Part 3 (1/2)

Muddy Crocs.

Green sweatpants.

Pink tee. Even before I'd scanned my way from the feet of the still form up to the head, I knew I was looking at Angela. I suppose it was a good thing I recognized the clothes she'd worn the night before, because her face was so blue and bloated, I might not have known it was her otherwise.

Then again, I never would have mistaken the charm string. Or at least what was left of it.

A good portion of the string was still wound like a python around Angela's neck, tight enough to leave bruised impressions of the b.u.t.tons on her skin, snap the old string, scatter b.u.t.tons all around, and choke Angela to death.

I swallowed down the sudden sour taste in my mouth and reached for my cell phone, another revelation pounding its way through the fog of horror in my brain.

It looked like Angela was right about the bad luck after all.

”YOU KNEW THE victim.”

I'd been so busy staring into the depths of the gla.s.s of water a uniformed cop had given me as soon as he walked me into the workroom of the b.u.t.ton Box and sat me down, I didn't even realize anyone had come to stand next to me.

When I looked up and saw it was Nev, I couldn't have been more relieved. I resisted the urge to jump up and throw myself into his arms.

Partly because that uniformed cop was still there, and I didn't need to start a host of rumors running rampant through the department.

Mostly because we weren't at the throw-myself-into-his-arms stage of what we had of a relations.h.i.+p.

Nev was the consummate professional, and something of a Type A personality. I did not hold this against him. When it came to my work, I was a Type A, too.

”I thought you were working afternoons.” While that cop standing in the doorway between the workroom and the shop made a phone call, I took the chance and touched a hand to Nev's. His smile was warm when he briefly closed his fingers over mine.

”I am,” he said. ”But when the desk sergeant heard where the body was found, she remembered that I'd worked the case here when that actress was murdered, and she gave me a call.”

”I'm glad.” The cop was done with his call, and I dropped my hand into my lap and Nev backed away. I wished he didn't have to. There was something about his calm, rea.s.suring presence that helped thaw the ice in my veins. ”She was...” I couldn't see the courtyard from there, even if my back door was open, but I looked that way, anyway, closing my eyes against the memory of Angela's swollen face. ”She was a customer of mine,” I told Nev. ”The one with the...” My words choked against the painful ball of emotion in my throat. ”She's the one who brought me the charm string.”

”The lady you told me about the other night.” Nev pulled another stool up to my worktable and perched on the edge of it. He was a tad over six feet tall, and even seated on the tool, his feet touched the floor. Not mine. Mine dangled. ”I remember what you said when we had that drink the other night. You said Ms. Morningside, she was the one who believed in-”

”Curses. Yeah.” It didn't seem so funny now. In fact, just thinking about Angela's fear and the warnings she'd seen in the crows and the howling dog made a s.h.i.+ver skitter up my back. I wrapped my arms around myself and the gold cardigan I'd worn that day with blue jeans. ”Angela came in last night to pick up the charm string. There was supposed to be a tea today at the Ardent Lake Historical Society. Oh, really, someone needs to call and tell them,” I added and I suppose, in some way, thinking about the tea satisfied the need in me to concentrate on the mundane, even in the face of murder. ”They're going to make tea and bake cookies and before they do all that-”

”Not to worry.” Without even checking to see if the other cop was watching, Nev patted my hand. ”We'll take care of the phone calls.”

The rea.s.surance satisfied my need for structure, even in a situation that was all about chaos. ”Angela...” I sniffled. ”She was so excited about presenting them the charm string, and so happy to be getting it out of her life.”

I hadn't even realized I'd started to cry until Nev handed me a white cotton handkerchief. I dabbed it to my eyes. ”She showed up here a little after six last night,” I told him because I knew he was bound to ask sooner or later and I figured we might as well get it over with just in case I fell to pieces. ”She picked up the charm string and left. She went...” I thought back to all I remembered about the night before. ”When she left the store, she turned to her right, in the direction of the alleyway. Stan and I left just a couple minutes later, and we went to our left. If we'd gone the other way...”

There was no way I wanted to think about how things might have been different. If I did, I'd only feel worse.

Nev understood. ”It's not your fault,” he said.

I shrugged. ”I know. It's just that-”

”That it's not your fault.”

He was right, and I admitted it with a fleeting smile. It was the first I'd smiled since I walked into the courtyard and found Angela's body, and the muscles in my face felt stiff and uncomfortable, but even that felt better than the painful knot wedged between my heart and my stomach.

Maybe Nev realized how close I was to falling to pieces. That would explain why he kept things professional and to the point. I didn't hold it against him. But then, I knew what he knew: if he was going to find out who murdered Angela, he had to get on the trail of the killer, and fast. At this point in his investigation, I was the one best able to help.

”Did she say anything to you?” he asked. ”About anyone following her? Or about anyone who might have been angry at her? Anyone she might have been afraid of? Did she act peculiar in any way?”

I'd already shaken my head before I stopped to reconsider. ”She didn't call to tell me she was on her way here, and the day before, she told me she would. I know that seems like a small thing, but I don't think Angela was the type who made promises she didn't intend to keep. And then when she did get to the shop last night...well, it was pretty obvious that she was upset,” I told Nev. ”Her eyes were swollen like she'd been crying, but when I asked her about it, she said it was because of her allergies. She was a mess, too. It's hard to believe seeing her the way she's dressed now, but the first time I met Angela, she looked like the poster girl for how women should dress for success. Something was definitely wrong.”

”But she didn't say what.”

Another shake of my head. ”She didn't strike me as the kind of woman who would easily share, especially with a stranger.”

”And with friends?”

”I hardly knew her.” My throat felt as if there were a hand around it. So not a pretty thought considering the way Angela had been killed. Hoping to wash away the uncomfortable thought, I took a sip of water, and when it hurt to swallow, I made a face.

Nev excused himself long enough to go over to the counter and put on a fresh pot of coffee. ”When that's done brewing,” he said to the cop nearby, ”how about pouring a cup for Ms. Giancola.”

The cop nodded and dutifully went over to watch the pot drip, and Nev came back to sit next to me. ”Did she say anything about her life back in Ardent Lake?”

”She said she had a boyfriend.” I thought about the way Angela had worded it, that they were more than friends, and my voice clogged with tears. ”She was so happy about Larry. She said he was the one good thing that had happened to her since she inherited the charm string. He owns the hardware store in Ardent Lake. That's what Angela told me.” I remembered how Angela's eyes had gleamed when she talked about Larry, and I thought about how he was going to feel when he heard the news. ”The poor man,” I said, automatically reaching for my cell though I didn't have a clue what Larry's number, or even his last name, was. ”Someone needs to tell him.”

”That's my job.” Nev made a note of this in the little leather-bound notebook he pulled out of the breast pocket of his gray suit. ”I'll get in touch with the Ardent Lake police and have someone there tell Larry what happened, after we check for next of kin. Then I'll go up there and have a talk with Larry. He's bound to know more about Ms. Morningside's personal life.”

”And what about all that other stuff?” Normally, I would have shrugged it off without another thought, but murder is serious business and Angela's felt strangely personal. Maybe that was because I'd grown so close to those b.u.t.tons of hers. The ones she'd now never have a chance to donate to the historical society.

”I know you're going to tell me I'm crazy, Nev, but she was convinced the charm string was cursed and now-”

”You, of all people? You're not going to tell me you believe any of that hooey, are you?”

”No.” I didn't. Honest. ”I mean, I know inanimate objects don't have a will of their own, so they can't bring bad luck to anyone. And even if they could...I mean, b.u.t.tons? b.u.t.tons are so wonderful and so interesting and so-” It wasn't that Nev didn't already understand how my life and b.u.t.tons were intertwined, it was just that I figured I didn't need to remind him. Sometimes, it was hard enough for a cop and a b.u.t.ton nerd to find things to talk about. There was no use pointing out the obvious differences between us.

”I think what's important,” I said, ”isn't if b.u.t.tons can really bring bad luck but that Angela believed they could. It's almost like she brought the bad luck on herself, because she saw it everywhere she looked, and she believed it could happen.”

”I've seen weirder things.” Still, Nev dismissed my theory with a shake of his head that sent his s.h.a.ggy, sandy-colored hair dipping into his eyes. He pushed it back with one hand. ”But I think we'll find there's a very human element behind this crime.”

”I didn't see anyone hanging around when Angela walked out of here,” I said.

”Not even that guy who tried to s.n.a.t.c.h your purse the other night?”

This was a connection I'd never even considered, and I sucked in a breath. ”You don't think-”

”You know me better than that. I don't think anything until I have all the facts, and right now, facts are mighty slim around here. I do know that this is usually a pretty safe neighborhood. If it wasn't, I'd help you pack your b.u.t.tons and get you out of here.”

The uniformed cop chose that particular moment to deliver a mug of steaming coffee. ”Cream or sugar?” he asked, and before I could answer, Nev suggested sugar and lots of it. ”It will help with the shock,” he promised.

Half a cup of coffee later, I couldn't say if that was true, but I could say that some of the tension inside me had eased. I wrapped my hands tighter around the red mug with ”I a b.u.t.tons” in white lettering on it, savoring the warmth as it seeped into my fingers and spread into my hands.