Buttoned Up (Button Box Mystery)

by Logan, Kylie

  “As easy as pie when that sweet old man was there watching the shop for you. All I had to do was pretend to need help—”

  “The damsel in distress. The one who spilled iced tea on her clothes on her way to an interview.”

  “Smart, huh?” Evangeline pouted. “You weren’t supposed to recover so quickly. How did you—”

  “I’m allowed to have secrets, too.” I took a step toward her. Don’t ask me why. It’s not like I had a plan to overpower her or anything. At this point, all I wanted to do was get some help for Nev. I guess I thought if I could duck around her . . .

  Evangeline stepped to her right to block my path.

  I pretended like it was no big deal. “So Nev . . .” I slid a look in his direction. His breathing was shallow and I didn’t like that at all. “Did he tell you how he finally figured out that you were the one who murdered Forbis?”

  “Sorry. He never had a chance. But since you figured it out . . .” She jabbed the gun in my direction. “You can explain. Then perhaps I can learn from my mistakes.”

  “Why, you planning on murdering somebody else?”

  She didn’t think it was funny, but then, I guess I didn’t, either. I gathered my courage and my wits. “Forbis’s grandfather and his father were killed just like he was,” I said. “They were given the Button of Doom—”

  “And after that, it’s so easy to scare someone to death.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a delicate little shiver. “Once the seed of fear was planted in their brains—”

  “And you were disguised as a real, living Congo Savanne on the prowl and looking to find Forbis.”

  “You figured that part out, did you?” Evangeline was impressed. “And the rest?”

  “The button part was easy. You used museum wax.” I wasn’t sure of this, but when Evangeline didn’t protest, I knew I was right. “It’s the same stuff artists use to display delicate glass works. It holds on tight and comes off easily. That’s how you stuck the Button of Doom to the Congo Savanne box, and that’s how you removed it after you killed Forbis.”

  “And I suppose you have some half-baked theory about why I’d want to do that?”

  I pretended to consider this. “I can’t say if it’s half-baked or not. I can say I saw the first glimmers of a reason the moment I saw those buttons on Forbis’s eyes and lips. I wondered if his murderer was sending a message about how Forbis needed to be quiet, but that wasn’t it at all.”

  “He didn’t see,” Evangeline muttered. “He didn’t speak the truth.”

  “About vudon.”

  “He should have known better than to make fun of a religion that’s sacred to so many people.”

  “People like you.”

  “And my ancestors before me.” When she looked my way, she grinned. “Surprised? You shouldn’t be. My great-great grandmother was born a slave on a Barrier Island plantation. She was a mambo, a woman who—”

  “I know what a mambo is.” There was a perverse sort of pleasure in not telling her how I knew. “And your family has always owned the button. That’s how Forbis’s grandfather and his father—”

  “They bought up our land, the land we worked hard for after our people were freed. They told us to leave. They broke up the community.”

  “That’s not all they did.” I remembered what I’d seen on Gabriel’s phone. “There’s a big old building on Forbis property. It looks like some kind of garage.”

  Evangeline narrowed her eyes. “You can’t know—”

  “But I do. Because I’ve just seen a picture of that building and it’s the same as that picture you have hanging in your office. The one you told me wasn’t important at all. But that’s not true, is it, Evangeline? Forbis’s grandfather, and his father, and Forbis when he was a young man . . . they all worked to build that garage. And they built it over where the plantation slaves were buried.”

  “They disrespected my people, and they disrespected my religion. My grandmother knew what she had to do, she took care of the old man. And my mother made sure she took care of his son.”

  “And your job was to make sure Forbis suffered the same fate.”

  She smiled. “Once he saw le Bouton de Malheur, it was easy.”

  “But it’s still murder.”

  With a snort, Evangeline moved past me. “And you’re going to stop me?”

  I glanced down the darkened hallway. I knew there was a stairway nearby, and there were people downstairs at the fund-raiser. If I could get to them and to the security guards who I knew were there, too, I wouldn’t need my phone, I could get help for Nev. I took a step in that direction.

  “Don’t do it.”

  I whirled just in time to see Evangeline bend over Nev. She had a syringe in her hands. Not the same syringe . . . I looked to where that one was still on the table.

  “I didn’t want to have to use this,” Evangeline said. “After all, everything I did to you, I did so that Nev and I could be together again. But really, you’re not leaving me any choice.” She jabbed the syringe into Nev’s thigh and he flinched.

  “There.” Evangeline brushed her hands together. “Now here’s the way this is going to work. I’m leaving. You can follow me, screaming your head off the whole time and that’s fine if that’s what you want to do. But if you do . . .” She sashayed past me. “By the time you get back here, I guarantee that drug will be in Nev’s bloodstream. It’s a vudon drug. Very strong. And if you waste a minute, Josie, he’s going to be dead.”

  “You couldn’t . . . you didn’t . . .” I pushed right past her to get to Nev’s side. I got down on the floor and held his hand. His pulse was shaky now and I looked up at her through the tears that filled my eyes. “There’s no way you’d kill him. You said what you did, you did so the two of you could be together.”

  “That was before I knew I needed time to get out of here.” As calm as can be, she walked to the front of the exhibit. “Here’s the trick, Josie, you can come after me like I said, or you can use that time to head into my office. There’s a syringe there. Top desk drawer, right-hand side. It’s the antidote to what I just gave Nev. The only antidote. Only . . .” She stepped down from the raised platform that held the exhibit. “If I were you, I wouldn’t waste any time sitting there blubbering.”

  I didn’t.

  Even before the sounds of her heels stopped echoing down the hallway, I was on my way to Evangeline’s office. The door was open and my fingers slick with sweat, I flicked on the lights and grabbed her phone.

  I called 911. I called Nev’s lieutenant. I called down to the main desk of the museum. Then I looked for the syringe, but when I got back to Nev, I didn’t administer it. I didn’t need to and that was OK. By then, I heard the sirens.

  • • •

  When the bell over the front door of the Button Box jingled, I headed out of the back room.

  “Nev!” I raced to the front door and threw my arms around him. “Why didn’t you call to tell me you were out of the hospital?” I asked him. That is, right after I kissed him a couple times just to show him how relieved I was to see him on his feet again. “I would have come to get you.”

  “That’s OK, after three days of being in bed, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Besides . . .” He squeezed my hand. “You spent plenty of hours there these last few days. I didn’t deserve that.”

  “Baloney!” I twined my fingers through his to draw him further into the shop. “You look good,” I said, and it was true. His color was back, his eyes were clear. “Did the docs ever determine what was in that syringe?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing they’ve ever seen before. Some mix of herbs and oils and . . .” A shiver twisted over his shoulders. “It’s crazy. The whole thing is just crazy.”

  “Crazy but true.” This wasn’t the time to dance around the most uncomfortable parts of the story. “Evangeline, they couldn’t get her to talk and tell them what she gave you?”

  Some of that nice, healthy color drained out of Nev’s c
heeks. He walked over to my desk and sat down in my guest chair, his elbows on his knees. “At least they found her at O’Hare before she got away,” he said. “As for her talking . . .” His shoulders rose and fell. “She claims she doesn’t know what any of us are talking about, that she didn’t give me anything. In fact, she more than hinted that you were the one who gave me the drug.”

  I flinched as if I’d been slapped and Nev leaned forward to catch my hand. “Her fingerprints are on the syringe,” he said. “So she doesn’t have a leg to stand on. I just wish . . .”

  “I know,” I said. “Me, too.”

  When he let go of my hand, I went around to the other side of the desk and sat down.

  “Josie . . .” Nev pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry you got mixed up in this. If I’d known Evangeline was that unstable—”

  “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have.”

  “I thought . . .” He made a face. “If I thought she still felt . . . you know . . . that way about me, I never would have gotten near her again. Then to find out she cast some sort of vudon spell so that you and I would fight . . .” He shook his head. “It’s crazy. But at least . . .” Nev popped to his feet. “At least we know now why we were fighting all the time. It wasn’t us. It was the spell. We’re still . . . we’re still as good together as ever.”

  I stood, too. In the days Nev had been hospitalized, I’d been trying to work this thing through in my head. All the times I thought about it, I had this great speech that explained everything I wanted to say. Now, all the pretty words deserted me in an instant. “I . . .” I stammered. I cleared my throat and started again. “I’ve been thinking about it, Nev. A lot. I don’t know if I believe in vudon spells, but I do know this. If we’re meant to be together . . . if we’re right for each other . . . if you’re the one for me and I’m the one for you . . .” There was no easy way to say it. I drew in a long breath that wedged against the painful lump in my throat.

  “If we really love each other,” I said, “then even a vudon spell shouldn’t be enough to keep us apart.”

  This was something he hadn’t thought about. I could tell because his blue eyes darkened and he looked down at the floor.

  I stepped around the desk. “You know I’m right.”

  “I do.” He looked up at me. “But that doesn’t mean I like it. And it doesn’t mean we still can’t see each other, right? I mean, just because things are a little rocky now, that doesn’t mean we can’t still talk and have dinner together and—”

  I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Of course we can.”

  Nev’s smile was quick. “I’ve got to get going,” he said, heading to the door. “My lieutenant wants to talk to me and the department shrink needs to see me, and I can’t wait to get home and see LaSalle. My mom’s been taking care of him, but I know the fuzzy guy misses me.”

  “We all missed you.” At the door, I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll talk,” I said, and Nev walked out.

  • • •

  I played it all wrong.

  I said stupid things.

  I could have explained myself better. I should have.

  The words and the remorse and the guilt spun through my head as I watched Nev walk away, and I went into the back room to dry my eyes. Of course, I wasn’t the only one who’d been awkward and unsure. If only Nev had said that of course magic couldn’t keep us apart. If only he’d swept me up into his arms and kissed me, we could have started over right then and there.

  Only he didn’t.

  I grabbed a bottle of water, but I hadn’t even had a chance to open it when the bell above the front door rang again.

  Nev!

  My heart knocked against my ribs and I raced to the front of the shop.

  “Gabriel!”

  He strolled into the shop and tossed his black backpack on the guest chair Nev had so recently vacated. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Did I look disappointed? I wiped the expression from my face. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I thought you were someone else.”

  “That nice policeman boyfriend of yours? I just saw him out on the street. He must be fairly pleased with the way things worked out. Evangeline is behind bars and his case is closed. Thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to you.” I’d put Gabriel’s phone in my top desk drawer and I got it out and handed it to him. “If you hadn’t forgotten your phone—”

  His laugh cut me short. “I didn’t forget it.”

  My mouth fell open. “You took that picture of the Parmenter garage when you were down at Forbis’s, and you wanted me to find it so I’d know there was a connection between Forbis and Evangeline.”

  “It worked.”

  I thought about the one still missing piece of the puzzle. “It would work better if the cops could find the Button of Doom.”

  “Ah yes, the button. Too bad about that, but my guess is Evangeline will spill her guts eventually. She’ll want the cops to know how smart she was to do everything she did.”

  “And then they’ll know where the button is.” I kept my eyes on his. “Unless there’s a certain buyer in Shanghai who—”

  “Tripe and onions! I was just speculating. You don’t think any of that was real, do you? But what is real . . .” He grabbed his backpack and flung it over his shoulder. “I’m leaving town and wanted to stop and say good-bye.”

  On the heels of Nev walking out, it seemed an especially painful bit of news. Until I realized that Nev walking out had nothing to do with the way I felt about Gabriel. “You’ll be back?” I asked him.

  “Only if you want to see me again.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I’ll be back.” He walked to the front door and I followed him. “By then, maybe we’ll have all the answers we need about the Button of Doom. And until then—”

  Honestly, I never saw it coming. Not that I could have done anything about it, anyway.

  Gabriel slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me close so hard and so fast, I barely had time to catch my breath.

  Good thing he was holding onto me. If he wasn’t, I would have melted right onto the floor when he kissed me long and hard.

  When he was done, Gabriel grinned down at me. “I’ll send you a postcard,” he said, and he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  The best thing about murder investigations is them being over.

  I spent the next couple of weeks luxuriating in the wonderful nothingness of looking after the shop and concentrating on buttons.

  Yes, I did talk to Nev. Twice in fact. One time I called him just to see how he was feeling and the other time, he called me to ask some questions about what had happened with Evangeline the night he was drugged. We didn’t talk about a date or dinner and that was fine. We would. When we were ready.

  Until then . . .

  The front bell rang and I looked up from my desk to find the mailman and the day’s delivery. We passed the time like we always do and when he was gone, I shuffled through the stack: a flyer for a button auction, an invitation to a local merchants meetings—

  And a postcard.

  There was nothing written on the back of the card but my address, but the front of the card . . .

  I flipped it over.

  The picture showed a towering skyscraper with a unique opening at the top. It reminded me of a bottle opener.

  But it wasn’t even the unique building that made me gasp with surprise. It was the words superimposed at the bottom of the picture:

  Shanghai World Financial Center

  STUDIO BUTTONS

  Le Buton De Malheur—the Button of Doom—is, of course, fiction. A button that’s supercharged with magical powers? Unlikely in the world outside of books.

  However, if there were such a button, it would be what folks in the button collecting world call a studio button. Studio buttons are those special, sometimes one-of-a-kind buttons that aren’t necessarily made to fasten clothing but are instead designed fo
r collecting. They’re the work of artists such as wood carvers, enamalists, beaders, etc., and they’re not mass produced like factory-made buttons.

  Many collectors specialize in studio buttons and it’s no wonder why. Check online to see some of the fabulous studio buttons available and if you’re looking for studio buttons, keep your eyes open at art galleries and craft shows. I once found some wonderful buttons at a pottery studio. The potter kept her bits and pieces of clay and turned them into wonderful, funky buttons in all colors, shapes, and sizes. Come to think of it, some of them were incised with mysterious-looking lettering. Could it be . . . ?

  For more information about buttons and button collecting, go to www.nationalbuttonsociety.org.

  Turn the page for a preview of Kylie Logan’s new League of Literary Ladies Mysteries . . .

  A Tale of Two Biddies

  Coming February 2014 from Berkley Prime Crime!

  “It was the best of thymes, it was the worst of thymes!”

  I was mid-munch, a shrimp dripping cocktail sauce on its way to my mouth, and I needed one second to grab a napkin to keep the spicy sauce from landing on my new yellow T-shirt and another to focus my eyes—from the one bunch of gloriously green herbs that had just been thrust in front of my nose, to the bunch of dried-out herbs next to it, and beyond, to the ear-to-ear grin of Chandra Morrisey.

  “Get it?” Chandra was so darned proud of her little play on words, she hop-stepped from one sandal-clad foot to the other, those small bouquets of thyme jiggling in her hands like maracas. I swear, I thought she’d burst out of her orange capris and the diaphanous lime green top studded with sequins. “Do you get it, Bea? It was the best of thymes . . .” She held the freshest bunch of herbs at arm’s length. “It was the worst of thymes.” The other bunch was well on its way to drying out, but she showed off that one, too. “You know, just like the first line of A Tale of Two Cities.”

  “I get it!” I grinned, too, because let’s face it, it was a balmy evening in the middle of July and I was sitting on a dock on an island in Lake Erie with the women who were once just neighbors and were now my friends, enjoying the Monday before a huge tourist week celebration for merchants and residents that had been organized by the local chamber of commerce. What was there not to grin about?