Nineteen
Evie clicked her seat belt into place. “That filled up an interesting hour. Thanks.” They had been running down leads on both Saul and Jenna, filling in the hours until they could go interview Lynne. Talking to one of the gamblers identified in Saul’s last photos had been a useful interview.
“A fascinating man,” David said, “one whose gambling addiction has been dominating his life for twenty years. The names he provided will be helpful.” He glanced at the time, started the car. “Let’s go find your shoes for tonight—by then it will be time to drive over and see our Lynne.”
“That’s very much a yes,” she replied.
David nodded, backed out into the street. Evie found the name of a nearby mall, keyed in directions, then went online for shoe stores closest to which entrance. “I assume you’re coming in while I shop?”
“If they’ve got a bookstore, that’s where I’ll be. Find me when you’re done.”
She smiled. “I can do that.”
Evie had known David had done it on purpose—the break at the mall and something else to think about before Lynne’s big interview. It had helped. She followed him up to the Benoit home, let him ring the doorbell just minutes after noon. She hoped what followed would go as well as their timing.
The woman who came to the door was Lynne’s mother, and her DMV photo hadn’t done her justice. She looked younger than her years. “May I help you?”
David already had his badge and credentials out, showed them casually as he smiled. “Mrs. Benoit—Nancy, if you don’t mind—I’m David Marshal, and this is my partner, Evie Blackwell. We’re working on an old case of a missing college student, Jenna Greenhill. We’re in the area for interviews this afternoon, and we had a question come up regarding the Music Hall that Lynne might be able to quickly answer. Would she happen to be home?”
“Of course. Please, come in out of the cold. It’s never going to thaw, the way the weather is this year.” She turned to the stairs and called, “Lynne, would you come down please? We have guests.”
Nancy motioned them toward the front room where a fire cheerfully blazed. She had apparently been watching a Jeopardy! episode she’d recorded, as it was now on pause. She studied David with interest. “You’re Maggie’s boyfriend, aren’t you? I’m not so behind on the times I didn’t hear you were in town—that skeleton they found, your name in the news. Lynne will be overjoyed. You’re helping out with Jenna now, are you? It’s sad, what happened with her, just so very sad.”
“Yes, it is, Mrs. Benoit. You remember the case?”
“No one talked of much else for several months. It was the lack of any clues that was so puzzling. When you live in a neighborhood for thirty years, crimes like that leave a large hole in your sense of safety. Thankfully, it’s been the only crime of its nature in those thirty years. I’m not saying the college doesn’t breed some trouble, and girls certainly have to show common sense at night, but most of the families around here are smart enough to know the college crowd comes and goes as a constant refrain. They don’t bother us, for the most part, and we let them be.”
“Who is it, Mom—?” Lynne mostly swallowed the last words as she took the final two steps into the front room. “Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my . . . !”
“Take a breath, child,” Nancy said kindly but firmly, and Lynne swiveled her head quickly between David and her mom.
“Oh, hi. Wow!”
David smiled, and Lynne flushed scarlet.
“Hi back to you, Lynne. I hear you’re a fan of Maggie’s,” David said.
“Only absolutely forever! I’ve got her first recording from Chester Hill, the one she did with Steve Ross at the Cup and Bell, and I just acquired a copy of Marissa’s wedding program with the original lyrics Maggie wrote. Oh, my goodness, why are you here? I mean here here? Did I, like, win the ticket? The actual ticket to a table at the charity event tonight? I know just what I’ll wear—”
“I haven’t heard yet, Lynne,” David interjected. “The mayor’s office is the one doing the drawing.”
“I’ve already got the night off to go into Chicago. Just being there is important. There’s going to be so many celebrities coming to hear Maggie sing, but to be inside would be incredible.”
David smiled. “Then I hope your name gets drawn so you can have that experience.”
Lynne looked from David to Evie, over to her mom, then back to David, her expression full of delight and also questions.
“They need some information about the Music Hall, Lynne. Related to Jenna,” her mom filled in.
“Sure. I talked to someone last week asking questions about the Music Hall and Jenna. It was a Triple M concert the night she disappeared. Maggie was incredible, her singing that night. She brought the house down.”
“Ann was doing interviews with me last week, and you spoke with her,” Evie said, and Lynne’s attention turned to her. “You were helpful, Lynne. Your job in the dressing room gives you insight on the bands no one else has, and the fact you’ve worked there for so many years is also invaluable.”
“It’s a great job. They pay me to do a job I’d do for free, given how many musicians and singers I get to meet.” Her attention shifted back quickly to David. “Maggie was absolutely the best of all of them, ever. She gave me songwriting tips, autographed my program, and I’ve got a photo with her playing the guitar in the dressing room. She even asked my opinion on a song she was putting together. I wasn’t bugging her,” Lynne hurried to add. “I was just there if she needed something—it’s my job. But there was a lull with the sound check, and she had twenty minutes to fill. She wanted to talk, asked about how the crowds were when the Music Hall was full and what I thought of the acoustics, did I have any tips about the stage or lighting. I was so nervous I would say something wrong, but I could tell she was nervous too—can you imagine it? Margaret May McDonald nervous about singing! I would have never thought it. She laughed and said I was the best for helping settle her nerves. She sang wonderful that night. I’d heard her several times before, and I knew she was going to be spectacular. She absolutely was. I thought it was the best concert ever.”
“Maggie did sing wonderfully that night,” David agreed. “She was trying out some new songs, which always makes her nerves particularly acute. I’d say she was right, if she said you were helping her calm down.”
Lynne beamed. “I told you, Mom.”
“Yes, you did, Lynne. But there are other things to talk about now.” She looked to Evie, then David. “You came with a question about the Music Hall?”
“Your daughter has worked there for a long time,” David began. “And I was there that night when Maggie sang, with her onstage briefly at the end of the performance. It struck me that the Music Hall’s pretty expansive the way it’s laid out. I’m curious, Lynne, if there’s been any remodeling done, like new exits added as the fire codes changed, more office space, or new configuration to handle updated electronics to enhance the concert experience—that kind of thing.”
“Why ask Lynne rather than the building owner or manager?” Nancy interjected.
“Mom . . .” Lynne protested.
“We’re not implying anything or suspecting anyone, Mrs. Benoit. It’s simply easier to ask questions about the Music Hall when we’re not actually standing in it. Working backstage like she does, Lynne would have seen the changes as they happened.”
“There used to be a stage trapdoor—you mean things like that?” Lynne asked.
“Yes, just like that.”
“They had to board it over for a few years because it opened to a ladder underneath the stage. Then they took that whole section of the stage out and put in a motorized lift. Now the entire section of floor can be raised or lowered by four feet. And they took out offices rather than add them, so the Hall could have an official standing-room-only section.” Lynne gazed at the floor for a moment, thinking, then looked up in relief. “They put in more restrooms. And the place used to have pretty uncomfortable seats, but they’ve replaced them all, twice now since I’ve worked there. Not that anyone sits once a concert is under way, but you do notice before things start that it’s more comfortable than before.”
She glanced between them. “It’s not a complex building—just the entrance halls with concessions for intermission and restrooms, the backstage area for performers, and offices upstairs for security and management. The sound and lighting guys have lots of storage rooms tucked around all over the building, and the janitors need big equipment to work on the floors and carpets to keep them clean. But they mostly rip out the carpet every couple years and repaint everything. Rather routine, you know, how stuff is done. Does that help?”
“It sure does,” David replied.
Evie, busily taking notes, nodded her agreement. That hall was a labyrinth for people who knew it well. If Jenna had gone back to meet someone, there were ways around getting noticed. Something bad happened with the manager, just schedule the carpet to get ripped out since it was getting worn, put a repaint job on the schedule, and watch the crime scene disappear.
“You’ve noticed a lot of bands come and go, the equipment they bring in, how they like to configure things, practice,” David commented.
“Sure. Sometimes I go in early so I can watch the stage configuration. Mike—he’s the electrician there—sometimes he’ll see me in the seats watching and send me for the cables he needs, or call out the connections he wants made, because I know where everything’s stored. I keep the dressing rooms neat and everything arranged in its place, but it’s nothing compared to Mike and his cables and cords. It’s everything put back where it belongs, and everything checked to be there, before you leave wrap-up. Sometimes it’s two a.m. before he’ll release the crew. He’s a good teacher. I can put the dressing room back in shape and have its inventory checked in under an hour now, when it used to take me almost two.”
“You stay after the concerts to straighten up, put things in order—it’s not a job for the next morning?”
She shrugged. “You wait until morning, then the next band comes in early, and they suffer in the chaos because you weren’t ready for them. The Music Hall has a reputation for taking care of its performers, and it would be bad if I was the reason for something less. Every band deserves an excellent dressing-room experience.”
“My daughter takes her job very seriously,” Nancy said with a smile.
Lynne shot an embarrassed look across the room. “Mom wants me to be a bank teller or work for an insurance broker, because I’m careful with the details. But the Music Hall is better than any other job around. There are great perks besides just getting to meet great people and hear all the concerts. They constantly have new posters going up and others coming down. I’ve got dozens and dozens of band posters in my collection, and some are worth serious money as collectibles.”
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.
“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.”