Panic Button (5 page)

“And I’m going to go to Walgreens and pick up some batteries for you.” Stan headed
to the front of the store. “You should always have a working flashlight.”

He was right, and I didn’t argue. I finally had the shop to myself again, and I got
right down to work. I had the phone in my hand and was about to make a call to a fellow
collector in Cleveland about a couple of the charm string buttons when the bell above
the front door clanged.

Customer, I hoped.

At the same time I knew my luck wouldn’t hold.

“Kaz,” I told myself, and in a twist of fate designed to make me believe in déjà vu
if not in curses, I stepped out of the back room only to find Stan standing at the
front door.

“Forgot my wallet,” he muttered, his lips thin with disgust. “I never forget my wallet.
It’s not like I’m an old man or anything.” Still mumbling, he retrieved not only his
wallet but his Windbreaker, too, and went on his way.

This time he was gone for a while.

A really long while.

I wrapped up the first phone call and another to a collector in Baltimore who answered
the questions my Cleveland friend couldn’t. I finished the last of my pastrami sandwich.
Because I couldn’t resist it, I took a few more pictures of the beautiful enameled
fish button, and I even waited on a particularly picky customer who was looking for
buttons for a baby’s christening gown.

No Stan.

I actually had the phone in my hands and was all set to call Walgreens before I came
to my senses. I’d told Stan I didn’t appreciate having a babysitter, and I imagined
he wouldn’t, either.

Still…

Stan was no spring chicken, and anything could happen between the shop and Walgreens.
If he wasn’t back in ten minutes…

When the bell above the front door rang, I breathed a sigh of relief and swore I wouldn’t
let him know how worried I’d been.

That resolve lasted about ten seconds when I walked
out front and realized Stan wasn’t the only one who’d stepped into the Button Box.
There was a uniformed Chicago cop there, too.

“What happened? Are you all right? Was anybody hurt?”

The way the questions poured out of me and the fact that my heart was suddenly beating
double time and making my blood whoosh in my ears, I wouldn’t have heard even if I
did give either of them a chance to answer. I raced the entire length of the shop
and looked Stan over. He didn’t seem to be hurt, and if anything had happened to him,
health-wise, he wouldn’t have been there, right? They would have taken him to the
hospital in an ambulance.

“So?” My throat suddenly tight, my gaze darted between Stan and the cop.

Stan stomped past me. “That’s the last time I go to that store,” he grumbled. “There
was this kid behind the counter, see, and she saw me looking at the batteries, and
I guess…well, I don’t guess anything. I know she must have been high or something.
Imagine her thinking that I could possibly steal anything!”

“Shoplifting? You?” Honestly, it was so out of the realm of possibility, I almost
laughed. Except for the cop still standing near my door.

I spun to face him. “You don’t really think—”

“We got it all straightened out, ma’am,” the cop said. He was young, fresh-faced,
and he held his hat in his hands. “There was a little mix-up and—”

“You call that a mix-up?” Stan’s cheeks were maroon. “Back in my day—”

“You’re right, sir.” I could tell this cop would go far in the department. He had
a soothing voice, and he knew how to use it to say all the right things. “And believe
me, I understand how you feel. I’m sure Detective Riley did, too.”

My turn to interrupt. “Nevin got involved? How? He’s working the afternoon shift.
He shouldn’t even be at the station yet.”

“Not exactly involved.” Stan had never finished his corned beef sandwich, and he went
into the back room to retrieve it and took a chomp. “I had the store manager call
him at home. You know, to tell them who I was and how that crazy girl must have been
mistaken. And Nev…” Stan chewed and swallowed. “Well, she knows he’s a nice guy,”
he explained to the officer in a classic example of too much information. “They’re
dating, you see. Nev…” Stan looked my way. “He vouched for me, and explained everything
to Officer Ramirez here.”

I looked over my shoulder at the officer. “Thanks,” I said.

“No problem, ma’am.” He set his hat back on his head. “Funny thing is, after I had
another talk with that clerk at the store, she said she didn’t think Mr. Marzcak really
took those batteries in the first place. Said she didn’t know what she was thinking
when she said she did. It was like the whole situation was…I dunno…all confused or
something, and then Mr. Marzcak, he told me about those old buttons of yours and the
curse, and I remember what my
abuela
used to say about bad luck and—”

I opened the door and stepped back so Officer
Ramirez could leave. Don’t worry, I was polite. After all, I didn’t point out that
he and his
abuela
were both nuts if they thought I put any stock in superstition.

I didn’t mention it to Stan, either, after the cop was gone. I didn’t need to. By
the time I was heading back into the workroom, he was wiping a dab of mustard off
his chin.

“I dunno, Josie,” was all he said. “You know I don’t believe in curses, either, but
it’s pretty hard to ignore facts.”

Somehow, I managed.

“H
EY, LISTEN TO
this.”

Stan was sitting across my desk from me, reading the newspaper, and when he spoke,
I looked up from the book I’d been paging through. It was nearly six that evening,
and though I’d completed all the real research I had to do in regards to the charm
string buttons, that didn’t stop me. I was happily perusing button book after button
book, looking for examples of buttons that were similar to the ones on the string
and making notes. Button collecting, see, isn’t all about the thrill of the hunt,
though that’s certainly part of the mania. I always feel a rush of adrenaline when
I walk into the vendor room of a button show or through the front door of an antique
shop because I never know what treasure I’ll find—that little button that’s been ignored
for years, or even decades, and is just what I need to complete one of my collections
or cater to a customer.

But there’s a research component to button collecting,
too, and I’ll be the first to admit that I love it. Looking through books, sketching
timelines, digging into history…thanks to a hobby that had turned into a life’s work,
I often felt as if I was the luckiest woman in the world.

Well, except for the couple murders that had dogged me in the last year.

I shrugged away the uncomfortable feeling that snaked over my shoulders, concentrating
instead on the positives. Like the fact that Angela had yet to call so I had some
extra time with the charm string. And Stan had (finally!) calmed down. While I’d taken
a few more pictures and consulted a few more reference books, making the last of my
notations on the spreadsheet I’d print out for Angela, he’d been looking through the
day’s
Tribune
.

Yes, he could just as easily have read the newspaper at home.

No, I couldn’t convince him I didn’t need a bodyguard and he could leave. At this
point, it was so late in the evening, he had announced that the only proper thing
for us to do was to have dinner together. Remember what Angela said about me being
smart? I was smart enough not to be fooled; Stan didn’t want me to leave the shop
alone, just in case that purse thief was lurking somewhere in the ever-deepening shadows
outside.

“They’re draining an entire reservoir in some little town north of here to do repairs
on it,” Stan said, scanning the newspaper and interrupting my thoughts. “They flooded
over the old town when the reservoir was built. Ardent, it was called.”

“Hmmm.” I stopped to consider. “Angela lives in Ardent Lake. I wonder if they’re close
to each other.”

Stan read some more. “Doesn’t say,” he finally commented. “But it does say that they’re
anxious to see what’s left of the old town. Been under water since back in the seventies.
And then there’s this article.” He ran a finger the length of the page and poked it
against a photo of a man in a dark suit and top hat. “There’s this guy over in Elmhurst
who thinks he’s the reincarnation of Harry Houdini. Even says he can do magic tricks
and he’s never taken a lesson.”

Stan was obviously reading the odd news of the day.

I gave him a quick smile before I set aside my book and got up to walk over to one
of the glass display cases near the wall. “Maybe that magician can explain how curses
work.”

Stan crossed his arms over his chest and plunked back in the chair. “I never said
I believed any of that stuff about the curse, Josie. I just said it’s best to keep
the facts in mind. You can’t dispute facts. As a detective, you know that.”

“Except I’m not. A detective, that is.” There was a feather duster nearby and I grabbed
it and whooshed it over the top of the case, then moved from there to the case closer
to the front window. “All I want to do is sell buttons,” I told Stan and reminded
myself.

“Maybe, but you’ve solved a couple murders, and that’s one of those facts that can’t
be denied. Don’t worry.” He got up from his chair and stretched. “I’m not going to
talk you into admitting that bad luck exists. In my experience, bad luck happens because
people make
it happen to other people. The stars or the planets or those buttons of yours, they
don’t really have anything to do with it.”

“Exactly.” I kept on dusting, working my way around the perimeter of the shop to the
front door, and when I got there, I flipped over the sign in the window to tell those
passing by that the store was now officially closed. I did not, though, turn off the
lights as I usually did that time of night. When she showed up, I didn’t want Angela
to think I’d forgotten about her.

“Except she said she’d call when she was leaving home,” I mumbled to myself, strolling
back toward my desk. “Don’t you think it’s odd? She definitely needs the charm string
back today. That tea at the historical society is tomorrow afternoon.”

Stan shrugged. “You need to look at the problem from all the angles,” he said. “Maybe
her cell phone ran out of juice. Or maybe she forgot she was supposed to call.”

“Angela doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who forgets anything.”

Stan narrowed his eyes the way he always does when he’s thinking. “An organized, methodical
woman, and yet she believes in curses.”

Obviously, the only answer I had to that was a shrug. “Angela’s very matter of fact.
Very even keel. I mean, except for the stuff about the curses. In fact, if it wasn’t
for that and her reading her horoscope every day, I’d say Angela was the most levelheaded
person I’ve ever met.”

I stand by this description of Angela. At least I did until I heard a furious pounding
on the front door and hurried over there to find Angela on the other side of the
display window, her hair standing up as if she’d been pulling on it and her face puffy.
She was wearing green sweatpants, a hot pink T-shirt, no socks, and a pair of Crocs
that looked like they’d last been worn in a muddy garden.

I unlocked the door and pulled it open, looking in wonder at the woman who had been
so well put together the last time I saw her. “Angela! I’ve been waiting for your
call. What happened?”

She pushed past me and into the Button Box. “Just get me those damned buttons,” she
growled. “Now. I can’t wait to get them out of my life forever.”

It didn’t take any magical powers to know something had gone haywire in Angela’s life,
or that whatever it was, she was bound to blame it on the charm string. If her wardrobe
wasn’t a giveaway, the dark smudges under Angela’s eyes were. So was her red nose.
“Are you all right?”

Her jaw stiff, she sniffled. “I’m fine. It’s just…allergies. My miserable allergies.
I need to get home and take some medication and get to bed. I feel miserable, and
I don’t want to feel miserable and look miserable tomorrow at the tea. I need my rest.
That means I don’t have time to stand here and chitchat.”

I got the message and went into the back room for the floral hatbox Angela had used
to bring me the charm string. I’m not saying I was a convert to the believe-in-curses
camp, but I do admit to peeking inside the box, just to make sure the charm string
was in there where I’d put it along with a copy of the spreadsheet I’d prepared.

“You know, Angela,” I said, walking back to the front
of the shop, my hands tight around the box that contained the precious cargo, “it’s
not too late to change your mind. I’m still interested in buying.”

Her shoulders shot back. Her chins quivered. “No. I like you, Josie. I can’t let anything
happen to you. Besides…” She was as reluctant to take the box out of my hands as I
was to let it go, but after a couple seconds of awkward tug-of-war, I relinquished
my hold. “Maybe once this thing is safely in the museum, I can break the curse. Once
and for all. Maybe I can even…” Her voice clogged. “Maybe there’s a way to reverse
some of the bad things that have already happened. Do you think so?” Her eyes snapped
to mine, suddenly so full of desperate hope, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

My voice was wistful when I looked at the hatbox. “I guess the only way to find out
is to give away the charm string.”

“Yes.” Angela was convinced. She held the hatbox close to her chest. “That’s exactly
what I’m going to do. Hear that, Universe?” Like she actually expected some unseen
force to answer, she looked up and all around, and when the only response she heard
was silence, her shoulders fell.

“I’ve got to get home,” she said. “Back to Ardent Lake. One more night to have this
wretched thing in my possession. Then…” Angela breathed in deep and let the breath
out slowly. “Then maybe I’ll have some peace.”