Button Box Mystery: Hot Button Part 4

"I checked the bar, too. He's not there."

Kaz deposited me in a chair between Helen and the empty spot where Thad was supposed to be sitting and went around to the other side of the table.

"You said Mr. Wyant would be here." Until Daryl spoke to me, I didn't realize my chair was back-to-back with his.

"Of course he will be." That was the perky me. And just to prove it, I glanced around both my table and his, a confident smile on my face. "Thad's just been delayed for a few minutes. You know how these things are."

"How?" Daryl's question was so sincere that I didn't have the heart to answer. Good thing I didn't have the opportunity. From the pocket of his orange-and-brown-plaid sport coat, his cell phone rang, and Daryl checked the caller ID, excused himself, and left the ballroom.

I turned back toward my table just as a waitress deposited my salad in front of me, and honestly, it looked as delicious as the picture I saw when I went through the hotel catering menu and ordered tonight's dinner. Fresh field greens, diced pears, a sprinkling of blue cheese. Too bad my stomach was too jumpy for me to enjoy it. I did another quick scan of the ballroom. No Thad. I pushed my chair back from the table.

"Sit down." Kaz mouthed the words. "Calm." Like a baseball umpire signaling safe, he made a gesture over his salad and smiled.

I knew what that meant, too. Upbeat. I was supposed to remain upbeat. Even though the program was scheduled to start in exactly forty minutes and my speaker was nowhere to be seen.

Chase Cadell was walking back from the bar, a bottle of beer in one hand, and he leaned over and purred in my ear. "Told you you should have picked me. I'm actually here, Josie. And that son-of-a-gun Wyant-"

"Will be joining us in just a jiffy." I wasn't sure how my popping out of my chair and heading out to the lobby was supposed to help accomplish that, but I did it anyway, and it was a good thing I did. I was just in time to see a tiny woman in a black suit disappear around the corner toward the vendor room.

Beth Howell.

Yeah, the timing was bad, but this was the first time I'd caught up with Beth since the incident on the boat, and I wasn't going to let the moment pa.s.s me by. I took off down the hallway, and I would have caught up to her if the door to the vendor room hadn't swung open and stopped me in my tracks.

"Langston!" He stepped out of the room so quickly that he surprised me, and I pressed a hand to my heart at the same time I dodged to my left. "You just-"

"Need to get into the banquet." Langston stepped to his right.

"And I need..." I looked around him, but by then, the hallway was empty. Wherever Beth Howell was headed, she was nowhere in sight now. "I'll go back to the ballroom with you," I told Langston, and I hoped I didn't sound disappointed because of that, so I added, "You're late for the banquet. The salad's are already being served."

"Is it really that late?" He looked at his watch. "The time just got away from me. I was taking care of some last-minute details at the booth."

"And I..." I suppose I could have told him I was hotfooting it after Beth Howell, but I never had a chance. But then, that's because Ralph the security guard came racing across the lobby, caught sight of me, and headed my way.

"You've got to see this. I mean, you really don't have to, but you do. You know what I mean?"

I would have gladly told him I didn't if I could have gotten a word in edgewise. But then, with the way Ralph latched on to my arm and dragged me back across the lobby, I didn't exactly have a chance.

"You were asking about him and all," Ralph said, his voice high-pitched and panicky, the way I would hope a security guard's never would be. "And then Linda called. You know, from the laundry room, and I went down there and all, and I'm going to have to call somebody, only Zack, my boss, he's gone for the day and all, and-"

By this time, Ralph had already punched the b.u.t.ton to call the service elevator at the end of a corridor off the lobby. The doors whooshed open, and he dragged me inside. "You're not going to believe it," he said. "I don't believe it. And I've seen it. And I've got to call somebody. Fast. Only I can't think straight; you know what I mean? Because these kinds of things aren't supposed to happen. Not at a nice hotel like this."

The elevator b.u.mped to a stop, the doors opened, and Ralph, who was still hanging on to me like a limpet on a rock, pulled me down a hallway with green-tiled floors and bare walls. Down here at bas.e.m.e.nt level, there were no windows, and the overhead fluorescents buzzed and flickered. The air was heavy with steam and the scent of bleach.

Ralph veered to the left and into a room lined with metal shelves that were stacked with freshly laundered towels.

"Over there." One hand to the small of my back, he pushed me forward. "You're not going to believe it."

He was right. I didn't believe it. But then, I was having a little trouble believing my own eyes and the fact that Thad Wyant was slumped against the far wall of the linen room in a pool of blood. There was a gorgeous hand-carved cherry-handled awl plunged into his neck.

Chapter Five.

RALPH THE SECURITY GUARD DID NOTHING TO MAKE ME feel secure. Or guarded, for that matter. In fact, Ralph was so upset at finding Thad's body, he crumpled up in a corner and whimpered, and I was the one who called 911. I was also the first person Nevin Riley saw when he walked into the bas.e.m.e.nt hallway, where Ralph (still trembling and crying) and I were waiting.

"Hey." OK, it doesn't sound like much, but for Nev, this is the equivalent of h.e.l.lo, how are you? and Boy, you're looking fine all rolled into one. To say he's not much of a talker is something of an understatement. "You find the body?"

I hadn't, and I told Nev as much and pointed him toward Ralph, then got out of the way so he could calm Ralph down and so the crime-scene techs who streamed in behind Nev could get into the linen storage room.

That gave me a chance to pull out my cell, dial Helen's number, and whisper a silent prayer that the banquet wasn't so loud that she couldn't hear her phone ring.

"Josie?" I could tell she'd seen my name pop up on caller ID, and I imagined her giving the phone a quizzical look. "Where are you, honey? And what's going on? You were here, and now you're not, and they're already serving the entree. And I hate to tell you this, honey, but Thad Wyant isn't here, either."

"I'll explain later about why I'm not there." Yes, that was my voice, rushed and breathless. But then, I wasn't exactly at my best. Sure, I'd once found the body of a famous actress at the b.u.t.ton Box, but truth be told, not even previous experience can prepare a person for this sort of thing. Nothing would ever make me immune to the blood, or the horrible thought that a life had been so violently cut short. I gulped, and rather than watch the techs examining Thad's body, I stepped down the hallway and into the cavernous room opposite, where row after row of industrial-size washers and dryers stood silent, waiting for the next morning's delivery of sheets and towels, and a couple of uniformed officers were checking above, below, and inside everything in sight to make sure no one was hiding there. "I need you to do me a favor, Helen."

"Of course, dear. Anything. What's that?" This question obviously wasn't meant for me because Helen's voice was suddenly m.u.f.fled, as if she'd turned in a different direction. "It's Josie," I heard her say, and I wondered who she was talking to. "She's got some kind of problem and-"

"Helen!" Sure, I felt dopey standing there in the laundry room and yelling into my phone, but it was the only thing I could think to do to get her attention. "Helen, this is kind of important."

"Of course it is. You wouldn't have called during dinner otherwise."

She was back, and before she could get distracted again, I said all I had to say and said it fast. "Thad Wyant isn't going to be able to make the dinner tonight." Talk about understatements! Rather than dwell on it, I kept my focus. "I need you to rustle up a banquet speaker," I told Helen. "I was thinking... I almost said Chase Cadell, then reconsidered. Things were bad enough; there was no use making Chase the center of attention and giving him the opportunity to say "I told you so."

I scrambled, furiously thinking about our conference attendees. "How about Brenda Perry? You know, the woman who makes those really cool polymer-clay b.u.t.tons and-"

The ladylike tsk on the other end of the phone was enough to stop me cold. "Lovely woman," Helen said. "Gifted artist."

"But..."

"Terrible public speaker. Oh my, yes. You haven't heard her, have you? Mumbles. Stumbles over her words. Simply terrible. When Brenda's speaking in front of a crowd, she's uncomfortable, and so is everyone who's in the room with her."

I scratched Brenda off what had been a very short list and tried for another idea. No easy thing, considering my gut was twisted in painful knots, my knees felt like they were made out of some of Brenda's uncured polymer clay, and my heart was pounding so hard, I was sure Nev and the other cops across the hall heard it and figured the thumping was coming from the was.h.i.+ng machines. Fighting to steady myself, I waited until the cops were done with their sweep of that side of the bas.e.m.e.nt and leaned against the cool, tiled wall. "Then how about Bob Johnson? He knows everything there is to know about cloisonne b.u.t.tons."

"Just saw him at the bar." Helen's tone of voice told me she was shaking her head sadly when she said this. "One too many gla.s.ses of Jack Daniel's, I'm afraid. My goodness, and it's so early in the conference for him to misbehave like that. Bob usually waits until the last night to let it all hang out."

"Then what about-"

"Thad isn't just late. Is that what you're telling me? He's not going to make it at all?" I think the enormity of what I'd been trying to tell her finally sunk in. Poor Helen didn't know the half of it. That's why she didn't sound as worried as she did uncertain. "Are you sure, Josie? He's your guest of honor, after all. The conference paid for him to fly all the way here from New Mexico. And the conference is covering every single one of his expenses. Hotel and such, I mean. Are you telling me you've lost him?"

I drew in a long breath and let it out slowly even as I switched my phone from one sweaty hand to the other. "It's complicated."

"It must be, dear, for a conference not to have its guest of honor at the opening banquet."

Don't ask me how, but I somehow managed to sound as levelheaded and focused as I wasn't feeling. "You're right. It's unforgivable, but I'm afraid it's unavoidable. Still, we can't have people sitting there after dinner waiting for a speaker who's never going to show."

"Does that mean we're not going to see the Geronimo b.u.t.ton tonight?"

Leave it to Helen to get to the heart of the matter. And for the heart of the matter to be all about b.u.t.tons. I can't say I blamed her. Had I come all the way to Chicago from who-knows-where just to get a gander of the famous Geronimo b.u.t.ton, I, too, would wonder what Thad's absence meant.

The Geronimo b.u.t.ton.

The thought galvanized me, and I straightened up like a shot. A chill crawled through my bloodstream, and this time, it had nothing to do with Thad's death. What if Thad's death was somehow tied to the Geronimo b.u.t.ton? What if something had happened to it? That b.u.t.ton was a priceless historical object, a one-of-a-kind link with the past and a valiant warrior.

What if. . ?

Panic is so not a pretty thing, and make no mistake, I was toeing the edge of it.

I gulped down a breath to calm myself, and when that didn't work, I tried another. I paced and told myself it was too soon to worry. We would look for the Geronimo b.u.t.ton as soon as possible.

Er... that is, Nev and the other cops would look for the b.u.t.ton.

After all, it was their job, not mine. I would mention the b.u.t.ton to Nev as soon as I was able, but other than that- "Did you say something, dear?" Helen's voice on the other end of the phone snapped me back to reality. "About the Geronimo b.u.t.ton and how there are lots of folks here who are eager to see it, and now, they might not get the chance? Because it's a little hard to hear. There are people nearby talking and chatting and having a good time. Of course, they don't realize the entire conference is about to crumble around them. They're counting on hearing Thad Wyant speak tonight. And on getting their first look at that b.u.t.ton of his."

"I'm afraid that's going to have to wait. But don't tell them that. Don't tell them anything. Just that..." I imagined standing at the podium in the front of the ballroom and trying to explain away the inexplicable. "Just that Thad can't be there and that I can't be, either, and that I'm very sorry. Just find me someone who can stand up after dinner and talk about b.u.t.tons for forty-five minutes. Any b.u.t.tons. That shouldn't be hard in a conference full of b.u.t.ton collectors."

"Well..." I had known Helen for a long time, and I could tell by the way she drew out the word that she was pink from chin to forehead. "My laptop is up in my room, and I might still have a PowerPoint presentation on it that I gave at a local b.u.t.ton society meeting a couple years ago. It's about fop b.u.t.tons. You know, b.u.t.tons that depict French aristocratic fas.h.i.+ons of the eighteenth century. That just might be enough to take people's minds off the fact that Thad Wyant is missing."

"He isn't. Not exactly."

The subtle distinction was lost on Helen. "I don't want to seem pushy," she said. "I mean, by suggesting I do the talk. There are plenty of other people here who might be willing to jump up and volunteer. You know, if we want to interrupt them and make them scramble to put together some kind of talk when they should be enjoying dinner. I don't want to come off looking like a publicity hound."

For the first time since Ralph dragged me into the bas.e.m.e.nt, I felt some of the stress inside me uncurl. "You're not, Helen. You're a lifesaver, that's what you are."

"Then you'd like me to take over your duties? And Thad's?"

"Yes. Please. Thank you." From across the hall I saw Nev glance around, and I knew he was looking for me. "Sorry," I added, right before I clicked off the call.

I was just in time to watch Nev hand Ralph off to one of the uniformed cops standing near the service elevator, then head straight for me.

"Hey." He'd said that once already, but I didn't bother to point it out. I also didn't bother to mention that he was wearing almost exactly what he'd been wearing on our last date: rumpled khaki suit, wrinkled blue Oxford cloth s.h.i.+rt. That date was two weeks earlier, and we'd gone to a movie. Since b.u.t.tons are just about the only thing I am capable of discussing for any length of time and police work is pretty much the only thing Nev can talk about, movies provide us a nice conversation-free environment. In the couple of months we'd known each other, we'd seen a lot of movies.

Not that we're complete morons when it comes to interpersonal skills. After all, we'd already worked together to solve one murder, and truth be told, I had figured it would be our last. Fortunately, there was no murder on the menu the night of our last date. Just that movie, and we'd gone for coffee afterward, and it was... nice. Just sitting there at Starbuck's enjoying each other's company, filling the long silences by talking about nothing more than the details of our daily lives. Yeah, it was nice. But then, Nev has that whole cute vibe going for him, so that helps. It's his s.h.a.ggy, sandy hair, and the fact that he's tall and lanky.

His sense of fas.h.i.+on... That was another matter. At least I could be certain that sometime in the last two weeks he'd actually changed his clothes; he was wearing a different tie. This one was green-and-white stripes, and as ugly as any tie I'd ever seen.

Apparently, he was sizing up my fas.h.i.+on sense, too, because his gaze traveled from the scooped neckline of my black-lace dress to the hem, which skimmed my knees, and back up again. "You look amazing," he said. Exactly what Kaz had told me when he saw me in the lobby earlier in the evening. Only coming from Nev, the compliment was warmer and more sincere. Or at least that's how it felt when it curled around my heart. Before I had the chance to turn completely mushy, he tempered the compliment with, "What are you doing here?"

"At the hotel? Or here? Here in the laundry room?" I realized it didn't matter. "Conference," I explained. "You remember. The International Society of Antique-"

"And Vintage b.u.t.ton Collectors." He nodded. "Of course I remember. Your annual meeting is the reason you've been so busy, and you've been so busy, we haven't had much of a chance to see each other."

It didn't seem fair to lay the whole blame on me. "And you're working nights."

"I would apologize if it was my fault." The smallest of smiles relieved an expression I knew he was obliged to wear at the scene of a crime. "But I'm only on the schedule for working nights for another month, and by then, you'll have this conference wrapped up. Maybe then..."

I guess the way my insides warmed even further was all the proof I needed that I hoped it was more than a maybe. "Dinner at my place. If the remodeling is finished."

"And it looks like we'll have plenty to talk about." Nev's expression twisted. He glanced over his shoulder toward the linen room. "The deceased-"

"Is... was... my guest of honor." I looked toward the linen room, too, but not for long. I'd seen enough blood for one evening. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

He didn't answer, but then, I really didn't expect him to. Like most cops, Nev is a ducks-in-a-row kind of guy. No way he was going to say anything until he had all the facts, and plenty of time to digest them. "What can you tell me about the victim?"

I shrugged and started with the fact I deemed most pertinent. "He's an expert on Western b.u.t.tons."

This bit of information might have confused a lesser cop. I guess by now, Nev had come to expect that if I was involved, b.u.t.tons had to be, too. He simply scribbled a line in the notebook he was holding.

"His name is Thad Wyant." I should have said this first, of course. "He's here from Santa Fe and..." I weighed the wisdom of gossiping against the sure knowledge that Nev couldn't do his job properly if he didn't have all the facts. "There's been plenty of trouble since he got here."

He raised his flaxen eyebrows. "Trouble because of Wyant?"

I shrugged. "It's hard to say. I mean, not having Chase Cadell's nametag, and misplacing my scrimshaw b.u.t.tons... That kind of stuff can't possibly have anything to do with Thad. But there have been other things. Bigger things. And I don't know if Thad was the cause or just on the receiving end. Last night, he had a fight on the dinner cruise with a woman named Beth Howell. And this morning, one of our vendors accused Thad of stealing from his booth. Chase Cadell can't stand Thad, and Thad's posters were vandalized and..." I pulled in a deep breath and forced myself to let it out slowly. "I guess it's not so hard to say. Yeah, there's been trouble. And it's all because of Thad Wyant."

Nev made another note, glancing up only when he was done. "So I'm going to go out on a limb here and say people didn't like him."

"That's putting it mildly."

"And you know I need the names of all those people."

"Of course."

"And it would help if you came along when I talked to them and made the introductions. I mean, I know how b.u.t.ton people can be..."

I wouldn't have been so defensive if he hadn't caught me at such a bad time, but the way it was, I couldn't help but bristle. "How?"

Nev wrinkled his nose. "Careful," he said. "b.u.t.ton people are careful. At least that's what I think. But then, there's only one b.u.t.ton person I really know. And I'm thinking the fact that that particular b.u.t.ton person is careful might have more to do with past experience with a certain ex-husband than it does from working with b.u.t.tons."

He'd picked an odd time to bring up a subject more personal than any we'd talked about before.

Or maybe not.

One of the uniformed cops called to Nev to come and have a look at something, and I saw right through his strategy: it was safe to discuss a topic so highly personal here at the scene of a murder because Nev knew we'd never have a chance to finish the conversation.

Another woman might have been miffed. Me? I was actually kind of grateful. I have never been known as a daredevil. I like the idea of wading more than I do of diving right in. That's true when it comes to swimming, and relations.h.i.+ps. (Well, except for my relations.h.i.+p with Kaz, but then, that was never much like swimming; it was more like surfing a tidal wave.) Wading into talking about Kaz and the damage he'd done to my heart and my ability to trust was far less shocking than closing my eyes and taking a plunge.

And I was surprised Nev realized it.

I guess that explained why I was smiling just a little bit as we walked back to the linen room side by side. Not to worry. I knew better, and I erased the expression the moment we walked through the door.

Good thing.

Otherwise, my smile would have been flash frozen when I stepped into the room and saw an officer wearing latex gloves holding up a blue blazer.