple poses, magazine interviews, posters, photos from concerts, album covers turned into art. “It’s beautifully arranged,” Evie said as she scanned through the several shots he’d taken.

  “Lynne’s artistic in a way that seems innate,” he said. “Her room itself is a display of past music memorabilia to modern-day lyrics, all visually fitting together. The poster I mentioned is the one above the desk, the first thing you see as you enter the room. It’s worth at least six thousand now, will be double that soon. The girl really does have value in what she’s been collecting, a good eye for what to save.” He leaned over to highlight one of the photos. “The center of the wall is Maggie in concert at the Music Hall.”

  Evie enlarged that portion, saw Maggie onstage in a lovely full-skirted gown. Photos from backstage, the dressing room with Maggie still in jeans and a sweatshirt, snapshots of her and Lynne mugging for the camera—that would have set this fixation and made it personal. Several photos of the concert in progress. One of Lynne later sitting on a white bedspread, displaying all the things she had acquired as she memorialized the night.

  “The cassette player on the dresser—it’s a recording Lynne made of people talking around the dressing room that night, Maggie’s voice laughing as she got ready, doing her vocal exercises. Maggie knows she’s being recorded, you hear her ask, ‘Play it back, how do I sound?’ I’ve seen Maggie prepping for a performance, she’s gearing up to be vibrantly alive, and Lynne was getting two, almost three hours of that before Maggie went onstage. Lynne fixated for a reason that particular evening. She was predisposed to choose a favorite singer, and Maggie entered her life like a vibrant butterfly when Lynne was hungry for a role model. Lynne stuck to the honey.”

  Evie could see it as David put it into words. “And became an obsessed fan.”

  David nodded. “One who probably has a heart of gold trapped under the parts of her personality that haven’t matured yet. Lynne wasn’t nervous about talking with cops, and when you mention Jenna to her, it’s sadness, but distant, in her face and voice. She coped with the stress by letting go of Jenna in her memory. Whatever happened, it wasn’t Lynne.”

  “I ended up with the same conclusion but for other reasons. I’ll talk you through my conversation with her mother as we drive. We need to talk to a boyfriend of Lynne’s from back then, a Jim Ulin. His father owns a music store and adjoining coffee shop on Tailor Street.” Evie found the address and tapped it in.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Jenna had a habit of stealing boyfriends just because she could, and I’ve got Nancy describing Jim as one of those nice neighborhood guys who was good to Lynne. I’m wondering what kind of play Jenna made for him and when.”

  “Oh boy,” David breathed.

  Evie gave a sad smile. “This interview may still have solved the case. Let’s go meet him.”

  Twenty

  A mannequin in a college-band uniform holding a trumpet looked about ready to destroy the hearing of another mannequin in mid-strum of an electric guitar. Evie gave them a second look, which she supposed was the whole point of a window display, then entered the music store. Two dozen guitars had been neatly hung across the south wall, a quick count came up with ten keyboards of various sophistications, and there was enough sheet music filling several racks to remind her that songs really were written down before they were played. It was a foreign world to her.

  She glanced at David and caught an expression she hadn’t seen before, a touch of joyful pleasure. He no doubt would be walking out of here with a gift for Maggie.

  “Jim Ulin?” David was asking. The guy ringing up two music composition books pointed through the adjoining door to the coffee shop.

  She turned that direction into a long, narrow room, a low stage with a Karaoke Friday Night sign in bright blue neon, tables and chairs arranged around a counter for food and drinks, neatly forming a U in the center of the room. Muffins, brownies, soda, coffees, and . . . pizzas, which apparently could bake in a stack of toaster ovens. Eight of them, Evie counted. If she ran a coffee shop near a college, she’d be serving pizza and staying open until midnight too. The popcorn was free and self-serve, pouring out of a carnival-style stirring kettle.

  It was late for the lunch crowd, and since it was Friday, the six college students at a front table were watching people walk by, drinking coffee, and debating lamest movies, from the fragments of conversation picked up by Evie. The four at a back table were playing a card game, the remnants of a pizza cardboard on an adjoining table, and two who looked like brothers were perched on stools on the stage, dueling with guitars, mostly running riffs.

  A nice place that has the feel of a college hangout, Evie mused. The guy behind the counter had finished cleaning the coffeemaker and turned her direction with a smile. She didn’t need the nametag to know it was Jim from one of Jenna’s pictures. “I’ll take a black coffee and a brownie, and if you can spare it, a few minutes of your time on your next break.” She put her card down beside a ten-dollar bill.

  It got a second glance, along with a puzzled nod. “Sure. Choose a table, I’ll bring your coffee and pour myself one.”

  The brownie was huge and chunky with chocolate chips. The coffee came in a ceramic mug rather than styrofoam cup—they were obviously going the green route, using dishwasher energy instead of taking up landfill space. She did prefer her coffee in something solid. She pocketed the change he brought over with her order. “Thanks.”

  Jim pulled out the opposite chair. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  On the tall side, lanky, probably basketball if he was
an athlete. Sandy hair and some freckles. Twenty-nine, she guessed, still looking young but for the eyes that indicated he was probably the wisest young man around here. He made a good first impression.

  “I’ve been asking questions around campus about Jenna Greenhill. We have,” she explained, nodding toward David, still in the music shop. “We were talking recently with Lynne Benoit and her mom.”

  That got a reaction, the kind of subtle response that made a relaxed hand twitch a finger and the knee stiffen, with the eyes shifting away to look at anything other than the cop.

  “I was wondering how soon it was after Jenna showed up on campus that she began causing problems for you.”

  That turned his gaze back. Evie didn’t know anything more than what she had just implied, but Jim just filled in the entire rest of the story in the memories that flitted across his face. “There are two versions of Jenna around campus,” she added lightly. “One is kindness personified; the other wants to be the center of the universe and doesn’t mind poaching other girls’ boyfriends.” Evie offered a sympathetic smile for the tension showing in him. “I’m going to guess I just found my second Candy, someone who described Jenna to me as a ‘boyfriend-stealing cheater,’ and turned similarly unflattering from there. You didn’t like her, did you, Jim?”

  “No. And to say that after she’s missing just puts a spotlight on those words the wrong way.”

  “If it’s the truth, it’s just what was,” Evie replied matter-of-factly.

  Jim glanced around the coffee shop, confirmed they weren’t being overheard. He wrapped his hands around his warm mug and said, “Jenna was college and ambition. I was this place, the music store, my old man. I’m likely never leaving this neighborhood, and I’m okay with that. It pays the bills. The same folks have been around here for thirty years and they’re good people. Dad and I are actually friends. But Jenna was looking and flirting and mostly, I think, bored. The fact Lynne was my choice startled her . . . I think it amused her.