Button Box Mystery: Hot Button Part 9

Chapter Nine.

TOTE BAG IN HAND, I MADE IT BACK TO THE HOTEL IN record time.

Good thing, too.

Otherwise, when I stepped into the lobby, I wouldn't have seen Gloria Winston race into the nearby ladies' room. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn she was sobbing.

Of course, that wasn't possible. I knew this deep down inside because deep down inside, I knew Gloria was the most well-adjusted and composed person in the world. That didn't stop me from automatically following her.

Which meant I was doubly surprised when I found Gloria standing in front of the mirror, both her hands clutching the faux-granite countertop and her shoulders heaving.

"Oh my gosh. Gloria, what's wrong?" I set my tote bag on the floor so that I could put an arm around her. No easy thing considering that Gloria towers over me and is just as wide as she is tall. "Something terrible happened. Don't tell me. Not another murder?"

"N... n... no." The word was barely audible, what with her sniffing and sobbing. "Oh, Josie, no one was supposed to see me like this. I'm so... so embarra.s.sed."

"Well, don't be." Warm and fuzzy Gloria is not. That didn't mean she didn't deserve a little consolation. I pulled her into a hug.

Gloria's whole body shook like a gra.s.s skirt on a hula dancer, and I kept my arms around her until I felt her breathing slow and her sobs quiet. "Now..." I plucked a couple tissues from the box on the nearby counter and handed them to her. "Tell me what happened."

The tip of Gloria's nose was an unattractive shade of red. "It's s... stupid."

"Not if it's got you this upset."

She sniffled, wiped her nose, and reached for another tissue. "It's the judging, I'm afraid."

I groaned. "What went wrong? No, don't tell me. Not yet. Just know that whatever it was, I'll take full responsibility. The committee shouldn't take the rap. This is my conference, and I have to step up and face the music, especially when things go wrong. Please, please don't think any of it is your fault."

Gloria sniffed a little more, and when two ladies came into the room, laughing and chatting, she turned her back so they wouldn't see her swollen eyes. It was obvious she didn't want to talk when she knew they might hear, so I grabbed my tote and led the way out of the ladies' room and into the coffee shop on the other side of the lobby. It was late afternoon, and the place was nearly empty. I slipped into a seat at the table farthest from the door and facing that way so Gloria would have her back to whoever might come into the coffee shop, and when the waiter arrived, I told him we needed two gla.s.ses of water and two pots of tea. Settled, I patted the table as a signal to Gloria to sit down.

She did. Even as she mumbled, "I'm so embarra.s.sed."

"Yeah, you said that." I tried to keep things light, figuring it would help her regain her composure. "But you haven't told me why."

Our water came, and Gloria finished off her gla.s.s in three long guzzles. Chin down, she glanced up at me through the coating of mascara on her spa.r.s.e eyelashes. "Measles," she said, and the tears started all over again. "And now you know what a fool I am."

The light dawned.

Measles, see, are what we b.u.t.ton collectors call the little red circle stickers that are put on the plastic sleeves that hold compet.i.tion trays when one of the b.u.t.tons on the tray is not appropriate to the category. One measle disqualifies the entire tray from compet.i.tion.

"You mean you-" I wasn't sure how to say it without insulting Gloria, but really, it was hard to fathom. Gloria was an expert and meticulous about her compet.i.tion trays. "One of your trays was disqualified?"

Tears streaming over her cheeks, Gloria nodded. She slipped the paper napkin off the table and touched it to her eyes. "Can you believe it? The category was ivory b.u.t.tons, and I could have sworn every single b.u.t.ton on that tray of mine met the criteria." Her gla.s.s was empty so she reached for my water and took a gulp. "Well, I guess that's what I get for being so sure of myself and entering a category I've never attempted before. You know me, Josie, when it comes to moonglows and realistics-"

"There's n.o.body who knows more."

"Well." Gloria hung her head. "Maybe there's n.o.body who used to know more. These days... Well, maybe I'm losing it."

I sat back and laughed. "Not a chance. You're the sharpest-"

"What?" Gloria's head came up, and her eyes narrowed. "Old lady? Is that what you were going to say?"

I had seen her be cold, and even rude, but I'd never seen Gloria angry, and I chalked it up to how upset she was. "I was going to say you're one of the sharpest b.u.t.ton collectors I've ever met," I said. "Gloria, no one thinks you're old."

"Not now. Not yet. But once word of this gets out..." With one hand, she mashed the paper napkin into a ball. "I'll be the laughingstock of the conference. Of every conference."

I doubted it. Though b.u.t.ton collectors can be precise, exacting, and focused on details, I had never known them to be cruel. Except, of course, if it was a b.u.t.ton collector who had killed Thad. Murder, it seemed to me, went even beyond cruel.

"Why don't you just tell me what happened. Something tells me once you put it into words-"

"It will make me feel better?" There was no amus.e.m.e.nt at all in Gloria's rough laugh. "OK. Yes. You're right. Of course you're right." She grumbled. "I'm acting like a prima donna, and you know that's not like me. I suppose I was just caught a little off guard by that measle. d.a.m.n!" She pressed her lips together. "I was so sure I'd win first place; I swear when I looked through the judged trays and saw that little red mark on mine, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I suppose that's the price of pride, right? Or maybe it's just what I get for falling in love with a b.u.t.ton. You see, the b.u.t.ton that disqualified me..." She traced an invisible pattern over the table with one finger.

"It was a b.u.t.ton I saw at a show in Philadelphia a couple months ago, and I was so taken with it, I did what I've told every b.u.t.ton collector north, south, east, and west never to do. I scooped it right up. The dealer a.s.sured me it was ivory, and I never questioned him. I should have. I should have double- and triple-checked it before I put it on that tray. But I was busy with other things, and the time just sort of got away from me. The judges' remarks-you know, the ones they write on the slip of paper attached to my tray-the remarks said the tray was disqualified because that b.u.t.ton was bone. Bone!" An unbecoming flush raced up her neck and into her cheeks. "Even a first-time b.u.t.ton collector should be able to tell bone from ivory. And I missed it completely. There's a lesson to be learned. I'm so embarra.s.sed; I could just die!"

With all that had already happened at the conference, I didn't like to hear her talk like that. "Not to worry," I said. I resisted the urge to pat Gloria's hand because I didn't want to seem condescending. "Your name isn't on the tray. No one knows that measle belongs to you."

"You're right." She gave me a begrudging smile. "But if someone asks how my tray did-"

"You can tell them the truth. Not every tray can be a winner."

"Yours always are."

Was that jealousy I heard edging Gloria's voice? I decided instantly that my ears were playing tricks on me. Gloria was too matter-of-fact to be the jealous type.

"Oh, come on." Again, I went for upbeat and hoped I succeeded. Our pots of tea had arrived, and I toyed with the string on my teabag. "Everybody makes mistakes on their compet.i.tion trays now and again."

"Not you."

I scrambled through my memory banks, back to all the compet.i.tions I'd entered over the years, and found comfort telling her, "There was that time in Kansas City-"

"Kansas City. Hah!" Gloria's jaw was tight. "That was years ago, Josie. You were just a kid. These days, you'd never make the kind of mistake I made on that tray of ivory b.u.t.tons."

"Maybe not, but-"

"But you have royally screwed up this conference." Apparently cheered by the thought, Gloria sat up and her shoulders shot back. She softened the blow of her remark with a smile so genuine, I couldn't take it personally. At least not too personally.

"See?" I harnessed my irritation behind a smile of my own. "We all make mistakes. I messed up on the scrimshaw b.u.t.tons-"

"And the salads at lunch, remember," she reminded me. "And some of the nametags for the cruise, and-"

"The point is..." There's only so much self-reflection any woman can take, and I'd had enough. "We all make mistakes, Gloria. It's not the end of the world."

"But if anyone found out... about that bone b.u.t.ton, I mean... my reputation..." She paled and lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'm a judge at compet.i.tions all over the country. And I'm asked to speak at club meetings and conferences. If word gets out that I'm careless, that I don't know my stuff... Promise me, Josie. Promise me you won't tell anyone about the..." Langston Whitman walked into the coffee shop and called out a h.e.l.lo, and Gloria mouthed the last word. "Measle."

I crossed a finger over my heart. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Secret?" Langston stopped at our table and put one hand on Gloria's shoulder and one on mine. "What are you two talking about behind my back?"

"Oh, just girl talk." Gloria was back to her old self. Which pretty much sent the message that Langston should back off and mind his own business. She pushed back from the table and stood, making sure she kept her head down and her tearstained face turned away from Langston. "It's getting late," she said, "and I'm having dinner with the Colorado club this evening. I think I'll just head back to my room for a little catnap before it's time to go."

And before either one of us could stop her, Gloria marched away.

"Well, that's not like her." Langston took the seat Gloria had just vacated. "She's usually eager to talk b.u.t.tons, any time of the day or night."

I hoped my shrug said it all. "You heard her. She's got a busy evening ahead. Now..." I could tell by the way Langston sat with his hands clutched together on the table that this wasn't a social call. "What can I do for you?"

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "I know I shouldn't ask," Langston said.

"But you're going to, anyway." I made sure I punctuated my statement with a laugh. Langston's shoulders were rigid; his back was ramrod straight. He was telegraphing his tension and stressing me out in the process, and I had to do what I could to lighten the atmosphere. "Get it over with, Langston. We've been friends forever; whatever you're going to say, it's not going to surprise me."

His jaw was rigid. His lips were set. "I think I might be a suspect in Thad Wyant's murder," he said.

I was right; this didn't surprise me. Then again, as far as I knew, Nev hadn't narrowed down the field. Everyone at the conference, and that mysterious man Daryl had seen arguing with Thad outside the hotel's front entrance-we were all suspects.

I poured my tea, added milk, and took a sip. "Do the police have reason to suspect you?" I asked.

Langston rolled his eyes. In an elegant way, of course. "I couldn't stand the man."

"From what I saw, not many people could."

"Then maybe they should be suspects."

"Maybe they are."

Thinking this over, he c.o.c.ked his head. "That detective came and talked to me. I know you know who I'm talking about because he's cute, and I'm sure you noticed him. He showed me some things that were found in Wyant's room: plastic sleeves, card stock, and such. He asked me if I could identify any of it, and of course, I could. It was exactly what Wyant had looked at Sunday evening. Exactly what was missing after he visited the booth on Monday."

"So it's official. Wyant did steal from you. That doesn't automatically make you a suspect."

"I should hope not."

"But you're worried, anyway."

Langston tugged on his left earlobe. "I just felt... I don't know... uneasy, I guess. I didn't like the questions that detective was asking."

"That's his job."

"Yes, of course. But I thought if you knew anything..."

"About the case?" First Daryl and now Langston. I wondered what kind of reputation I was getting in the b.u.t.ton community. "If they know anything-"

"They wouldn't tell you. That's what you were going to say, right? But they must have questioned you, too. After all, I heard you were the one who called the police. Did you see anything, Josie? Did the police tell you they found anything?"

"You mean like clues?"

Langston leaned over our table for two. "Like the Geronimo b.u.t.ton."

"What makes you think it's missing?"

He sat back. "I didn't say it was. I just thought if they were going to come poking around asking questions, I should get an idea of what they're after. So they didn't say anything?"

"About clues? And the Geronimo b.u.t.ton? Not a thing. Not to me."

"That's good. Maybe." Again, he leaned closer. "Maybe it's bad."

"It isn't good or bad. It isn't anything. It's just the police doing their jobs and not telling me anything because whatever they find, it's none of my business."

"But you are helping them."

Again, I wondered about the b.u.t.ton grapevine. "Who says?"

"n.o.body. Everybody." Langston lifted his hands in a gesture that said it was the truth and that's just how it was. "Everybody's talking about that actress who was killed in your shop last summer and how you helped the police find out who did it. They know you've got connections with the police. And they're worried."

"About me?"

"About you finding out things that maybe you shouldn't know."

"And are you worried about something like that?"

"Me?" I would have been convinced by Langston's laugh if he didn't refuse to meet my eyes. "My life is an open book. You know that, Josie. I don't have a thing to hide."

"But you were carrying an awl when I saw you march across the lobby yesterday." I threw out this comment casually, like it really didn't matter to me, but it might to the cops.

He tsked. "That was early in the day. Believe me, I put down the awl long before Thad Wyant met his maker. Although the cops..." Langston bit his lower lip. "They showed me the murder weapon. It was one of Elliot's awls. Of course, I recognized it. The workmans.h.i.+p is superb. There was..." He ran his tongue over his lips. "There was dried blood all over it."

"So you can see why they had to talk to you. And there is one other thing..." Not that I was accusing Langston or anything. But I was curious. "You arrived at the banquet late, and from what Detective Riley tells me, Thad died not too long before Ralph the security guard found him. Which means you weren't in the ballroom at the time Thad was killed."

"Yes. Well..." Langston s.h.i.+fted in his seat. "If you must know, Elliot and I had a bit of a tiff yesterday afternoon. Not to worry. We've smoothed things over." His smile was brief. "At the time the banquet was scheduled to start, we were in our booth, kissing and making up. Elliot will be happy to share the story with you and with the police if they ask. He's an artist, and you know how they are, never shy about baring their souls. Or the details of their personal lives."

"You know I believe you."

"And you know the police might not."

"They will if you're straight with them."

"Straight." For the first time since he walked into the coffee shop, Langston's smile was wide and sincere. "One thing I am definitely not."

I smiled, too. "You know what I mean."

"I do, and I thank you for listening to my rant. You're a good friend, Josie." He stood and the smile faded from his face. "This whole thing has upset me terribly. Word is out that it was one of our awls that killed Wyant, and I've seen the way people look at me when they walk past the booth now. You know, like they think it automatically means I'm guilty. Our business is down from yesterday, too, and I'm sure it's because people are uneasy about dealing with us. Maybe Elliot and I should just pack up and go home."

"I can't say for sure, but something tells me the cops wouldn't be happy about that."

"No. Of course not. I suppose it would only make me look even more guilty." He smoothed a hand over his impeccable Italian silk tie. "You know I'd never hurt anyone, Josie. Not in the way Wyant was hurt. I couldn't. I mean, for moral reasons. But aside from that, I'd never risk my reputation or my freedom, not because a two-bit cowboy like Thad Wyant swiped some things from my booth. That would be... well..." He backed away from the table and headed to the door. "That would just be crazy."

"Yes, it would." Since Langston was gone, I was talking to myself. "But I've seen crazier things happen around here so far this week."