Panic Button

by Kylie Logan

  I cursed my slip of the tongue and scrambled. “Not exactly looking. I mean, I was, but—”

  He set down the sandwich and took a step in my direction. “Because you wondered where I was.”

  “Yes.” That much was true, and there was no use denying it.

  Another step and Kaz was close enough for me to see the tiny smear of mayo at the corner of his mouth. “You missed me.”

  Remember that whole bit about how crabby I’d been? And how tired? I guess it all sort of came to a head, so hey, nobody can fault me for snapping. Then again, if anyone on earth deserved a little comeuppance, it was Kaz. For all the things he was. And all the things he did. For all the times I’d thought I could change him and that one life-altering, heart-wrenching moment when I realized I never would.

  My smile was as sweet as I could possibly make it when I said, “You’re right, Kaz, I did miss you.”

  I wasn’t imagining it, his shoulders really did shoot back a fraction of an inch. Kaz has great shoulders. Nice abs, too. In fact, Kaz is the total package when it comes to the looks department, and he looked especially delicious that night in butt-hugging jeans and a gray T-shirt with a flannel slipped over it. I almost felt guilty making him feel so darned self-satisfied.

  Almost.

  I wiped the smile from my face and added, “It’s hard not to miss the most annoying person in my life when he’s suddenly not around being annoying anymore.”

  Kaz took the knock in stride. Then again, that’s pretty much how Kaz takes all of life. Grinning, he backed off and grabbed the rest of his sandwich. “Hey,” he said before he took another bite, “I’ll take what I can get. At least you noticed I wasn’t around.”

  “So?” He left the turkey and cheese out on the counter, and it was the first I remembered I hadn’t had lunch. I took one slice of bread and made myself a half a sandwich. While I was at it, I put on a fresh pot of coffee. “What were you doing in Wisconsin? Who’s after you? And why?”

  I figured it was a long story so I settled myself on one of the high stools next to the worktable and dug into my dinner.

  Kaz made another sandwich. “I was playing cards, that’s all.” He waved away the importance of that part of the story with one hand. “Some guy got bent out of shape. You know, because he won, and—”

  “You didn’t have the money to pay him what you owed him.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  It was. I knew it because I’d heard the story a thousand times and seen that same look on Kaz’s face. When he lies, his nose twitches just a little bit. It twitched now.

  “I have every intention of paying him,” he said. Twitch.

  A couple bites of sandwich, and I was beginning to feel a little more human. Maybe I wasn’t as tired and frustrated by my case as I was simply hungry. “So what was in Wisconsin?” I asked.

  “The card game.” I never keep things like potato chips around because when they are, I eat them, but Kaz checked the cupboards and I knew that’s what he was looking for. He likes crunch with his sandwich, and pickles and celery don’t fill the bill. He settled for a box of Triscuits and brought it back to the table with him, fishing out crackers two at a time and popping them into his mouth.

  Like I said, I was feeling the teensiest bit mean-spirited so it was only natural for me to wait until his mouth was full before I asked, “The card game in that new tent you bought?”

  Kaz stopped chewing. But only for a second. He swallowed and smiled, pointing my way with a cracker. “You went to my apartment.”

  “Well, what did you expect?” I got a Pepsi out of the fridge for Kaz. It was Diet. He would complain. Too bad, so sad. “I called, Kaz. Plenty of times. You never returned my messages. I figured—”

  “You couldn’t live without me?”

  I was just getting milk out of the fridge for my coffee and it was a good thing the carton was closed, or the look I shot Kaz would have curdled its contents. “If you must know, I figured you were dead. You know, on account of how somebody was sick and tired of your lies.” I poured the milk into my mug, put the carton back in the fridge, and slammed the door. “I was worried. At least for a while. I finally felt better when I realized what I was really feeling was disappointment because somebody got the satisfaction of offing you before I could.”

  “That’s a good one.” Kaz laughed and ate a few more crackers. “Say, now that you know where I live and that your key works—”

  “Don’t.” I stopped him with a look that would have flash-frozen any normal human being. “It’s been a long week, and I’m not in the mood, and besides, Kaz, all kidding aside, I really was worried. OK, yeah, all right, read whatever you want into that. At least I’ve got the guts to admit it. I figured something bad had happened to you. Damn, but when it does, I’m the one who’s going to be left to plan your funeral, and I’ll tell you what, Mitchell Kazlowski, that is not one job I look forward to.”

  He slipped off his stool and poked his hands into his pockets, the picture of remorse. “I know you’re serious when you use my full name. Sorry. I should have told you I was leaving for a while.”

  “No. That’s just the thing. Don’t you get it? You shouldn’t have told me. You should never have to tell me where you’re going, or what you’re doing, or anything else. It’s just that…I don’t know, I guess it’s just that when you didn’t come around, it was a change, and I didn’t know what to make of it. I was scared.”

  “And I was inconsiderate.” Words he’d never spoken in the three turbulent years of our marriage. I wondered if Kaz was finally growing up. Or maybe I was just feeling gracious now that I knew his lifeless body wasn’t at the bottom of some hole somewhere. “I’m sorry. I mean it. I should have at least called and told you. I just…” He rolled back on his heels and glanced away. “I figured, you know, that if I told you what I was up to, you’d tell me I was nuts.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “You got that right.” He patted the stool I’d been sitting on earlier as a way of telling me to take a seat. I did, and he rummaged around in the cupboards again. This time, I knew he was looking for cookies. Kaz likes something sweet after dinner. He settled for a box of cinnamon-covered graham crackers. “I was doing some reading,” he said. “And yeah, I know, that sounds a little weird. I’m not exactly a scholar. I mean, not like you. But I saw this article in the paper about this place up in Wisconsin and it kind of caught my interest so I went to the library and—”

  “You know where the library is?”

  His smile was stiff, but he ignored the question. That was OK, it deserved to be ignored, I just couldn’t help getting in the zinger.

  “I did a little research. About this town in Wisconsin called Prairie de Chien. It’s right on the Mississippi River, a pretty little place. Anyway, there’s a legend that says that back in 1832, four soldiers were bringing the payroll to a nearby fort, and they were ambushed by Indians. The soldiers were all killed, but before they were, they managed to bury their saddlebags filled with gold coins. I thought…” He scraped a hand over his chin. He obviously hadn’t shaved that day; a shadow of stubble accentuated the planes and angles of his face and made him look rugged and weathered.

  Kaz looked at me through his so-thick-they’re-wasted-on-a-guy lashes. “You’re gonna laugh.”

  “Won’t,” I promised.

  His shoulders dropped. “You should. It was a dumb idea to begin with. I was just thinking…you know, sort of about what you said earlier. How I’m always coming around, asking you for help. I was thinking that you…well, Jo, you’ve managed to make something of yourself. You worked on that goofy movie and it paid off. You’re getting royalties every month. And you’ve established yourself with the button crowd as, you know, an expert. And you’ve got the shop and…” He didn’t so much shrug as he twitched his shoulders. “You’re kind of an inspiration.”

  Good thing I had just swallowed the last of my turkey sandwich or I might have ch
oked. I took a sip of coffee to wash down the sudden knot of emotion that blocked my breathing. “So you’re, what, going to open a button shop in Wisconsin?”

  Kaz laughed. That, of course, was what I was hoping for. Kaz’s natural state is laid back to the nth degree; seeing him being introspective threw me for a loop.

  When Kaz was in the room, I could not afford to lose my sense of equilibrium or my perspective.

  “No button shop,” he said and raised his eyebrows to let me know he was kidding when he added, “I wouldn’t want to give you that kind of competition.”

  I grabbed my mug and wrapped my hands around it. “So why were you in Wisconsin?” I asked.

  “To look for the treasure, of course.” Before I could say anything—even though I didn’t know what to say—he blurted out, “See, I knew you’d laugh. I knew you’d think it was crazy.”

  I set my cup on the table. “I’m not laughing. And I didn’t say a word about it being crazy, did I?” I thought back to my quick visit to Kaz’s apartment and nodded. “That explains the metal detector. But not…” I gave him what I hoped was an eagle-eyed look. “But not the card game.”

  Did I expect more than for him to shrug the whole thing off?

  Not really, so I wasn’t disappointed when he did and said, “I was camped at this really nice park. I’d look for the treasure during the day, come back to my tent at night. You know, Jo…” Thinking, he cocked his head. “I’m a city boy through and through, but I sure liked being out there under the stars.”

  I did know; I’d thought the same thing about Ardent Lake. Of course, that was before I found out the whole town was a sham. These days, I wouldn’t be surprised if I discovered that canopy of stars over the city was as much of a painted backdrop as the Victorian charm.

  “So for the first week or so,” Kaz went on, “things were pretty quiet. After treasure hunting all day, I’d get something to eat, then go back to the campground and just relax and do some more research about the treasure, you know, check maps and things. Then last weekend, some other campers arrived, and there was this guy who started up a card game.”

  “And you couldn’t resist.”

  “No, I couldn’t.” It was as simple as that. At least to Kaz. “The first night, I actually won a few hands. I was in good shape.”

  “Until you weren’t.”

  “You got that right. And the guy who ran the game was decent, and chatty, and while we were playing, I mentioned I lived in Chicago and he knew my name, of course.”

  “So now that you owe him money, and he knows where you live, he’s looking for you.”

  Kaz made a face. “And I didn’t even find the treasure.”

  It was the story of Kaz’s life. The story of our marriage. There wasn’t much I could say. Instead, I cleaned up the worktable and slipped on my jacket.

  I made sure the back door was locked, and Kaz followed me to the front of the shop.

  “I can’t go home,” he said.

  “You’re not coming with me,” I replied.

  He tried for slick and, yeah, sexy, too, when he lowered his voice. “I don’t take up much room, and I can be pretty well behaved—if you want me to be.”

  By this time, we were out on the sidewalk and I locked the shop door behind us. “I want you to go away,” I said. “Like I’ve always wanted you to go away.”

  “Except when I was away—”

  “Good-night, Kaz.” I turned to walk to the nearest El stop.

  And Kaz gave up with his usual equanimity and headed the other way. “See ya, Jo,” he called. “Hey, I’ll stop in next week. We can get dinner, and I’ll tell you all about what it’s like to be a treasure hunter.”

  I would have stopped cold even if I wasn’t ready to cross a street and the light was against me. But then, that’s because a couple odd things happened at the same time.

  For one, LaSalle raced by, hot on a trail of a ginger-striped cat I saw duck into the nearest alley. That in itself wasn’t all that unusual. The fact that LaSalle was wearing a bright blue collar was.

  And the second thing?

  That made me grin from ear to ear. See, I still didn’t know who’d killed Angela and Susan. But suddenly, I was pretty sure I knew why.

  Chapter Sixteen

  JIMMY CARNS WAS JUST GETTING READY TO PULL OUT of the parking lot of the Ardent Lake police station. He didn’t look surprised to see me. Then again, I’d called Nev the night before (it was late and he was still at the station, knee deep in his newest case) and told him what I was up to. No doubt, the police grapevine had done its job.

  “Of course we dusted for prints after Susan’s murder. All over the Big Museum.” It was a warm morning, and it promised to be an even warmer afternoon, and Jimmy had rolled down the windows of the patrol car. His cap was off and lying on the seat next to him. “In a place as big and as busy as that…”

  The way he refused to say the words spoke volumes. I was afraid this was what was going to happen, and my shoulders drooped. “You didn’t find anything out of the ordinary?” I asked. “You’re sure?”

  “Wish I could say otherwise. Hey…” As far as Jimmy was concerned, the subject wasn’t so much closed as it was at a dead end. He changed it deftly. “You’re staying around for the festival this weekend, aren’t you?”

  I was. I told him I’d gotten a room at Mary Lou’s B and B for the night (and just for the record, it was a single room with a single bed in it) and that Nev would be joining me the next day for the festivities. “Until then…” Even from here, I could hear all the hustle and bustle going on over at the park. The festival was scheduled to start that evening with a speech from the mayor and a concert by the Ardent Lake High School marching band, and the sounds of trucks coming and going, of hammering, and of sound systems being checked and rechecked added a staccato rhythm and an air of anticipation to the Friday morning. “You wouldn’t mind if I just had a look around, would you?”

  “You mean at the Big Museum?” Jimmy laughed in a way that told me he thought I watched too many episodes of Murder, She Wrote. Then again, there was that police grapevine. I think he was thinking about that, too, and about what he might have heard from Nev about my skills as a modern-day Jessica Fletcher, because he nodded. “Be my guest,” he said. “The Big Museum’s expecting a rush of visitors this weekend, so I know it’s open now. You know, so they can get everything ready. Go on over there and poke around to your heart’s content. I don’t think you’ll find anything, though.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” I wished he wasn’t. I hoped he wasn’t. “No one will mind?”

  Jimmy punched his patrol car into reverse. “There’s an interim head curator in charge. I’ll give her a call.”

  Was I surprised when I told the docent near the front door of the Big Museum that I was there to see that interim curator and she pointed me toward the woman with spiky red hair and high, high heels?

  Not really. After all, it made sense. Marci had once applied for Susan’s job at the Big Museum, and she knew a thing or two about curating. In fact, she looked perfectly at home click-clacking her way across the marble floors, directing staff where to put up this or that signage, and how to set up the rooms for the cocktail party scheduled after the fireworks in the park the next evening.

  “I can’t say I’m surprised to see you.” Marci zipped past me with barely a glance. “Jimmy Carns called.”

  I was grateful. It saved me from a lot of explaining.

  There was a pile of brochures about the museum on a nearby table, and Marci grabbed them, handed them to the closest docent, and told him to put them into the racks near the door. When she was done, she brushed her hands together and finally gave me her full attention. “He said you wanted to take a look around, but he didn’t say what you wanted to see.”

  “He didn’t tell me you were the interim curator.”

  Her smile was sleek. “Who else would they have asked? Oh, you should have seen their faces. It was positively
delicious! As soon as the board of trustees realized the festival was breathing down their necks and there were plenty of people who were going to show up for that, not to mention the cocktail party Susan had scheduled…well…” She tugged her black suit jacket into place and squared her slim shoulders. “I love that sort of irony, don’t you? They came calling, proverbial hat in hand.”

  “And you jumped at the chance to take Susan’s place.”

  I guess Marci had never thought of it that way. That would explain why she narrowed her eyes and gave me a quick, scathing look. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

  “Really? What would you say, exactly?”

  I didn’t have a chance to find out. The front doors opened and a couple guys came in carrying huge arrangements of yellow, white, and pink spring flowers in tall white vases. Marci ducked away long enough to show them where to put the flowers, then waved me into the picture room, where less than a week earlier, I’d found Susan lying in a pool of blood.

  She propped her fists on what she had of hips. “What are you getting at?” Marci asked.

  “Me? Not a thing. I was just thinking. That’s all. It’s mighty convenient, what with Susan out of the way and you finally getting a chance to step into the job you wanted all along.”

  Some of the starch went out of Marci’s shoulders. “I never thought of it that way. You don’t think—” She chewed her lower lip. “I didn’t ask for this opportunity. The board of trustees are the ones—”

  “You said it yourself. You were the most logical choice.”

  “Well, yeah.” When she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, I swore I heard her hair gel crack. “But that doesn’t mean I’m guilty of anything. You don’t think…” Whatever I was thinking, Marci was thinking about Susan. I could tell because her gaze darted from this corner of the room to that, scanning the now pristine floor, no doubt thinking of Susan’s lifeless body lying on the cold marble. “I didn’t kill her.”

  “I didn’t say you did. But you did want her job. You still do.”