Authors: Kylie Logan
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #General
Buttoned Up (4 page)
His hands shaking and a sheen of sweat on his brow, Forbis pointed at the box. “Le bouton, le bouton,” he wailed. Then he turned and bolted off the altar.
• • •
“Well, I’ll be darned. I thought that art show was going to be a real snorer. If I knew there was going to be that much excitement, I would have gone with you!”
It was the next morning and I was back in the Button Box, straightening the display case that was filled with horn and antler buttons. Not that the case needed straightening. But with all that had happened the night before, I’d decided early on that the best way to deal with the day was to keep busy.
I straightened a little more.
“So what did you do?” Stan showed up at the door of the shop even before I was officially open for business. He’d brought coffee and bagels, and he’d toasted the bagels in the mini-kitchen in my back workroom. Now, he brought one over to me—raisin, drizzled with butter and sprinkled with cinnamon. Just the way I like ’em! If I didn’t know better, I’d think Stan had used his retired-cop powers of deduction and knew I was nursing a broken . . .
What was it, exactly?
Heart?
Ego?
Or was it just my trust radar that was out of whack?
Even I wasn’t sure, I only knew that wherever I’d been struck by Evangeline’s thunderbolt of an announcement, it still hurt like hell.
“So . . .” When I didn’t take the paper plate with the bagel on it out of his hands, Stan poked it in my direction again. “After this Forbis character ran out, what did you do?”
I took the bagel and went over to sit at my desk. “I went after him,” I explained, but not until I took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. It was the first thing I’d eaten since the art show and I was surprised how easily it went down. Whatever had been broken there in the Chicago Community Church, it apparently hadn’t affected my appetite. “Or at least I tried.”
I thought back to the night before. Once the crowd shook off the shock of seeing Forbis scream and run out, a hum of questions filled the air. I didn’t wait to hear any of them. As quickly as I could, I headed down the main aisle and out the front doors of the church.
Gabriel Marsh was already out on the steps that overlooked the main drag and the convenience store across the street.
“Bloody hell! He’s bolted.”
A Brit. Didn’t it figure? The hunk who was Gabriel Marsh would have made a perfect
Masterpiece
hero.
“Did you see which way he went?” I asked.
“Didn’t see him at all.” Just to be sure, Marsh glanced up and down the street, his fists on his hips. “By the time I got out here, he’d already vanished.” Since I was looking up and down the street, too, I didn’t exactly see Marsh look my way, but I knew exactly when he did. That would be when my temperature shot up a degree or two.
“Do you suppose Mr. Parmenter is simply a temperamental artist?” he asked.
“I barely know the man.”
“But you do have an opinion.”
I dared a look at him. Fortunately, the streetlight in front of the church was out, and Marsh’s face was lost in shadow. I think if I reminded myself how completely delicious he was, I wouldn’t have had the nerve to speak. “My opinion doesn’t matter,” I told him. “Because that’s all it is, an opinion. I think it’s pretty obvious that Forbis was upset.”
“And you were standing right next to him. What happened?”
The scene in front of the Congo Savanne box had happened only a few minutes before and either I’d already gotten the facts jumbled, or I hadn’t had a time to process them so that they made any sense.
I shrugged, and because I really didn’t have any more to offer, I stepped toward the church doors.
Marsh sidestepped into my path. This close and with the help of the light of the flashing neon sign from across the street that declared the convenience store a purveyor of “Drinks, ATM, and No-Contract Phone Service,” I saw that his eyes were the same gray as the aged stone facade of the church.
“He’s got a reputation. They say there’s nothing he loves more than drama and publicity,” he said, and I didn’t have to ask who we were talking about. “Do you suppose what happened in there was a bit of performance art designed to make us all speculate and dither?”
“Like we’re speculating and dithering right now?”
A smile tugged one corner of his mouth, but he hid it quickly enough beneath a cool so complete, I wished I had my winter coat in spite of the steamy summer temperatures. “I’m British. I never dither.”
“And I never speculate.”
“Because you’re afraid I’ll quote you.”
“Because I don’t have anything to say.”
“Maybe when you’ve had some time to think about it—”
“Maybe.” I dodged past him and went back inside the church.
When I finished telling the story of what happened the night before, Stan laughed. “Oo-wee! I can’t imagine you being so hard on the poor guy, Josie. You’re usually so polite.”
“Marsh is a journalist.” I finished up the first half of the bagel and took a sip of coffee. “I wasn’t trying to be tough, I just remembered what happened when that actress was killed here at the shop.” I made it a rule to try never to look at the spot where I’d found that body soon after I opened the Button Box, but this time, I couldn’t help myself. My gaze slipped over the short expanse of hardwood floor in front of my desk and to the Oriental rug in muted shades of red, green, and blue that covered a good portion of the front of the shop. “The press caused plenty of problems then,” I reminded Stan. “I don’t need a repeat when it comes to Forbis’s over-the-top behavior.”
“Right you are.” He drained the last of his coffee from his cup. “So where did this Parmenter character disappear to?” he asked.
My sour expression should have been all the answer he needed, but when that didn’t seem to be enough, I explained. “Richard Norquist, Forbis’s agent, said he was sure Forbis was just trying to squeeze all the fun he could out of the opening. He said Forbis loves to make people talk and he was sure that’s what the whole thing was about. Richard insisted that we all stick around and enjoy the exhibit and, of course, he said all the works were for sale and he’d be happy to talk to anyone who was interested. But after what had happened with Forbis . . .”
Again, my mind drifted to the night before. Though Laverne had done her best to chat up the knots of people gathered around the exhibit, and Richard had gone around talking a little too loud and laughing a little too much, the mood had been ruined. Slowly, the crowd had broken up and drifted out the doors.
“And Nev, what did he say?”
Stan was bound to ask, and really, if I was on the ball, I would have been ready with an answer. The way it was, I tried to say enough to satisfy him without saying too much about everything that had gone on the night before.
What had Nev said?
He’d closed in on me just as the crowd was beginning to break up. He was alone, and a quick look around told me Evangeline was already gone. “We have to talk.”
“We do.” It wasn’t the clever comeback I’d hoped for, but then, I was worried about Forbis and about what had happened over at the exhibit. Besides, I wasn’t sure there was a clever comeback in the
honey, I used to be engaged
category that would suit the purpose. “You didn’t see where Forbis went?”
“That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking we need to talk about,” Nev said.
“I know.” I tried for a smile. “We could stop for a cup of coffee on the way home and—”
His phone rang.
Evangeline was right when, earlier in the evening, she’d said Nev had cop in his blood. He lived and breathed his work and since it was important work, that was all right with me. I’d never seen him take a shortcut, never seen him shirk his duties. But I swear, right about then, the last thing he wanted to do was answer his phone.
With a pained expression on his face, he answered anyway, and apologized as soon as he ended the call. “There’s been a shooting over near Humboldt Park. I’m sorry, Josie. I’ve got to go. I could take you home and—”
“Not to worry.” I gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll get a cab.”
I crunched into the other half of my bagel. “Nev didn’t see anything, either,” I told Stan. “Nobody did. Forbis just vanished.”
“And nobody’s heard from him since?”
Something told me that Stan already knew the answer to this because while he was toasting our bagels, he must have heard me on the phone. I’d called the hotel where Forbis was staying and asked for his room. There was no answer.
“I e-mailed him last night when I got home, too,” I told Stan. “And again this morning before I left my apartment. I haven’t gotten a reply.”
“So maybe this crazy Forbis guy . . .” Stan had eagle eyes and thinking, he narrowed them. “Maybe something really did happen to the guy.”
“Maybe.” I chomped down the last of my bagel, took my plate and Stan’s into the back room, and came back brushing my hands together.
“So what are you going to do?” Stan asked.
Like I said, he might be retired, but never let it be said that Stan isn’t as sharp as a tack. I know him well, and I knew he knew my answer even before I said it. “I was thinking of going back over to the church,” I said. “If you’re not busy this morning . . .”
It was raining when I left the apartment that morning, and I’d left my slicker on my desk chair when I walked in. He held it up so I could slip my arms into it.
Within half an hour, I was back at the church. I found Laverne behind her desk in the office next to Reverend Truman’s and as best I could, I explained why I was there.
“If I could just look around a little,” I suggested. “Maybe I could—”
“No worries!” She popped out of her chair and led the way down the corridor and to the side door that led into the church. She unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped back to let me walk in first. “I don’t think you’ll find anything,” she said. “Richard and I, we looked around last night before we locked up, but I can see how you’d be worried, about the buttons and about sweet little Forbis. That was mighty peculiar, wasn’t it, the way he took off out of here like the devil himself was on his heels?”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” Maybe it was some sort of subliminal suggestion, but the moment Laverne mentioned the devil, I found myself drifting toward the Congo Savanne exhibit. The red button I’d brought to finish the work, the one Forbis had dropped when he bolted, was on the floor. I bent to retrieve it, and groaned.
It had landed back side down, and the contact cement Richard had applied to it had stuck it to the floor.
I stood up. “No sign of the broken champagne glass.”
Laverne nodded. “Had Bob, our maintenance guy, clean that up before we turned off the lights and locked up last night. Didn’t want to worry about somebody forgetting the glass was here and maybe stepping on it this morning.” She looked over the area and shook her head. “It was mighty odd what went on here last night. You think it has something to do with all these buttons?”
“I wish I knew.” I looked over the exhibit. The sign that said “Press the Button” was a little crooked, and I reached to straighten it. When I did, I hit the shell button and the whirring started up from inside the box. “Dang,” I mumbled.
Laverne and I were on the same wavelength. “Oh, we’re going to have to look at that nasty statue again!” she moaned.
And though neither of us wanted to, we couldn’t help ourselves. We stood side by side, listening to the whoosh of the hydraulic lift inside the box, waiting for Congo Savanne to make his appearance.
We saw the button hair first, dark and springy.
Then the opalescent sheen of the buttons that covered the statue’s forehead.
Then . . .
Laverne grabbed my arm and held on so tight, I was pretty sure I was going to have a bruise. Her voice was high, and choked with panic. “Is that . . . ?”
It was.
As the statue rose, we saw that the
petro loa
was not alone. There was something tied to the statue.
Someone.
Gray suit. Blue high-top sneakers with neon orange laces.
Forbis’s skin was pale and glazed, like the mother of pearl buttons on Congo Savanne’s face. That is, except for his eyes and his mouth.
Those had been glued shut with buttons.
“Sorry.”
It was the first thing Nev said to me when he arrived at the church an hour after Laverne and I discovered Forbis’s body. Call me shallow, but even though we stood ten feet from the art installation and watched a team of crime-scene techs swarm the area with their cameras and their evidence collection kits, I was grateful that he had his personal priorities in order. He needed to apologize, I mean what with the whole Evangeline situation. I was glad we could get that out of the way right up front so we could concentrate on the body propped in Congo Savanne’s arms.
“You keep finding bodies. It’s just not fair.”
“That’s what you’re sorry about?” OK, when I spun from facing the altar to gaping at Nev with my fists propped on my hips, my words shouldn’t have come out quite so crisply. But hey, I’d just had something of a shock, what with finding Forbis dead and all. I had an excuse.
Nev was a professional, he didn’t.
“You thought I was talking about Evangeline.”
Like I said, he’s a professional, and he’s supposed to be good at reading people. He didn’t need me to tell him he was right on the money.
Nev poked his hands into the pockets of his raincoat. The belt was untied, and it dragged on the floor. “I never told you about Evangeline because there’s nothing to tell,” he said. “I knew her way before I met you. We were engaged, but things didn’t work out. It’s over. It has been for a long time. End of story.”
“Just like that.”
“Just like that.”
“But don’t you see, Nev . . .” The last thing I needed to do was attract attention to what we were talking about when what we were talking about was supposed to be murder. I glanced around to make sure no one was looking our way, and even though nobody was, I made sure I kept my voice down. “If you keep big chunks of your past from me, I can’t get to know the real you. It’s important because everything that’s ever happened to you makes you the person you are today and—”
And his phone rang.
This in and of itself was not all that unusual. After all, the poor guy’s always on call, and this is a big city that can sometimes be violent. We’d had plenty of late-night movies and cups of coffee and dinner sandwiches interrupted by crime.
When he answered one of those calls, though, he never turned his back on me.
Fortunately, churches have great acoustics and this one was no exception. “Just got called to a crime scene,” I heard Nev say. “I can’t really talk right now.”
Once he ended the call, he turned back to me.
“I hope you told Evangeline hello from me,” I said ever so sweetly.
“How did you—” He shoved his phone in his pocket. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means she has your cell number.”
“Just like a few hundred other people do.”
“Were you engaged to all of them, too?”
Oh yes, this was a bitchy little comment on my behalf, but come on . . . no one could blame me! I was more than willing to be an adult and discuss this whole ex thing sensibly and calmly. Heck, I had an ex myself! Trick is, Nev knew all about Kaz. He had, right from the start.
Maybe Nev realized all that and, consequently, didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he was simply dodging. Whatever the case, when Laverne caught his eye from where she was standing with her arms wrapped around herself, next to one of the gigantic pillars that lined the main aisle of the church, he used the opportunity to head that way and, not so coincidentally, to effectively let me know that the subject was closed.
Since I hadn’t been told to stand back and mind my own business, I went along, too. Not to worry; I wasn’t looking to pick a fight with Nev because of Evangeline. I was curious. About Congo Savanne. And Forbis. And those buttons that held his eyes shut. I got over to where Laverne stood just as Nev asked her, “What time did you get to the church this morning?”
She wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of one trembling hand. “Got here early, about eight or so. But I was in the office the whole time. There’s always so much to do first thing in the morning. I check phone messages from the night before, make sure there aren’t any urgent e-mails, make coffee. There was no reason for me to come in here to the gallery. And even if I did . . .” Her gaze slid toward where the crime-scene techs were circling the Congo Savanne statue, snapping pictures and taking measurements.
Nev stepped to his right so that she couldn’t see past him to the grisly scene.
Laverne sniffled. “I didn’t come in here until Josie showed up.”
Nev’s steady gaze turned to me. “And Josie showed up because . . . ?”
I shrugged, and since I knew that wouldn’t satisfy him, I said, “I was worried about what happened here last night.” Then, just so he didn’t get the wrong idea, I added, “I was worried about Forbis. He seemed so upset when he ran out of here. I wondered what was wrong. I e-mailed him last night when I got home and never heard back from him. And I called his hotel this morning and he didn’t pick up.” Though Laverne was standing at a spot where she could no longer see Forbis’s body, I wasn’t so lucky. I watched a tech take a close-up shot of those buttons glued to Forbis’s eyes and mouth, and I shivered. “I guess I know now why he didn’t answer his phone.”
“If he’s been dead that long.” It was the sort of noncommittal comment Nev would have made to any witness, not to the woman who’d helped him solve three cases, and I bristled, then told myself to get a grip. This might be Nev’s job, but I had no doubt that it was just as stressful for him as it was for the rest of us, especially since he’d seen Forbis alive and well less than twenty-four hours earlier, just like we had.
I thought back to the night before and to the scene in front of the box that held the terrifying statue, about how Forbis had taken a few sips of his champagne before he dropped his glass and ran. He was frightened, paranoid, but let’s face it, he couldn’t have been afraid of the buttons, right? That meant he saw something or someone else that sent him screaming into the night. But if he’d seen something odd, I would have, too. I was standing right next to Forbis.
Unless his mind was playing tricks on him.
“Do you think he could have been poisoned?” I asked Nev.
I should have known he wouldn’t speculate, not at this stage of the game. “He had a couple of drinks, didn’t he?” Nev looked toward the altar, then back at Laverne. “When Forbis dropped his glass, there was champagne everywhere. It’s been cleaned up. Did you—”
Laverne nodded and told him what she’d told me earlier. “Had Bob, our maintenance man, mop up before we left last night. Couldn’t leave champagne on the floor. Never thought somebody was going to die and that champagne . . .” She swallowed hard. “You think there really might have been poison in it?”
“Can’t say. We won’t know until the medical examiner does an autopsy.” Nev softened the comment with a tiny smile designed to put Laverne at ease and get her mind off murder. “But I would like to talk to Bob if he’s around.”
“Doesn’t come in this early,” Laverne said, and just as she did, one of the side doors that led into a hallway that ran the length of the church slapped open. It was relatively quiet in there, what with us talking in hushed whispers and the crime-scene techs working at their jobs, so the sound of the door was like rifle fire. Automatically, we all glanced that way. There was a window in the hallway directly beyond it, and the man who took a step into the church, then froze, was silhouetted against its light. Because of the wash of sunlight behind him, it was hard to tell for certain, but it looked like he was wearing dark gray pants and a matching shirt, like a maintenance man would.
“Oh, look. Perfect timing. It’s Bob. You can talk to him right now, Detective!” Laverne raised a hand and waved. “Bob! Come on over here. Bob!”
Bob stood motionless. That is, right before he backed up a step into the hallway, and the door banged shut.
“Well, he probably was surprised to see so many people in here,” Laverne said, staring at the closed door. “Bob’s a quiet kind of guy and not very good with crowds. He’s probably on his way to my office now to find out what’s going on.”
“You can be sure I’ll catch up with him.” Nev said, and just to be sure, he called to one of the uniformed cops standing nearby and told him to go after Bob. “For now, let me ask you, Ms. Seiffert, what do you suppose happened here last night?”
“Me?” Laverne’s hand fluttered against the honey-colored top she wore with black pants. “I . . . I don’t know. It’s so very terrible, it’s hard to even imagine. But you saw what went on here last night. Both of you.” Her gaze darted from Nev to me. “You both saw exactly what I saw. Forbis was here, and he was so excited. And then his little ceremony started and then . . .” She threw her hands in the air and let them drop back down. “Then he ran out. And Josie, you went after him.”
“Did you?” This was news to Nev, but then, he’d been talking to Evangeline at the time I raced down the aisle to try and catch up with Forbis, so I guess he never noticed.
“I looked out front,” I told him and remembered what Gabriel Marsh had told me. He hadn’t seen Forbis outside, either, and he’d gotten out there first. “There was no sign of Forbis.” I looked around at the vast interior of the church. “Maybe he never left.”
“It’s possible,” Nev conceded, and then asked Laverne, “If he stayed here in the church, was there anywhere for Forbis to hide?”
“Just about a thousand places.” She looked around, too, as if that should have been enough to remind both Nev and me of just how big the old church was. “He could have been anywhere. Or he could have ducked out one of the side doors and not the front door,” she added for my benefit. Her dark eyes filled with tears. “All that matters is that the poor man is dead. I’m sorry. I really am. But I can’t explain any of it. I don’t know anything.”
“You know Richard.” At this point, I wasn’t sure how Nev might take a little bit of my amateur interference, but I was willing to take a chance. When it came to asking questions, Laverne needed a little tender loving care, and she deserved it, too. Unlike a certain button purveyor, she hadn’t been entangled in murder before. “What can you tell us about him, Laverne?”
“Richard . . . I . . .” Laverne chewed her lower lip. “How do you—”
“Last night when Richard introduced himself,” I reminded her. “When he walked over to where you and Forbis and I were talking, the first thing you did was put a hand on his arm. It was a friendly gesture and not something you’d do to a stranger. You obviously know the man.”
“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean it to be a secret or anything, I just didn’t understand how you knew.” She looked at Nev, then looked away again quickly. “A few months ago I was paging through a magazine and ran across an article about Forbis. Well, you can imagine that it caught my attention.” For a moment, a smile relieved her somber expression. “He was certainly a character! The article mentioned that he was going to have a show in Chicago. It also mentioned Richard’s name and said he was Forbis’s agent. Richard and I, we’re old friends.”
“But if you never found out about Forbis until the show here was already scheduled, how—”
Laverne knew where I was going with the question and answered even before I had a chance to finish it. “The show was originally scheduled for a place called the Mango Tango Gallery in Wicker Park. I was so excited that Richard was going to be a part of something so fascinating, I called him and suggested maybe we could do something here at the church in conjunction with the show. I was thinking maybe he could pull a few strings and convince Forbis to stop by and talk about his art. I thought we’d do coffee and cookies and have a meet-the-artist night, you know, that sort of thing. And I thought that one night of the show, we might even rent a bus and take folks over there. After they met Forbis and heard about his work, I knew they’d be interested.”
“But you ended up hosting the show here.” Yes, it was obvious, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to point out the facts. If I didn’t, I knew Nev would. “That’s a long way from coffee and cookies.”
Laverne nodded. “It all happened so suddenly. When I first mentioned the meet-the-artist idea to Richard, he said he’d think about it but . . . well, you know how it is when you expect a person to be as enthusiastic about one of your ideas as you are. He was being polite and I thought it was just for old time’s sake. But then Richard called back and I thought, hallelujah, he changed his mind. He wants to do the evening of coffee and cookies. But he didn’t.”