Button Holed (28 page)

He froze. So did his thousand-watt smile. One heartbeat. Two.

“You cannot possibly know that,” he said.

I showed him the picture.

Roland’s top lip curled over his perfectly straight and impossibly white teeth. “That could be anyone.”

“But it isn’t. It’s you.”

“And so you think this proves something?”

“I think it proves you lied. To me, and to the police, I’ll bet. And if you had reason enough to lie—”

His laugh cut me short. “You Americans, you read these wonderful romantic books. And you watch fantastic, romantic movies. And you think the royal life, this is what it is really about. The lowly reporter meets the princess and falls in love with her. The commoner captures a king’s heart. An actress . . .” I knew who he was talking about now, even though he never said Kate’s name. “An actress meets a prince and they fall in love and live happily ever after.”

“Unless the prince kills the actress.”

“Yes, this could be a possibility. But it is not. You see, my dear . . .” Once again, Roland wound an arm through mine. As if we were entering a royal ball, he led me back to the reception line, where a gaggle of onlookers was oohing and aahing and wondering what we were up to. “I would never have killed Kate, you see,” he purred into my ear, depositing me back where we’d started and making it clear that I could find my own way to the door. “As I said, I loved her. But I love my jet-setting life even more. Don’t you see, you foolish woman, I would never do anything to jeopardize my royal title.”

“SO THAT’S WHAT true love is all about!”

Nevin was not exactly the person I wanted to discuss the ins and outs of love and devotion with, and my guess was he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be on the receiving end of my moaning and complaining, either. Too bad for him. Since he was the only one with me in the shop the next morning, he had no choice but to listen—whether he wanted to or not.

I was holding a copy of that morning’s
Tribune
, and the picture on the front page showed me and Roland, arm in arm. I side-handed the paper, and it skittered across my desk. “How can anyone be so callous?”

Nevin had quick reflexes. With one hand, he kept the paper from landing on the floor. “You look great!” he said.

“I do?” Believe me, I don’t do coy well, so I wasn’t playing games here. But how I looked at the fund-raiser wasn’t what we were talking about. And I was surprised Nevin noticed.

I cocked my head and took another look at the picture. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that ol’ Roland and I were actually having a good time together. He was smiling graciously like . . . well, like the prince he is. I was looking up into his eyes. “I can’t believe he had the nerve to say that, about how he loved Kate but he loves his title more.”

Nevin set the paper down. “I can’t believe you spent five thousand dollars just to get to talk to him again!”

“It was for a good cause; plus, it’s tax deductible.”

“Always thinking.” Nevin said this like it was a good thing. He’d brought a cup of Starbucks coffee to my office with him (and one for me, too, by the way, but since he wasn’t clued in about my Caffè Misto obsession, it was Komodo Dragon Blend, the flavor of the day). “Unfortunately, you spending five thousand dollars and talking to Roland . . .” He didn’t blow on his coffee or even sip it, just popped the top off and took a big swig. “It doesn’t help. I heard at the office this morning that now that the fund-raiser is over, Roland’s headed back home sweet home. And by the way . . .” He took another drink. “There is no extradition treaty between this country and Ruritania.”

“Which means Hugh takes the fall for a crime he didn’t commit.” Disheartened, I dropped into my desk chair. “That’s just wrong.”

“It might not be the end of the world. Like I told you, there’s a circumstantial case against Weaver, but a jury won’t buy it.”

I was a coffee sipper. I took a careful taste, and since the coffee was as hot as blazes, I set the cup on my desk right next to the list of web orders I’d gotten in that morning and would be packing and shipping later in the day. “If you can’t prosecute Roland and you can’t convict Hugh, that means Kate’s murder goes unpunished.
That’s
just wrong.”

“That it is.” He took the seat across from mine. “But once you’re in this business as long as I’ve been in it, you learn that what’s right and what’s just and what’s fair . . . Well, it doesn’t always happen.”

“And we’re just supposed to accept that?” I, for one, wasn’t willing. Too upset to sit there and think about it, I got up and did a turn around the shop. The bowl of mints on the table near the door was almost empty (since I hadn’t had that many walk-in customers, I wondered how many were in Nevin’s pockets), and I went to the back room, got a new bag out of the supply cabinet, snipped it open with the scissors I kept in my top desk drawer, and refilled the bowl. “It’s wrong,” I said. No big surprise, taking care of the mints hadn’t done much for my mood. Or my anger.

Even though it didn’t need it, I straightened the guest book on the table with the mints. I tidied my desk. I glanced into the back room and realized there were still buttons I hadn’t gotten around to cataloging and rearranging since the break-in engineered by Roland and carried out by his two goons.

“So why would Roland send his bodyguards to mess with my buttons?” I’d given Nevin all the details as soon as he got to the Button Box that morning, so this wasn’t a surprising question. “What did they have to gain?”

“You got me there!” Nevin stretched out his long legs. “It might have delayed the wedding, I suppose. I mean, if Kate was as fussy as you say, and she couldn’t find the exact right buttons she wanted . . .”

“Crazy.” So was the jumpiness eating at my insides. Desperate for something else to do, I looked around and caught sight of the briefcase that contained the buttons Kate had taken to her designer. When I retrieved it from the set of
Charlie,
I’d checked to make sure all the buttons were present and accounted for, but I hadn’t had time to put them away.

It was something. And something might help soothe my nerves.

One side of the briefcase was smashed from where I’d fallen on top of it, and I struggled with the latch. Nevin got up, popped it open, and handed the case back to me, and I removed the cards that contained the buttons.

That’s when I realized there was something at the bottom of the case.

“Look. A photograph.” I took out the five-by-seven picture of a girl with red hair and bad teeth and tipped it so Nevin could see it. “It’s Wynona. Why on earth would her picture be in with my buttons?”

“Humph.” It was as much of a comment as Nevin was willing to make. He took the picture from me and looked it over. “It looks like a school picture. Like maybe she’s, what, twelve or thirteen? Why would Wynona want Kate to see a picture of her at that age?”

“Unless she was trying to prove a point . . .” I took the picture out of Nevin’s hands and walked to the window with it, the better to check out Wynona’s please-don’t-take-my-picture expression, her orange braided hair, and her neat white blouse.

“Wynona always said she didn’t steal those pearls, that Kate fired her unjustly. Maybe she wanted Kate to feel sympathetic. You know, to see that she was a real person with a real past and that—”

I took another look at the picture and my words dissolved.

“What is it?” Nevin hurried the length of the shop to stand next to me.

I bet when I looked up at him, my eyes were shining. But then, I was feeling pretty proud of myself when I said, “Nevin, look at the buttons on her blouse! I know who did it.”

Chapter Eighteen

ESTELLE MARVIN ARRIVED FIRST, A VISION IN A SHORT-sleeved print dress in fresh pinks and greens. She had a beaded shawl draped artfully around her shoulders, and she slipped it off and tossed it to Kaz just inside the door of the shop.

“I can’t imagine what’s so important,” she said, breezing past Kaz (but not, it should be noted, until she gave him an appreciative once-over). “Unless you called so we can schedule your next appearance on my show.”

“Yes, of course. I promised I’d do the show, and I will. But that’s not why we’re here tonight.” Kaz and I had arranged my desk chair, my guest chairs, and some chairs I’d borrowed from Doctor Levine in a circle as wide as my narrow little shop could accommodate, and I motioned Estelle to sit. She just so happened to take a seat facing the one Kaz dropped into. She was busy sparkling at him when I told her, “We’ll get started in just a couple minutes. As soon as—”

Margot and Sloan walked in. Clearly, they were just as confused by my invitation as Estelle was. Lucky for me, they were also curious and had decided to show.

In fact, within a couple minutes, I was feeling pretty proud of myself. In addition to Estelle, Margot, and Sloan, I’d also managed to get Mike Homolka into the Button Box. He had strict orders not to bring a camera, but I had no doubt he was taking copious mental notes. Unlike Margot and Sloan, and even Estelle, Homolka didn’t have a personal stake in this case. But he did have a professional one. If what he did could be called a profession. He was there for one reason and one reason only: he smelled a story. With any luck, I’d be able to give it to him.

“We’ll get started in just a couple minutes,” I told them, and behind my back, I crossed my fingers. If things went exactly as planned . . .

They did. The next time my door opened, Hugh Weaver was standing outside.

“What’s he doing here?” Estelle had taken out a cigarette, but at a death look from me, she’d refrained from lighting it. “Aren’t you . . .” she pointed at Hugh with the cigarette, “supposed to be in jail?”

“I’m not supposed to be. But I was.” Hugh kissed me on the cheek, and it wasn’t until after he took a seat that I realized that Wynona had walked in right behind him. Then again, Hugh had always been a little larger than life, and Wynona was . . . Well, in jeans and a Hello Kitty T-shirt, she looked younger and more vulnerable than ever. Just inside the door, she did a little nervous dance step on the hardwood and wrung her hands.

“Come on in.” I waved her closer. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“I don’t know what.” Wynona’s voice was breathless, and her eyes were as big as saucers. She back-stepped toward the door. “I don’t think I belong here. Not with all these important people.”

“Of course you do.” Before she could bolt, I took her arm and piloted her to the chair between Margot and Sloan, where I figured she’d be most comfortable.

“So, it’s like one of those old mystery novels, right?” Homolka practically salivated. “You’ve got all your suspects assembled, and you’re going to reveal who done it.”

“Not all my suspects.” I mumbled these words and saw Kaz check the button-shaped clock that hung on the wall just above the doorway to the back room. He didn’t have to say a word. I knew Kaz was thinking exactly what I was thinking. Honestly, did I expect him to show?

A moment later, a sleek limo pulled up in front of the shop, and my hopes climbed. That is, until the shop door opened and Giant #1 and Giant #2 stepped inside.

Flashback! My breath caught in my throat. My heart thrummed. Instincts are a funny thing, and mine advised me to run. I tensed, and good thing I was standing right behind Kaz. He reached up a hand and grasped mine. Like I said, instincts are a funny thing. Just like old times, Kaz’s touch calmed and relaxed me.

At least until Roland walked in.

Even though I hoped he’d come, I can’t exactly say I was expecting him, so I was thrilled.

Everybody else? I think it’s fair to say they all just about dropped their teeth.

Except for Hugh.

He glared at Roland, who gave him a royal glare back. Right before he waltzed over to the last empty chair. No jeans and T-shirts for the prince tonight. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, a blinding white shirt, and a dark tie, and yes, he did look smashing.

“I trust this will not take long.” Roland propped one royal arm casually over the back of his chair. He sized up first Margot, then Sloan. I guess it goes without saying that he passed right over Wynona without a second glance. “My private jet is waiting at the airport, and I am anxious to get home and put this unfortunate trip behind me.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Hugh growled.

And I knew I couldn’t let things get out of hand. I ignored the ugly undertone. “Now that we’re all here . . .” I looked around at the curious expressions of my guests. “Yeah, it does feel like a scene in one of those old movies, I admit it. Hugh, you, especially, should appreciate that.”

“I appreciate being out of jail.” He sat back and crossed his legs. Hugh’s complexion was pale; no tanning booths in lockup, I suppose.

“I’m not trying to be dramatic,” I told them. “And I apologize if that’s how this is coming across. But you’ve all got a stake in this case, so I thought you should all be here when I tell you what really happened.”

“You know?” Estelle’s voice caught. “But how—”

I held up one hand. “I’ll explain everything. You see, it all comes down to the buttons.” I signaled to Kaz, who handed me the photo of the Granny Maude button I’d found the day after the murder right about where I was standing now. I handed the picture to Estelle, who gave it a look and passed it around the circle. “Without that button, we would never have gotten on the right track, and we never would have found out who killed Kate Franciscus.”