by Logan, Kylie
Leave it to Stan to bring me back to reality! I shook away the uneasiness that had settled on my shoulders. “It’s that obvious, huh?”
He waited for me to say more and while I worked out how to put it into words, I scooped a handful of buttons out of the box in front of him and started sorting. As always with a new batch of buttons, the first thing I did was sort the buttons by color. Later, I’d worry about dividing the buttons according to what they were made of and where and when they were manufactured.
“I was doing some research last night,” I told Stan. “Trying to find out more about that ceramic button I told you was missing from Forbis’s exhibit. I didn’t find anything useful, so I came in here extra early this morning and looked through all the books I have here.”
“And . . . ?”
My drooping shoulders said it all. “If there was ever another button like it, nobody’s written about it, nobody’s photographed it. Nobody mentions it in any of the monographs I read about handmade buttons. Nobody references anything like it, or like those letters that were etched onto the button.”
“And this has you looking all puckered when I mention Nev because . . . ?”
I sighed. “Because I was thinking. About Forbis. And about the exhibit. And about the whole tie-in with vudon. Forbis was from an island off the coast of Georgia where vudon was practiced back in the day. What if that button has something to do with the religion?”
Stan pursed his lips. “It’s possible I suppose.”
I finished with the buttons I was sorting but rather than reach for another batch, I brushed my hands together and stepped back from the table. Sorting buttons by color was something Stan could do sitting down and with a cup of coffee at hand, so it wouldn’t be too strenuous for him, not like dusting or vacuuming. Besides, until he knew a little more about buttons, I couldn’t ask him to do much more than sort. Sorting was a great place to start. All the rest about button history and what each button was made of would come later.
“If I want to know about vudon,” I said, “it only makes sense to go to one of the world’s recognized experts.”
The light dawned and Stan nodded. “Into the lion’s den, eh?”
“I’m not exactly sure that’s how I’d put it.” That hadn’t stopped me from dressing with extra care that morning. It was warm out, and I’d chosen a black pencil skirt and a cami the color of pink cotton candy. No, I am not usually a pink person, but I remembered that Kaz had always told me I looked good in pink because of my dark hair and eyes.
It’s not like I was trying to show anybody up. Not anybody. But I was concerned with looking presentable and professional and with making a good impression. On top of all that, I didn’t want to look like a reject, like some cast-off Nev had let go when someone prettier and smarter came along, someone with a bigger brain than mine.
Pathetic. Yes, I know. Rather than think about it, I gave Stan a few last-minute instructions and grabbed my suit jacket.
“Taxi’s already waiting for you,” Stan said, walking me to the front of the shop. “You’d better get a move on because the meter’s running and you’ll spend all your money and you won’t be able to afford my huge salary.”
When I walked out of the Button Box, there was a smile on my face.
That lasted exactly two seconds.
When I climbed into the backseat of the cab, there was already someone there waiting for me.
“What are you—?” I tried to play it cool, honest. That wasn’t exactly easy with Gabriel Marsh smiling at me like a GQ cover model.
“It makes perfect sense to share a ride,” he said. “I suspect we’re going to the same place.”
“How would you—?” I gulped down the rest of my words. I knew he’d never give me a straight answer anyway, so why ask the question?
That was about when I realized the cab driver was looking over his shoulder at us, waiting for instructions.
“Field Museum,” Gabriel and I said at the same time.
Gabriel sat back, perfectly comfortable and looking as at home in the cab as he had at my dining room table surrounded by Chinese takeout containers.
“You owe me an explanation.”
“Do I?” This close, I saw that the skin at the corners of Gabriel’s eyes was creased, like he spent too much time in the sun. Those little wrinkles were even more noticeable when he smiled. “I thought you would have figured it out by now.”
“Figured what out?”
“That I’m interested in Mr. Parmenter and what happened to him.”
“I didn’t need to figure that out. You told me that when you stopped over on Saturday. What you need to figure out is that you’re not going to find out anything about Forbis Parmenter at the Field Museum.”
“Neither are you.”
“Which would tell any logical person that I’m going to the museum for a whole different reason.”
“Are you insinuating I’m not logical?” When he laughed, he threw back his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment. In fact, when you get to know me better, you’ll find that I am among the least reasonable people you are likely to meet. I am not so much a man of intellect as I am a creature of passion.”
I suppose I actually could have given the whole intellect versus passion thing some thought if I wasn’t so focused on what he said about when I got to know him better.
Sizzling was poor form. So was melting into a puddle of mush. Rather than do either, I shook my head to help clear it, and when I realized Gabriel was studying my pink cami with far more appreciation than even Kaz ever had, I slipped on my suit jacket.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Icy.”
“I’d offer to provide some warmth but something tells me that wouldn’t go over well.”
“I’d rather have answers than warmth.”
“Ask the questions.”
“OK.” I thought about where to start and figured the beginning was as good a place as any. “How did you know I was going to the museum?”
“Damn!” He made a face. “And just when I declared myself illogical! Now you expect me to lay out my plan and actually have it make sense. Very well, here goes. I knew you would eventually go the museum because, eventually, you were bound to want to find out more about vudon.”
“But how did you know it would be today?”
“I didn’t.”
I may not have been genuinely cold before but suddenly, I was chilled to the bone. “You’ve been following me.”
“You make it sound like some kind of crime.”
Since my steady, and slightly sarcastic, gaze didn’t seem to make an impression, I said, “It is!”
One corner of his mouth pulled tight. “It’s not like I’m a stalker or anything. I’m a—”
“Journalist. Yes, I know.” I plunked back against the sticky vinyl seat, my arms crossed over my chest. “And that gives you the right to follow me?”
“It gives me the right to look for answers.”
“I told you before, I don’t have any. So you’re wasting your time.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
I didn’t respond to this less-than-subtle attempt at whatever it was he was attempting. How could I? If he was saying what I thought he was saying . . .
Well, just thinking about it made my blood buzz, and this was not the time or the place. Or the man, for that matter.
“I don’t know anything about Forbis’s murder,” I said. “I told you that Saturday night. End of story.”
His smile would have been devastating if I thought it was the least bit genuine. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that I’m as stubborn as hell. It is my job, after all. I’m just a guy looking for information.”
“Information about vudon.”
His shrug wasn’t as noncommittal as it was simply elegant. “If I intend to write about Parmenter, I need to know all I can about him, and about the exhibit.”
This much I figured was true, and it
made me wonder how much Gabriel already knew. I weighed the wisdom of saying too much and tipping my hand about the missing mystery button against the chance that I might be reinventing the wheel. I might not have answers for him, but maybe he had some for me.
“Did you take any photos when you were at the exhibit?” I asked him.
“You mean before Parmenter caused a scene?”
“Yes. Before Forbis spilled his champagne. Before he was found dead.”
“Before you found him dead.” He didn’t expect me to say anything so I don’t think he was disappointed when I pressed my lips together. “Sorry,” he said, and just to clarify that it wasn’t my fragile emotions he was worried about, he added, “I didn’t take any photos.”
“But you did do research, I bet. Before you showed up at the church. You must have if you hoped to look at the exhibit and understand what you saw. When you got to the show, did you notice anything . . . unusual?”
“You mean the argument our Mr. Parmenter was having with someone before he walked into the church.”
“Yes, that.” Believe me, I hadn’t forgotten about that. “Do you know who he was fighting with?”
“Do you think it was strange that his body was found in the box with the loa?”
Don’t think I didn’t notice that he responded to my question with one of his own. “That was the next morning. I’m talking about at the show. Did you see anything that struck you as unusual?”
“Oh come on! I don’t care how much you love buttons. You have to admit, it was all unusual. Weird artifacts covered with weird buttons.”
Before I had the chance to defend buttons and the honor of button collectors everywhere, the cab stopped in front of the Field Museum.
Gabriel didn’t offer to pay for the cab, so I did, then turned to walk up the wide steps that led to the magnificent building with its massive columns. Gabriel was right by my side.
“Going to see the dinosaurs,” he said. When we stepped into the front door, he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on.
“Sun’s out there,” I said, looking over my shoulder and back outside. “Why would you—” When I turned back around, Gabriel was gone.
Good. Fine. Terrific, in fact. I was here on business and I didn’t need the distraction that was Gabriel Marsh tagging along.
I paid my admission, grabbed a brochure to get the lay of the land, and headed out to find the museum’s anthropology collections. From there it wasn’t hard to find what I was looking for. Or, to be more exact, who I was looking for. There was a new exhibit being set up under a sign that said “Yoruba” and there smack in the middle of it, wearing khakis along with a museum polo and white cotton archival gloves, and standing in a soft spotlight that added coal black highlights to her hair, was Evangeline.
If she was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it. In fact, she lifted her chin and met my steady gaze head on. “You’ve come to talk about Nev.”
“There’s nothing the two of us need to say to each other about Nev.”
“Really? Is that what you think?” She set down the elaborate beaded belt she was holding. “What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping you could tell me something about vudon. This isn’t . . .” I glanced around the soon-to-be exhibit. Behind Evangeline, there were three empty glass-fronted cases with glass shelves, and in front of them, tables, packing crates, and display platforms. “I thought vudon was your thing,” I said.
Dressed so casually, Evangeline looked more like a college intern than a recognized expert in a long-dead religion. She stripped off her gloves. “My specialty is vudon, but voodoo and vudon and other related religions can all be traced back to the ancient religions of Africa. The religion of the Yoruba people is one of them. I’ve had a number of articles published about the similarities and differences. If you’re interested in learning more, we can stop in my office and I’ll get you a list.”
I’d had a number of articles published, too, all of them about buttons and none of them in the swanky sorts of journals where I’m sure Evangeline’s research appeared. Rather than admit it, I cast a leisurely glance around the exhibit. There was a mannequin nearby dressed in astonishing robes of brightly colored fabric adorned with seashells and beading, and I itched to get a closer look and promised myself a trip back to the museum when the exhibit opened.
“Did Yoruba beliefs have anything to do with Forbis Parmenter’s exhibit?”
A couple of workers came by carrying a large wooden crate, and Evangeline and I backed up and out of the way. “I doubt very much if Mr. Parmenter was intellectually capable of making the connection between vudon and Yoruba,” she said. “From what I saw, his knowledge of vudon was rudimentary at best. Is that really why you’re here? To ask for my opinion about the exhibit and vudon?”
“You are one of the country’s leading experts.”
“One of the world’s, actually.”
“Of course. Just like I am about buttons.”
Her smile was stiff. “What is it you wanted to know about Mr. Parmenter’s exhibit?”
“I was just wondering, that’s all. About what Forbis said. You remember, before he dropped his glass and ran out of the church. He said—”
“‘Le bouton.’ Yes, I was standing close enough. I heard exactly what he said.”
“Does it mean anything? In relation to the vudon religion?”
There was a pile of brochures on a nearby table and Evangeline picked them up and tapped them into order, then slid them into a holder mounted on the wall. The front page showed a picture of that mannequin at the back of the exhibit, resplendent in its robes.
She was so intent on doing her job, I was pretty sure she forgot all about me being there.
“There’s a button missing from Forbis’s exhibit,” I finally said, and just like I hoped, that got her attention; Evangeline’s hands stilled over her work. “I wondered if that button might have anything to do with the button he was talking about, and if that button might somehow be significant to the vudon culture.”
“A button missing? Really?” She finished with the brochures before she turned to face me. “How on earth would you know one button is missing among all those thousands of buttons?”
I didn’t often twinkle. It was silly and usually a waste of time. Except at moments like this. “I’m an expert, remember.”
Her smile froze around the edges. “Is the missing button valuable?” she asked.
My ego kept me from telling her that I didn’t have the slightest idea so instead I told her, “It might be. And if there’s some connection with vudon—”
“There’s not.” She slipped her gloves back on. “I can tell you that with certainty because I’m an expert, too. Except that they might have been used to adorn clothing, there’s nothing in the vudon religion that attaches any significance to buttons. But then, that’s hardly a surprise, is it? Buttons are such insignificant things to begin with.”
“Forbis didn’t think so.” I thought about those buttons on his eyes and the one that had been glued on his lips sometime after his death. “And, you know what, I don’t think his killer did, either.”
After as pleasant a good-bye as I could manage, I got back downstairs and found Gabriel leaning against a pillar, his legs crossed at the ankles. He pushed off the moment he saw me.
“Where’ve you been?” I asked.
“A more interesting topic would be where you’ve been. Yoruba, huh? Want to tell me why you were having that little heart-to-heart with Evangeline Simon?”
I stopped mid stride, the better to shoot him a look. “If you know I was talking to Evangeline, you don’t have to ask where I’ve been.”
“You think there’s a connection, don’t you? You wouldn’t have come all the way over here to talk to her if you didn’t think there was some connection between Parmenter’s mad exhibit and his death.”
“Is there anything you don’t know?”
“Nope. Except I d
on’t know if she told you anything helpful.”
“Do you think I’d tell you if she did?”
At least I got a thumbs-up to acknowledge the fact that I’d finally gotten one up on him.
I got a move on again and we were outside on the steps before I spoke to Gabriel again. “So? You know what I was doing here. You didn’t tell me where you were.”
“You mean you don’t believe I’m wild about dinosaurs?”
At least he gave me enough credit not to expect me to answer. He started down the steps in front of me. “While you were busy with the lovely Ms. Simon, I was searching her office, of course.”
“What!” I froze long enough for him to get far ahead of me, and scrambled to catch up with him. At the bottom of the steps, I grabbed his arm. “You broke into Evangeline’s office?”
“I didn’t break in. Institutional keys are shamefully standard.”
My mouth flapped open.
“Oh, come on!” Gabriel slipped an arm around my waist and walked me out to the sidewalk. “Don’t look so righteous. And don’t pretend you’re surprised. She’s one of the world’s leading experts in vudon. Parmenter’s exhibit was all about vudon. There might be a connection.”
“What did you find?”
“Not a damned, bloody thing.”
“Pardon me for being just the slightest bit skeptical.” I tugged out from the circle of his arm so that I could face him. “Come on. Really. What did you find?”
Gabriel sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Only this,” he said. He held the phone out to me and I looked at the photo on it. It showed a square building with a sloping roof. It looked like a—
“Garage?” I asked him.
“Mmmm.” He tucked the phone back in his pocket.
“Why did you take a picture of a garage?”
“I didn’t take a picture of a garage. I took a picture of a picture of a garage.”
I am not dense, but it took me a moment to work through this. “Evangeline has a photograph of a garage in her office.”
“Matted, framed, and hanging behind her desk.”
“And that’s interesting because . . . ?”
Gabriel had taken off his sunglasses the moment we were out of the museum, and in the bright sunlight I saw that his gray eyes had flecks of amber in them. They sparkled at me when he said. “Don’t you get it? That’s the whole point. It’s interesting because it’s not the least bit interesting at all.”
