by Kylie Logan
“But—”
He downed his coffee. “He sounds young so I’m willing to cut him at least a little slack. He’s just going by the book, the way he’s been trained. He did admit he doesn’t remember anyone named Granny Maude, but that could be because he’s not old enough. He says he’ll make some inquiries.”
“Did you tell him it was important?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I cringed by way of apology. “I know; I’m sorry. I heard everything you said, and I realize how frustrating it was.”
“You got that right.” He finished his coffee, rinsed out the mug in the sink, and set the cup down next to the coffeemaker. Before he’d made the call, we’d looked up Bent Grove, West Virginia, on the computer, and I’d printed out a map. It was on my work table and Nevin studied it. “I suppose I could try to contact someone with the West Virginia State Police, but you know how these cops are in small towns. Well, maybe you don’t. Let’s just say I’m pretty sure that if I ruffle this sheriff’s feathers, he’s going to stonewall me. We’ve got no choice but to sit tight and wait. I’ll call him again next week.”
“Or we could go to Bent Grove and make the inquiries ourselves.”
If I gave him the chance, he probably would have told me it was a half-baked idea.
I didn’t give him the chance.
“It’s an important case, isn’t it?” I asked.
“You know it is, but—”
“And you’re going to look like a hero when you solve it.”
“I would, but—”
“So why not go where the clues lead?”
“Because we’ve got Hugh Weaver under arrest for one thing, and that means my superiors aren’t going to take to the idea of me heading out to God’s country. Oh yeah, they’ll be all for me tracking down the button lead. But not if it means overtime hours. If I ask to go to West Virginia, I guarantee they’re going to tell me I’m wasting my time, and they’re going to tell me to sit tight. I told you, Josie, as far as they’re concerned, the case is all wrapped up, neat and tidy. The button is just a bump in the road. No way they’re going to give me permission to go chasing after a lead about it in some middle-of-nowhere place.”
“You’re right.” I’d already snapped off the overhead lights in the back room so I grabbed my purse, and headed for the door. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t.”
YES, I WAS concerned about the case.
Yes, I wanted to get to the bottom of things and help Nevin out and get back to my boring, ordinary, wonderful pre-murder-investigation life.
These were all good reasons for me to close up shop for a couple days and take off on a road trip.
But, truth be told, there was another reason, too. One I am not ashamed to admit to.
I was in the grip of button fever.
It’s not a disease that will ever be listed on one of those medical diagnosis websites, but to a button collector, it’s as real as any case of the chicken pox.
There were buttons out there in Bent Grove, West Virginia. Beautiful buttons. They were realistics, that is, buttons that looked like real things—trees, and birds, and pickup trucks. They were handmade in sets of six. Limited editions of the most glorious kind.
And oh, how I wanted to get my hands on them before some other collector caught wind of them and beat me to it!
When I packed my overnight bag, I made sure I threw in my checkbook.
Chicago to Bent Grove is approximately a ten-hour drive, and rather than deal with traffic, I took my time, organizing and planning to leave that evening. I gassed the car, then loaded it with my suitcase, my laptop so I could check website orders while I was gone, and a cooler that contained some bottles of green tea, a couple of sandwiches, and a few apples. Since I am a just-in-case sort of person, I threw a blanket into the backseat along with my roadside emergency and first-aid kits. Just in case.
The shop was officially closed, and I changed my voice-mail message to tell customers I’d be back in a few days, but I made sure Stan still had my extra set of keys. Just in case.
By nine, convinced that there would be less traffic to deal with at night, I was ready to set out. It had started to rain, and between that and the gathering darkness, I had all I could handle to maneuver my way out of the Chicagoland area and onto I-65 in Indiana, a route that would shoot me south to where I could then head due east.
I was almost in Indiana, my windshield wipers slapping out the minutes, when I heard a rustling sound in the backseat.
Oh yeah, I had anticipated all the just-in-case scenarios I could think of.
Someone hiding out under the blanket in the backseat of my car wasn’t one of them.
Chapter Thirteen
WHICH CAME FIRST?
The shrieking?
Or the veering off to the shoulder and slamming the car into park?
No matter.
In the spirit of not embarrassing myself completely, let’s just say that within a couple seconds of hearing the first rustlings from beneath the blanket in the backseat, I was stopped by the side of the road, my hands in a death grip on the steering wheel, my heart pounding louder than the eighteen-wheeler that rumbled by.
One second.
Two.
Three.
I didn’t dare wait any longer.
One by one, I pried my fingers from the steering wheel and fumbled with the electronic locks, ready to bail.
That’s when a hand clamped down on my shoulder.
“Don’t panic! Don’t panic, Jo! It’s just me.”
My gaze flashed to the rearview mirror and when I saw those chocolate-colored eyes looking back at me . . . well . . .
Can anybody blame me for starting to shriek all over again?
“All right, calm down!” I’d already turned in my seat and swatted Kaz, so I guess I couldn’t blame him for scooting as far away as he could to get out of the path of my flying fists. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Just calm down!”
“Oh, I’ll calm down, all right. When you get out of my car!” I was breathing hard, part adrenaline rush, partly because I’m short, and it was a stretch for me to reach all the way into the backseat. I gave it my best shot, anyway, just to get in another whack. As long as I was flopped over the seat like a hooked-and-landed fish, I figured I might as well make the most of it; I groped for the handle, and heedless of the rain that spattered that side of the car, I threw open the back door. “Get out!”
“In the middle of nowhere? In the dead of night? In the pouring rain? Come on, Jo. You wouldn’t do that to me.”
We were in the middle of nowhere. And it was a dark and rainy night. Always conscious of safety, I punched the button that turned on my hazard lights, and while I was at it, I exhaled one long, exasperated sigh. My wild heartbeat ratcheted back. So did my blood pressure. “What are you doing in my car?” I asked.
Kaz sank back against the gray upholstery with its not-very-convincing-imitation-leather trim. Between dodging my flying fists and the fact that I’d actually managed to connect with a couple earnest but hardly lethal blows, his hair was a mess, and he combed his fingers through it. “I needed to get out of town for a few days,” he said. “I tried to tell you this morning, but you wouldn’t listen.”
I was turned in my seat, so it actually hurt a little when I strained a muscle to pound my left hand against the steering wheel. The pain was inconsequential, and better that than starting to scream again. “So this is my fault?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said I wouldn’t listen to you so you had to stow away in my car and nearly give me a heart attack.”
“I said I was sorry for that part.”
“No, actually, you never did. And besides, sorry wouldn’t help a whole lot when I got so freaked out that I drove into a tree and killed the both of us.”
His smile flashed in the seventy-mile-an-hour glow of the lights of an oncoming SUV. “I knew that would never happen. You’re . . .” He searched for the right word. �
��Sensible. I knew you’d do exactly what you did. You’d pull over and—”
“And tell you to get the hell out of my car?” Just in case he’d missed it, I gave the open door a telling look. My timing was off. If I was hoping for him to slide across the seat and get out, I shouldn’t have picked the exact moment thunder rumbled overhead and a flash of lightning lit up the rural landscape.
I groaned. “What, you couldn’t take a Greyhound bus out of town? Or did you just have a sudden itch to go to West Virginia?”
“Is that where we’re headed?” He didn’t look interested. Or disappointed. Just relieved to be anywhere but Chicago.
This time, my groan was louder than the last. But that’s because the reality of what I was dealing with finally dawned. “Somebody’s after you.”
“I never said—”
“You don’t have to. It’s the same old same old. It always is. You owe somebody money. That’s why you wanted to hide out at my place, and when that didn’t work out, hitching a ride with me worked out even better. I’m guessing this time, they must be planning on kneecapping you. Or worse. What’s wrong, Kaz—you losing that magic touch of yours? You can’t charm these guys like you do everyone else?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do I? Charm you?”
It wasn’t what we were talking about. It wasn’t even what I was thinking about. Then again, maybe he figured that flash in my eyes wasn’t just a reflection of the bolt of lightning that split the night. Maybe he didn’t realize it was really anger. Or maybe he just needed to be hit over the head with the truth. Maybe if I did it often enough, one of these days it would actually sink in.
Maybe.
“Get a clue. You don’t charm me, Kaz. You used to. But not anymore. Exactly because of things like this. And one of these days, you’re not going to be able to talk yourself out of these messes you get into. You want to spend the rest of your life hiding out in people’s cars so you can sneak out of town so you don’t get your legs broken?” Another thought hit, and I added, “How did you get in here without me noticing, anyway?”
“You should never leave your car unlocked in the big city,” he said, so matter-of-factly it boiled my blood. “And you should have looked in the backseat after you came down from saying good-bye to Stan. You can’t be too careful, Jo.”
“I’ll remember that.” My smile was tight. But then, my teeth were gritted. “But I guess what happens in the big city won’t matter to you anymore since you’re getting out of the car here and living out the rest of your days in Indiana.”
He slid a look at the open door and the rain that pattered just beyond it. “West Virginia sounds like a better option. Why are we going there?”
“I’m going to check out some buttons.”
“Because of the one you talked about on that TV show.”
“Maybe.”
“My guess is that’s the same button you were asking Kate Franciscus’s assistants about.”
“It might be.”
“Which means you’re being the resident expert.” Like this was no big surprise, he nodded. “That explains it.”
I knew better than to ask, but let’s face it, when somebody says something that vague, it’s impossible not to be curious. “Explains what?”
Kaz shrugged. “That cop who was waiting for you outside the shop this morning. You know, the one who looked like he’d slept in his suit. If you’re helping out with the investigation . . . I mean, that explains why he was so anxious to see you. Why else would he be hanging around?”
Of course, the button was the only reason Nevin was hanging around. I knew that. Kaz didn’t have to rub it in.
“Thanks for nothing,” I grumbled.
“Oh, come on, Jo!” What, I expected an apology? For once, Kaz didn’t disappoint me. “You know what I meant.”
“What you meant was that no guy could possibly be interested in a button nerd.”
“I always was.”
I didn’t dare look at him. I knew his eyes would be gleaming, and damn it, I was in no mood for gleaming.
Instead, I turned in my seat and counted the times the wipers swished the windshield before I was calm enough to speak. “That door’s still open.”
“Yeah, it is.” He slid over and slammed it shut, but he didn’t get out.
I didn’t have the heart to make him. After all, it was raining.
BENT GROVE, WEST Virginia, is as big as a minute. In the gray morning light, I drove through the center of town and saw one bank, one mom-and-pop grocery store (the hand-drawn sign in the window featured a fish screaming “Live Bait!”) one school, one place to stay.
It was Home Days, the man behind the check-in desk of the Debonair Motel informed me, and it was clear I should have known this because he looked at me as if I had two heads. He had only one room left.
I took it, and I was shameless enough—not to mention exhausted enough—to let Kaz carry my suitcase in from the car.
“It’s adequate,” I said, stopping just inside the door and taking the suitcase out of his hand. The room was tiny; from where I stood, I had no trouble plopping my suitcase down on the green and blue paisley bedspread. “It’s reasonably clean. That’s all that matters.”
Just on the other side of the threshold, Kaz yawned. “That, and a hot shower and a chance to sleep in a nice, comfy bed for a couple hours.”
“My plans exactly.” I swung the door closed.
“But, Jo!” He shot out an arm to keep the door from closing in his face. “I thought—”
“The car’s open.” I didn’t bother to add that I wasn’t stupid so I didn’t leave the keys. “You want to sleep, you’re going to have to do it there.”
“But, Jo, I—”
“See you later, Kaz.”
HE DESERVED IT, so I didn’t feel guilty for keeping Kaz out of the room. Besides, there is only so much an ex-wife should have to put up with. Sharing a bed with the man who used to be the man of her dreams wasn’t one of them.
But though I am firm, I am not heartless. By the time afternoon rolled around and I’d slept for a while, then showered and dressed, I was feeling a little more generous. I let Kaz in to take a shower.
Mistake. But then, I never expected him to be so bold as to saunter out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a threadbare Debonair towel around his waist and a sheen of shower steam on his skin.
“I didn’t have time to pack much.” The room wasn’t very big, and he had to reach around me for the backpack he’d brought along. “If we’re going to investigate—”
“Who said anything about we?” He smelled like soap and my herbal shampoo. I sidestepped away from him. “I’m going to head out and see what I can find out about Granny Maude, the woman who might have made the button. You—”
He stepped in front of me. “I can help. I mean, maybe not so much with this crazy button business, but you know if you need me, Jo . . .” He took a step closer, checking out my jeans and the sky-blue T-shirt I was wearing. “You know, for anything . . .”
I am a strong woman, but this close, even I couldn’t resist skimming my gaze down Kaz’s muscled body. Oh, those abs! Oh, those pecs!
Oh, the heartache he’d caused me over the years!
I turned around so I could grab my purse and a sweatshirt, just in case the evening turned cool. “If you’re coming,” I said, “you’d better get dressed. Fast.”
IT DIDN’T TAKE long to find the fair or to see that, at least for the rest of that week, it was the center of activity in Bent Grove. Main Street was cordoned off and lined with pop-up tents that featured dealers selling everything from arts and crafts to homemade pies and jellies and the usual assortment of funnel cakes, hot dogs, and lemonade. The street ended at the high school, and the parking lot there was filled with amusement rides and games of chance. I parked the car (and paid two dollars to the Boy Scouts who were using the lot behind the city hall for their annual fund-raiser) and got my bearings. Before I left Chicago, I would have ass
umed the logical place to start was the sheriff’s department, but I had heard how reluctant that sheriff was to help out Nevin when he called, and I was not feeling up to trying to cajole information out of him. I already had Kaz to deal with, and he was all the blarney I could handle.
Instead of heading for the building up ahead with the “Sheriff’s Department” sign outside it, I looked up and down Main Street and made up my mind. “I’ll see you later,” I told Kaz; then before he could decide to tag along, I sidestepped my way through the crowd and headed for the nearest craft vendor.
No luck there, but then, her stock was pretty much limited to crocheted toilet-paper-roll covers and bookmarks.
The second vendor I stopped to talk to was no more help, even though the woman knitted fabulous scarves and hats. Obviously, there wasn’t much call for buttons on fabulous scarves and hats.
The third tent was set up right outside the Bent Grove Barber Shop and belonged to a quilter named Hetty, and just looking at the quality of her products, I perked right up. Her fabric choices were gorgeous. Her work was detailed and meticulous. In addition to meeting a kindred spirit, I was hoping I hit pay dirt.
I knew it for sure when I checked out the quilt hanging at the back of her display and drew in a breath of pure wonder. It was one of those crazy quilts—bits and pieces of fabric sewn together along with scraps of lace and pieces of ribbons and strips of velvet, then embellished with embroidery stitches in all shapes and sizes and colors—along with hundreds and hundreds of buttons.
I knew I was going to like Hetty, even before I introduced myself and showed her a photo of the mystery button.
“That’s one of Granny Maude’s, surely.” Hetty was as thin as a green bean, a seventysomething woman with soft creases in her cheeks and a head of riotous silvery curls. She smiled and nodded. “Maude, she made them buttons and passed them out to the children over at the local school when they graduated from eighth grade. Can’t be another person anywhere ’cept Maude who makes buttons as fine as those.” She gave me a sly glance. “You lookin’ to buy?”
