Threads of Suspicion(107)
“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.