Button Holed (23 page)

I knew what he meant, but embarrassment might be the least of our worries. My adrenaline wasn’t on overdrive; I was thinking more clearly than Kaz. “Could that big guy have followed you from Chicago?”

His hand in the bag of popcorn, Kaz froze. “You mean, was he sent by the guy I owe money to? No way! Nobody knew I was coming here. Nobody knew you were coming here, right?”

“Well, you managed to figure it out.”

“Yeah, but . . .” He glanced around; then, so it didn’t look like he was nervous or worried, he twitched his shoulders like it was no big deal. “There’s no way. Really. Think about it, Jo. I had my backpack packed, sure, so somebody who saw me with it could have assumed I was going somewhere, but it’s not like I dragged a suitcase out of my apartment or anything. I wasn’t even sure where I was headed, and I only stopped over at your place on the spur of the moment. You know, to ask for help. One more time. I figured if you caved and gave me a couple thousand, I was home free. If not, then I was going to . . . I dunno. I was going to hop a bus, I guess, and just make myself scarce for a little while. I took a couple days off from work, and I thought maybe I’d go to Toledo and spend some time with my cousin there. But just as I was walking up to your building, that’s when I saw you throw your suitcase in the car. It was just luck that you were leaving town, and nobody could have known I’d be with you. Believe me. I would have known if somebody was on my tail. No way.” He was convinced and took another handful of kettle corn. “No way anybody followed me from Chicago.”

His logic was impeccable. Feeling better about a random bar fight than I would have if this was some calculated get-Kaz ambush, I grabbed some of the popcorn, too. “Then the guy was just a jerk. Or a drunk. Or both. We won’t worry about it. I’ve got to head back and see Hetty at five. Until then, we’ve got some time to look around. Let’s head . . .” I turned around, the better to size up the tents lining Main Street.

And that’s when I saw him.

He was a full three hundred feet away, but that didn’t matter, seeing as he was as big as Wrigley Field and impossible to miss. But then, so was the laser gaze the man aimed in our direction. My heart stopped—I swear it did—then started up again with such a clatter, I jumped.

Kaz was at my side, and without taking my eyes off the big guy, I groped for his arm and gave it a pay-attention jab. “That guy who came after you in the beer tent? Was he wearing jeans and a black T-shirt?”

“Yeah, but why . . . ?”

By the time Kaz caught on, the big guy had moved behind a tent, where two guys in pioneer-style fringed leather coats were doing a blacksmithing demonstration.

Kaz narrowed his eyes and looked where I was looking. “You think you saw him?”

I wasn’t sure, and oh, how I wanted to be. I strained my eyes, waiting for the big guy to come out on the other side of the blacksmith tent, but he never did.

Kaz craned his neck. “You think . . .” He gulped down his kettle corn. “You think he’s still watching me?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not.” I wasn’t so hungry anymore. I shoved the bag of kettle corn at Kaz, brushed off my hands, and kept an eye out for the big guy. Sure, he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that day, but I swear, I’d know those supersize shoulders anywhere. If he was dressed in a black leather jacket and a ski mask . . .

My heart bumped out a funky rhythm, and my brain toed the edges of don’t-go-there.

I was pretty sure I was right when I told Kaz he had nothing to worry about and no one had followed him from Chicago.

But that didn’t mean someone hadn’t followed
me
.

IT WAS WEIRD. Not to mention disturbing. My brain flashed back to the early morning burglary at the Button Box. Right before it turned to mush.

Truth be told, I probably would have hopped in my car right then and there and gotten out of Bent Grove if not for Hetty.

And Granny Maude’s buttons.

Oh yeah, the siren call of those glorious buttons had me in its grip. So much so that I was willing to indulge in some serious denial.

I was imagining the whole thing. That’s what I told myself. Sure, the guy who took out Kaz was big, but the world is a big place, and there are plenty of big guys in it.

No way this particular big guy was one of the goons who’d ambushed me at the shop.

No way he could have followed me to West Virginia.

No reason.

No how.

Thus encouraged—even if I was a little delusional—I never said a word to Kaz about my concerns. Number one, they were completely irrational and I knew it, and when it all turned out to be a big old nothing, I didn’t want to look silly. Number two, in spite of all his shortcomings, I knew that if he thought I was afraid—of anything—Kaz would go all superhero on me.

I had enough problems trying to find out about Granny Maude and the buttons. I didn’t need to throw a macho man into the mix.

I kept my fears to myself, and at five o’clock, Kaz and I went to Hetty’s tent. She was back from dinner, just as she’d promised she’d be. But she was alone.

“I’m just as sorry as can be.” Hetty was wringing her hands, so I believed her. “I called my grandson, Bo. I told him how you wasn’t from around here and you needed to learn more about Maude and those buttons of hers, and so you had to talk to him and his friends, but . . .” Her feeble shrug said it all. “Bo, he called and talked to his buddies on your behalf, but this just isn’t the kind of place where folks are likely to open up to strangers. I hope you understand.”

“I do.” True. Sort of. I hid my disappointment well. Or at least I thought I did.

“It’s not the end of the world.” Hetty patted my arm. “I didn’t just sit and do nothin’ but chew on pot roast after I talked to Bo.” She’d tucked her straw purse under the table, where she kept her sales-ticket pad and cash box, and Hetty went and got it and pulled out a piece of paper. “I made a few calls of my own,” she said. “About that there button of yours.”

Hetty bustled across the tent to where a two-seater wicker couch had been set up and covered with quilts. She carefully removed each one, set them on a nearby table, and touched a hand to the seat beside hers.

“1987,” she said after I sat down. “That’s the year that button of yours was made. Hawks was given in 1987.”

I was so grateful for the information that I would have hugged Hetty if she didn’t stop me with a smile that told me there was more to come. “There was eight in the graduatin’ class that year. Don’t look at me like I’m livin’ in some Land Before Time, young fella,” she added for Kaz’s benefit when he opened his mouth to say something I’m sure would have amounted to, “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“This ain’t the Big Apple,” Hetty said, as if we needed the reminder. “Our elementary school classes was small back then. The high school, that’s where all the elementary classes from all around the county were combined. These days, the kids is bussed from miles and miles around and all mixed in together early. The school board claims it saves money, but I’m not convinced. Back when that button you’re askin’ about was made, our schools was small. Those kids, they got plenty of attention.”

“So eight students each got a set of six hawk buttons.” I did a quick calculation. It meant that aside from the button now in the possession of the Chicago police, there were forty-seven more hawk buttons out there. “Do you have any idea who—”

“I surely do.” Hetty smiled. “Like I said, I made a couple calls while I was waitin’ on you. Once I learned about the class of 1987, it was easy to get the names of every one of them students.” Hetty cleared her throat and read from the paper in her hands. “Homer Ketch. Tiffany Chatham. Mike Crowell. Tommy Hames. Lois Buck. Gil Johnson. Mary Katherine Rosman. Sharon and Ron Porter.”

“That’s nine,” Kaz piped up. “You said eight.”

Hetty waved away the discrepancy as inconsequential. “That’s on account of how Sharon and Ron, they’s twins and they did just about everything together so everybody just thought of them as one.”

“But that means one more set of buttons.” This comment, of course, came from me, and Hetty nodded, confirming my theory. I was already doing new calculations.

“This will help you?” She held out the piece of paper to me.

“Absolutely.” I took it and thanked her. “The people from that class, do they still live in the area?”

She glanced at the note again. “Can’t say for certain. Not about all of ’em. They’s all younger than my grandchildren and I didn’t know them well. I can tell you that Tommy died in a truck wreck a year or so ago. But his mama’s still here, that’s for certain. I s’pect she’d be only too happy to talk to you about Tommy. Nice boy as I remember.”

“I’ll get right on it.” I tucked the note in my purse. “And Kaz, he can help me and . . .” I stood and turned to where he’d been standing only to find that Kaz was gone.

Rather than grumble and have Hetty think I was less than grateful, I thanked her again. While I was at it, I tried to talk her into letting go of that crazy quilt.

Not a chance.

Yes, I was disappointed. But hey, if it were mine, I wouldn’t have sold the crazy quilt either. I bought a pretty lap-sized quilt, instead. Hetty told me it was made from reproduction flour sacks from the 1930s. Not a button in sight, but the reds, greens, and sparkling yellows were cheery; the floral patterns were cute; and the quilt would look just right thrown over the back of the rocking chair in my living room. Besides, I owed her.

I also owed it to myself not to have to trudge around the fair looking for Kaz with a quilt slung over my arm. I went back to the car and stowed the quilt in the trunk, and I’d just turned to head back toward Main Street when I felt a prickle along the back of my neck.

Hardly scientific, but an unmistakable sensation.

Someone was watching me.

I refused to look. Just like I refused to panic, even though the Boy Scouts were long gone and there was no one else around. Here behind city hall, the sounds of the fair were distant echoes: music, laughter, the
scratch, scratch, scratch
of one of those game-of-chance wheels spinning around and around. I was surprised I could hear any of it above the sudden, frantic beating of my heart.

I was surprised I could think clearly, too, but somehow, I managed. I knew if I hesitated or if I ran, I’d only look as scared as I felt. And that, I knew, would be a major mistake.

Instead, I threw back my shoulders, lifted my chin, and calmly crossed the parking lot, heading toward Main Street. But hey, I’m not a complete imbecile. My head might be high and my footsteps assured, but while I was walking, I was also groping in my purse for my keys. I nestled my key ring (it was a giant button) in the palm of my hand, the keys poking through my fingers like a weapon.

Just in case.

I made it past the town’s recycling bins and the parking places marked “Staff Only,” and I was nearly to the sidewalk when my courage cracked. I didn’t want to do it, I swear. But I couldn’t help myself.

I glanced over my shoulder.

The big guy in the jeans and the black T-shirt was fifty feet behind me.

I walked a little taller, a little faster, and at the sidewalk, I turned right. Another block away was Main Street—and the crowds of people I was sure would keep me safe. I crossed the street. Still safe, I told myself. Just a hundred more feet. Still safe.

But a little confused.

In my rush to get out of the parking lot, I’d lost my bearings; the street I cut up was cordoned off where it met Main Street. The carousel was just on the other side of the yellow tape with the black letters that warned “Do Not Cross
.”

I am all about following the rules.

Usually.

This time, I threw caution to the wind. I ducked under the tape, sidled between it and the spinning carousel, and squeezed myself through the space between a generator throwing off about a million degrees of heat and a stand that sold cotton candy and snow cones. When I stepped onto Main Street, I allowed myself a look over my shoulder.

The big guy was nowhere to be seen.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

I swallowed down the lump of panic in my throat and glanced around to see where I’d ended up.

While I was at it, I called Kaz’s cell. No, I didn’t have the number stored. I’d erased it the moment I decided to divorce him. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t indelibly etched in my brain. Damn it.

And damn it again, because there was no answer.

I told myself not to worry, that I’d call again in a minute. Or find Kaz somewhere in the crowd. As Hetty had so eloquently put it, Bent Grove was not the Big Apple. Sooner or later, I was bound to run into him.

Keeping to Main Street and with the crowd, I walked as far as the high school. There was another beer tent set up at that end of the fair, and though I didn’t think Kaz would risk a repeat of the afternoon’s trouncing, I had to be sure. I ducked in and looked around. No Kaz.

When I came back out, the sun was full in my eyes. I squinted against the brightness but not for long. But then, that’s because the hulking shape of a guy with shoulders bigger than all of Bent Grove was directly across the street, blocking the light.

This close, there was no mistaking him. It was the same man I’d seen outside the beer tent where Kaz had been involved in the free-for-all, the same man who followed me out of the parking lot.

Oh yeah, I was sure of it now. But then, it’s hard to tamp down a memory that terrifying. Or the clear-cut look I had from here of that scar slashed just above the rounded neck of his T-shirt.

It was one of the men who’d paid that early morning visit to the Button Box.

Panic knocked against my ribs, and my brain went into overdrive. I had enough sense to look up and down the street for a police officer, and when I didn’t see one, I dialed Kaz again, left him a voice-mail message that pretty much went, “Call me back. Right now,” and kept with the crowd. There were fireworks scheduled for just after sundown, and people were already streaming toward the high school football field. I went right along with them.