Panic Button

by Kylie Logan

  “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.”

  “You saw her? From where you were at the back of the store?”

  “Didn’t need to see her. Didn’t have to.” Mary Lou shook her head. “I heard her.”

  “And she said?”

  Mary Lou laughed. “What didn’t she say! The first words I heard after the front door banged shut behind her were something like, ‘Larry, we need to talk.’ And you have to admit, that doesn’t sound like much, except for the way she said it.”

  As if reliving the moment, Mary Lou got quiet. A second later, a shiver snaked over her shoulders. “There was venom in her voice, that’s for sure. That’s what got me to sit up and take notice, so to speak.”

  “So you…”

  Mary Lou’s cheeks got dusky. “I moved up closer to the front of the store, of course. So I didn’t miss a word.”

  “And Angela still didn’t see you?”

  “She didn’t. And honestly, I think Larry forgot all about me being there. But then, I got the impression Angela blindsided him. He greeted her like everything was normal. Asked how she was. Told her she looked pretty that day.”

  I remembered Angela’s outfit—the sweatpants, the T-shirt, the Crocs—and decided right then and there that Larry must have been one special boyfriend. “What did Angela say to that?” I asked.

  “She said that Larry should quit it with the bullshit.” Mary Lou nodded. “I know, that doesn’t sound like much. But if you knew Angela, you’d know she never talked like that. But it’s exactly what she said. Bullshit. And when Larry tried to ask what she was talking about…well, that’s when all proverbial hell broke loose.”

  “She got mad?”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “But did she…” I wanted to make sure I got as much information as I could out of Mary Lou, so I phrased my question carefully. “Did she say why she was angry at Larry?”

  She shook her head. “He asked. A couple times. And she kept saying the same thing. That he should know what she was talking about. That she couldn’t believe it herself, but that she’d been through it over and over and that now she was sure.”

  “Of what?”

  Mary Lou shrugged. “Unfortunately, another customer came in, and Larry ushered Angela into the back office. While they were in there, I rushed out of the store as fast as I could. I couldn’t bear the thought of either of them realizing I’d heard what I heard. I mean, it would have been so embarrassing. For both of them!”

  Suddenly, those pictures that had been taken down off the wall at Angela’s house made a whole lot more sense. “She was angry,” I told myself. “Angry enough to rip his pictures off the wall.”

  Mary Lou confirmed this. “I kind of waited around in the parking lot for a little while after I left the store,” she said. “I hoped Angela would come out. I wouldn’t have told her I knew what happened in the store, but I thought I could…oh, I don’t know. I guess I thought if I just tried to pretend we’d just run into each other and be friendly and engage her in conversation, it might help.”

  “But she didn’t come out.”

  “Not while I was there. That other customer came and went and I figured…well, I guess I figured that would give Angela and Larry a chance to talk a little more. I didn’t want to go in and interrupt. I figured they’d work things out.”

  I wondered if they did.

  “You never said anything to Larry?” I asked Mary Lou. “Not even at the funeral?”

  “Oh, good heavens, how could I?” She fanned her flaming cheeks with one hand. “He was so darned broken up at the wake. And at the funeral, the poor man could barely hold himself together. I knew what that meant. He and Angela had settled their differences. Whatever they were. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have looked so terribly unhappy.”

  She was right, and I told Mary Lou as much. Still…

  “That explains why Angela looked so terrible when she came here to the Button Box,” I said. “And why she never called to say she was on her way, either. The poor woman was too upset. But if she and Larry had already made up…”

  Mary Lou looked at me hard. “What are you saying? That you don’t think they made peace?”

  “If they did, Angela would have been happy, and she wouldn’t have looked as miserable as she did when she walked in here that evening. And she wouldn’t have talked about how she hoped once she gave away the charm string, the bad things in her life might be reversed. She wasn’t talking about the attempted break-in at her house. Or that fire in her kitchen. She was talking about breaking up with Larry. She thought it was the fault of the charm string, and once it was out of her life, she thought maybe they could get back together again. She wouldn’t have said any of that. Not if she and Larry had already kissed and made up.”

  “You’re right.” Mary Lou looked at her watch and slipped off the stool. “And I have to get going. Thanks for taking those buttons off my hands. Maybe I’ll see you around Ardent Lake sometime.”

  Maybe?

  I didn’t waste a nanosecond considering my answer to that question. As soon as Mary Lou walked out the door, I checked with Stan to see if he could watch the Button Box for me the next day.

  I was heading back to Ardent Lake.

  It
was time I had a serious talk with Larry.

  Chapter Ten

  IT WAS SLOW GOING TO ARDENT LAKE THE NEXT DAY. The main drag into town was filled with giant equipment—cranes and bulldozers and big yellow trucks with wheels taller than my car—coming and going at the reservoir. I was sorry I hadn’t invited Stan to join me for the return trip. Aside from the fact that it would have given me someone to talk to while I waited for a really big earthmover to crawl across the road, Stan was interested in the reservoir draining project; I’m sure he would have enjoyed watching all the activity.

  I may have been slowed down, but I kept my eyes on the prize. The first thing I did when I (finally!) got into town was go straight to the hardware store.

  A bit of a confession here: I love old-fashioned hardware stores.

  I know, I know, it sounds a little crazy, especially coming from a woman whose head is usually filled with nothing but buttons. But really, there are so many things in a hardware store that a button nerd can appreciate:

  Toolboxes with little compartments that are perfect for sorting buttons.

  Awls for punching holes in the heavy mat board collectors use to display their buttons.

  Coated wire to attach the buttons to that mat board.

  Polish for metal buttons, lemon oil to clean wooden buttons, soft rags to buff the mother of pearl buttons.

  With the right attitude and time to kill, a button collector can make a visit to a hardware store a field trip worth remembering.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have the time that day. Or for that matter, the inclination. I was there strictly for information, though when I pushed open the front door and got a look at the rough-hewn timbers of the old oak floors, the wooden shelves with their patina of age, and the tin ceiling where fans gently whirred overhead, I nearly forgot the purpose of my mission.

  Maybe that was a good thing, because when I drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and gushed, “There’s nothing like an old hardware store,” Larry smiled at me from his place behind the cash register.

  I headed to the front counter and set down my purse, gazing up at the ceiling as I did. I love my tin ceiling at the Button Box. It’s very pretty, and original to the brownstone, which was built back in the late nineteenth century. But in the world of embossed tin, my shop ceiling is…well, it’s a ceiling. Larry’s was the Sistine Chapel. Each brass square featured a central motif of an ivy wreath, and each wreath was surrounded by exquisitely wrought fleur-de-lis.

  “You’re new in town,” Larry said.

  I laughed. “And you know this because people who are new in town always stare at your ceiling in wide-eyed wonder?”

  He was a tall, broad guy with even features and a long thin nose, and according to what Nev had told me, Larry was sixty-five years old. Larry’s hair was silvery, and though I’d seen him at the funeral, there his eyes had been cast down and swollen from crying. Now, I realized that the pictures I’d seen of him at Angela’s didn’t do those eyes justice. They weren’t just blue, they were a blue so vivid and so lively and intelligent, I suddenly understood why Angela and Susan felt he was worth fighting over.

  “What can we do for you?” Larry asked, his question shaking me out of my thoughts.

  “Aside from telling me the history of this place?”

  “You are new around here.” A woman walked up to the counter with a pint of wood stain, and Larry rang up the order. While he was at it, he asked the woman about her husband and how his surgery went, and how her son was doing in the Army. It was the kind of personal and very special customer service big box stores can’t possibly offer, and I put another mental tick mark in the column I called “Why I Love Ardent Lake.”

  Larry finished and the customer left. Let’s face it, when it comes to investigations, I’m not a professional. I mean, not like Nev. But I know a thing or two about easing into my questioning.

  “So…” My hands flat against the counter, I looked toward Larry. “What can you tell me? When was it built?”

  “This building?” A tiny smile played around the corners of his mouth. “That would be 1982.”

  “You mean 1882.”

  “I mean 1982. Like the rest of the town.”

  I do not look especially attractive with my mouth hanging open, but I am hardly vain. I snapped it shut mostly because I didn’t want to look stupid.

  Larry didn’t hold it against me; his laugh was filled with humor. “I’m sorry. I just can’t help myself. I love the look on people’s faces when they first hear the news.”

  “But…you’re telling me…that…”

  “It was built in 1982.” He pronounced the date carefully and slowly just to be sure I understood. “There was no Ardent Lake before that.”

  “But then…” I looked over my shoulder toward the front windows of the store and the houses I could see beyond. “The beautiful Victorian homes, they’re all…”

  “Phony baloney. Every single one of them.”

  I groaned at my own slowness. Of course, it had all been staring me in the face from the moment I first drove in to Ardent Lake. “That explains why all the house colors match. And all the flowers, and why everything looks perfectly—”

  “Restored. You got that right. When the hydroelectric company built the reservoir, they flooded Ardent, and we all lost our homes and our property. They gave us this land, but on one condition. City Council and the hydroelectric company’s board, they decided on a planned community, and we had to agree to abide by their rules, and the look of the place. What you see is what we got. Ardent Lake.”

  “It looks perfect because it is perfect. It was planned to be perfect.”

  “It’s home sweet home.”

  That explained why Angela’s house had such a wonderfully Victorian exterior and an inside that was more early Madonna.

  “But that doesn’t explain…” I glanced around Larry’s store. “The old wood floor?” I croaked.

  He tapped one foot. “Laminate made to look old.”

  “And the beautiful ceiling?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  There was a broom nearby, and Larry lifted it by the bristles and tapped the handle to what I’d thought was antique tin. The broom handle made a dull, thumping sound instead of the metallic ping I expected. “It’s called anaglypta,” Larry explained. “It’s heavy embossed wallpaper, painted to look like tin.”

  “Well, somebody did an amazing job!” Just to be sure, I looked up at the ceiling again. “The whole town—”

  “Is a sham.”

  Larry said this with good humor, but I have to admit, I was pretty bummed. What I thought was a Garden of Eden was really a stage set.

  “Well…” I drew in a breath. “I guess we don’t have to discuss history then.”

  “Oh, there was history, but that’s all gone now.” He shook his head sadly. “That was lost when the water swallowed Ardent. We’re lucky some people around here are trying their best to make sure people don’t forget. They teach a whole unit about the old town over at the elementary school, and we’ve got not one, but two historical museums.”

  Two?

  This was news, and I wondered why no one had ever bothered to mention it before.

  “I’ve seen the museum near the park,” I said, though truth be told, I’d only seen a picture of the museum over near the park. A picture that featured Larry and Aunt Evelyn. “There’s another one?”

  “Over that way.” He pointed to his left toward some distant, indistinct place on the other side of town. “The first one—the one you were at—is what we like to call the Big Museum, though obviously, big is a relative word. That museum was established first. It’s the one the city likes to brag about, the one that gets all the publicity and holds all the fancy fund-raisers and such.”

  “And the other one?”

  Larry pursed his lips, apparently trying to decide if he should toe the line or dish the dirt. “Run by sort of a scatterbrained woman. You know the type, all enthusiastic and wide-ey
ed, but not exactly sure how to make their big plans work. When the curator of the Big Museum left a few years ago, she applied for that job. She didn’t get it, and I suppose that’s what made her decide she could do a better job on her own. She bought a house and opened a museum in it. Around here, we call that one the Little Museum. Who does that?” he asked himself more than me. “Who just starts a museum? Not that I’m saying it’s a bad little place.” I couldn’t fault Larry for covering his bases. He didn’t know me, and as a business owner, he couldn’t afford to alienate anyone.

  “It’s in a house she bought for a song when the original owner got foreclosed. There isn’t much in that Little Museum,” he added, “but I hear the collection’s growing. If you decide to check it out, tell Marci over there that I sent you.”

  “Marci Steiner?”

  Like anybody could blame me for being surprised? For all her talk about Susan, Marci had never bothered to mention that she was something of a rival, museum-wise. Or that she had once applied for the job Susan ended up getting.

  I guess my astonishment showed, because Larry’s mouth pursed, and his eyebrows did a slow slide upward. “I see you know Marci.”

  “We’ve met.” I didn’t bother to add the bit about how Marci dissed Susan and gave me the dirt on Susan and Larry. “I’ll be sure to stop into the Little Museum,” I said instead, and added the visit to my to-do list.

  Oh yeah, Marci and I had a few things to talk about.

  For now…

  There was a display of palm-sized flashlights on the counter and I picked through the various colors. After our mishap with the fuse box at the store, I knew Stan would be happy to have a few more flashlights around. I chose a blue one to go in the top drawer of my desk in the shop and a yellow one for the back workroom. I set them on the counter.

  “It’s too bad when history gets lost,” I said, sticking to the subject at the same time I did my best to nudge it in a slightly different direction. “As time passes, so many stories get lost. Or somehow turned around. You know, so that people think one thing is true when it’s really not.”