Part 20 (1/2)

I stepped away from the podium and headed right into the service entrance just as the waitstaff was coming the other way, carrying dessert. It was that, or get swallowed up in the crowd that surged forward to ask questions.

I didn't need questions, I needed answers.

And at four o'clock, I intended to find them.

GREAT PLAN, RIGHT?.

Too bad four o'clock came and went-and n.o.body showed up in the ballroom but me and Nev.

I held out hope. Honest, I did. At least until four thirty. That's when I leaned back in my chair and groaned, ”Is police work always this discouraging?”

”Hey, at least we've got nice, comfy chairs to sit in. And iced tea!” The catering manager had brought up a pitcher when we got to the ballroom, and Nev poured himself another gla.s.s and topped off mine. ”You should see some of the stakeouts I get involved in. Long hours sitting in a police car tend to make me crabby.”

I have seen Nev crabby. Which means he's also short-tempered, abrupt, and bristly. I was grateful for the ballroom and the comfy chairs, too.

Except...

”Iced tea or no iced tea, we're not getting anywhere.” Any more iced tea and I'd burst. I had another sip, anyway.

”After that offer we made to get them their money back, I thought your collectors would come running,” Nev commented. ”b.u.t.ton people never do what I expect them to do.”

”That's because a lot of collectors care more about their b.u.t.tons than they do about the money. And yes,” I added when I knew he was going to tell me that was just crazy, ”it does sound odd. But a collector's reputation... Well, that might be more important to that person than getting his or her money back.”

He c.o.c.ked his head, considering this. ”Who?” he asked.

I shrugged and let out a laugh. ”Everybody. I've told you that before. Everybody who comes to a conference-”

”But who fits that bill and had the opportunity to kill Brad Wyant?”

I knew what he was getting at and considered the possibilities. ”Donovan Tucker and his mother were out in the lobby at the right time,” I said. ”And Helen was late for the banquet, and Langston was in the vendor room. I know that, because I ran into him when I went after Helen. Chase was in the ballroom, and talk about somebody who would care more about his reputation than about money!”

”Anybody else?”

”Well...” Something had been niggling at the back of my mind since lunchtime, and I'd hesitated to mention it because it seemed so silly. ”It's probably nothing,” I told Nev.

”It could be something.”

”But it doesn't have anything to do with Brad's murder.”

”Anything that we know of.”

I gave in with a sigh. ”It's the contest. And Gloria's ivory b.u.t.tons. She got a measle, see.” Nev's eyebrows rose, and I explained how Gloria had been disqualified and why. ”So how did that b.u.t.ton get changed on her tray?” I asked.

”And why?”

I waved away Nev's question. ”The why is the easy part. If Gloria's the one who did it.”

His eyes lit. ”We could ask her.”

Apparently, b.u.t.ton dealers aren't made for stakeouts, even ones that include comfy chairs and iced tea. Just the thought of getting out of the ballroom and on to something where we were actually doing something other than just sitting around and waiting cheered me no end. I jumped out of my chair at the same time Nev stood. ”It's the last full day of the conference, and like all serious collectors, I'd bet Gloria is in the vendor room.”

We got there in record time, and I glanced around at the three dozen or so vendor tables and the hustle and bustle going on all around us. The last day of any b.u.t.ton show is always busy with people wheeling and dealing and hoping the b.u.t.tons they've been coveting since early in the week are still there, and maybe available now at a better price.

Before I had a chance to spot Gloria Winston, Langston caught my eye. He gave Elliot instructions before he walked away from his booth and strolled over. ”Any luck?” he asked.

”With getting people in to get their money back?” Of course it was what he was talking about. Langston is one of the most intelligent people I know, and that means he's naturally curious. ”You'd think it was an offer they couldn't refuse,” I said.

He lifted his shoulders in an elegant gesture. ”You'd think.”

”Have you seen Gloria?”

Langston is taller than me, and he glanced around the room. ”A while ago. She was at the booth next to mine, saying something to the dealer there about getting more ivory b.u.t.tons. But I don't think he was interested in dealing. Not for the price she wanted to pay.”

”And now?”

Langston looked around again. ”It's too crowded in here to see clearly, but you could try near the far doors. There are a couple big women standing over there.” He craned his neck. ”I can't tell if one of them is Gloria.”

I thanked him and headed that way. I'd just dodged around a woman carrying two shopping bags when I b.u.mped into Helen and nearly bowled her over.

”I'm so sorry.” When she jumped back and swayed, I put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. ”I was looking for Gloria and-”

”No problem. Really.” Helen glanced away. She'd been digging through a poke box, and she tucked her hands in the pockets of her white jacket. Definition time: at shows, vendors usually put out a box of miscellaneous odds and ends of inexpensive b.u.t.tons for collectors to poke through. Poke-box b.u.t.tons usually sell for less than a dollar each and are generally worth about that much or less. Sure, it's fun to poke, especially for a new collector, who isn't sure yet which b.u.t.tons to specialize in. For experienced collectors like Helen- I couldn't help myself. I took a long, hard look at the top layer of the b.u.t.tons in that poke box. If Helen was looking through it, she might have heard a rumor about some valuable b.u.t.ton having inadvertently been dropped in there. Like b.u.t.ton collectors everywhere, it was hard for me to ignore the siren's call of an overlooked treasure.

”You're holding out on me.” I was teasing-and fis.h.i.+ng for information just in case there was something in that box I would love to get my hands on. ”What are you up to, Helen?”

”Nothing. Really. Just looking around one last time. I really need to get back to my room and pack and... and I'll see you later, Josie.”

Who would have thought a senior citizen could walk away that fast?

”What?” I asked a couple minutes later when Nev found me looking through that poke box.

He leaned over my shoulder. ”You're supposed to be looking for Gloria Winston.”

It was my turn to look as mortified as Helen had when I found her midpoke. ”Oh, yeah, Gloria...” There was nothing unusual in the box after all-a whole lot of MOPs, some black-gla.s.s b.u.t.tons that were pretty but hardly valuable, a couple realistics that I knew I already owned-nothing I could turn around and sell at the b.u.t.ton Box, and nothing I couldn't live without in my own collection, so I walked away.

That was when my phone rang.

I checked caller ID and gave Nev a questioning look. ”Daryl? I mean Donovan. Why isn't he-”

”Out on bail,” Nev said, just as I answered and listened to the words that rushed out of Daryl.

”Now?” I said in response. ”You need me to come up to your room now?”

”I think it's important,” Donovan said. ”I caught something one day when I was filming, and I don't know if it's important or not, but I think you should see it. Of course...” Now that he was out of police custody, the edge of c.o.c.kiness was back in his words. ”If you're not comfortable coming here, I could always come to your room.”

Yeah, like that was going to help.