by Kylie Logan
For the first time since Angela had mentioned the curse, the lines of worry on her face smoothed out and, in the light of the overhead fluorescents, her eyes sparkled. “In fact, Larry is the only good thing that’s happened to me since those buttons came into my life.”
I’m a smart enough businesswoman to know that dealing with a happy customer is far easier than trying to talk one down who’s convinced herself that her life is ruled by button bad luck. I knew this was one safe subject and I decided to stick to it.
“Tell me about him,” I urged.
“Oh, Larry.” Angela shook her shoulders in a way designed to make me think he was no big deal, but the little smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth said otherwise. “He owns the hardware store in Ardent Lake. Has for years. It’s not a very big town, so of course, I’ve always seen him around and bumped into him now and then. His wife died a few years ago, and after that, he kept to himself for a long time. But now…”
Because she wouldn’t say it, I figured I would. “He’s your boyfriend.”
Her cheeks turned the color of a Chicago sunset. “That sounds so silly, doesn’t it? Like we’re in high school or something. Larry and I, we’re… friends. Well, I guess we’re more than friends at this point. And you know, Josie, it’s really wonderful. It’s nice to have someone to go to the movies with and to cook dinner for. What with Aunt Evelyn dying and all I’ve had to do to settle her estate, Larry’s been a real rock.” Her cheeks still flaming, she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “He’s cute, too.”
It was impossible not to smile. Then again, I’d always been a believer when it came to happily-ever-afters. That was the only thing that could possibly explain how I’d been suckered by Kaz, my ex, into thinking that true love is as unalienable a right as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
But I digress. Thinking of how my marriage had gone sour wasn’t exactly appropriate, what with Angela glowing like the spring sunshine outside the Button Box’s front display window.
“I’m glad,” I told her, and it was true. “But doesn’t the fact that you’ve met Larry tell you something? You’ve got the charm string, and it’s got one thousand buttons on it. Prince Charming has come into your life!”
She twinkled like a beauty queen. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that. It’s one of the reasons I want to get this charm string out of my life as soon as possible. I can’t take the chance that anything will go wrong. Not when it comes to Larry.”
Talk about the perfect opening!
I whispered a prayer at the same time I said, “You could profit very nicely from the charm string, Angela. If you’re interested in selling it rather than donating it—”
“Absolutely not.” Her words were as firm as the way she held her jaw. “I don’t mean to be difficult, but you’ve got to understand, Josie. This charm string is most definitely cursed. That means any money I made from selling it would bring bad luck, too. No. The only thing I can do is donate the charm string to the Ardent Lake Historical Society. Everything’s arranged. I’ll pick up the charm string from you tomorrow, and the next day, the historical society is having a tea in my honor. That’s when I’ll present them the charm string. They’ve got the display all ready, and they’re going to set the charm string into it in front of everyone at the tea.” She brushed her hands together. “That will get it out of my life, once and for all.”
“Of course. That’s up to you.” Big points for me, I managed to say this without weeping. “But before you make your final decision, there are a couple things you should know.” I went over to the worktable and turned on the high-intensity lamp. “Most of the buttons on your charm string aren’t all that remarkable,” I told Angela. “They’re all very old, which makes sense since the string was made by your great-great grandmother. But old doesn’t always mean valuable. Most of these were fairly common buttons at the time she made the charm string. There are some mother-of-pearl shirt buttons…” I found one and pointed it out, and Angela looked, all right, but she refused to get too close. “There are brass buttons.” I showed her some of those, too. “There are lots of black glass buttons. Individually, at a button show, most of these buttons wouldn’t sell for more than a couple dollars each. But…” I swept a hand over the entire length of the charm string. “It’s rare to even find partial charm strings these days. To find one that’s complete… well, honestly, it’s enough to take a button collector’s breath away!”
Angela clutched her hands at her waist. “All the more reason to get the thing displayed at the historical society. Then lots of people can see it and admire it.”
“That’s true. But there are collectors—and not just me, Angela, so don’t think I’m saying this for my own selfish purposes—there are collectors who would pay you a bundle for this charm string.”
Her chin came up a fraction of an inch. “I told you. I don’t want the money. I don’t care how much we’re talking about.”
“And you should also know…” I looked down the length of the string, and the button I was looking for wasn’t hard to find. I tilted the light so that it glimmered against the button’s enameled surface. “Like I said, most of the buttons here are common, but this one…” Every time I looked at this particular button, my breath caught in my throat. “It was made in China,” I told Angela. “Sometime around 1850. It’s enameled, and the details are exquisite.” The button was about an inch across, and right in the center of it was a shimmering red fish set on a background that featured green aquatic plants and turquoise water. “I know collectors who would pay thousands for this button,” I told her. I controlled myself; I didn’t add that I was one of them.
Angela’s lips clamped tight. “Don’t care,” she mumbled. “Don’t want the money.”
“That’s fine.” It wasn’t. Not to me. To me, the charm string was the embodiment of every button fantasy I’d ever had. At least I was lucky enough to have it to myself for a while so I could compare the actual buttons to the photos Angela had sent and make my final decisions regarding values. I took comfort (not much) in the thought. “I figured it was only fair to tell you.”
“And I appreciate it.” Angela backed toward the door. “I hope you can appreciate how I feel about the whole thing.”
I did. Even if I didn’t understand it.
It was clear Angela was anxious to get out of the Button Box and away from the charm string, and I didn’t try to stop her. After all, the sooner she left, the sooner I could immerse myself in studying the buttons. Two days wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all I had, and I was anxious to get to work.
“You’ll be back tomorrow evening?” I walked to the front of the shop with Angela. “I’m usually open until six, but I can stay late if that works better for you.” I prayed it did. That meant extra hours with the charm string.
“I’ll call,” Angela assured me, pulling open the front door of the shop and stepping out into the bustle of my Old Town neighborhood. When she looked down at the sidewalk, there was a hitch in her step, and she hopped on one foot, then turned around and gave me a sheepish smile. “Step on a crack,” she said, pointing down at the fracture in the sidewalk, “and break your mother’s back.”
I smiled, too, like I knew she was kidding. Even though I was pretty sure she wasn’t.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I’d already said, when I realized Angela wasn’t listening. Her gaze was riveted to a park bench a few storefronts down, where a whole bunch of crows were digging into what looked to be the last of a hamburger and an order of fries that had been left on the sidewalk.
I grimaced. “Sorry,” I said, “not exactly the ambience the merchants around here want. I bet somebody left it for LaSalle. He’s a stray dog we’ve all sort of adopted,” I explained, looking up and down the street. “I’m surprised he hasn’t been by for his breakfast. He usually is by now. It’s tacky leaving food around, I know. We’re not really a garbage dump, and the crows, they’re not usually anywher
e around here. They must have come over from one of the parks near the lake.”
“Crows.” Angela’s face was as pale as ashes. “Don’t you know what it means, Josie? Haven’t you counted them? Don’t you know the old saying about crows?”
I didn’t have to ask what she was talking about, because Angela filled me in. “One’s bad,” she said. “Two’s luck. Three’s health. Four’s wealth. Five’s sickness. And six…” Her lips moving, she counted wordlessly, then swallowed hard. “Six is death.”
