Buttoned Up (12 page)
Authors: Kylie Logan
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #General
Well, just thinking about it made my blood buzz, and this was not the time or the place. Or the man, for that matter.
“I don’t know anything about Forbis’s murder,” I said. “I told you that Saturday night. End of story.”
His smile would have been devastating if I thought it was the least bit genuine. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that I’m as stubborn as hell. It is my job, after all. I’m just a guy looking for information.”
“Information about vudon.”
His shrug wasn’t as noncommittal as it was simply elegant. “If I intend to write about Parmenter, I need to know all I can about him, and about the exhibit.”
This much I figured was true, and it made me wonder how much Gabriel already knew. I weighed the wisdom of saying too much and tipping my hand about the missing mystery button against the chance that I might be reinventing the wheel. I might not have answers for him, but maybe he had some for me.
“Did you take any photos when you were at the exhibit?” I asked him.
“You mean before Parmenter caused a scene?”
“Yes. Before Forbis spilled his champagne. Before he was found dead.”
“Before you found him dead.” He didn’t expect me to say anything so I don’t think he was disappointed when I pressed my lips together. “Sorry,” he said, and just to clarify that it wasn’t my fragile emotions he was worried about, he added, “I didn’t take any photos.”
“But you did do research, I bet. Before you showed up at the church. You must have if you hoped to look at the exhibit and understand what you saw. When you got to the show, did you notice anything . . . unusual?”
“You mean the argument our Mr. Parmenter was having with someone before he walked into the church.”
“Yes, that.” Believe me, I hadn’t forgotten about that. “Do you know who he was fighting with?”
“Do you think it was strange that his body was found in the box with the loa?”
Don’t think I didn’t notice that he responded to my question with one of his own. “That was the next morning. I’m talking about at the show. Did you see anything that struck you as unusual?”
“Oh come on! I don’t care how much you love buttons. You have to admit, it was all unusual. Weird artifacts covered with weird buttons.”
Before I had the chance to defend buttons and the honor of button collectors everywhere, the cab stopped in front of the Field Museum.
Gabriel didn’t offer to pay for the cab, so I did, then turned to walk up the wide steps that led to the magnificent building with its massive columns. Gabriel was right by my side.
“Going to see the dinosaurs,” he said. When we stepped into the front door, he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on.
“Sun’s out there,” I said, looking over my shoulder and back outside. “Why would you—” When I turned back around, Gabriel was gone.
Good. Fine. Terrific, in fact. I was here on business and I didn’t need the distraction that was Gabriel Marsh tagging along.
I paid my admission, grabbed a brochure to get the lay of the land, and headed out to find the museum’s anthropology collections. From there it wasn’t hard to find what I was looking for. Or, to be more exact,
who
I was looking for. There was a new exhibit being set up under a sign that said “Yoruba” and there smack in the middle of it, wearing khakis along with a museum polo and white cotton archival gloves, and standing in a soft spotlight that added coal black highlights to her hair, was Evangeline.
If she was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it. In fact, she lifted her chin and met my steady gaze head on. “You’ve come to talk about Nev.”
“There’s nothing the two of us need to say to each other about Nev.”
“Really? Is that what you think?” She set down the elaborate beaded belt she was holding. “What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping you could tell me something about vudon. This isn’t . . .” I glanced around the soon-to-be exhibit. Behind Evangeline, there were three empty glass-fronted cases with glass shelves, and in front of them, tables, packing crates, and display platforms. “I thought vudon was your thing,” I said.
Dressed so casually, Evangeline looked more like a college intern than a recognized expert in a long-dead religion. She stripped off her gloves. “My specialty is vudon, but voodoo and vudon and other related religions can all be traced back to the ancient religions of Africa. The religion of the Yoruba people is one of them. I’ve had a number of articles published about the similarities and differences. If you’re interested in learning more, we can stop in my office and I’ll get you a list.”
I’d had a number of articles published, too, all of them about buttons and none of them in the swanky sorts of journals where I’m sure Evangeline’s research appeared. Rather than admit it, I cast a leisurely glance around the exhibit. There was a mannequin nearby dressed in astonishing robes of brightly colored fabric adorned with seashells and beading, and I itched to get a closer look and promised myself a trip back to the museum when the exhibit opened.
“Did Yoruba beliefs have anything to do with Forbis Parmenter’s exhibit?”
A couple of workers came by carrying a large wooden crate, and Evangeline and I backed up and out of the way. “I doubt very much if Mr. Parmenter was intellectually capable of making the connection between vudon and Yoruba,” she said. “From what I saw, his knowledge of vudon was rudimentary at best. Is that really why you’re here? To ask for my opinion about the exhibit and vudon?”
“You are one of the country’s leading experts.”
“One of the world’s, actually.”
“Of course. Just like I am about buttons.”
Her smile was stiff. “What is it you wanted to know about Mr. Parmenter’s exhibit?”
“I was just wondering, that’s all. About what Forbis said. You remember, before he dropped his glass and ran out of the church. He said—”
“‘Le bouton.’ Yes, I was standing close enough. I heard exactly what he said.”
“Does it mean anything? In relation to the vudon religion?”
There was a pile of brochures on a nearby table and Evangeline picked them up and tapped them into order, then slid them into a holder mounted on the wall. The front page showed a picture of that mannequin at the back of the exhibit, resplendent in its robes.
She was so intent on doing her job, I was pretty sure she forgot all about me being there.
“There’s a button missing from Forbis’s exhibit,” I finally said, and just like I hoped, that got her attention; Evangeline’s hands stilled over her work. “I wondered if that button might have anything to do with the button he was talking about, and if that button might somehow be significant to the vudon culture.”
“A button missing? Really?” She finished with the brochures before she turned to face me. “How on earth would you know one button is missing among all those thousands of buttons?”
I didn’t often twinkle. It was silly and usually a waste of time. Except at moments like this. “I’m an expert, remember.”
Her smile froze around the edges. “Is the missing button valuable?” she asked.
My ego kept me from telling her that I didn’t have the slightest idea so instead I told her, “It might be. And if there’s some connection with vudon—”
“There’s not.” She slipped her gloves back on. “I can tell you that with certainty because I’m an expert, too. Except that they might have been used to adorn clothing, there’s nothing in the vudon religion that attaches any significance to buttons. But then, that’s hardly a surprise, is it? Buttons are such insignificant things to begin with.”
“Forbis didn’t think so.” I thought about those buttons on his eyes and the one that had been glued on his lips sometime after his death. “And, you know what, I don’t think his killer did, either.”
After as pleasant a good-bye as I could manage, I got back downstairs and found Gabriel leaning against a pillar, his legs crossed at the ankles. He pushed off the moment he saw me.
“Where’ve you been?” I asked.
“A more interesting topic would be where you’ve been. Yoruba, huh? Want to tell me why you were having that little heart-to-heart with Evangeline Simon?”
I stopped mid stride, the better to shoot him a look. “If you know I was talking to Evangeline, you don’t have to ask where I’ve been.”
“You think there’s a connection, don’t you? You wouldn’t have come all the way over here to talk to her if you didn’t think there was some connection between Parmenter’s mad exhibit and his death.”
“Is there anything you don’t know?”
“Nope. Except I don’t know if she told you anything helpful.”
“Do you think I’d tell you if she did?”
At least I got a thumbs-up to acknowledge the fact that I’d finally gotten one up on him.
I got a move on again and we were outside on the steps before I spoke to Gabriel again. “So? You know what I was doing here. You didn’t tell me where you were.”
“You mean you don’t believe I’m wild about dinosaurs?”
At least he gave me enough credit not to expect me to answer. He started down the steps in front of me. “While you were busy with the lovely Ms. Simon, I was searching her office, of course.”
“What!” I froze long enough for him to get far ahead of me, and scrambled to catch up with him. At the bottom of the steps, I grabbed his arm. “You broke into Evangeline’s office?”
“I didn’t break in. Institutional keys are shamefully standard.”
My mouth flapped open.
“Oh, come on!” Gabriel slipped an arm around my waist and walked me out to the sidewalk. “Don’t look so righteous. And don’t pretend you’re surprised. She’s one of the world’s leading experts in vudon. Parmenter’s exhibit was all about vudon. There might be a connection.”
“What did you find?”
“Not a damned, bloody thing.”
“Pardon me for being just the slightest bit skeptical.” I tugged out from the circle of his arm so that I could face him. “Come on. Really. What did you find?”
Gabriel sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Only this,” he said. He held the phone out to me and I looked at the photo on it. It showed a square building with a sloping roof. It looked like a—
“Garage?” I asked him.
“Mmmm.” He tucked the phone back in his pocket.
“Why did you take a picture of a garage?”
“I didn’t take a picture of a garage. I took a picture of a picture of a garage.”
I am not dense, but it took me a moment to work through this. “Evangeline has a photograph of a garage in her office.”
“Matted, framed, and hanging behind her desk.”
“And that’s interesting because . . . ?”
Gabriel had taken off his sunglasses the moment we were out of the museum, and in the bright sunlight I saw that his gray eyes had flecks of amber in them. They sparkled at me when he said. “Don’t you get it? That’s the whole point. It’s interesting because it’s not the least bit interesting at all.”
I fell asleep that night with the sounds of distant drumbeats pounding in my head, but at least that wasn’t what woke me up before the sun the next morning.
It was my phone, and startled, I glanced at the clock on my bedside table and groaned.
Right before I sat up like a shot.
A phone ringing in the dark will do that to a person. Especially when that person has even half an ounce of imagination and envisions all the worst things possible.
My blood pressure spiked through the roof and my hands trembled when I groped for the phone.
“Josie, I’m so sorry to bother you this early.”
It took me a moment to realize that it was Laverne on the other end of the phone. It took less than that for me to collect myself and ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I think you better get down here,” she said.
“Down—”
“I’m sorry to be so unclear. I’m a little . . .” She drew in a long breath and let it out in a whoosh. “I’m a little upset. Down here to the church, of course. You’d better get down here to the church.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer, but I asked anyway. “Is there another body?”
“Body? Oh, no. Nothing like that. At least not that I can see.”
“Are you in any danger?”
When it took her a heartbeat or two to answer, my throat squeezed. “Laverne?”
“I . . . I don’t think so. I’m here in the gallery. I think . . .” I pictured her looking around the interior of the church. “I’m pretty sure I’m alone.”
“I’ll tell you what . . .” I was already out of bed, and I reached for my jeans and slipped into them along with a yellow T-shirt and my sneakers. “There can’t be much traffic this early in the morning. I’ll drive over. But it’s going to take me at least twenty minutes.” I pictured the huge church with its infinite hiding places and shadowy corners. “Wait for me in your office. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” I think there was something about having a plan that gave her courage. She sounded more sure of herself, more in control. “I’m on my way there now.”
“Good. Stay there. And Laverne, lock the door once you’re inside and if you need to, call the cops.”
Inside her office was exactly where I found Laverne and it was less than twenty minutes later. But then, like I said, there wasn’t much traffic at that time of the day and luckily, I didn’t pass any cops. I don’t think they would have appreciated me making an attempt to break land-speed records on Chicago city streets.
“What’s going on?”
There was a coffeemaker on top of a filing cabinet in the corner and Laverne had a mug of coffee poured for me practically before I was inside the door and had it closed—and locked—behind me. She handed me the coffee and gestured over to where there was sugar and powdered creamer. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said.
I wrapped my hands around the mug. It was going to be a hot, sticky day; I knew that the moment I walked out of my apartment. But the warmth of the coffee still felt good, comforting. I savored the aroma that drifted off the mug and closed my eyes, hoping for a calm I hadn’t felt on the drive over.
“What’s happening?” I asked Laverne. “And what on earth are you doing here so early?”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I saw all the buttons and I just naturally thought of you and I didn’t know what else to do and . . .” Laverne was in a tizzy and she’s clearly not the tizzy type. She squeezed her hands into fists and held her arms tight against her sides while she drew in another long breath.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. One of her fists beat a staccato rhythm against her hip. “I tossed and turned most of the night, thinking about everything that happened around here and wishing it could all be different, and feeling so sorry for poor Mr. Parmenter and for poor Reverend Truman, too. The reverend, he’s being badgered by the media and it’s taken so much of his focus away from our congregation. We’re a people of prayer and community action, and yet last Sunday, all anyone could talk about before and after the service was the murder, and Reverend Truman, he’s going to have a time of it getting everyone to give their heads and their hearts and their hands back to the Lord.”
Her fist beat faster, and I knew if I didn’t try to rein her in, I was in for trouble. “So you couldn’t sleep,” I said.
Laverne nodded. “That’s right. I kept thinking of everything I had to do today and then I realized that it’s Thursday, and just one week ago, I remember hopping out of bed and thinking how exciting it was to have a real art show at the church, and how it would help us draw in people and build our congregation. And then I thought about how all that came crashing down around us. And then . . . well, naturally, since it’s Thursday, I remembered that the reverend, he always works on his Sunday sermon on Thursday, and I knew he’d need my help with doing that more than ever this week. He’s a good man, and this murder has thrown him for a loop. I was thinking maybe I’d suggest that he base this week’s sermon on a quote from Psalm 34. You know, the one that goes, ‘Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.’ And I was so pleased with myself for thinking of that. It’s perfect, don’t you think?”
She didn’t give me a chance to answer. Laverne barreled right on. “And that’s when I had another thought. About pursuing peace. Our church, with what happened here last week, our peace was shattered. But that doesn’t mean it has to be gone forever, and that’s the message we need to get across to the world. And so I thought that once Mr. Parmenter’s exhibit is packed up and shipped out of here, we could do a prayer meeting up in the church. You know, as a way of starting over.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” It was, and besides, I had to interrupt Laverne so she’d take a breath.
Once she did, she plunged back in. “And I thought about how we’d invite everyone from the neighborhood in, and the media, too, and how we’d have a candlelight vigil with prayer and music. Then for sure I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep.” She had a cup of coffee on her desk and she picked it up but she didn’t drink it. “And that’s why I came in a little early.”
Understatement. The clock on the credenza behind her desk said it wasn’t even five yet.
“And I stepped into the church,” she continued. “You know, just to sort of imagine all the people who would gather and how we could light candles all around and where we could put flowers and how the reverend, he could use that Psalm as a way of reminding not only our congregation, but everyone in the neighborhood that there are better ways to live our lives than with violence. Peace, that’s what we need to pursue. Just like the Psalm says.”
“And you walked into the church and . . .”
“That’s right.” Laverne set down her coffee cup. “I walked into the church. And that’s when I saw it. Oh, there’s no use trying to explain. Come on.” She grabbed my arm and led the way.
A minute later we were standing in front of Forbis’s exhibit. When Laverne came in earlier, she hadn’t turned on the spotlights over each of the art pieces. The only light in the place came from a hanging fixture above the door that led to the hallway and the dim light of the streetlights that seeped in through the stained-glass windows. Still, it didn’t take me more than a half a second to see what Laverne had seen when she walked in.
I flinched.
She patted my arm. “I’ll get the lights,” she said and she did, the better to illuminate the Congo Savanne statue.
This time, even the ugly, looming loa couldn’t keep me at a distance. I hurried over and looked at where the front of the box that held the statue was completely torn away. “It’s gone!”
Laverne glanced around the exhibit. “I sure don’t see it anywhere. Somebody must have broken in during the night and taken it. But why . . .” Her shoulders rose and fell. “Why take part of the box?”
Good question, and I didn’t have an answer. “We’ve got to call the police,” I said.
“I know that. I should have done it first thing except when I saw it had to do with the buttons, all I could think of was you.”
This was a compliment, and I appreciated it, but I didn’t have a chance to tell Laverne. I was already on the phone with the police dispatcher.
• • •
Three cheers for the two cops who arrived within fifteen minutes. They called in backup so they could thoroughly comb the church and make sure whoever had vandalized the box—and taken all the buttons on it—wasn’t hiding somewhere, and they stopped in Laverne’s office briefly to let her know that they found how the burglar got in. A basement window was broken.
“We’ve been saving to have glass block installed,” Laverne told me when the cop left. “Looks like we should have made it a priority.”
“At least nothing else was touched.” This was a consolation of sorts even if it did bring up another whole question.
Laverne knew it. That’s why she asked, “Why would anyone make off with part of a box covered with buttons and leave everything else, like computers and such? There’s a flat-screen TV downstairs. You think he would have taken that.”
Don’t think I hadn’t thought the same thing.
Don’t think I wasn’t already thinking I had the answer.
“I saw a button on that box the night of the murder,” I said. “A button that wasn’t like any other button I’ve ever seen before.”
Laverne latched onto my arm with both hands. “And you think that’s why somebody broke in and stole the box. To get at that button! Josie, you’re a genius.”
“Not so much.” Before she could get too carried away, I unhitched her fingers from my arm. “The button was already missing a couple days after the murder when I came back to the church.”
“But not right after the murder?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. That morning we found Forbis’s body, I didn’t even think to look for it. I noticed it was gone when I came back the next time.”
“So the killer could have taken that button.”
“Yes.”
“But we don’t know for sure.”
“That’s right.”
“So what are you going to do?”
What I should have told her was that
I
wasn’t going to do anything. That murder investigations were up to the police and that Nev was in charge of this one and he knew what he was doing.
What I said instead wasn’t something I intended. It just sort of popped out. “You didn’t go out for coffee with Richard last Thursday after the art exhibit.”
Laverne pulled in a sharp breath. “Don’t be silly, Josie. I told you—”
“I know what you told me, but I know it’s not true. Richard was with Victor Cherneko that night.”
Her eyes widened just enough for me to realize this was news to her.
“You don’t know what they were doing together?” I asked her.
Laverne didn’t answer my question. Instead, she twined her fingers together. “I can imagine what you think. About me.”
Since I hadn’t had a chance to finish that first cup of coffee, I’d poured another when we got back to Laverne’s office and I drank down the last of it. “I think that an old friend asked you for a favor and you obliged him. I think you did it because you didn’t imagine that it could make any difference.”
“That’s right.” She hung her head. “I should know better, shouldn’t I? You think a woman my age would. But you see, when Richard came back into my life . . .” She rounded her desk and sat down behind it. “Back when Richard and I were in college, a lot of people didn’t approve of us dating. White man, black girl. You can imagine.”
I could, and I didn’t like it.
“When I got that call from him saying he was going to be in Chicago, asking if I’d like to get together . . . well, things are different these days, and I thought . . I thought maybe our relationship could be different, too.”
“Is it?”
“It’s . . .” She took a moment to find just the right word. “It’s nice,” she said. “Oh, I know he’s not a cutie pie, not like that policeman boyfriend of yours. But then, that’s never why I liked Richard in the first place. He was considerate, kind, fun to be with. He still is.”
“And when he asked you to lie, did you think he was being considerate, kind, and fun to be with?”
Her shrug said it all. “I didn’t know what to think. But like you said, I didn’t think it would make any difference.”
“Did he tell you why it was important?”