Button Box Mystery: Hot Button Part 17

"Silly. That's what it is." Helen's cheeks were as pink as the carnations on her print blouse. "And shame on you for even mentioning it, Chase. Josie's done a wonderful job with the conference. Well, as wonderful as anyone can when so many things have gone wrong."

"There are some people who think she's wonderful, anyway." This comment came from Kaz, and believe me, I knew he wasn't talking about himself. In fact, he was looking toward the back of the shop, where Daryl was standing near a display of tortoisesh.e.l.l b.u.t.tons. I was just in time to see him tuck his phone in the pocket of that all-too-familiar plaid sport coat and turn to walk toward the front of the store-directly for me.

"Courage!" His smile told me Kaz didn't take this nearly as seriously as I did. "If this Daryl character gives you a hard time-"

He didn't. In fact, though I could have sworn he was going to come over and talk to me, Daryl zoomed right past and out the front door.

"Thank goodness." I breathed a sigh of relief. That is, until I looked outside and saw that Daryl had walked a little ways down the sidewalk and was talking to someone who stood just outside the mouth of the alley that led back to the tiny courtyard I shared with the building next door.

It was nearly dark, and the shadows there were thick. I edged closer to the front display window for a better look, but thanks to the glare of the lights in the shop and the reflections in the window, all I could tell was that whoever Daryl was talking to, it was someone small. Small and gray.

An electric shock shot through my body, and I plopped the gla.s.s of wine I hadn't had a chance to drink on the nearest table, excused myself, and headed for the door.

By the time I got out there, Daryl and Beth Howell were nowhere around-and there was only one place they could have gone.

Just after I'd opened the shop, the merchant next door approached me with the idea to put a little courtyard in the small open s.p.a.ce between our buildings and the ones on the street behind us. There wasn't much to our little urban oasis, just the red brick walkway I followed to the tiny patio surrounded by a number of potted annuals that were quickly fading in the close-to-autumn weather. That, and a park bench. There was also a single post light, and in its soft glow, I saw Beth Howell, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

Was she going to curse me for finally tracking her down? Or call out a warning?

I never had a chance to find out.

But then, that was because something smashed into the back of my head, and the world went black.

Chapter Sixteen.

I HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I WAS OUT. I ONLY KNOW THAT when I finally woke up, the first person I saw was Kaz. At least I thought it was Kaz. It was a little hard to tell, thanks to the pyrotechnic display going on inside my head.

"Jo? Are you all right? What happened?"

Yeah, that was Kaz, all right. I'd recognize the voice anywhere, even if the thread of panic in it was unfamiliar. Maybe he realized there were stars shooting across my line of vision because he leaned down until his nose was just a couple inches from mine. In the dim glow of the post light, I saw that his face was drawn with worry.

"Don't move," he said when I tried, and to make sure I stayed put, he put his right hand on my shoulder. "You came outside, and we got worried when you didn't come back in after a while. d.a.m.n!" His bit his lower lip to control his anger. "If only I'd checked sooner. Don't worry, though, everything is under control. Helen's in there keeping the c.o.c.ktail party going like clockwork, and Stan's calling the cops and an ambulance."

"Don't... need... ambulance." Even to me, my voice sounded like it came from the end of a long, dark tunnel. I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain that racketed through my head, and while I was at it, I grabbed Kaz's left hand and twined my fingers through his.

One.

Two.

Three.

I took a series of slow, deliberate breaths, anchoring myself to consciousness courtesy of the feel of my hand in Kaz's.

"There's no blood." I wasn't thinking clearly enough to wonder about this, but I was grateful for the information anyway. When I opened my eyes, I saw Kaz was leaning over and trying to see as much of the back of my head as he could without actually moving me. "Your pupils aren't dilated, either." He double-checked by staring into my eyes. "They're supposed to be dilated, right? I mean, if you have a concussion?"

If I ever knew, I'd forgotten that particular bit of trivia in the wake of the clunk on the head.

"Daryl," I squeaked.

Kaz sat back, his face twisted with disbelief. "At a time like this, you're thinking about Daryl? Give me a break! You're not actually attracted to the guy, are you?"

I would have laughed if I had the strength, and if I wasn't convinced that if I did, my head would split open and my brain would go bouncing through the courtyard. "Daryl was here," I said, because I wasn't sure how head injuries affect people and I wanted to be sure to mention it-right then and there-before I forgot. "With Beth Howell."

Of course, this didn't mean a whole bunch to Kaz. I was aware enough to know that. Kaz wasn't in on the details of the case. Not like Nev.

Nev...

Did I float off again? I guess so, because the next time I drifted to consciousness, Nev was the first person I saw. As if he'd been tugging at it, his hair stood on end, and he was wearing jeans, a Cubs T-shirt, and sneakers. He was pacing behind two paramedics, who were kneeling on either side of me, and in front of Stan and Kaz, who were standing side by side and peering at me, talking quietly, and looking concerned.

"You probably shouldn't move her, right?" Nev leaned over the shoulder of one of the paramedics. "I mean, it could be dangerous to move a person who's been injured before you know what happened, right? Isn't that true?"

"We're cool, Detective." That same paramedic wasn't just cool; he was cuc.u.mber-like, and his even voice and steady tone sent a message Nev obviously didn't get.

He leaned over the other guy's shoulder. "Can you tell if she's OK?" Nev demanded. "Can you tell what happened?"

The first time I tried to speak, the words refused to come, so I ran my tongue over my lips and gave it another go. Success! The words sc.r.a.ped out of me. "You could ask me. Somebody came up behind me... hit me over the head."

"Don't talk." Nev wedged his way past one paramedic, and the man had no choice but to give ground. Nev knelt beside me and clutched my hand, but because there was one of those blood-pressure monitors on one of my fingers, that wasn't the best plan. The monitor fell off, the paramedic repositioned it, and while he did, Nev grabbed my other hand.

The paramedic checked the meter. "Her vitals are fine," he said, and backed off. "She's gonna have one heck of a headache and some bruises from hitting the ground, but other than that, she'll be OK. Take it easy, though. Don't push."

Nev turned back to me. In the halo of light, I could see his face, and it didn't reveal the telltale signs of worry. Not like Kaz's had. In fact, if it wasn't for the way he clutched my hand like there was no tomorrow, I wouldn't have known Nev was upset at all. His eyes were unreadable. His expression, stone. When he asked, "What happened?" his voice was as hard-edged as a knife.

I'd told Kaz. At least I had a fuzzy memory of telling Kaz. Something about Daryl. And a mouse. Since Kaz and Stan were busy talking and I didn't have the energy to interrupt them, I knew I'd have to do my best and try to call up the memory again on my own.

"I came outside," I told Nev, "because..." There was a very good reason, and I struggled to recall it. "Oh, yeah." When I tried for a smile, it made me wince, and the closest paramedic helped me sit up and held an ice pack to the back of my head.

Before I could lose myself in the wondrous sensation of lessening pain, I forced myself to stick with my story.

"Daryl," I said.

"You want Daryl here?" Nev's mouth twisted, and he sat back on his heels. "I can try to locate him if that's what you really want. Are you telling me... Are you actually attracted to the guy?"

There was a lesson to be learned here. I think it had something to do with guys and ego, but since I wasn't exactly thinking straight, it was kind of hard to know for sure. I promised myself I'd think about it later when my head had cleared and supernovas weren't bursting behind my eyes, and I did my best to make myself understood.

"Daryl was here," I said, and because even with my head pounding, I knew that wasn't enough to satisfy a Chicago detective, I added, "He was here at the shop, at the c.o.c.ktail party. Ask Stan and Kaz; they'll tell you. He was looking at b.u.t.tons. Tortoisesh.e.l.l," I added, because for some reason I could not explain, this seemed particularly important. "But then he got a phone call, and he stepped outside. When I looked out the window-you know, the front display window-he was standing on the sidewalk. He was talking to Beth Howell."

Apparently, even said detective could be caught off guard. Nev's blue eyes went wide, and he whistled low under his breath. "Did it look like they knew each other?"

I tried to nod and found out within a nanosecond that this wasn't the best of plans. My brain was in no mood to appreciate movement. "Definitely," I said instead, holding my head very still. "I went outside to see what they were up to, and I couldn't find them. That's when I realized they must have slipped back here into the courtyard."

"And you followed them?"

A dim memory floated through my head, ill-formed and fuzzy. "I must have," I said. "Or I wouldn't be back here right now." Another thought bubbled to the surface. "Yeah, I remember when I got back here, the only one I saw was Beth. She was-"

"Beth Howell attacked you?"

This time I tried to shake my head, and I discovered soon enough that it was no better a move than nodding. "She never came anywhere near me. In fact..." Thinking (no easy feat at that particular moment), I squeezed my eyes shut. "She looked as if she was going to warn me about something."

"The knock on the head?"

"I guess so."

"But you didn't see Daryl?"

I thought back over the scene again. "No. I'm sure of it."

"Which means he was probably the one who attacked you."

"I guess." The paramedic took away the ice pack and replaced it with a fresh one, and once again, I took a few moments to sink into the chilly comfort. It gave me a chance to try to make sense of everything that had happened, and when that ended up being a losing cause, I asked Nev, "But why would Daryl want to hurt me? He said he liked me."

Nev got to his feet. The knees of his jeans were dirty, but he didn't make a move to dust them off. "You can be sure I'm going to find out," he said.

The paramedics had said my vitals were fine, so I got up, too. Or at least I tried. When the world wobbled and I swayed with it, Nev grabbed one arm, and Kaz scrambled over to take hold of the other. Honestly, I'm not sure which one slipped his arm around my shoulders to keep me upright; I was too grateful to care.

"You should go to the hospital," Kaz said.

"You should go home and go to bed," Nev suggested.

I glanced his way. "I'd rather go with you when you question Daryl."

"Who said anything about questioning Daryl?"

OK, so it wasn't actually a lie, since he never had said anything about interrogating Daryl, but it was borderline. And he wasn't very good at even twisting the truth that much; a muscle jumped at the base of his jaw. "If you think he did this..."

"If I find out he did..."

"If I find out he did..."

The impa.s.sioned version of that comment came from Kaz.

The other one-more steely and all the more intimidating because of it-was delivered by Nev. "If you find out he did..."

Slowly and carefully, I looked Nev's way.

He met my eyes before he finished his sentence. "That will be a good thing. Because then you might find out more about why someone stole the Geronimo b.u.t.ton, then threw it away. And who killed Brad."

I DON'T KNOW how these things work, but I do know that by the time we got back to the hotel and were standing outside Daryl's room, Nev had a warrant in hand. I guess that was just in case Daryl was smart and had hightailed it out of town before the cops caught up to him and then Nev could legally search his room.

Then again, maybe Daryl wasn't all that smart. When Nev rapped on the door and identified himself, we heard the sounds of shuffling from inside.

Have I mentioned that Nev is tall and as sleek as a habitual runner? Maybe so, but let it be noted, he can sure pack a punch. Rather than wait to see if Daryl would man up and answer it, he kicked open the door, and he and the two uniformed cops who'd come along for backup raced into the room, guns drawn.

We'd left Kaz and Stan back at the b.u.t.ton Box to give my excuses, host the tail end of the reception, and close up, and I had strict orders to stay out of the way, so I stood back against a wall in the hallway while all this was going on. Fine by me. Though I wouldn't have admitted it to Nev for a million dollars, my legs were rubbery, and if I moved too fast, the world bounced and blurred in front of my eyes. I might be nosy enough to insist on being in on the interview with Daryl, but I am not dumb, and I'm certainly not a risk taker. I was all for taking it slow and easy.

It wasn't until I heard the cops give the all clear and Nev tell me it was OK that I entered Daryl's room.

I was just in time to see Nev slapping handcuffs on a guy I'd never seen before. He was Daryl's height, Daryl's weight, and in fact, he was wearing the same dorky orange-and-brown-plaid sport coat Daryl had worn to the c.o.c.ktail party at the b.u.t.ton Box earlier in the evening. But believe me when I say that this guy was no Daryl.

He was clean-shaven, blond, and oh, have I mentioned, incredibly gorgeous? His face was all planes and angles. His eyes were green like oak leaves in summer. He had a dimple in his chin that made him look delicious-and dangerous-all at the same time.

My heart skipped a beat at the same time my brain wondered if that whack on the head had shaken lose my ability to think straight.

And not just because I was immediately smitten.

It was Nev, and the handcuffs, and the stranger that had me confused.

"Where... ?" Apparently, the man was someone who needed subduing, and now that the cuffs were on him, I dared to take a step closer. "What happened to Daryl?"

"Really?" When he looked my way, Nev raised his eyebrows. "A woman as perceptive as you doesn't get it?"

"A woman as perceptive as me..."

Maybe it was because of what happened back at the b.u.t.ton Box. Maybe that's why I couldn't make any sense of what he said.

That is, until the hunk's left eye twitched.

Inside my battered brain, the pieces clicked, and my breath caught in my throat. "Daryl?"

One of the uniformed cops had been digging through a suitcase on the dresser opposite the bed. He came out holding a dark wig, and I bet anything there was a pair of c.o.ke-bottle gla.s.ses and colored contact lenses in there, too. He tossed a wallet to Nev, who flipped it open and looked at the driver's license inside.

"You mean Donovan," Nev said.

Chalk one up for post-traumatic stress. My knees gave way, and my breath whooshed out of my lungs. I sank down onto the bed. It was that, or end up nose to floor.

I stared at the handsome hunk in the dorky clothes. "Donovan Tucker the doc.u.mentary filmmaker?"

I guess now that his cover was blown, Daryl... er, Donovan... was free to be his real self, and that real self was suave and as c.o.c.ky as a college athlete. "Boy, do I have one hot film on my hands this time," he crowed. "Crazy b.u.t.ton collectors and a murder. I'm going to Cannes with this one! Detective..." He looked at Nev. "Look this way, OK? And talk really loud. I'd hate to miss one word of this."

I guess he'd have to find another way to immortalize us. But then, that was because Nev reached over and s.n.a.t.c.hed away the tiny video-recording device that had been attached to Donovan's lapel.

The recorder I'd never even noticed all those times he leaned in close and asked me questions about b.u.t.tons and collectors and... gulp... told me how much he liked me.

My stomach swooped.

"You lied to us? About being a b.u.t.ton collector?" Let's face it, certain things are way more important than Cannes. This was one of them. The b.u.t.ton community is close-knit, and there's not a more dependable, honest, and knowledgeable bunch anywhere. We help each other out. We trust each other. And to think that this snake in the gra.s.s...

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "You came to the conference to make fun of us?"

"To get the truth." Gorgeous or not, there was something about the smile on Donovan's face that made me want to smack it off. "If the people who appreciate my films find the truth about b.u.t.ton collecting-and b.u.t.ton collectors-funny, that's beyond my control." He tried for a nonchalant shrug, but since his hands were cuffed behind his back, he flinched, then made it look as if it was no big deal. "My art is all about honesty," he crooned.