Panic Button (11 page)

I nodded. “Let me guess, Ardent Lake is a small place. And everyone here knows everyone
else.”

“You got that right.” The woman set down the shopping bag and I heard the clink of
glass. When I took a step closer to her, she nudged the bag farther into the shadows
near her feet. “And everyone knows everybody else’s business, too. Believe me, everyone
was talking about you before you were out of Foder’s parking lot. They said you were
that button lady who was appraising the charm string for Angela.”

“That’s right.” Though she already knew my name, I officially introduced myself.

“Marci Steiner,” she said in return. She took a pack of cigarettes out of one pocket
and a pink plastic lighter from another. “Angela, she was killed right outside your
shop, wasn’t she?”

The very thought still made my throat clutch. I cleared away the uncomfortable sensation
with a cough, and even though I knew I had nothing to get defensive about, it was
kind of hard to control the reaction. My back stiffened. “It’s not like she was killed
on the sidewalk right on the other side of the display window,” I told Marci. “It
was actually down an alley and back in a courtyard. But close enough.” Speaking the
truth took some of the starch out of my spine. “That’s why I made the trip to Ardent
Lake. Angela had just left my shop before she was killed. I felt…I feel like the least
I can do is pay my respects.”

“That’s not what people are saying. I mean, some people. I heard them talking this
afternoon. They said they remember seeing your name in the paper when that What’s-Her-Name,
that famous actress, got killed. They said you’re here to find out who murdered Angela.”

It wasn’t a question so, technically, I didn’t owe Marci an answer. Morally, I felt
obliged. Oh, not to give Marci the truth. To keep my word to Nev and cover for what
I was doing.

“Boy, if they needed my help, the cops would be really hard up!” I laughed. “Honest,
I’m here because I feel…I don’t know…I guess I feel I owe it to Angela. She seemed
like a nice lady.”

Marci barked out a laugh. “You think so? Then you didn’t know her very well, did you?”

“Did you?” I asked her.

She dropped her cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out with the toe of one sneaker,
then picked up the shopping bag and took a step back. “I guess I’ll see you at the
funeral tomorrow,” she said.

What was it Nev had said—subtle? Doing my subtle best, I stepped forward, and when
Marci started walking, I fell into step beside her.

“So, did you know Angela well?” I asked.

She threw me a sidelong glance that might have meant she was surprised at the question.
Or maybe she was sending the signal that she wasn’t happy I’d tagged along. “You’re
asking awfully personal questions for someone who’s just here to pay her respects.”

For a short woman, she sure had a long stride. I did my best to keep up with Marci.
“Well, you have to admit, the whole thing is pretty interesting. I mean, in a sad
way. What happened to Angela is a mystery, and I only know what everyone else knows,
what I’ve read in the newspapers. Naturally, it’s got me wondering…Do you think
there’s any chance that someone here in Ardent Lake might know more about what really
happened?”

She barked out a laugh. “I can’t speak for anyone but myself, and all I know is that
the woman made me nuts. What with her crazy talk about astrology and spells and whatnot.
I didn’t like her. There. That’s the honest truth. If that makes me a suspect, then
a whole bunch of other people here are suspects, too.”

We got to the broad sidewalk that ringed the park and a cross street, and I hoped
Marci didn’t decide to cross against the light. I was already scrambling to keep up
with her, and I didn’t want to look like a stalker.

She glanced over her shoulder, back the way we came. “I’ll bet anything you’re staying
at the Victoria. It’s one of the few places to stay in town and I know for a fact
that other B and B is booked solid with a group of antiquers. The Victoria is back
that way.”

I shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s a beautiful night. I don’t mind walking
some more. Besides, if your husband asks, you can tell him we bumped into each other,
and that’s what delayed you.”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

The light changed and we crossed the street.

“So you were saying…” She wasn’t, but I was hoping she wouldn’t come right out and
call me a liar. “About people who didn’t like Angela.”

She darted me a look and took a moment to make up her mind. “Well, if you don’t hear
it from me, you’ll only hear it from somebody else,” she finally said. “There’s that
bitch Susan O’Hara, for one. I saw you talking to her
at the funeral home. I’ll tell you what, the moment I heard that Angela had been murdered,
I prayed Susan was the one who did it. Damn, that would be perfect! Miss High and
Mighty O’Hara, led away in handcuffs.”

Oh yeah, I was tempted to pounce on this nugget. Like a pigeon on a bread crumb. I
controlled myself, playing it cool far better than any theater major who’d never been
much of an actor should have been able to. “I never met Susan until this afternoon.
She doesn’t exactly seem like a murderer.”

“Yeah, that’s what they always say, isn’t it?” We came to another cross street, and
since there was no sign of traffic, Marci hurried across and I followed along. “From
what I’ve read in the papers, the cops say robbery wasn’t the motive in Angela’s murder.
Is that true?” she asked.

“I only know what I’ve read in the papers, too.”

“Well, if it’s true about robbery not being a motive, it’s got to make you wonder,
doesn’t it? We’re not exactly country bumpkins here in Ardent Lake. I mean, we watch
CSI
and all the other cop shows. We know what’s what. And I know the first thing the
cops are going to ask is who had a reason to kill ol’ Angela.”

“And you think Susan did?”

She stopped in front of a sweet little Victorian cottage with a white picket fence
out front and an arbor that spanned the walk that led to the front door. I pictured
it in the summer, with roses growing all around.

Marci put her hand on the gate inside the arbor and pushed it open. “I don’t think
it,” she said. “I know it.”

I had played it cool long enough. Even a button nerd who truly was in town just to
offer her condolences
wouldn’t pass up an opportunity for hot gossip like that, right?

Eager not to look…well, too eager, I schooled my voice when I asked, “Why would Susan
want to kill Angela?”

Marci slid me a look. “So you are working with the cops.”

“Please!” I made sure my laugh was light and airy. “A person doesn’t have to be connected
with the police to be curious. And you’ve got to admit, what you said about Susan
was bound to make me wonder what’s really going on and how much you know about it.
It’s like some really good book. Or a movie. I can’t help but want to know more.”

Behind the lace curtains in a front window, there was a light on, and Marci threw
a glance that way.

I was going to lose her, and this opportunity to learn what I could from her.

The thought pounded through my brain, and I folded my fingers into the palms of my
hands and wondered where I’d gone wrong at the same time I decided that there was
nothing like a little upping the ante on the gossip to keep the conversation going.

As if sharing a secret, I lowered my voice. “Susan told me—”

“What?” Marci flinched as if she’d been slapped. “Because if that bitch said one word
about me—”

“Your name never came up. But she did say that she thought Angela was a nutcase.”

“No big news flash there.” Marci shifted the shopping bag from one hand to the other,
and again, I heard the
rattle of glass. Whatever she was carrying, it was bigger than a drinking glass, smaller
than a pitcher. “But of course, Susan would say that. She’d do anything to make Angela
look bad.”

This didn’t make sense to me. “But Angela was donating the charm string to her museum,”
I blurted out, thinking out loud. “And Susan was grateful. In fact, she asked me if
I thought she might still get the charm string. If she was so appreciative, why would
Susan want to discredit Angela?”

Marci let go of the gate and it slapped closed. “Did you see the guy at the wake?
The one with the silvery hair?”

I had a vague recollection of a man at the back of the room who looked sadder than
the rest of the folks gathered there. “Larry?” I asked.

Marci nodded, confirming my suspicion.

“He’s obviously pretty broken up.”

Another nod sent her spiky hair twitching. “Larry’s a nice guy. Kind of quiet, you
know?”

“And he and Angela were dating.”

“She told you, huh?”

“She mentioned it when she came to the shop. She said Larry was the only good thing
that had happened in her life lately.”

“Yeah.” Marci chuckled. “On account of the curse! God, maybe for the first time in
her life, Susan is actually right. Maybe Angela really was a nutcase.”

“But that’s not exactly a reason Susan would want to kill her.”

Oh yes, I was fishing. For all I was worth.

Marci glanced around. We were the only ones out there on the street, but she stepped
nearer, anyway. “Larry’s the reason.”

“The reason Angela believed in curses? I don’t think so. She said—”

“Not the reason she believed in curses. The reason Susan hated Angela.”

I am not usually slow, but this took some thinking. “You’re implying—”

“Implying!” Marci punched open the gate and stepped onto the walk that led to the
front door. “I’m not implying anything, I’m telling you flat out. Susan and Larry
used to be a couple. That’s why Susan hated Angela so much. Angela stole him away
from her.”

I
WASN’T SURE
how well Marci was connected to the Ardent Lake gossip grapevine, but I did know
this much: at the funeral the next day, Larry looked positively inconsolable. He was
a tall, handsome guy and as we stood around the coffin at the cemetery, I made sure
I positioned myself directly across from him and watched his face twist with pain
as the minister read the last of the prayers.

“I’ll need to talk to him,” I said to Stan after we walked away from the service.
“But I’m thinking this would be a bad time.”

“There’s a luncheon.” Stan pointed to the line in the church program that invited
everyone attending back to the home of Angela’s cousin, Charles.

“You hungry?” I asked him.

“After that fabulous breakfast we had back at the B and B? Heck no. But I’m thinking
if we want to talk to suspects…”

I knew just what Stan was talking about. I’d had two cranberry muffins back at the
B and B, as well as a gorgeous fruit compote and a bowl of yogurt drizzled with honey
from the hives in the back garden.

We went to the funeral luncheon, anyway.

C
OUSIN
C
HARLES LIVED
in a modest house in a development called Vista View Hills about two miles outside
of town. I didn’t see any hills, or anything that even began to qualify as a vista,
either, for that matter. In fact, as we pulled down the street and parked, the only
thing I saw were more cookie-cutter versions of Charles’s split-level. The only thing
I could think when we got inside was that it was a very good thing the house wasn’t
in town. His seventies throwback shag carpeting and avocado appliances would never
pass muster within Ardent Lake city limits.

There was a buffet table set up in the dining room, and it was heaped with food. I
suspect it was homemade by the women who were running back and forth into the kitchen
to make sure everything was hot and restocked. Angela’s garden club members, I heard
someone say. They were working hard, and their expressions were sad. I didn’t need
anyone to tell me they were also Angela’s friends. Stan volunteered to talk to them,
and since many of them were close to his age and would, no doubt, appreciate some
masculine attention and maybe talk a little
more freely because of it, I left him to it and took a turn through the rest of the
house.

There was quite a crowd, but I was disappointed when I realized Larry was a no-show.
And though he was officially hosting, Cousin Charles was obviously nobody’s idea of
the life of the party. Even an after-funeral party.

He was a plump guy with fiery cheeks and thinning dark hair. Still dressed in the
dull olive suit he’d worn at the funeral, Charles sat on a folding chair in front
of the fireplace in the family room, a plate of rigatoni and salad on his lap. He
glanced up at his fellow mourners as they walked by, and looked away again before
there was any chance they could make eye contact.

“It’s so nice of you to host everyone at your home,” I said, settling myself in the
empty chair next to him.

His gaze fluttered in my direction. “That’s me, Mr. Nice Guy.”

I wasn’t sure how he expected me to respond, so I took a bite of tasty chicken Marsala.
“You’re…” I gave him a chance to look my way, and when he didn’t, I pressed on. “You’re
Angela’s cousin, right?”

He gave me another fleeting glance. I’d introduced myself to Charles at the wake the
day before so I wasn’t surprised when he said, “And you’re that button lady.”

I gave him a smile I was sure he didn’t notice. But then, he’d dropped his gaze to
his pasta. “There are so many people here. Angela must have been very well liked.”

“I suppose some people liked her.” Charles’s top lip curled when one of the garden
club ladies walked by. He poked his fork around in his salad. “You appraised the charm
string.”

There was no use denying it. Aside from the fact that it was true, everyone in town
seemed to have the inside track on my business.

“How much?” Charles asked.

I happened to be taking another bite of chicken when he said this. That was a good
thing because it gave me the opportunity to think of a politically correct answer
while I pointed to my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “I’m not at liberty to discuss
Angela’s business. I’m sure you understand.”