Button Holed

by Kylie Logan

  “And you were angry.”

  He barked out a laugh. “My dear Ms. Giancola, a man of my position has no need to get angry. I do not have the time for it. But Hugh Weaver . . .”

  From what I’d seen of Hugh when he talked to me about Kate at his hotel, I knew distraught was a better word than angry. Not that it made much difference in the grand scheme of murder.

  “Sure, Hugh might have been angry at getting dumped,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean—”

  “Oh, come now, you cannot deny it. He was mad with jealousy. What man wouldn’t be? The most beautiful, the most wonderful, the most kind and generous woman in the world had just chosen me over him.” Roland lifted his chin, a way of adding of course without saying it. “My sources tell me Mr. Weaver, he does not have an alibi for the night of the murder.”

  Was the prince looking for me to somehow corroborate Hugh’s guilt? “Even if I knew,” I said, “I couldn’t—”

  “No, no. No one is asking you to say anything against your friend.” We were at the highest point of the Ferris wheel, and the prince looked around. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? I wish I had more time to explore your country and this city, but I must return to Ruritania. I was here only this weekend, only for the memorial for Kate. The world is no longer such a beautiful place as it was when she was in it.”

  “She won’t be forgotten.” This seemed appropriate, and far more politically correct than reminding him that not everyone thought Kate spread sweetness and light everywhere she went. Roland obviously believed she did, but then, I guess that’s what love is all about.

  Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t pry. Just a little.

  “Her assistants—”

  “Silly girls. I told her to get rid of them long ago. She wouldn’t need them once we were married. My papa, His Majesty King Leopold, he would have provided Kate with a staff once she was officially a member of the family.”

  “And the assistants would have lost their jobs.”

  “You think this is a motive for one of them to kill her?” I actually might have if Roland didn’t make the very idea seem stupid by laughing. We were nearing the ground, and he slid on his sunglasses. “I had every intention of providing for them,” he said. “Quite handsomely.”

  “But there was nothing you could do to compensate Hugh.”

  Our slow revolution was at an end, and we bumped to a stop. One of the big guys opened the car door, and Roland motioned me to get out first. Ignoring the rumbles of displeasure from all the people still waiting, he took my arm and walked me away from the ride. “Kate, she said nothing to you before . . . Did she have a message for me? Or did she say something about the person who did this terrible thing to her?”

  I didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was in pain. At the risk of creating an international incident, I put a hand on his arm. “She was already dead when I found her,” I told him. “She never said a word.”

  Oh, he made it look nonchalant enough, but Roland had apparently had this sort of thing happen before with commoners. He stepped back just far enough to be out of my reach. “And your friend, Hugh, what does he say?”

  “That he didn’t do it. That he’s broken up about what happened. That—”

  “He was paying someone to follow her.”

  “I know.”

  “And yet you believe he is innocent.”

  “I believe . . .” Prince or no prince, what did the man expect me to say? Since I didn’t know, I patted my purse. “You’ve never seen that button before.”

  “I told you I have not.”

  “And you don’t think it was Kate’s.”

  “I told you it was not.”

  “And you think—”

  “It does not matter what I think.” He said that in a way that made it clear that of course, it mattered. He was a prince, after all. Roland lifted his chin. “What matters is the truth, and the truth is that Hugh Weaver was mad with jealousy.” Roland snapped his fingers and as if by magic, the two bodyguards appeared. “Hugh Weaver killed Kate,” he said. “I am sure of it. You can tell him for me, Ms. Giancola. You can tell him I will see him pay for his crime.”

  Chapter Twelve

  THE LAST PERSON I WAS IN THE MOOD TO SEE WAS KAZ.

  Out on West Schiller, I didn’t so much breeze by him as I did stomp. Even that was too subtle for Kaz. He fell into step beside me.

  “I was just coming to see you,” he said.

  I wouldn’t have stopped at all if there wasn’t a delivery truck blocking the street I needed to cross. “Don’t,” I grumbled.

  When I darted around the truck, Kaz darted with me. “Don’t come to see you? I don’t need to. Not anymore. I’m seeing you now.”

  “Don’t push me, Kaz.” The look I shot him should have told him I was serious.

  Which gave him zero excuse for grinning. “You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said.

  “No. I’m not.” We made it safely to the other side of the cross street and I continued on my way, heading toward the Button Box. It was Tuesday morning, early, and I had a copy of the day’s newspaper tucked up under my arm. I swear, I could feel it burning a hole in my skin. “I’m not in the mood to be messed with,” I told Kaz.

  “I can see that.” Apparently not well, because he leaned over and peered into my face. “What’s up, Jo? You’re fuming.”

  I was surprised he recognized anger when he saw it. I pulled the newspaper out from under my arm and waved the front page under his nose. “This is what’s up. Hugh Weaver’s been arrested for Kate Franciscus’s murder.”

  “So?”

  “So . . .” We got stuck at another cross street and I screeched my impatience as well as my inability to explain why just looking at the headline made my temperature shoot past the boiling point. “It’s not that I think he’s innocent,” I said. “I mean, it’s not that I think he’s guilty, either. And it’s not that I care. I mean, of course I care because I’ve known Hugh for years and it would be terrible if he really did kill Kate. If he’s guilty, of course he should be arrested, but . . .” As soon as I could, I got moving again.

  “So this old friend of yours is a scumbag.” Kaz always had a way of distilling a problem down to its essence. Like I said, subtleties escape him. Like the emotional investment of friendship. Or the fact that a woman who’s divorced her no-good husband probably doesn’t want to see him again. “So that’s over and done with. Time to get on with life. And my life . . .” He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “There are some things I need to talk to you about, Jo. Important things.”

  “That old friend of yours with the job problems and the kids and the wife and the—”

  Kaz’s mouth thinned. “This time, I’m as serious as a Lifetime movie.”

  “You always are,” I reminded him. I would have launched into more of a lecture if I wasn’t so busy grumbling all over again. But then, that’s because when we neared the Button Box, I saw that Nevin was just about to walk up to the front door.

  I turned on the afterburners and closed in on him before he knew what hit him. It was his turn to have the newspaper waved in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded. “I saw you last night; why didn’t you mention that you were going to arrest Hugh?”

  “You saw him?” Kaz propped his fists on his hips and gave Nevin the once-over. “Last night?”

  Nevin ignored him. He did a pretty good job of dodging out of the way of the flapping newspaper, too. “I was just coming to see you. Can we talk? Privately?”

  He didn’t have to come right out and say that Kaz was intruding. There’s something about a guy in jeans and a T-shirt staring down a cop in a wrinkled suit that says that all by itself.

  I stepped toward the shop. “Good-bye, Kaz.”

  “But Jo . . .” Kaz came with me. “If I could just talk to you for a second and explain . . .”

  “Don’t say a word,” I warned him. “The answer is no.”

  Nevin st
epped up. “Is this guy bothering you?” he asked.

  I wasn’t looking to get Kaz in trouble so I said no; then because Kaz lit up like a Christmas tree at the prospect of having hornswoggled me again, I said, “Yes. He’s bothering me. He always bothers me. But you don’t need to do anything about it,” I told Nevin. “This guy, I can handle on my own.”

  I unlocked the shop and walked inside.

  So did Kaz.

  And Nevin.

  “If I could just talk to my wife in private,” Kaz said, taking my arm.

  I took it back.

  “You have a husband?” Nevin asked.

  I groaned. “Ex-husband.”

  “And he’s bothering you.” Nevin stepped forward.

  “You’re both bothering me.” I zoomed into the back room to deposit my purse and the lunch I’d brought with me, then completed my usual morning routine, turning on the lights, adjusting the spotlights above the display cases to make sure they were pointed just-so, checking my e-mail for any messages from other dealers or orders from customers through my website. I was hoping by the time I finished, they’d both be gone, but rather than let them know, I ignored Kaz and Nevin completely.

  Eventually, I heard the shop door open, then close. Had one of them left? Or both? I pretended I didn’t care and started going through the mail that had come the afternoon before.

  A moment later, Nevin shifted from foot to foot in front of my desk. “I didn’t know about it, either,” he said, and he didn’t have to elaborate. I knew he was talking about Hugh’s arrest. “Not until early this morning. Not until I got the call to go pick him up.”

  “Just like that?” I slapped my electric bill on the desk. “You’re the lead investigator on this case, and you’re telling me someone else made the call? All right, the only police work I know is what I see on Law and Order, but still, even I know that sounds fishy. If it’s your case, you should have been the one who—”

  I bit off my words, and my tongue while I was at it. “Roland,” I said.

  His hands clutched behind his back, Nevin walked over to a case where I’d arranged a lively display of molded glass buttons from Czechoslovakia. Finished there (it didn’t take him long), he went over to the door, grabbed one of the red-and-white-striped mints in the bowl on the table, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. “That’s not the official word.”

  “But that’s what you think.”

  “I’m not paid to think. Not when it comes to politics.”

  “But that’s what you think.”

  He crossed the shop, back to my desk. “We’ve got a strong circumstantial case against Hugh Weaver.”

  “Still, you’re not convinced that arresting Hugh was the right thing.”

  “Weaver was crazy with jealousy. He admits it. He and Kate Franciscus were involved, and she dumped him. He was paying someone to follow her, and he knew she was going to be here that night. And we got a look at her e-mails. He sent her one that said that if he couldn’t have her, then nobody would.”

  “So you do think you arrested the right man.”

  Nevin pulled in a breath and let it out in a minty huff. “I doubt that kind of evidence is strong enough to hold up in court.”

  “But you made the arrest anyway.”

  “I did what I was told to do, and I wanted to be the one to tell you about it except you didn’t give me a chance.”

  We looked across the desk at each other. “I just thought that if you knew yesterday . . .”

  “I didn’t. Honest. I would have mentioned it to you.”

  I had no choice but to believe him so there was no use not getting over it. “Do you think he really did it?”

  “I really can’t discuss the case.” Nevin sat down. “Do you think he did it?”

  “Hugh’s always been self-centered and egotistical. These days, you can add phony to the list, too. But he’s not a murderer.”

  “Then who do you think killed her?”

  He had me there. I propped my elbows on my desk and cradled my chin in my hands. “There were a lot of people who were mad at Kate for one reason or another. Hugh, yeah, sure. He was one of them. But the assistants were going to lose their jobs, and they each had personal problems with Kate, too. And Kate had just fired Wynona, so she had her reasons, too. So did Estelle Marvin, because although she denies it, Hugh says she lost a ton of money because of the show Kate pulled out of, and I know she was angry enough to go to the set and confront Kate. And then there’s Mike Homolka; we can’t forget about him. He was in the area at the right time, but why he’d want to kill the woman who was making him so much money . . .” I spread out my hands. “It’s a pretty wide-open field, and remember, Kate had just increased security, too, right before she died. She was afraid of someone. It might have been one of the people we’re looking at, or it could be someone we don’t know a thing about yet.”

  “And just because Weaver’s behind bars doesn’t mean I’m going to quit looking for that someone.”

  Kaz wouldn’t know subtle if it hit him over the head. Nevin? He was all about nuances. Just the way he said I’m not going to quit looking made me sit up and take notice.

  “You didn’t say we’re going to keep looking. You said I’m. As in, you alone. As in no support from the department. They’ve told you to back off.”

  “There’s been an arrest made in the case. If we keep digging, Weaver’s attorney will get wind of it, and that will deep-six our case against him. Officially, I’m off the case and on to other things.”

  “Unofficially?”

  He tapped a finger against my desk. “If we could just find out more about that button . . .”

  It was all the reminder I needed that I had yet to check my voice-mail messages. I did just that and found they consisted of a marriage proposal from a man in Peoria I’d never met but who’d seen me on TV and was sure I was the woman of his dreams, a reminder from Estelle that I’d promised I’d make another appearance on her show and the good news (or was it a threat?) that she’d found the perfect cabana boy for me, and a call from a woman.

  “Hi! Ginger Lasky here. I’m a big fan of Estelle Marvin and I saw yesterday’s show. That button you were asking about, I can’t be sure, of course, but I think it looks familiar. If you could just give me a call. I’m on the West Coast, so it’s Pacific time and the number is . . .”

  I wrote it down as fast as she could say it and made sure I saved the message. “What time do you suppose it is on the West Coast?” I asked Nevin.

  He checked his watch. “Early.”

  I made the call anyway.

  GINGER LASKY WAS the answer to my prayers.

  Sort of.

  She’d seen buttons similar to my boxwood hawk, she told me. In fact, she owned six of them, though hers were carved in the shape of trees, not birds. (Just for the record, I feel it is important to point out that hearing this, I still managed to keep strong and focused and did not ask right then and there if I could buy the buttons from her. I did, however, put her phone number in a safe place so that when a sufficient amount of time passed and I didn’t look too eager, I could call her and make her an offer.)

  But back to the matter at hand.

  The buttons, Ginger told me, were given to her when she graduated from elementary school in a little town called Bent Grove, West Virginia. They were part of a tradition, she said. Each year, each graduate of Bent Grove Elementary School got a set of six buttons, and each year, the motif was different. Birds one year, trees the next. There was even a year she recalled when the buttons were little pickup trucks.

  Who said West Virginia was almost heaven? It sounded to me like the real thing.

  Unfortunately, Ginger had left Bent Grove many years earlier, and she couldn’t say if the buttons were still being made and given to students. She did remember that the woman who carved the buttons was known around town as Granny Maude.

  “Maude.” Nevin spoke slowly and carefully into his phone. “Yes, that’s right
, M-A-U . . .” Apparently, he was less than impressed with the person he was speaking to from the county sheriff’s department in Bent Grove. He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I did say I was from Chicago. Detective Nevin Riley. And I’m looking for this Granny Maude and—” A muscle at the base of Nevin’s jaw twitched. “Yes, I do understand you can’t be too careful, and I have heard about identity theft, but I’m investigating—” He held the phone in his right hand. His left curled into a fist. “That’s an awfully long time to have to wait.” His expression was stony and his teeth were gritted when he added, “Yes, of course I understand and I appreciate your help. Good-bye.”

  I knew better than to jump in and start peppering him with questions, but let’s face it, I’d been on pins and needles since he made the call. I jumped in and started peppering him with questions. “Well? You told them about Granny Maude and the buttons, right? And they said—”

  We were in the back room of the shop, where I was supposed to be sorting buttons as a way of trying to get rid of some of the nervous energy I’d had since I spoke to Ginger Lasky. Nevin set his phone on the work table. “You pretty much heard what he said. Except the part about how he had to confirm my identity before he’d provide me with any information. Since I’ve been told to back off on the investigation, I don’t want him talking to my lieutenant. We’re kind of at an impasse.”

  Not what I wanted to hear. I made a face.

  “It gets better.” I’d made a pot of coffee while Nevin was making the call, and he went over to the corner of the room where there was a sink, one of those dorm-sized refrigerators and a coffeemaker, and poured himself a cup. “Even if he decides I’m on the up-and-up and he can help me, the town’s Home Days celebration starts tomorrow,” he said. Maybe he added as much sugar as he did in an attempt to get rid of the bitterness in his voice. “The sheriff says he’s going to be very busy with Home Days going on. So even if I decided to take my chances and give him my lieutenant’s name, I’d have to wait until the fair is over. The long and short of it, he says he can’t possibly look into the Granny Maude thing until next week sometime. Earliest.”