Button Box Mystery: Hot Button Part 7

Instead, I pulled in a breath. "Look..." I gripped my coffee cup and let the warmth seep into my fingers, through my hands, up my arms. Once it had soothed and calmed me, I knew it was safe to speak again. "I think we got this conversation off on the wrong foot. So let's start again. Back at the hotel, you told me you thought you knew who killed Thad Wyant."

"Yes. I did." Daryl had ordered a cup of green tea and he dip, dip, dipped the bag into the steaming water. "Maybe... Maybe I just got carried away. You know, with all the excitement and all those people at the meeting asking about Mr. Wyant and what you knew about the investigation. That's why I thought I should talk to you. You seem..." He carefully removed the bag from his cup, set it on his saucer, and stirred sugar into his tea. "You seem to know an awful lot," he said when he was done. "About the investigation, I mean. Like you're some kind of... oh, I don't know... like you're somehow connected with the police."

"Only because I was the one the security guard came to when he found the body." It seemed a simpler explanation than telling Daryl about the murder I'd already solved and how I sometimes dated the lead detective on the case. "I was the one who called 911."

He thought this over and nodded. "So if the police... If they knew anything about what really happened, they would tell you."

"No way." As if it would actually put some distance between me and what Daryl inferred, I sc.r.a.ped my chair back from the table. "They don't talk about cases. Not with civilians. And I'm definitely a civilian."

"Then maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it to you at all. You know, about what I saw."

Another deep breath as I thought over how I was going to handle this. I'd just come right out and told Daryl that when it came to investigating, I was as far from being professional as it was possible to get. But he had turned to me in confidence. And besides, I was dying to find out what he knew.

"I've helped the police," I admitted. "Once before. A little. And since I'm chair of the conference-"

"They want you to help again. Of course. So you were the right one to come to."

"Maybe." How's that for wishy-washy? "Why don't you tell me what you think you know. Then we can take it from there and see if it's something you should talk to Nev-I mean, Detective Riley about."

It was clear that Daryl wasn't the type who jumped into decisions. He thought over this one while he sipped his tea. "I was at the banquet last night. You remember, Josie, because we were sitting near each other."

He was right. My chair and Daryl's were back to back.

I nodded and waited for him to go on.

"And we talked. And then my phone rang, and I went out to the lobby to take the call. It was the least I could do. I mean, don't you think people talking on their cell phones in public... Don't you think it's the rudest thing ever?"

We weren't there to pa.s.s judgment on other people's manners. Eager for him to continue, I leaned forward.

He got the message. "I was standing in the lobby talking on my phone and... well, that's when I saw him."

"Thad Wyant?"

"Yes." The artwork on the wall nearest to where we were sitting was pretty nondescript, but Daryl studied it for a long moment. "He was outside," Daryl said. "In front of the hotel."

"And... ?"

"And he was with another man. They were arguing."

"You were inside, and they were outside? How do you know they were arguing?"

Daryl scrunched up his face, and his gla.s.ses rode up the bridge of his nose. He adjusted them before he said, "Well, you can tell, can't you? I mean, just by looking at people. Mr. Wyant's face... Well, I didn't know the man at all, but I remember seeing him on the cruise the other night, and he seemed..."

Something told me Daryl was thinking exactly what I was thinking, and what I was thinking was that when we saw Thad together on the cruise, Thad was arguing with Beth Howell.

"Well, I guess the cruise doesn't count," he said, confirming my suspicion. "That was an awkward moment for Mr. Wyant and that woman, whoever she was." He looked at me to supply that information, and since I didn't want to get off track, I didn't say a word.

Daryl sighed. "A man as well respected as Mr. Wyant, he must be studious and careful and knowledgeable, right?" He didn't wait for my answer, but gazed over my head with a faraway look in his eyes. "That's not how he looked when he was talking to that man outside the hotel. Mr. Wyant's face, it was red and his hands were... you know..." Demonstrating, Daryl curled both his hands into fists. "A couple times, Mr. Wyant even pointed his finger in the other man's face."

"And how did that man react?"

"He was even madder than Mr. Wyant. His eyes were all squinched up. You know..." Daryl gave me what was supposed to be a sinister glare. Coming from Daryl, it was more of a puppy-dog look, but I didn't let on. There was no use spoiling things for him. "He got up real close in Mr. Wyant's face, and... Well, I don't know what he said. I couldn't hear. But I can tell you this; whatever it was, it wasn't pretty and it wasn't friendly."

"Was the man anyone you recognized from the conference?"

I didn't even realize I'd slipped right into investigation mode until I saw the way Daryl smiled knowingly. I hadn't meant to be that obvious, and I started to make an excuse, but he didn't give me a chance to finish it.

"You are working with the police," he said. "That's good. Because I'll tell you what, Josie. I can tell you're smart. And they're going to need somebody smart to help them figure this out." Daryl tipped his head back. "Was the man someone I recognized from the conference?" He paused, thought about it, shook his head. "No. And I don't think he was from the conference. Because he was wearing a raincoat. You know, like he'd come into the hotel from the outside. Or like he was outside waiting for Thad. If he was part of our conference, he would have been down at the banquet, and he wouldn't have needed a coat."

It was a good point, and I reminded myself to mention it to Nev when I recounted what Daryl told me.

"The police will want to hear about this from you," I said out loud.

Daryl's shoulders shot back. "Do you think they will?" Just as quickly, he folded in on himself and glanced from side to side, as if he was afraid someone might be watching. "Do you think... Do you think I saw the killer?"

"I can't say, and you can't, either, so there's no use worrying about it." It was the truth, so I didn't feel guilty for trying to soothe his fears. "But I'll make sure I mention it to Detective Riley, and I'm sure he'll want to talk to you. He'll probably have you work with a police sketch artist. You know, to come up with a drawing of the man in the raincoat."

The muscles of Daryl's jaw tightened. His eye twitched. "I can do that," he said. "I mean, if it will help the police, I will do it. But only..." He glanced at me quickly, then glanced away. "Will you come with me when I talk to them?" he asked. "I mean... as a friend?"

Was Daryl a friend?

I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but I wasn't stupid. If it took having someone along for Daryl to feel comfortable enough to tell Nev what he knew, I wasn't about to question it.

I promised I'd be right there at his side.

I was saved from any further uncomfortable revelations about friendship when the beeping alarm on my cell phone went off.

The sound hit me like that bell in Pavlov's dog experiment, and I shoved the paper top on my coffee cup and rose from the table, scrambling to get organized. "Oh my gosh. We've got judging this morning! I completely forgot about the b.u.t.ton compet.i.tion. Helen's supposed to be supervising the judging, and I left her at the breakfast. She's going to need plenty of help, and I can't leave her high and dry."

Daryl clutched his teacup with both hands. "I'm not nearly good enough to enter compet.i.tions yet," he said.

I was just reaching for my purse, and Daryl touched his hand to mine. Normally, I would have been on my toes enough to see it coming. Or at least cool enough to extricate my hand slowly.

The way it was, my head was spinning with all Daryl had told me about the man Thad Wyant had argued with, and my heart was doing the sort of tap dance it always did when judging was about to start and I was involved in seeing that everything was in order, working smoothly, and as impartial to our contestants as it was possible to be.

I guess that explained why I stood there and stared.

"Thank you," Daryl said, increasing the pressure on my hand just enough to make the encounter shoot right past friendly to uncomfortable. "I won't forget this, Josie. In my book, we didn't really need Thad Wyant here. You're the real star of this b.u.t.ton conference."

I WASN'T FEELING much like a star.

Then again, I wasn't exactly liking the attention I was getting from Daryl, either.

I reminded myself to keep my distance, and next time Daryl mentioned the police, it might not hurt to say something about the fact that Nev and I were an almost-couple. Stretching the truth? Yeah, a little. But all in the name of getting Daryl to back off.

The thought firmly in mind, I headed back to the hotel and right into the conference room where the b.u.t.ton judging would begin in just another hour. Sounds like a lot of time, doesn't it? Believe me, it's not. Not when there's so much to do before the judging can even begin.

See, when a person enters a tray of b.u.t.tons in a contest, that tray needs to be cataloged and put into the box with the other trays in that category. And the categories... Well, in a show as big as this one, there were dozens of categories and hundreds of b.u.t.ton collectors vying for first, second, and third place in each one. Our teams of judges would be looking at pewter b.u.t.tons and gla.s.s b.u.t.tons and b.u.t.tons with birds on them and b.u.t.tons that featured pictures of women and flowers and...

Suffice it to say that it was a huge job, and it took teams of dedicated volunteers to make it all happen.

Helen, of course, was the most dedicated of them all, and she had plenty of help from the most dedicated of our members, including Gloria Winston. I was glad. Gloria might be a tad bluff, but she was thorough and well respected. She was also always levelheaded and objective. Those were two of the most important a.s.sets for any judge.

Just as the thought occurred, I watched as the door to the conference room swung open, and Helen marched in along with Gloria and the volunteers, who would do a final count of the trays and make sure all the paperwork that went with them was checked and rechecked.

"I'm so sorry." The words were out of my mouth before she was even close. "I forgot."

"About the b.u.t.ton compet.i.tion?" I couldn't blame Helen for sounding so incredulous. Or for giving her fellow volunteers a look that pretty much came right out and said she was hearing it, but she wasn't believing it. There was a time Josie Giancola never would have let anything get between her and a b.u.t.ton compet.i.tion. Of course, that was the time before murder entered her life.

"I know. I know." Because Helen hadn't moved, I stepped forward and took the pile of scoring sheets she was carrying out of her hands. Talk about symbolism! I guess I was doing what I could to lighten her load. "It's just that-"

"You were busy with other things. Of course."

Leave it to Helen to be understanding. Even when I didn't deserve it.

"I got sidetracked." Because I was too embarra.s.sed to admit my shortcomings to Helen, my mentor and my friend, I glanced around at the other volunteers, all women and all of whom looked just as disappointed as Helen did. In fact, Gloria was so puckered, she looked as if she'd just sucked on a lemon. "I'm here now. And everything is organized, and-"

"That's because I was here at six this morning." Helen didn't say this like it was any big deal; she was just reporting the facts. Her chin came up a fraction of an inch, and her cheeks had two bright spots of color in them the same shade as the pink sweater she was wearing with neat khakis and cute little loafers that had b.u.t.tons slipped into the slot on the front where some people put pennies. "I knew you'd be distracted, Josie. You were bound to be, with all that happened last night. I mean, really, how can something like that not affect your performance here at the conference? Even the chair of an event as important as this can't keep that many b.a.l.l.s in the air."

"But she should be able to. I should be able to." Another glance around by way of apology. "I'm here now and-"

My cell phone rang.

I held up one finger as a way of excusing myself and saying I'd be right back, turned my back on the woefully wronged committee, and crossed to a quiet corner of the room.

"Hey."

"Hi, Nevin."

"I'm up in Thad Wyant's room. I thought maybe you'd want to come up and have a look around."

I glanced over my shoulder at the waiting committee. "I would. I can. But-"

"There's a bunch of b.u.t.ton stuff up here." I could tell by the way his voice faded that Nev was taking a look around the room. "I could use your help. You know, to explain what all this stuff is and what it's for."

"Are there..." I could barely get the words out from behind the sudden ball of emotion that blocked my throat. "Have you found the Geronimo b.u.t.ton?"

"Got me!" Nev didn't chuckle often, which made the sound all the more startling. "That's why I need your help up here, Josie. You're the expert."

I was.

And I was also the chair of a conference that was quickly spinning out of control.

I clicked off the call and crossed the room. Helen met me halfway.

"Don't even say it." She patted my arm. "I can tell by that look in your eyes. You're on a mission."

I grimaced. "The police need my help, and-"

"Of course they do, dear. You're smart and you're knowledgeable and-"

"And the judging is going to start soon."

"We've got everything under control." Helen's cadre of volunteers had followed at a discreet distance. When she looked over her shoulder, they nodded in unison. "See? No problemo." Helen gave me a nudge toward the door. "Go do what you need to do; I've got everything under control."

She did. And I was grateful.

Which explains why in the elevator on the way up to Thad Wyant's suite, I called down to the gift shop and had a dozen roses sent to Helen's room.

Chapter Eight.

"DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING."

They were the first words out of Nev's mouth when I walked into Thad's suite, and I understood the wisdom of keeping my hands to myself, but really, it was too bad. He hadn't been kidding the night before when he said he had to get back to the station and work on the case. He was wearing the same khaki suit and that same G.o.d-awful tie. The good news was that he apparently kept a clean shirt at the station; the blue Oxford cloth shirt had been replaced by one in a shade of beige just this side of oatmeal. With his fair skin, light eyes, and monochromatic outfit, Nev looked worn out, and my fingers itched to smooth away his wrinkles. It would have done nothing to relieve the bags under his eyes, but it would have played into my irresistible impulse for neatness.

A tendency apparently not shared by Thad Wyant. Unless...

"The room was ransacked?" I asked, and at the same time, I glanced around in horror at the clothing tossed over chairs and the couch, the empty beer bottles on the credenza against the far wall, and what had been the contents of the welcome bag we gave conference attendees spilled half on the dining table, half on the floor.

"Hard to say." Nev had been talking to a crime-scene tech just as I walked in, and he finished up with the woman, and she went off to check out the bedroom. That taken care of, he stepped toward me. "It was like this when we got here last night to seal the room and get started on the investigation, but I don't know..." He looked around, too, and I guess Nev and I had one more thing in common than just murder, because he shivered at the sight of the chaos. "Maybe somebody was in here looking for something, or maybe our Mr. Wyant was just a plain old garden-variety slob."

"It actually wouldn't surprise me." I carefully stepped between the couple days' worth of newspapers scattered across the carpet and a chair where a piece of Thad's luggage was opened and half unpacked. "It's hard to believe that a man who was so precise in his work could be so..." Words failed me, and I guess Nev understood because he shook his head in sympathy.

I had no doubt he was going to get right down to business. After all, that's why Nev had asked me to meet him up in the suite the conference was providing for Thad. That thought hit me like a ton of bricks, and I realized there was one more thing Nev and I had in common. I was thinking business, too.

"Will we have to keep paying?" The question popped out before I could edit it, and I didn't want to sound cheap, but..."We were covering his expenses," I explained. "And if Thad is checked out..."

"Yeah, permanently." Dark humor. No doubt, it was one of the things that kept cops sane in the face of the evil and stupidity they encountered every day. "I think you're off the hook. Unless you'd like to move Kaz in here."

Impossible, since Thad's room was considered important to the investigation, and no way they'd let someone else stay there and mess up whatever evidence might exist there, so I knew Nev was joking.

Unless he wasn't.

I gave Nev a careful once-over, wondering as I did what was going on behind that calm, oatmeal exterior, and I guess I had at least a bit of the answer when he broke off eye contact.

"You knew Kaz was waiting in the hallway for me last night," I said.

Nev gave me a lopsided grin. "It's kind of hard to miss a guy trying to look inconspicuous behind a potted palm."

"I did."