Panic Button Part 18

People had to stop standing right behind me and talking. This time Nev was the guilty party and I was so immersed in the mood of the place that I clapped a hand to my hip-hopping heart and watched as he flicked on the flashlight and arced its light around the inside of the tomb. Apparently, the Moran family's remains had once been laid to rest in niches carved into the granite walls. Those spots were empty now, with decades of acc.u.mulated mud and debris on the shelves that had once contained their caskets.

"What do you think?" Nev picked up a stick lying nearby and poked it into the gunk that coated the nearest shelf. "If the treasure was with one of the bodies, it's gone."

"I don't know." I whirled around, taking in the devastation and the grime that showed everywhere Nev's light hit. "For a minute there, my crazy theory about the b.u.t.ton being some kind of key or talisman actually made sense to me. But now..." His light flashed across the far wall and I pulled in a breath. "Nev?" He was standing next to me, and even though it was coated with mud, I grabbed his sleeve and tugged. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" His light had already moved on, and Nev froze with it trained on the floor. "What did I miss?"

"There. Over there." I pointed straight ahead toward the far wall, but since it was as gloomy in there as the inside of a thundercloud, I was sure Nev had no idea what I was indicating. To help out, I clamped my hand over his-and his flashlight-and slid the light over to the left.

"There," I said, and since Nev is a smart guy, he saw exactly what I saw and stepped forward.

"No mud." Nev knelt down for a better look at an area of the wall that had obviously been recently wiped clean. "There's some kind of carving here." He leaned nearer for a better look, his light aimed at the wall right in front of him. "It's like a little miniature picture of the town, only it doesn't look like that b.u.t.ton of yours. It looks like-"

"A perfect mirror image." OK, so b.u.t.ton dealers aren't all that fond of mud, but a little more dirt and grime (OK, a lot of dirt and grime) at this point wasn't going to make any difference, and it wasn't going to keep me from seeing what he was seeing. I knelt down next to Nev and held the photo of the metal b.u.t.ton up next to the carving in the mausoleum wall. "If we had the real b.u.t.ton..." I pretended I did, and held it by its imaginary shank. "It would fit into the wall carving perfectly! So the b.u.t.ton was the key!" I said, so pleased and stunned that I'd already sat back on my heels before I realized that now, I could add the seat of my pants to the list of my muddy-beyond-repair clothing. "The killer needed the b.u.t.ton in order to fit it into the carving. And once that was done-"

"This little door popped open." Nev had been fiddling at the wall below the carving and found the little door in the wall that had been kept hidden and secret all these years. He bent even closer to the ground to shine his light inside and, just to make sure, stuck his hand into the black hole, too.

"Empty," he grumbled. He called Jimmy over to tell him to get some techs in there to seal off the mausoleum and collect whatever evidence they were likely to find. "The killer had to wait until the reservoir was empty," he said once Jimmy was outside and on the phone. "And once he had the diary and the b.u.t.ton and the water was all gone-"

"He came and got the treasure. If there really was a treasure."

Nev held up his hand. It was cleaner than it should have been considering he'd just poked it into that filthy hole. "Oh, there was a treasure, all right," he said. "That would explain the lack of mud in there."

"Because something else was in there, something like a treasure chest. That's why the mud couldn't acc.u.mulate." I nodded, following his theory.

And technically, all of this should have made us pretty pleased with ourselves. After all, we'd followed a pirate's clues all the way to X Marks the Spot. Trouble is, the killer had gotten there before us.

I'm sure Nev was just as disappointed as I was, but it didn't keep him from pulling out his camera and snapping a few more pictures.

Pictures.

"Oh, for the love of b.u.t.tons!" I would have slapped my forehead if I wasn't afraid of getting mud all over my face. "Nev, it's been staring at us all along. From the pictures."

He didn't question this curious statement. But then, like I said, he's that kind of guy.

Chapter Eighteen.

JUST FOR THE RECORD, THE LADIES' ROOM AT THE ARDENT Lake police station is not the most comfortable place to get cleaned up, but it served its purpose. Before we headed over to Angela's, I was presentable, if not spic-and-span.

Once there, we found two things. Or should I say we found one thing and found the other missing.

Yes, the Sherlock Holmes book was gone.

And the other thing?

With Nev's blessing, I took that with me, and when I changed for the c.o.c.ktail party that evening, I made sure I brought along a big enough purse to stash it in.

Call Mary Lou Baldwin a hopeless romantic; even though I'd reserved it for only one night, she'd kept my room for me, and I was grateful. I took a very long, very hot shower, put on black pants, sensible pumps, and a lightweight sweater the color of the darkest grapes on that purloined punch bowl of Marci's, and when I walked out of my room at the B and B, Nev was waiting downstairs. He took one look at me and smiled. "You should wear purple more often. It looks good on you."

He wasn't much for compliments. Not like Kaz, who threw them around like confetti at a ticker-tape parade. I suppose that's what made this one more special.

In fact, he looked pretty darned special, too-in a very Nevin Riley way-and I found out that was thanks to Mary Lou, too, who'd let him use her own private suite in the B and B to get clean and gussied up. Black pants, gray shirt. So far, so good. It was the cantaloupe-colored tie and the khaki jacket that threw Nev's outfit for a loop.

Not to worry. I made a couple gentle suggestions about how warm the evening was and how he might want to carry his jacket rather than wear it.

Feeling as confident as a woman can who's just come out of an abandoned graveyard, I hoisted my purse up on my shoulder and we walked to the Big Museum together.

Just inside the front door, we were greeted by a huge photo of Susan on an easel, along with a book where visitors could write their condolences and a box for donations for those wishing to contribute to the Big Museum in Susan's name. We did both, and we moved out of the hallway and into the room across from the photo room, where a long table had been set up and heaped with appetizers of all shapes and sizes. Nev reached for the clear plastic plates set out near one of those giant flower arrangements I'd seen the day before. He took a dish for himself and handed one to me.

"How can you eat?" I held the plate close to my jumping heart. "I'm so nervous, I don't think I can get a bite down."

"There's another thing you need to learn about police work." He filled his plate with tiny pieces of pizza, stuffed mushrooms, and cheese and crackers. "When you're waiting like this, you've got to keep your strength up," he said, adding two kinds of bruschetta to the top of the pile. "Besides, if you don't eat..." He glanced toward the door, where I saw Marci chatting with Larry and beyond them to where Charles had just walked in. "It's going to look weird, and somebody's going to ask you what's wrong. What are you going to tell them?"

"That I'm here to catch a murderer?"

He showed his appreciation for my sense of humor by popping down a stuffed mushroom, and since I knew he was right, I chose a small a.s.sortment of finger foods and accepted red wine in a teeny plastic gla.s.s from the server stationed at the end of the table. Thus fortified, we chitchatted our way through the room, biding our time.

"Can't say I'm surprised you're here."

It wasn't the most cordial of greetings from Larry, but then, the way I remember it, the last time we'd been together was the day Susan died, and neither of us was at our best. He sipped his wine. "Any luck?" The question was clearly intended for Nev. "With your investigation?"

"We've uncovered a thing or two." How he did it so quickly, I wasn't sure, but Nev was down to his last bite of bruschetta. He snapped it up. "We should know more soon."

"I hope so." Larry walked away, his words trailing behind him like a shadow. "I certainly hope so."

I had antic.i.p.ated a long, tense evening, but though the tense part was true, the hours went by remarkably quickly. Then again, we had the run of the museum, and I kept my mind busy-and off the subject of murder-by strolling through the displays, while Nev took care of the rest. I'm not sure how he managed, but by ten when the c.o.c.ktail party was set to end and I walked into the pirate room, all my suspects were in there, too.

I wasn't planning on this taking long, so we hadn't bothered to ask the staff to bring in chairs. When I set my purse on top of the Thunderin' Ben display case with its displaced toy buoy inside, Larry was standing on my left, Marci was directly in front of me, and Charles was hanging around near the door, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but.

I didn't say a word. But remember, I was once a theater major, and though I'm still not much of an actor, I do appreciate a sense of drama. I held my breath, and waited for my cue.

G.o.d bless Jimmy Carns, it came just as the floor clock in the hallway stopped chiming the hour.

The clear, distant sound of a ringing bell.

Marci flinched and red wine slopped over the edge of her tiny gla.s.s and dotted her white blouse like blood spatter. "That's not-"

"It can't be." Brave words from Charles, but he ran his tongue over his lips. "The schoolhouse bell. They say you can hear it ring, if there's going to be a...you know...if someone's going to die."

"Don't be ridiculous." Larry was wearing a navy suit and a blindingly white shirt, and he looked more like a power broker than a hardware store owner. Feet slightly apart, chin high, his top lip rose. "You're imagining it."

"Oh, I don't think so." This was me, of course, sounding as placid as the waters of the reservoir usually are. But then, I'd arranged for the bell to ring so it hadn't taken me by surprise. In fact, it had done exactly what I intended it to do, set the tone for a conversation that was as serious as...well, as serious as two homicides.

"Don't worry," I added, because I couldn't bear to watch Charles suffer and the poor man looked like he was going to pa.s.s out. "n.o.body's going to die. At least I hope not. Of course..." I glanced around at the semicircle of faces. "That doesn't mean we're not going to talk about murder."

Charles cast a sidelong glance at Nev, who was standing on the other side of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. "He said you wanted to talk to me, Josie. He didn't say..." Charles's gaze slid from Marci to Larry. "He didn't say it was about the murders. What's going on?"

"Good question." Larry finished off his tiny gla.s.s of wine and set the empty plastic cup on the display case next to my purse. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready to call it a night."

"I'm sure we all are." My smile was as bright as if I were one of the docents and welcoming the little group to the museum. "It's been a really busy day. For all of us. But before we go, I think there are some things we need to clear up."

"Oh, give me a break!" Marci downed the rest of her wine in one chug. Something told me it wasn't her first gla.s.s. Marci's cheeks were the same color as her hair, and she swayed just a little on her platform heels. Recovered from the surprise of hearing the bell-or maybe it was the wine that gave her courage-she made a face. "You're not going to start with the interrogations and the accusations again, are you?"

"Absolutely not. Scout's honor." Just like a Scout, I held up one hand as if that would prove it. "In fact, I don't need to. No more questions. No more wondering who did what and why. You see, I've finally got the whole thing figured out."

Charles had been busy picking bruschetta crumbs off the front of his gray sweater, and his hand stilled over his stomach. "You mean..." In the reflected light of the spotlight trained on Thunderin' Dan's exhibit, I saw his Adam's apple jump. "You know who killed Angela?"

"And Susan," I told him just in case he'd forgotten we needed to address that problem, too. "And why."

"Impossible." Marci waved away the idea with one hand. "And if you're going to say it was me-" Her slim shoulders shot back. "I didn't have any reason to kill anyone."

"Well, you did, actually." I hated to be the one to remind her, but after all, we were there to find the truth. "You had a motive to kill Susan because you wanted her job. And as for Angela...well, if she found out you were taking things from her home and putting them on display at the Little Museum-"

"Stealing from Angela? Really!" Disgusted, Larry stalked away and something told me he actually might have kept right on going if not for the fact that, quickly and quietly, Nev had stationed himself at the door. Apparently, Larry knew a losing cause when he saw one. His jaw tight, he spun around and came back to join our group.

"You've always been a suspect," I told Marci. "For exactly those reasons, and truth be told, my money was on you. At least until yesterday. When we were talking in there..." I gestured toward the room that featured the old photos of Ardent. "You mentioned Susan, and you looked all around. Like you didn't know exactly where the body had been found."

"I didn't!"

"Exactly. I've always said you had the smarts and the guts to do it, Marci, but after I saw that, I had to admit it couldn't have been you. Even though you did have one heck of a motive."

Ever since I'd mentioned Marci's pilfering ways, Charles had been opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the words to express his outrage. They finally came out in a sputter. "Angela's things...Angela's things are my things now...and if you're...you're not stealing from Angela. You're stealing from me. How dare you! I'm going to file a police report. Right now."

"Not necessary." I stilled him with a lift of one hand. "Marci returned everything. And besides, now that we know all those priceless antiques are really nothing more than good reproductions..."

I let Charles figure out the rest for himself.

By the time he was done, there was a little more color in his cheeks. "So Marci killed Angela and Susan. Good. Now we know. We can leave."

"Not so fast." I was prepared to clamp a hand on his arm if it came to that, but luckily, I didn't need to get physical with Charles. My words were enough to keep him in his place. "We need to talk about your motives, too, Charles."

"Me?" He was back to opening and closing his mouth. "You can't possibly think-"

"You cut her brake lines."

Larry got in Charles's face so fast, I thought Nev was going to have to break up the altercation. Luckily, Larry's fuse was short, but it didn't burn long. He stopped just short of doing something he may have regretted, his arm c.o.c.ked. "You? You risked my Angela's life. For...for..."

"For what I thought was a fortune." Charles hung his head. "I've told Josie everything. She knows I couldn't-"

"Actually, Charles, I know you could."

Charles went pasty again.

"Trick is," I comforted him, "while I could find plenty of reasons for you wanting to kill Angela, I couldn't find any for you to want Susan dead. Well..." I'd been standing in front of the pirate display and I stepped aside and waved a hand toward the diary. "That is, until we figured out that Ben's diary has been stolen."

"Stolen?"

"Really?"

"Preposterous!"

Their voices overlapped, and as if they'd ch.o.r.eographed the move and practiced it to perfection, all three of them moved forward to peer at the display.

"You see," I said, "we thought the murder could be about love." I glanced at Larry. "Or about envy." I looked at Marci. "Or jealousy." When I looked at him, Charles looked at his shoes. "But what it all comes down to is greed. The murderer was looking for Ben's treasure."

"Treasure." Larry's grumbled word echoed in the gallery. "That's just a lot of nonsense. Nothing more than a story. It's no more real than Angela's silly curse."

"Well, that's just the thing, see. The curse..." I looked from Charles to Marci to Larry. "Turns out that curse was real, too."

Again, a chorus of protests and questions went up, and since I knew there was no use trying to talk above it, I waited until the noise died down.

"It took me a while to figure out," I said, when I finally had their attention again. "And that's really too bad. If I'd realized what was going on sooner, Susan might still be alive."

I'd gotten this far on nothing but nerve and adrenaline, but I didn't know how much longer I could maintain the cool facade. I slipped between Marci and Charles and walked to the other side of the room and back, eager to dispel the nervous energy. On the way over, and again on the way back, I glanced Nev's way. There wasn't any hint of emotion in his expression, but his eyes told another story. He was rooting for me. And I was doing a good job. He had my back.

It was time to finish what I'd started.

I stayed where I was, forcing my suspects to turn around when I said, "If it wasn't for the charm string, I guess I never would have figured out what happened."

"First the diary. Now the charm string." Larry expression was sour. "I'm sorry, but you're just not making sense."

"That's because curses don't make sense. And Angela's curse was getting that charm string in the first place. Just like it was Aunt Evelyn's before her. The charm string with two touch b.u.t.tons."

I was pretty sure none of them knew what this meant, but I let the words fill the silence between us for a little while before I explained.

"A touch b.u.t.ton," I told them, "was the b.u.t.ton a girl used to start her charm string. It's usually bigger than the other b.u.t.tons on the string. And Angela's charm string had two. One of them was a rubber b.u.t.ton and the other was a b.u.t.ton that showed the scene of a town. I didn't know it at first, but I know it now. It was Ardent. How did it get there?"

No one had asked, but hey, I knew they would eventually so I told them the truth. "I don't think we'll ever know. Not for sure. But my guess is that if we did a little snooping, we'd find out that Angela's great-grandmother had some connection with Thunderin' Ben's family. When Ben needed a place to stash the b.u.t.ton, he hid it in plain sight. He slipped it onto the end of her charm string. Who would look for a b.u.t.ton among all those other b.u.t.tons? Well, n.o.body. Not for a very long time. Until our murderer realized he needed the b.u.t.ton along with Ben's diary. Without both, he wouldn't have been able to find the treasure."

"You mean there really is a treasure?" Marci peered at me through bleary eyes. "Angela and Susan, they were killed because somebody wanted to get their hands on...what?"

I hated admitting I didn't know for sure. "I can't say. Not yet, anyway. Maybe it was coins. Or gold bars. We won't know until the cops get back here. You know, after they've executed their search warrants. The only thing we can be sure of is that it's been hidden in the Moran family mausoleum all these years. That, and that with the reservoir being drained, our murderer saw the perfect opportunity to finally get his hands on it." I had strolled a couple steps nearer and I turned to face Larry.

"Angela suspected, didn't she?" I asked him. "She had an inkling of what you were up to. That explains why she had those books about Ardent town history in her house. And maps of the area, too. She realized you were looking for the treasure, and that for reasons she probably didn't understand, you needed the b.u.t.ton to find it. Her b.u.t.ton. Did you try to talk her into giving you the Ardent b.u.t.ton, Larry? I mean, before you strangled her and stole it?"

"That's..." Larry's smile froze in place. "That's crazy."

"Yeah, exactly what I was thinking. But not as crazy as a curse, right? The fire at Angela's, the break-in, all engineered by you so that she'd take the curse seriously and get rid of the charm string. Only you never counted on her wanting to dump it in Lake Michigan. That's when you convinced her to donate it."

"And she said she was going to donate it to me." Leave it to Marci not to miss out on speaking her piece.

Actually, I was grateful. "Exactly," I said, turning her way. "Angela offered you the charm string first. But that wasn't going to work, was it, Larry?" I swung my gaze his way. "Because the Little Museum has a state-of-the-art alarm system, and you knew if the charm string went there, you'd never get your hands on it. You'd read enough about Ben's life to hear rumors about a secret key that would help you find the treasure. You knew Angela had a b.u.t.ton with a picture of old Ardent on it. You had to get that b.u.t.ton. And she wouldn't give it to you, would she?"