Sleep of the Innocent by Medora Sale

still. She was sharing the flat with a girl named Amanda or Annabel or something like that, and they have a phone, but she prefers not to let people have that number. This way we can act as an answering service. We bought her one of those machines for Christmas—not that we mind taking her calls, but we thought she might like the privacy, but she said, no, and made us keep the machine. She says there are too many weirdos, she calls them, out there, and she doesn’t want to have to deal with them.”
    â€œDoes she have a boyfriend who might know where she is?”
    â€œI don’t think so. She used to go out with Ryan—he was in the band—but they had a fight, and Ryan got another offer and he went off to the West Coast, I think. She hasn’t really had a boyfriend recently.”
    Lucas smiled and drank his coffee. There was obviously a limit to what Jennifer told her mother. “Why does she dye her hair black, Mrs. Wilson?” he asked out of a sudden anxiety and desire to make sure they were talking about the same Jennifer Wilson.
    â€œOh, she hasn’t gone and done that again, has she?” said her mother, with a look of half-amused distress on her face. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone down to Florida. I thought I’d finally talked her out of doing things to her hair. She has such pretty hair, and it looks terrible like that. I keep telling her it’ll all fall out if she keeps on dyeing it these awful colors every few months, and she just smiles and says it’s part of the act and if she goes bald, she’ll get herself a fancy wig. After all, she says, Dolly Parton wears wigs, and look at the money she makes. You just can’t argue with her. She’s that sharp. And funny when she wants to be.”
    Lucas put down his coffee mug and rose to his feet. “Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. You’ve been very helpful. And please let us know if you hear from Jennifer. Call me at this number,” and he jotted down his name and the number, “and if I’m not there, ask for Sergeant Patterson, or failing that, Inspector Baldwin. They’ll all know what you’re talking about. Of course, you can always leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.” He hoped she had absorbed the fact that he really wanted to hear from her, although from the slightly distracted look in her eyes, he doubted it. “I don’t think your daughter realizes how important her evidence is—she probably doesn’t realize even what she was looking at when she witnessed the event. So she probably won’t think to contact us.” He would have been happier if he had thought she was listening to him; but she seemed to be one of those people who rarely give concentrated attention to any monologues but their own.
    Eric Patterson was leaning back in his chair again, looking considerably livelier than he had the day before. “So—how’s the mystery witness tour going?” he said, and put his feet up on the desk in the attitude of a man who expects to be amused.
    â€œNot only does she exist, Patterson, you slob, but she has parents and a nice house in the suburbs. The only thing that puzzles me is that both her agent and her parents are under the impression that she is in the north woods right now and hasn’t been near the big city in a week.”
    â€œReally?” said Patterson, removing his feet from the desk in honor of the occasion. “Maybe you’re chasing the wrong chickadee.”
    â€œI thought about that, but you know, Pine Valley isn’t far from here. She could have come down. Neilson was killed the day after they finished their stint up there. There’s a big name group in there for the weekend now—they were just a filler.”
    â€œSo she came down to see him, meaning to go back and loaf around with the boys in the band,” said Eric, grinning, “only events intervened, and she got nabbed by us.