Hot Button

by Kylie Logan

  “On duty.” Nev set down his glass. “If it can keep until we’ve got this case wrapped up…”

  The way things were going, I was afraid the wine would be long past its expiration date by then.

  Rather than let my pessimism show, I set down my glass, too. “What can I do for you?” I asked Nev.

  “I heard what happened. About the buttons.” He didn’t say he was sorry. He didn’t have to. Nev’s mouth was pulled into a thin line of regret. “More trouble than you need, huh?”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” I sat back down, instinctively avoiding the spot that was still warm from the heat of Kaz’s body. “You don’t suppose the missing trays of buttons have anything to do with Brad’s murder, do you? And the Geronimo button we found in the trash?” Just trying to make sense of it made my head ache, and I pressed my fingers to my temples. “It’s crazy.”

  “It is.” Nev dropped into the seat next to me. “But hey, don’t give up. I’ve just been talking to the guys down in the security office, and they found something that might help us out. Well, actually, they found nothing, and that might help us out.”

  I hadn’t had enough wine to make me foggy, but I still didn’t follow. “And this is good news, why?” I asked.

  Nev sat forward. “I was thinking about what Daryl Tucker told you, about the man Brad Wyant argued with the evening he was killed. We went over the security tapes again.”

  “And found nothing.”

  “Exactly.” Why this was a good thing, I didn’t know, but Nev seemed pleased enough. “The tapes don’t show the outside of the building. Not clearly,” he explained. “But if you watch the tapes from the lobby camera really carefully, you can see a sliver of the front entryway. On the night of the murder, they show Brad Wyant going through the lobby, and a little while after, Daryl Tucker walking by, his phone in his hands. He turned down the hallway over by where your vendors are set up, so after a while, I couldn’t see him, but I did see Wyant come through again. He headed in the direction of the elevator that would take him down to the laundry room.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but I sensed it was important. I sat up, too. “But…”

  “But Wyant never went outside.”

  “Which means—”

  “He couldn’t have argued with a man outside.”

  “Which tells us—”

  “Daryl Tucker is lying.”

  “But Daryl was at the banquet, and his phone did ring, and he did go out into the lobby.”

  “I’m sure of it. I saw it with my own eyes. But what happened out in the lobby—”

  “Didn’t happen the way he reported it.” I thought of how Daryl had been coming on to me since the conference started, and goose bumps prickled over my arms. “You think he’s our killer?”

  “I don’t know. The tapes don’t show him going toward that service elevator, but he might have used the stairs. But even if he’s not our guy, it’s pretty obvious he’s hiding something.”

  “And you’re going to take him down to the station to question him, right?”

  Nev stood up and scraped a hand through his hair. “Come on, Josie, you’ve seen the guy. If I approach him and tell him I’m taking him in to be interrogated, he won’t just clam up; he’ll fold like an origami stork. He’ll never talk.”

  “But you cops, you have ways of making him.”

  “Not as good a way as you have.”

  It wasn’t my imagination. My stomach was back to flip-flopping around, just like it had been down in the ballroom when I had to confess that button trays had been filched from under our noses and our contest was in jeopardy. “You’re kidding me,” I said and hoped against hope Nev was.

  “It’s not like I’m asking you to run off to Vegas and marry the guy or anything.”

  I hopped to my feet. “Good thing.”

  Nev grinned. “Yeah.”

  Have I mentioned that Nev is cute?

  And that if there’s one thing I hate, it’s being played for a fool?

  So far, Brad Wyant had done a plenty good job of that. He’d killed his brother and assumed Thad’s identity, and none of us had been the wiser.

  Then there was Brad’s killer. He’d done a pretty good job of playing us for patsies, too.

  “I want to find out what happened,” I told Nev.

  “That means you’ll talk to Tucker?”

  I hesitated. I supposed if I talked to Daryl someplace public, like in the hotel coffee shop or right outside the ballroom… I supposed it wouldn’t look like I’d succumbed to his not-so-obvious charms.

  “He was down at dinner. I saw him there.” I stepped toward the door. “I’ll just wait for people to leave the ballroom and have a talk with him.”

  Nev grabbed my hand to stop me. “I was thinking Tucker might be more likely to talk in a more casual setting.”

  I’d had those couple sips of wine; my throat shouldn’t have been dry. But suddenly, it felt as if it was coated with sand. “Are you asking me to ask Daryl Tucker out on a date?”

  Instead of answering, Nev reached over and retrieved my glass of wine so he could hand it to me. “Maybe you better finish this,” he said and grinned. “You know, for courage.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  ALL RIGHT, I ADMIT IT—I WAS A MESS THE NEXT DAY. AND not just because things had gotten so out of hand at the conference and the murder investigation was going nowhere. Too much of a weenie to do it in person, I had called Daryl Turner’s room the morning after Nev talked me into this little fishing expedition and left a message, asking if Daryl would like to join me for dinner that evening. Within minutes, he phoned back. Excited? From the way Daryl’s voice quavered, I could picture him hopping around his room, eager for six o’clock to roll around, the time we set for our date.

  Daryl.

  Our date.

  Words that, just a few days earlier, I would have sworn I would never use in the same sentence. Not in a million years.

  “You remember what you’re going to say, right?” Nev didn’t look all that calm himself. I was trying to brush my hair and he hovered behind me like a nervous mom on her daughter’s wedding day. I ignored his fidgety reflection in the mirror, slapped on some lipstick, turned to leave the bathroom—

  And ran right into Nev, who was planted in the doorway.

  “You remember, right?”

  I controlled a screech. Barely. But since I cut him that much slack, I decided it was perfectly acceptable to throw my hands in the air. “You’re the one acting like I’m running off to Vegas with Daryl,” I said, sidestepping around Nev and into the living room of my suite. “It’s just dinner, remember? That’s what you said to convince me to go along with this goofy plan of yours.”

  “It is just dinner. Yes.” Nev had flattened himself against the wall when I sailed past him, and now, he pushed away and closer to me. “But there are some serious questions you need to ask Tucker.”

  “I know. I get it.” I grabbed my purse. “What did he really see the night of the murder? More important, why did he lie about it? And what is he covering up?”

  “You don’t want to ask that last one. Not outright, anyway.” Nev shifted from foot to foot.

  “What?” Another toss of my hands, which might have been easier (or at least a little more graceful) if I wasn’t holding my summer straw clutch. “What on earth do you have to be so nervous about?”

  Nev shoved his hands in his pockets. Took them out again. He scraped a hand over his chin. “I’m not nervous,” he said. “It’s just that—”

  “Oh, I get it.” I’m not usually the type who teases. At least not the type who teases a guy I think is cute when we are still trying to get our relationship on some sort of even footing. But let’s face it: Nev deserved a little figurative kick in the butt for acting like such a mother hen.

  I clasped both my hands and my summer straw clutch to my heart. “You’re afraid I’ll discover Daryl is the man of my dreams. My soul mate. The love of
my life! And that I can’t live without him.” I’m not the type who bats her eyelashes, but I batted for all I was worth. “Maybe we really will run off to Vegas together.”

  Nev frowned. “That’s not funny.”

  “It’s also not possible, and you know it.” I was back to being my real self, matter-of-fact, not a batting eyelash in sight. “Come on.” I leaned forward and pinned Nev with a look. “What’s really bugging you?”

  Nev doesn’t beat around the bush, either. In his job, he doesn’t have the luxury. He stepped back. “There’s a chance he’s our murderer. You know that.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I do. But… Daryl? Really? You think?”

  Nev shrugged. “Not really, but—”

  “But that would be perfect, wouldn’t it?” The realization sparkled through me like the bubbles climbing up the side of a champagne glass. “I mean, it would be great if he was our murderer and if I could actually find out something from him tonight that would prove it.”

  “And put yourself in danger? There’s not a chance I’m going to allow that.”

  Aha! We were getting to the meat of the problem. And the reason for Nev’s sudden case of the jitters. It was sweet. And I was touched.

  Right before I realized I was also insulted.

  I pulled back my shoulders. “I can take care of myself, especially in a public restaurant where—”

  “I know. Believe me, I do. But a man who’s capable of murder—”

  “Which we don’t know Daryl is.”

  “But if he is, he might also—”

  “Yes, of course he could, but you know I’m not going to take any stupid chances.”

  “Even if you don’t, he might—”

  “He won’t. This is Daryl, remember. Nerd with a capital N.”

  “Yeah, nerd who lied to us about what he witnessed the night of the murder.”

  “He did, but—”

  “Nerd, who’s obviously trying to cover something up.”

  “He is, but—”

  “Nerd, yes. But like it or not, there’s a chance he’s a dangerous nerd.”

  Have I mentioned that we were getting nowhere fast? I guess that’s why, this time, my screech was fully justified. “This was your idea,” I told Nev, and I poked a finger in his direction just to emphasize it.

  “I know. I know. And it’s a good idea. But…”

  “But?”

  If his sigh didn’t say it all, the fact that he moved to the door and opened it for me did. “Be careful,” he said.

  I didn’t bother to tell him I would be. Instead, as determined as I’d ever be and likely to talk myself out of this cockamamie tryst if I didn’t get moving and do it fast, I marched toward the hallway. I stopped only once. That was so I could stand on tiptoe and give Nev a quick kiss on the cheek.

  His face flushed with color. “What was that for?”

  He’s a smart guy, so I figured he knew. I also figured it never hurts to spell things out.

  “It’s the least you deserve,” I told him. “For caring.”

  WHEN IT COMES to an investigation, I might be willing to swallow my pride, but I am not a complete moron. I deliberately avoided any restaurant that even hinted at candlelight and romance and went for sleek, casual, and well lit instead. One within walking distance of the hotel so we didn’t have to ride in the backseat of a cab together. Murderer or garden-variety nerd, it didn’t matter; I was determined to spend as little time alone with Daryl as it was possible to get on any date.

  I ordered the shrimp and red-pepper pasta. And a dirty martini for courage.

  Daryl asked for chicken tenders, extra fries, and a beer.

  Had I been with anyone else (Nev, for instance), this is the part where the conversation would have lagged, and what started out as a promising evening crashed and burned. As hard as it was to believe, that meant there was an actual plus to dating Daryl. (I mean other than trying to find out something that would lead us to Brad Wyant’s murderer.) Two button collectors at dinner together? No way we could ever run out of things to talk about.

  “So…” I scooted forward in my seat, my hands clutched around the stem of my martini glass. “It’s been so busy at the conference, we haven’t had much of a chance to get to know each other, Daryl. What kind of buttons do you specialize in?”

  “Specialize?” He had just lifted his beer mug, and he looked at me through the golden liquid in it. It wasn’t until after he’d taken a drink and set down his glass that he replied. “I’m too new to collecting to specialize in any one kind of button.”

  “I remember those days.” I did. Just barely. Still, it seemed like a first-date (and there-will-never-be-another-one) thing to say. “When you first get into collecting, they all have a special appeal, don’t they?”

  I could have sworn Daryl was listening intently, but then, there was a light hanging from the ceiling right above our table, and its glow reflected in his glasses. Maybe his gaze wasn’t glued to me the way I thought it was. “What’s that you said?” he asked, adjusting the lapel of that hideous plaid sport coat and leaning forward. “About every button being—”

  “Special. Sure. I’ll bet you feel the same way. At first, they’re all so interesting.”

  “They. Meaning the buttons.”

  “Of course. But there must be one certain kind that really attracts your attention.”

  A slow smile spread over Daryl’s face. “One certain kind of button? I thought for sure you were talking about one certain kind of woman.” He slipped his hand across the table toward mine.

  I tucked mine in my lap.

  The way Daryl’s cheeks darkened above his bush of a beard, I was pretty sure he got the message. He took another sip of beer. “I like colorful glass buttons, and Western-themed ones, of course. But then, that’s the whole reason I came to this conference in the first place, so I could hear Thad Wyant speak.”

  It was an uncomfortable reminder of why I was really there, but trust me, I was grateful for it. Better to think about murder then to get carried away with my ruse and even begin to consider Daryl as potential boyfriend material.

  He scratched a hand through his beard. “Have you heard anything?” he asked. “From the police?”

  “You mean about the murder. Funny you should ask…” The waitress delivered my pasta, and I sat back and bided my time. Maybe it was a good thing I did; it was the first I realized Nev was seated at a table across the aisle and two down, facing my way. He looked as casual as can be, sitting there drinking a cup of coffee, but I could feel his eyes on me. Not sure if that was reassuring or annoying, I ignored him, twirling my fettuccine onto my pasta spoon and keeping up the conversation.

  “The police mentioned something to me that sounds a little odd,” I said, and because I didn’t want to seem too anxious, I ate that forkful of pasta, and since it was incredibly delicious, another one, too. “They were questioning me. You know, about the night of the murder.”

  “That first night of the conference. Sure.” Daryl took a bite of chicken fingers and left behind bread crumbs in his beard. “I remember. We were just getting seated for the banquet, and I went out to the lobby to take a phone call.”

  “And you told the cops that’s when you saw Thad Wyant outside the hotel arguing with another man.”

  Daryl was in the middle of chewing, so he didn’t so much answer as he did grunt.

  That gave me the opportunity to go in for the kill.

  “Only you didn’t, did you, Daryl?”

  He was still chewing, and he excused himself by pointing to his mouth, swallowing, then washing down the chicken with a sip of beer. “What are you getting at, Josie?”

  “I’m not getting at anything. I’m saying it plain and clear. There are security cameras all over the hotel.” The aroma of shrimp and red peppers tickled my nose. I took another bite before I continued. “They’ve got video,” I pointed out. “Video of you in the lobby, talking on your phone.”

  Daryl nodded.r />
  “And video of Thad Wyant,” I added, even though, technically, the video wasn’t of Thad Wyant, but of Brad. “He never left the building, Daryl.”

  Daryl adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose. “You mean—”

  “That you couldn’t have seen Thad outside arguing with a man in a raincoat, because he never went outside.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s it?” My fork clattered against my plate, and when the noise brought Nev up and out of his seat, I warned him off with a little shake of my head. Before we attracted any more attention, I schooled my voice. “You lied to me, Daryl, and you lied to the cops, too. I was hoping for a little more of an explanation than oh.”

  A fidgety smile came and went from somewhere inside of that dark, shaggy beard. His left eye twitched. “Can this get me in trouble?” he asked.

  “That all depends…” I picked up my fork again, the better to make it look like we were having a dinner conversation, not a showdown. “What did you see that night, Daryl?”

  He was about to grab a french fry, and he stopped and sat back. “I wasn’t lying when I said I saw Thad Wyant in the lobby.”

  “I didn’t think you were.” Not technically correct because ever since Nev had told me about the security tapes and what wasn’t on them, I wasn’t sure what to think of Daryl. “But like I said, you didn’t see him go outside. You couldn’t have.”

  “No.” He picked up a french fry, dipped it in ketchup, then set it down again. “That’s true.”

  “So if you didn’t see him go outside, you didn’t see him argue with a man out there.”

  Daryl hung his head. “That’s true, too.”

  “Then why…” Honestly, I didn’t get it. Too antsy to just sit there and wait for answers I wasn’t sure were anywhere near coming, I picked up my glass and sipped my martini. A minute later, I felt steadier, and ready to start again. “Why lie?” I asked Daryl. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  His white shirt suddenly matched the color of his skin. Except for the two bright spots of color peeking out at the place where beard met bare skin. “I thought…” Daryl’s voice caught, and he coughed, twitched, and took a swallow of beer. When he was done, he gave me a level look. “I thought it would make me look more important,” he said. “To you.”