Panic Button Part 3

Muddy Crocs.

Green sweatpants.

Pink tee. Even before I'd scanned my way from the feet of the still form up to the head, I knew I was looking at Angela. I suppose it was a good thing I recognized the clothes she'd worn the night before, because her face was so blue and bloated, I might not have known it was her otherwise.

Then again, I never would have mistaken the charm string. Or at least what was left of it.

A good portion of the string was still wound like a python around Angela's neck, tight enough to leave bruised impressions of the b.u.t.tons on her skin, snap the old string, scatter b.u.t.tons all around, and choke Angela to death.

I swallowed down the sudden sour taste in my mouth and reached for my cell phone, another revelation pounding its way through the fog of horror in my brain.

It looked like Angela was right about the bad luck after all.

"YOU KNEW THE victim."

I'd been so busy staring into the depths of the gla.s.s of water a uniformed cop had given me as soon as he walked me into the workroom of the b.u.t.ton Box and sat me down, I didn't even realize anyone had come to stand next to me.

When I looked up and saw it was Nev, I couldn't have been more relieved. I resisted the urge to jump up and throw myself into his arms.

Partly because that uniformed cop was still there, and I didn't need to start a host of rumors running rampant through the department.

Mostly because we weren't at the throw-myself-into-his-arms stage of what we had of a relations.h.i.+p.

Nev was the consummate professional, and something of a Type A personality. I did not hold this against him. When it came to my work, I was a Type A, too.

"I thought you were working afternoons." While that cop standing in the doorway between the workroom and the shop made a phone call, I took the chance and touched a hand to Nev's. His smile was warm when he briefly closed his fingers over mine.

"I am," he said. "But when the desk sergeant heard where the body was found, she remembered that I'd worked the case here when that actress was murdered, and she gave me a call."

"I'm glad." The cop was done with his call, and I dropped my hand into my lap and Nev backed away. I wished he didn't have to. There was something about his calm, rea.s.suring presence that helped thaw the ice in my veins. "She was..." I couldn't see the courtyard from there, even if my back door was open, but I looked that way, anyway, closing my eyes against the memory of Angela's swollen face. "She was a customer of mine," I told Nev. "The one with the..." My words choked against the painful ball of emotion in my throat. "She's the one who brought me the charm string."

"The lady you told me about the other night." Nev pulled another stool up to my worktable and perched on the edge of it. He was a tad over six feet tall, and even seated on the tool, his feet touched the floor. Not mine. Mine dangled. "I remember what you said when we had that drink the other night. You said Ms. Morningside, she was the one who believed in-"

"Curses. Yeah." It didn't seem so funny now. In fact, just thinking about Angela's fear and the warnings she'd seen in the crows and the howling dog made a s.h.i.+ver skitter up my back. I wrapped my arms around myself and the gold cardigan I'd worn that day with blue jeans. "Angela came in last night to pick up the charm string. There was supposed to be a tea today at the Ardent Lake Historical Society. Oh, really, someone needs to call and tell them," I added and I suppose, in some way, thinking about the tea satisfied the need in me to concentrate on the mundane, even in the face of murder. "They're going to make tea and bake cookies and before they do all that-"

"Not to worry." Without even checking to see if the other cop was watching, Nev patted my hand. "We'll take care of the phone calls."

The rea.s.surance satisfied my need for structure, even in a situation that was all about chaos. "Angela..." I sniffled. "She was so excited about presenting them the charm string, and so happy to be getting it out of her life."

I hadn't even realized I'd started to cry until Nev handed me a white cotton handkerchief. I dabbed it to my eyes. "She showed up here a little after six last night," I told him because I knew he was bound to ask sooner or later and I figured we might as well get it over with just in case I fell to pieces. "She picked up the charm string and left. She went..." I thought back to all I remembered about the night before. "When she left the store, she turned to her right, in the direction of the alleyway. Stan and I left just a couple minutes later, and we went to our left. If we'd gone the other way..."

There was no way I wanted to think about how things might have been different. If I did, I'd only feel worse.

Nev understood. "It's not your fault," he said.

I shrugged. "I know. It's just that-"

"That it's not your fault."

He was right, and I admitted it with a fleeting smile. It was the first I'd smiled since I walked into the courtyard and found Angela's body, and the muscles in my face felt stiff and uncomfortable, but even that felt better than the painful knot wedged between my heart and my stomach.

Maybe Nev realized how close I was to falling to pieces. That would explain why he kept things professional and to the point. I didn't hold it against him. But then, I knew what he knew: if he was going to find out who murdered Angela, he had to get on the trail of the killer, and fast. At this point in his investigation, I was the one best able to help.

"Did she say anything to you?" he asked. "About anyone following her? Or about anyone who might have been angry at her? Anyone she might have been afraid of? Did she act peculiar in any way?"

I'd already shaken my head before I stopped to reconsider. "She didn't call to tell me she was on her way here, and the day before, she told me she would. I know that seems like a small thing, but I don't think Angela was the type who made promises she didn't intend to keep. And then when she did get to the shop last night...well, it was pretty obvious that she was upset," I told Nev. "Her eyes were swollen like she'd been crying, but when I asked her about it, she said it was because of her allergies. She was a mess, too. It's hard to believe seeing her the way she's dressed now, but the first time I met Angela, she looked like the poster girl for how women should dress for success. Something was definitely wrong."

"But she didn't say what."

Another shake of my head. "She didn't strike me as the kind of woman who would easily share, especially with a stranger."

"And with friends?"

"I hardly knew her." My throat felt as if there were a hand around it. So not a pretty thought considering the way Angela had been killed. Hoping to wash away the uncomfortable thought, I took a sip of water, and when it hurt to swallow, I made a face.

Nev excused himself long enough to go over to the counter and put on a fresh pot of coffee. "When that's done brewing," he said to the cop nearby, "how about pouring a cup for Ms. Giancola."

The cop nodded and dutifully went over to watch the pot drip, and Nev came back to sit next to me. "Did she say anything about her life back in Ardent Lake?"

"She said she had a boyfriend." I thought about the way Angela had worded it, that they were more than friends, and my voice clogged with tears. "She was so happy about Larry. She said he was the one good thing that had happened to her since she inherited the charm string. He owns the hardware store in Ardent Lake. That's what Angela told me." I remembered how Angela's eyes had gleamed when she talked about Larry, and I thought about how he was going to feel when he heard the news. "The poor man," I said, automatically reaching for my cell though I didn't have a clue what Larry's number, or even his last name, was. "Someone needs to tell him."

"That's my job." Nev made a note of this in the little leather-bound notebook he pulled out of the breast pocket of his gray suit. "I'll get in touch with the Ardent Lake police and have someone there tell Larry what happened, after we check for next of kin. Then I'll go up there and have a talk with Larry. He's bound to know more about Ms. Morningside's personal life."

"And what about all that other stuff?" Normally, I would have shrugged it off without another thought, but murder is serious business and Angela's felt strangely personal. Maybe that was because I'd grown so close to those b.u.t.tons of hers. The ones she'd now never have a chance to donate to the historical society.

"I know you're going to tell me I'm crazy, Nev, but she was convinced the charm string was cursed and now-"

"You, of all people? You're not going to tell me you believe any of that hooey, are you?"

"No." I didn't. Honest. "I mean, I know inanimate objects don't have a will of their own, so they can't bring bad luck to anyone. And even if they could...I mean, b.u.t.tons? b.u.t.tons are so wonderful and so interesting and so-" It wasn't that Nev didn't already understand how my life and b.u.t.tons were intertwined, it was just that I figured I didn't need to remind him. Sometimes, it was hard enough for a cop and a b.u.t.ton nerd to find things to talk about. There was no use pointing out the obvious differences between us.

"I think what's important," I said, "isn't if b.u.t.tons can really bring bad luck but that Angela believed they could. It's almost like she brought the bad luck on herself, because she saw it everywhere she looked, and she believed it could happen."

"I've seen weirder things." Still, Nev dismissed my theory with a shake of his head that sent his s.h.a.ggy, sandy-colored hair dipping into his eyes. He pushed it back with one hand. "But I think we'll find there's a very human element behind this crime."

"I didn't see anyone hanging around when Angela walked out of here," I said.

"Not even that guy who tried to s.n.a.t.c.h your purse the other night?"

This was a connection I'd never even considered, and I sucked in a breath. "You don't think-"

"You know me better than that. I don't think anything until I have all the facts, and right now, facts are mighty slim around here. I do know that this is usually a pretty safe neighborhood. If it wasn't, I'd help you pack your b.u.t.tons and get you out of here."

The uniformed cop chose that particular moment to deliver a mug of steaming coffee. "Cream or sugar?" he asked, and before I could answer, Nev suggested sugar and lots of it. "It will help with the shock," he promised.

Half a cup of coffee later, I couldn't say if that was true, but I could say that some of the tension inside me had eased. I wrapped my hands tighter around the red mug with "I a b.u.t.tons" in white lettering on it, savoring the warmth as it seeped into my fingers and spread into my hands.

"Seems funny, don't you think," Nev said, and call me cynical, but I think he'd waited until this very moment to bring up this theory, until he knew I was a little more relaxed and likely to be caught off guard. "An almost crime one night, and a real crime the next."

A cha-cha started up inside my chest. "Then you do think the two are related?"

"I didn't say that. But I do want you to be careful. I could come by in the evening when it's time for you to lock up."

I shouldn't have had to give him a pointed look, just like I shouldn't have had to say, "You've got a job, remember? And you can't spend your evenings looking after me."

Fortunately, he didn't get the opportunity to argue. Before he could say a word, a crime-scene technician came into the shop and headed for the back room, her arms stacked with small plastic evidence bags that were perched on top of a crumpled floral hatbox. She set everything down on the table and I saw that each bag contained a charm string b.u.t.ton.

The woman looked at the pile of evidence bags and shook her head in wonder. "There are an awful lot of b.u.t.tons lying around out there," she grumbled.

"One thousand, to be exact." I wasn't trying to show off, but I figured it was important.

"One...thousand." I swear, the woman's face went a little green.

Nev grinned. "Looks like you've got a busy day ahead of you, Kovach," he said.

She rolled her eyes. And went back outside.

"So..." Nev fingered the nearest evidence bag. "What do you think, Josie? Do these b.u.t.tons have anything to do with Angela Morningside's murder?"

"I wish I knew." I looked through the bags of b.u.t.tons, too, carefully setting each one aside as I did. If this was where the techs wanted to stage their evidence, they'd need a whole lot more room.

"You took pictures of the b.u.t.tons, right?" Nev looked at the individually packaged b.u.t.tons, too. "That's what you said the other night. You said you photographed each of the charm string b.u.t.tons."

I nodded. "You're welcome to look through the pictures if you like."

Nev's smile was sheepish. "I was kind of hoping you'd do that for me."

I felt the familiar protest ride in my throat. "I'm not-" I was going to say a detective, but I swallowed the words. I might not be a trained crime fighter like Nev, but I was a b.u.t.ton expert. And when it came to b.u.t.tons, Nev needed all the help he could get.

Chapter Five.

"NINE HUNDRED AND NINETY-FIVE, NINE HUNDRED AND ninety-six, nine hundred and ninety-seven."

It was the second time I'd counted-out loud-all the evidence bags and the b.u.t.tons in them, and my mouth felt as if it were filled with sand. I ducked into the workroom to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge and took a long drink before I walked back into the shop and dared a look in Nev's direction. He was standing near my desk, and just as I feared, he didn't look any happier at the end of this count than he had the last time I finished counting.

"I told you, Nev..." I drained the last of the water out of the bottle. "There are three b.u.t.tons missing."

"You're sure?"

I bit my lower lip. It was the best way I could remind myself that it had been a long day. For both of us. It was after dark, and while the crime-scene techs had been busy working out in the courtyard, Nev had left to do whatever it is homicide detectives do when they're newly a.s.signed to a case. Now he was back from doing that whatever he'd been doing, and his white s.h.i.+rt was crumpled. His s.h.i.+rt collar was unb.u.t.toned. He hadn't bothered to take off his trench coat when he walked into the shop nearly an hour earlier, and the belt on it hung c.o.c.keyed. That little vee between those blue eyes of his told me he thought he'd hear better news after this count than he'd heard the first time around.

As a way of reminding him that my day hadn't been any easier, I waved a hand around the shop, silently indicating the folding tables the crime-scene techs had arranged against the walls. Even before they asked (nicely) if I would help out, I'd already decided this was the only way to make sense of the sea of b.u.t.tons they'd rescued from the courtyard. Yeah, it was a little a.n.a.l. OK, so it was a lot a.n.a.l. But it made sense. And right about then-with images of Angela's dead body etched in my mind and memories of how, just twenty-four hours earlier, she'd stood right there in my shop talking to me-bringing order to a world that was suddenly upside down calmed me and helped me feel useful.

Under the watchful eye of a crime-scene tech named Jason, who was still at the shop to a.s.sure what he called "the chain of evidence," I'd carefully arranged each evidence bag on top of a copy of the picture I'd taken the day before of the b.u.t.ton inside it. Little plastic bags gleamed all around us and I looked over them all before I turned to Nev. "You want to count them?"

"Of course not. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to second-guess you." He ran a hand over a tie that was a shade of blue too green to look good with his gray suit. "I'm just wondering what we do next."

Had he not been so tired, I'm sure he would have thought of this himself, but for now, I had the chance to work a little b.u.t.ton magic and I wasn't above gloating about it. I whisked three photos off my desk. "We have nine hundred and ninety-seven b.u.t.tons. Plus"-I waved the photos in his direction-"we know which b.u.t.tons are missing."

Nev's expression brightened. It wasn't so much a smile as it was an acknowledgment that there might be at least a glimmer of light at the end of the investigative tunnel. "Of course! And if we know which ones are missing-"

He expected me to supply the logical rest of the statement, but honestly, I couldn't. "I'm not sure what it tells us," I admitted. "But it's a start."

He was hoping for more. He settled for what he got, leaning over to take a look at the pictures that I laid out one by one on my desk.

"This is a sort of greenish b.u.t.ton," he said, picking up the first photo and giving it a careful once-over. "Looks like gla.s.s."

"You're learning." I leaned over his shoulder so I could tap a finger against the b.u.t.ton in the photo. "This b.u.t.ton is made out of uranium gla.s.s, or what some modern collectors call Vaseline gla.s.s. And this one..." I put the first picture back on the desk and handed him the second.

Nev looked at it for a moment, and maybe I was tired and, thus, being fanciful, but I liked to think that he was trying to call up any little bit of b.u.t.ton knowledge he'd learned from me in the past months. It was sweet of him, really. Even when he finally pursed his lips and gave up. "It's a b.u.t.ton with a picture of a red fish on it. Honest to gosh..." Shaking his head, he set the picture back where it came from. "Before I met you, I never even imagined there were b.u.t.tons as fancy as that. I mean, who even thinks about b.u.t.tons?"

He knew the answer to that question, which explains why he cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. When he bent to retrieve the last photo, the tips of Nev's ears were pink. "And one more photo of a b.u.t.ton with a picture of a..." He squinted for a clearer look. "It looks like a metal b.u.t.ton with a building or something on it."

"Check, check, and check." I laid out the pictures side by side. "Now, either these b.u.t.tons are still outside and the techs just never found them..." He was sitting in the wing chair in the far corner of the shop reading a magazine and not paying the least bit of attention to me, but I offered an apologetic look in Jason's direction anyway. "Or-"

"Or the techs couldn't find the b.u.t.tons because they're not out there." Head c.o.c.ked, Nev thought this over. "Are any of these b.u.t.tons worth stealing?"

"Stealing? Well, yeah. I suppose so. I don't know a b.u.t.ton collector anywhere who hasn't seen that one, perfect b.u.t.ton they need to complete a compet.i.tion tray and not thought about making off with it. Even if they'd never actually do it. Killing for a b.u.t.ton, that's another matter." Rather than think about what sort of warped person might actually murder a fellow human being for the sake of a b.u.t.ton, I concentrated on the facts. I tapped a finger against the photos, first of the uranium gla.s.s b.u.t.ton, then of the metal b.u.t.ton. "These, not so much. But this one..." I moved on to the picture of the beautifully enameled b.u.t.ton with the fish at the center of it. "This one's old, and valuable."

"Valuable enough to kill for?"

I made a face. "Is anything that valuable?"

"What you think and what I think don't really matter. You know that, Josie. It's what a killer thinks that counts. If we knew if these three b.u.t.tons were really missing..."

I'd been waiting for the opening. Yeah, it was kind of shallow of me, showing off like this, but let's face it, I wasn't about to miss the opportunity to impress Nev. Besides, I had a very real skill I could offer at this point in the investigation and I could guarantee that neither Nev nor Jason could hold a candle to it. It would have been careless of me not to step forward and use my expertise.

I ducked into the back room, got a special keychain from the drawer in the worktable, and breezed back into the shop. "Come with me," I said, including both Nev and Jason in the invitation, and together, the three of us stepped outside.

There's always something happening on Thursday night in Old Town, and that night was no exception. The music was cranked at the bar down the street, its deep ba.s.s line punctuating our steps and vibrating my bones. Lights sparkled from the display window of the interior design studio that had opened almost directly across from the b.u.t.ton Box only a couple weeks earlier, and tourists scrambled all around us, heading for nearby clubs and restaurants. The scene was just as lively and interesting as our merchants and residents a.s.sociation promised tourists it would be on our website and in our e-mail newsletter.

When we stepped under the yellow crime-scene tape that was draped across the entrance to the alleyway and on to the brick walkway that led back to the courtyard, though, it was as if we were entering another world.

There, the music was muted and it was nearly pitch dark. Still, when we stepped from between my brownstone and the one next door and into the courtyard, and Nev felt along the back wall of my brownstone for the switch that would turn on the faux gaslight near the park bench, I stopped him.

"We'll have to look for the enamel b.u.t.ton and the metal b.u.t.ton once it's light," I told him. "But if we're going to find that uranium gla.s.s b.u.t.ton, this is the ideal time to do it. We need to do it in the dark."

I pulled out my keychain and switched on the light at the end of it.

"Hey, it's a black light." Jason was young, but perceptive enough.