Panic Button (14 page)

T
HEY SAY NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS, BUT WHEN THE NO
news is no news from anyone in the button community about that beautiful red fish
button, the no news turned out to be not so good.

Back in Chicago and behind my desk at the Button Box the day after the funeral, I
clicked off my phone call. “That’s the last of them,” I told Stan, who’d volunteered
to come in and do some dusting and vacuuming even though I told him I’d be happy to
do it myself. “I’ve called every button dealer I know. Not one of them has heard from
anybody trying to sell that enameled button.”

“Bad luck, kiddo.” Stan was just coming by with a dust rag and a bottle of beeswax
furniture polish and he stopped next to my desk. I knew he understood my
frustration. Years on the job, and no doubt, he’d seen more than his share of this
sort of dead end.

Which is why I asked, “What do we do now?”

I had hoped for something definitive. Instead, he scratched a hand through his thinning
white hair. “We can always move on to Plan B.”

“Yeah. If there was a Plan B.” Too disappointed to sit there doing nothing, I got
up and grabbed the bottle of window cleaner he’d left nearby along with a roll of
paper towels. While Stan tackled the nearest old library catalog file drawer where
I stored buttons—first applying a liberal coating of polish, then letting it dry,
then wiping and buffing—I worked on the nearest glass-front display case.

“There was nothing else on that charm string worth stealing,” I said, attacking a
fingerprint smudge especially hard, not because it needed it, but because activity
helped chase away some of my frustration. “The only other button missing is that metal
one with the picture of the building on it, and just to cover all my bases, I asked
all the dealers I talked to about that button, too. Not that I needed to bother. Believe
me, Stan…” I was bent at the waist, running the paper towel over the front of the
case, and I looked at him through the glass. “There’s no way that button was worth
killing for.”

“Well, you know buttons better than anybody else, that’s for sure. I can’t argue with
you. So maybe…” He stopped the buffing for a moment. “Maybe the person who killed
Angela didn’t care a bean about buttons. Maybe that person had some other reason to
kill Angela.”

This was what I’d been thinking, too, and I can’t say it cheered me up. After all,
greed is an unpleasant and
petty motive, but it’s not nearly as nasty as hate. “Well, there is Susan,” I said,
reminding Stan of everything we’d discussed on the drive home from Ardent Lake including
about how Susan had once dated Larry. “And Cousin Charles, of course.”

“And we never did catch up with Larry,” he said.

I finished with one display case and moved on to the next. “Yeah, but Nev did. He
told me he talked to Larry the day before the wake.”

“And found out nothing helpful.”

“You got that right.” I sprayed and rubbed and sprayed some more. “Missing, missing,
missing,” I grumbled. “The two buttons are missing. Information is missing. Kaz is
missing.”

I grimaced as soon as the words fell out of my mouth, but by that time, it was too
late to call them back. All I could do is keep spraying and rubbing and hope Stan
didn’t make too big a deal out of what was sounding a little too much like obsession,
even to me.

“Still no sign of him, huh?” Bless Stan for not making it sound like they were recasting
Misery
and I was first in line for the Kathy Bates role. “He hasn’t even left you a voice
mail or anything?”

“Aha! See?” I straightened up and pointed a finger in Stan’s direction. “It’s not
so crazy for me to wonder what’s going on and why I haven’t seen Kaz, and where he
is. You think it’s odd, too.”

Maybe there was too much fire in my eyes. And too much conviction ringing through
my words. Maybe that’s why Stan looked at me as if I’d just started speaking fluent
Martian. “You really are worked up about this,” he said.

“Worked up? Me?” I marched over to my desk so I could throw away the used paper towels
in the garbage can that I’d once decorated with hundreds of glued-on buttons. “I am
not worked up,” I insisted, my voice loud because I was, after all, pretty worked
up. “I’m just—”

“Grateful?” Stan flashed me a smile that said he wasn’t trying to be mean as much
as he was trying to get me to see how unreasonable I sounded.

He was right.

I dropped into my desk chair.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” I said, not trying to assure him as much as I was trying
to convince myself. “It doesn’t make sense that Kaz has fallen off the face of the
earth. And it doesn’t make sense that I care.”

“Well, sure it does.” Stan set down his rag and bottle of polish. “You two have history.”

My laugh contained zero amusement. “Not good history.”

“Maybe not. But it’s not like you hate Kaz or anything. He did bad things, sure, and
he did bad things to you, but I know you don’t wish anything bad on him in return.
You’re not that kind of person.”

I gulped. “Do you think that’s what’s happened to Kaz? Something bad?”

“More like something with long legs, blond hair, and big—” Stan swallowed the rest
of what he was going to say. “My guess is Kaz is busy. You know, with a woman.”

There was a time just thinking something like that would have shaken me to my core.
Now it was oddly comforting. I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“You’re right. Kaz is a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

As if it would prove I really meant it, I slapped the arms of my desk chair and got
to my feet. Good thing I did because it made me look calm and in control when a customer
walked in the door.

“Hello, welcome to the Button Box.” I moved to the front of the store. The woman was
in her sixties with a sleek dark bob and wearing jeans, ankle boots, and a red leather
blazer over a neat dark tee. She looked familiar. “You’ve been here before,” I said.

“Well, no.” She was carrying one of those reusable shopping totes, and she switched
it from one hand to the other. “We’ve never actually met. I’m Mary Lou Baldwin. I
saw you. Yesterday, at the funeral.”

My memory jogged, I realized the woman looked familiar because she was one of the
people who helped with lunch at Charles’s house. I told her how much everyone appreciated
the food and all the work Angela’s friends had done and asked the inevitable, “What
can I do for you?”

“Well, your friend…” Mary Lou looked past me to wave at Stan. “He told me how you
two were in Ardent Lake because Angela had been one of your customers, and I…” As
if it might somehow explain, she hoisted the tote bag in both hands. “My mother left
me some buttons. I thought you might be interested in looking through them, and maybe
buying them if they’re worth anything.”

I do not need to say how much this cheered me.
Finally, I could get down to business. My real business. Which—just for the record—has
nothing to do with murder, and everything to do with buttons. Besides, every button
stash brings with it the tantalizing possibility of a newly discovered treasure.

My fingers itching to get started and my blood singing with the endless possibilities
of unearthing some gorgeous button that had been ignored for years, I ushered Mary
Lou into the back room, and when she refused a cup of coffee, I put on a pot of water
for tea and settled her on one of the stools pulled up next to the worktable.

An hour later, we’d been through the buttons and two cups of Red Zinger, and I had
a small pile of choice buttons on the table in front of me.

“You’re sure about selling?” I asked one last time.

Mary Lou nodded. She was a pleasant woman who’d told me about how she met Angela through
the Ardent Lake Garden Club. They weren’t close friends, she admitted, but that didn’t
stop Mary Lou’s eyes from filling with tears when Angela’s name came up.

I liked Mary Lou.

“I’ve got enough of my mother’s things to remember her by,” she said. “It’s not like
I need those few buttons. Plus…” Her shoulders shot back and she sat a little straighter.
“I’m saving for a cruise to the Caribbean. It’s a surprise for my husband for our
fortieth anniversary.”

I grimaced. “If you’re thinking these buttons—”

“Oh, no!” Mary Lou laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s not like I think they’re worth enough
to pay for the entire cruise. But every little bit helps.”

“As little as seventy-five dollars?” I asked.

She grinned. “I was sure you were going to say fifty. Sold!”

Truth be told, seventy-five dollars was a tad too generous on my behalf, but that
didn’t stop me from writing out a check and gladly handing it over to Mary Lou. I
hoped knowing she’d made something of a button killing would keep Mary Lou’s spirits
up.

Especially since I was about to launch into a not-so-pleasant subject.

“So…” I sorted through the buttons I’d chosen, making small piles. Clear glass to
my left. Fabric buttons on my right. Realistics right in the middle. I have a special
place in my heart for realistics, those cute buttons that are made to look like actual
objects. I fingered a small yellow squirrel. “You knew her, Mary Lou. What do you
think about Angela’s death?”

She wasn’t expecting the question, and Mary Lou’s bottom lip suddenly quivered. I
was almost ready to throw in the towel, admit that I was poking my nose where it had
no business and apologize for upsetting her, when she said, “I’ve never known anyone
before who was actually…you know…murdered.” She gave that last word all the gravity
it deserved.

Mary Lou folded her hands together in her lap. “It’s hard to imagine everything that
happened to her that night.” Apparently, not that hard, because her eyes filled with
tears. She glanced away. “I’m sorry. Like I said, Angela and I weren’t close, but
just thinking about anyone dying that way…”

“I absolutely know how you feel.” Now that I’d gotten her talking, I didn’t want Mary
Lou to get any ideas—like about leaving—so I filled the electric kettle again and
plugged it in. I got out two fresh teacups and plopped a tea bag in each, and when
the water boiled, I poured and carried the cups back to the table. “I saw Angela that
night. Just before—”

“Of course! I’m so sorry.” Mary Lou put a hand on my arm in sympathy. “Here I am getting
all mushy and I hadn’t talked to Angela since the Garden Club Christmas luncheon.
And you saw her that night. Just before…”

Neither of us needed to elaborate.

After an appropriate minute of silence that filled in for all the details neither
of us wanted to mention, I fished the bag out of my teacup with a spoon and added
some honey. “So what are they saying in Ardent Lake?” I asked. “Any theories?”

“About Angela?” Mary Lou had fixed her own tea moments before and she was in the middle
of blowing on it. She paused, the cup at her lips. “You know she thought she was cursed.”

“And I think we can both be pretty sure the curse had nothing to do with her murder.”

One corner of Mary Lou’s mouth pulled into a wry smile. “It would be easier, wouldn’t
it? I mean, thinking that you’re cursed, and that’s why bad things happen to you.
Or you’re somehow blessed and that’s why you’re successful. If you believed that,
then you wouldn’t have to accept the fact that there are people who actually choose
to do evil things to other people.”

“And you think someone chose to do this to Angela?”

Mary Lou’s gaze snapped to mine. “Well, obviously. Someone killed her.”

“But you don’t think it was random. You think it was planned. Why do you think that,
Mary Lou?”

She set her cup on the worktable. “Well, I can’t say for sure. Believe me, if I could,
I’d go right to the police with the information. But it does make you wonder, doesn’t
it? About what’s in people’s hearts. About their motives.”

“Did anyone you know have a motive to kill Angela?”

Mary Lou lifted her teacup and took a sip. Over the rim of her cup, her gaze flickered
my way. “You know there was bad blood between Angela and Susan O’Hara?”

“I heard something about that, yeah.”

“Well…” Mary Lou set down her cup. “Maybe Susan shouldn’t have been so convinced she
lost out. You know, where Larry is concerned.”

I wasn’t sure what Mary Lou was getting at.

Unless…

I put down my cup, too, the better to concentrate on my guest. “You’re saying that
Susan had a chance to get Larry back. Because…”

Mary Lou scooted forward on the stool. “Well, I don’t know all the details because
I could only hear some of it, but…” She leaned nearer. “It happened the afternoon
Angela was killed. I was in Larry’s hardware store picking up a few things. It’s a
big, old-fashioned sort of store. You know, lots of aisles, lots of inventory. I was
the only customer there. Larry was up by the cash register and I
was by the plumbing supplies. That’s way in the back of the store. I’m sure that’s
why Angela didn’t see me when she came in.”

Something that felt very much like hope blossomed in my heart. Oh, I didn’t expect
Mary Lou to hand me the solution to this case on a silver platter. But—finally—I was
about to hear information. Information about the day Angela died.

I didn’t want to scare Mary Lou. Or make her think I was some kind of weirdo. I controlled
my curiosity, and my voice, when I asked, “She was shopping?”

“More like she was looking to bust heads.” Mary Lou gave me a steady look. “Namely,
Larry’s head.”

“Really? But they were—”

“Madly in love? Yeah, that’s what everyone in town thought. Including Susan, which
is why she’s been so upset all these months. She couldn’t believe Larry dumped her
for Angela. But if Susan had been in the hardware store that day…” Mary Lou whistled
low under her breath.

And I could only pretend to be semi-interested for so long. I leaned forward, too.
“What happened?”

“Well, like I said…” Mary Lou settled herself more comfortably. “I was the only person
in the store, and Angela didn’t see me when she walked in. That would explain why
she came in spitting fire.”