I didn't bother excusing myself. But then, I don't think Kaz noticed. A group of four middle-aged women came over and said they needed help figuring out where the ballroom was. Just for the record, it was about fifteen feet to our right, but rather than point that out, Kaz showed them the way. Kaz was in his glory, all right, playing the b.u.t.ton hero the way he never had back when we were married.

Yes, I know. Sour grapes. And I refused to go there. Langston stepped out of the dealer room, looked around to make sure we were alone, and then, even though we were, beckoned me even further down the hallway and farther from the conference-goers.

I didn't like the little vee of worry creased between Langston's eyes any more than I liked the fact that though he looked calm enough, his fingers were tight around the handle of the awl he held in one hand.

Automatically, my stomach knotted. "What's up?" I asked him.

"We've got a... situation." He was as reluctant to say it as I was to hear it, and he rolled the awl between his palms, steeling himself. The awl must have been one of Elliot's. It was seven inches long with a warm mahogany handle that was carved in a series of hypnotic, undulating spirals. The steel tip... Well, if the way the overhead lights glinted off it meant anything, that was perfect, too. It was sharpened to a no-nonsense point that was just right for piercing the heavy card stock we used to display our b.u.t.tons.

Langston's nostrils flared. "Thad Wyant stopped by last night after the dinner cruise. Here in the dealer room as we were setting up our booths."

I groaned. "And he said something stupid. I'm so sorry, Langston. When I invited him to the conference, I had no idea that a man so studious and with such a good reputation could be so-"

"Neanderthal?" Langston's eyes glittered. At least for a moment. The next second, he took pity on me. "No, no, don't worry about that. I saw Wyant in action on the boat last night. I knew I was in for trouble the moment he showed up. But I never expected..."

His hesitation made my heartbeat speed up.

Langston tightened his grip on the awl. "He said he'd be busy this morning, and he asked if I'd mind if he bought some things last night. I know, I know..." Even though I wasn't going to object, he held up the hand with the awl in it to stop me, just in case. "We aren't supposed to sell anything before the official opening of the vendor room this morning. But he is the guest of honor, after all, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to make one exception. Wyant has a stellar reputation, and frankly, I liked the idea of a little publicity. You know, when word got around that he was buying his supplies from me."

"Is that what he wanted? Supplies?" I wasn't sure why this sounded so odd to me; I only knew it did. I suppose I thought a man as well versed in the world of b.u.t.tons as Wyant was would have all the supplies he needed. After all, he'd been building his collection for more years than I'd been alive.

"Oh, yes." Langston nodded. "Supplies were exactly what that son-of-a-" He remembered himself and took a deep breath. "Supplies were exactly what Wyant was looking for. He chose one of Elliot's awls, one much like this one but with a cherry handle. And he bought some plastic sleeves and card stock, too. Or at least he tried." Like he was as embarra.s.sed now that he was telling me about it as he had been when it happened, Langston glanced away. "Wyant's credit card was declined."

I cringed. "And that's when things got ugly. I can only imagine."

"No, no. It wasn't like that at all. In fact, Wyant was barely fazed by the whole thing. He said there must have been some mix-up with his credit-card company. He said he was going back to his room to call them. And he left."

"No big blowup?" I was grateful but ambivalent.

"Not one unpleasant word," Langston a.s.sured me. "Elliot and I went about our business setting up our booth. Then this morning..." With the awl, Langston pointed back toward the vendor room. "You know how busy it can be, especially the first day of a conference. Everybody's so eager to see everything, especially the b.u.t.tons some of the dealers are selling. Things were hectic, and just a little while ago... Well, Wyant came back. I figured he'd worked out his problems with the credit-card company. But I was with a customer and so was Elliot, and by the time we were finished, Wyant was gone."

No way that was the end of the story. I tipped my head, my eyes on Langston. "And?"

"And..." Like just saying it was distasteful, Langston made a face. He'd controlled himself long enough, and now the words rushed out of him, his voice rough with anger, the bones of his knuckles showing where he grabbed the awl. "And when I finally got around to catching my breath, I realized there were some things missing from my booth. That cherry-handled awl, for one thing, and you see how fine Elliot's work is, Josie." He opened his palm to give me another look at the awl with the mahogany handle. "Beautiful and expensive. And besides the awl, some plastic sleeves and card stock. In fact, every single thing Wyant looked at last night was gone."

My breath caught. "Are you saying-"

"No, I'm not. Because I don't know for sure. And d.a.m.n, I wish I did, because I'd like to take that egotistical b.a.s.t.a.r.d and-" Langston realized he'd lost control and sucked in a sharp breath. "I only know what Wyant looked at last night. And that he came back this morning when we were too busy to take care of him. I'm certain of what's missing. But I never saw him take any of it, Josie. As much as I don't like him, I can't accuse the man. I'm sorry." He put a hand on my shoulder, and honestly, I don't think it was as much to comfort me as it was to help him get a grip on himself. "It's a lousy way to start your morning. But I thought you should know that there just might be more to your guest of honor than meets the eye."

"Yes, of course. You're right. I'll contact hotel security and file a report."

"And we'll check the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's room, right?"

In spite of the fact that I had solved a murder a couple of months before, I'm definitely no expert when it comes to the law. I didn't want to make any promises I couldn't keep. "I suppose if the security finds some kind of evidence-"

"Evidence?" Langston rumbled. "The supplies that are missing are worth a couple hundred dollars," he said. "That makes it a felony, right? And even that isn't the most important thing. You've got a guest of honor who thinks he's better than everyone else. That he's above the law, and that he doesn't have to play by the rules. You've got to do something about it, Josie." He whirled around and strode off toward the lobby. "You've got to," he said, turning to me one last time. "Or I will."

When he disappeared into the crowd, I let go of a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding and sagged against the wall, waiting for my heartbeat to ratchet back before I dared to head out and do a last-minute sound check in the ballroom. I was almost there when Helen scurried by. She caught sight of me and made a beeline in my direction.

"Trouble in River City!" she said in a singsong voice and stage whisper meant only for me. She waved me closer. "You need to see this, Josie, before anyone else does."

I didn't ask what she was talking about. But then, Helen didn't really give me a chance. She hurried around the perimeter of the lobby so quickly that I had to scurry to keep up. She didn't stop until we were right outside the elevators, and by then, she didn't have to say a word. I saw exactly what she was talking about.

It was the picture of Thad, the one I'd seen just a little while before, when I got off the elevator.

Only it didn't look like it had then. But then, that was because someone had taken a sharp object to the poster and gouged out Thad's eyes.

Chapter Four.

OPENING CEREMONY, AND IT WENT OFF WITHOUT A HITCH. Well, except for the microphone that was working right before we started and somehow cut out just as I was giving my opening remarks.

Scrimshaw panel, and that went well, too-aside from the fact that the dozen antique whalebone b.u.t.tons I'd brought from the shop for show-and-tell got misplaced. Not to worry. The b.u.t.tons were located, but not until after the panel was over. Losing five hundred dollars in inventory before lunch is not my idea of a good time. Especially when the video company we'd hired to record each session so we could make the DVDs available to our membership had cameras rolling while I tried to bluff my way through a half-baked explanation of why my visual aids weren't there.

And then there was that lunch-the rubber-b.u.t.ton luncheon, to be exact.

That went fine.

Really.

Except that the hotel catering manager insisted I'd called him the week before and cancelled the salads. Believe me when I say I had not. Thank goodness Helen jumped to the forefront and agreed to go over the menus for the rest of the conference with him very carefully.

With all that going on, I didn't have a moment to myself, so it wasn't until after lunch that I was able to do a quick sweep to check out the rest of the Thad Wyant posters we'd placed around the hotel. On one, someone had drawn a thick, black mustache under Thad's too-big nose. On another, there was a trembling X scratched over his heart. Three more posters matched the first Helen had found, with Thad's eyes gouged out.

Doing my best to look inconspicuous and hoping no one noticed either the vandalized photos or me getting rid of them, I took down each of the posters, folded them in half, and tucked them under my arm.

Good thing, too, because when I finished with the last one and turned to head toward the hotel's security office with them, Daryl Tucker was right behind me.

"Sorry." He jumped back, which was a good thing because when I spun around, we were practically nose to nose. It was the first I noticed that his eyes were hazel. He was wearing a green shirt the same color as the glint in his eyes. "I saw you standing over here and I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the scrimshaw panel this morning and..." Behind those thick gla.s.ses, his eyes flickered from my face to my arm. "You're taking down posters. Do you need some help?"

Sure, I was a theater major back in college, but I'd never done very well in my acting cla.s.ses. I excelled at all the behind-the-scenes stuff, like costuming. Costumes. b.u.t.tons. To me, they were a natural go-together. But acting? Pretending I was something and someone I was not went against my nature.

Which made it all the more remarkable that I was able to play it cool, like nothing unusual was going on and finding those pictures of Thad with his eyes stabbed out didn't give me the royal creeps. "That's so kind of you, Daryl. But I'm fine. Really."

"He's not cancelling, is he?" I didn't have to ask who he was talking about. When he glanced toward the posters under my arm, Daryl's left eye twitched. "There are a lot of people here who are counting on hearing Mr. Wyant speak. They'd be really disappointed if he didn't show up."

"Oh, he'll be here." My voice was perky even while inside my head it grumbled, He better show up after all I've spent so far on plane fare, hotel accommodations, and those endless trips to the bar. "Thad is as excited to be here as we are to be hosting him. No worries there." One of the posters slipped out from under my arm and floated to the floor.

I bent to retrieve it just as Daryl asked, "And that b.u.t.ton of his? The Geronimo b.u.t.ton?"

It wasn't until I stood up that I realized Daryl had bent over, too. He might have been trying to beat me to the poster. Maybe. To me, it looked more like he didn't want to miss a word of whatever I was going to say.

"Do you think it's real?" he asked.

"Of course it's real." Once again, I had the uneasy feeling that Daryl was encroaching on my personal s.p.a.ce, and I shifted slightly to my left, putting a tad more distance between us and hoping it didn't look too obvious. "Thad has the provenance to prove it. Geronimo's autograph dated the same day the original owner purchased the b.u.t.ton, a letter from the soldier in charge of the barracks the day the b.u.t.ton was sold, a list of every person who's ever owned it. You know how it is with b.u.t.tons, Daryl. Collectors are very particular."

"Sure. Yeah." Apparently, I looked like I was ready to leave, because Daryl moved back a step to let me by. "Only it seems like a whole lot of hoopla. You know, for one little b.u.t.ton."

I forgave him-but only because he was new to the b.u.t.ton game. "You'll want to hit the afternoon session," I told him with a smile. "The one called Collecting Mania.' We do a workshop on the topic every year at the conference. It's a good-natured look at what goes on inside b.u.t.ton collectors' heads, and it's always a lot of fun."

"I wouldn't miss it." That bashful smile peeked out from behind the bush of his beard. "Will you be there, too?"

Was that a come-on?

I looked Daryl over and decided instantly that it was not. The guy was too nerdy to try a pickup line as lame as that.

Or too nerdy to know how lame it was and try it anyway.

"I'll be there," I promised. Only not in a way that made it sound like a date. "I'm trying to make it to every workshop, even if it's just for a couple minutes. You know, to make sure the presenters have what they need and that there are enough chairs for everyone. Stuff like that."

"So you won't be staying the whole time? I thought..." Daryl glanced down at the blue-and-green carpeting. "I thought maybe we could sit together."

"Not sure I'll have time for that," I said, and hurried away as fast as I possibly could. In a busy-conference-chair sort of way, of course. Not an oh-my-gosh-I-don't-know-how-to-handle-this-so-I'm-outta-here way.

I hoped.

Still, when I rounded the corner to head over to hotel security to talk to them about the vandalism and about the items missing from Langstone's display and realized Daryl hadn't followed me, I breathed a sigh of relief. Not so when I spoke to a security supervisor named Ralph. As far as he knew, no one had reported seeing anyone vandalize the posters, and sure, they had cameras around the hotel, he informed me, but not in all the areas. Ralph would look at the tapes-he said this with as much enthusiasm as noncollectors muster when the subject of b.u.t.tons comes up-but he didn't hold out a lot of hope that we'd find the perpetrator, either of the vandalism or the theft.

"Kids," Ralph grumbled just as I was leaving his office. "Must have been kids. Who else would bother to steal any of that b.u.t.ton stuff? Or do such a dumb thing to a b.u.t.ton poster?"

Who else, indeed? The theft from Langston's booth, that was one thing, and apparently, Thad's work. But when it came to the posters, don't think I'd forgotten about Beth Howell and the fight she'd had with Thad on the boat. Or Chase Cadell, for that matter, who didn't seem above finding some way to get back at his rival, even if it did involve the childish destruction of Thad's pictures. Or even-as impossible as it sounded to me because I knew what a gentleman he was-Langston. After all, the last I'd seen him, he was heading off toward the lobby with an awl in his hands and the certainty in his heart that Thad had ripped him off.

These were the sorts of thoughts that swirled through my head the rest of the afternoon as I went through the paces. They were not necessarily what I was thinking about in the "Collecting Mania" workshop, where I was more concerned about staying in the back corner of the room and not even looking in the direction of the empty seat next to Daryl's.

By four o'clock, when the afternoon sessions were over, I had just enough time to race up to my room to shower and change into my clothes for the evening banquet. Things would have gone a bit smoother if I could have found my comb faster. I was sure I'd left it in the bathroom earlier that morning, but it wasn't there, and of all places, I found it finally on a shelf in the hallway closet.

"Weird," I told myself, not so much because of where I found the comb but because I didn't remember putting it there. Then again, with everything that had been happening and all the conference minutiae packing my head, it shouldn't have come as a surprise that I was forgetting details. And misplacing things, too.

By the time I was ready and on my way back downstairs, my head was spinning and my antic.i.p.ation of the night's event was whirring through my bloodstream. I made sure everything inside and outside the ballroom was ready for our guests.

"Lookin' good, b.u.t.ton Babe!" There's only one person on the face of the earth who would have the nerve to call me that, so when I turned around, I wasn't surprised to see Kaz. I was surprised to see him wearing a tux.

"What?" Like a model on a Milan runway, he held out his arms and spun around to give me a better look. "You've never seen me in a tux before?"

"I have seen you in a tux. Once." I did not elaborate. We both knew the day we were talking about, and what's that saying about beating a dead horse? Well, there was no use beating a dead wedding. Or more precisely, a dead marriage.

"You look good," I told him, because it was true.

"And you look..." Kaz grabbed my hands and held me at arm's length. Thanks to a recent royalty check from a low-budget movie I'd once done costumes for that had turned into a cult favorite, I'd treated myself to a new dress for this special occasion. Three-quarter sleeves, scalloped neckline, black lace. It was fun without being too funky, elegant and romantic and still professional. When I bought it, I had absolutely no intention of impressing anyone but myself, but the way Kaz's eyes lit told me otherwise.

"You look amazing!" he said.

"And you're apparently still my a.s.sistant?" I was hoping he'd contradict me, but no such luck, and when I realized it, I breathed a sigh of surrender. "OK, a.s.sistant, what's on our agenda before dinner starts?"

"I was hoping for a gla.s.s of champagne and-" The look on my face told Kaz to stick to the subject, and the subject was the conference. "Everything's all set up for Helen and the people who will be checking the guest list," he said, pointing to the table near the door. "Only she's not here yet and..." He glanced at his Rolex, the one I'd bought him back in the day, after I'd received my very first royalty check. Honestly, I was surprised it hadn't gone the way of all of Kaz's other a.s.sets-to the p.a.w.nshops, or the loan sharks, or his landlord to pay his back rent. "She told me she was going to be down here by five, and it's nearly five thirty."

"Why don't you call her room?" I nudged Kaz in the direction of the nearest house phone. "She's not a spring chicken, and if something happened and she needs some help..."

"Done!" Kaz the a.s.sistant got right on it.

And I hurried over to the sign-in table to get the volunteers waiting there for Helen organized and working. While I was at it, I checked the dinner list for Beth Howell's name. According to our guest list, she'd be there, and believe me, I was keeping an eye out for her. There was no sign of her yet. I wasn't sure if I wanted to offer her an apology or whether I was just looking for information on what happened the night before and why. I only knew that, as chair, my duty was to make sure no one had a bad experience at the conference. What had happened on the boat... Well, that was all about bad.

"So where's the almighty guest of honor? Not here, waiting for everyone to bow and sc.r.a.pe to him?"

When he walked up to me grumbling, I knew Chase Cadell was perfectly serious. Which is why I had no choice but to act as if he was joking. "Oh, I'm sure Thad will be down in just a few minutes," I said, and made sure I punctuated the statement with a laugh. "I have a feeling he likes to make grand entrances."

"Humph." Chase was dressed in a rumpled gray suit, and when he crossed his arms over his broad chest, the b.u.t.tons on his white cotton shirt strained. "You know I love ya, Josie, but-"

"Yes, I know." I made sure I kept my smile in place. "I would have been far better off inviting you to be our banquet speaker."

"d.a.m.ned straight."

"And I would have loved listening to you. You know that's true, too. But you, Chase, you do not own the Geronimo b.u.t.ton."

He scanned the area where our guests were gathering, and whatever he was going to say, he waved it away as inconsequential. "Bah! Never mind. See you later, Josie. Maybe in the bar after this whole fiasco is over."

"You're not joining us for dinner?"

He threw a look over my shoulder into the ballroom and the podium that had been set up for Thad, along with the video screen, where we'd get our first look at the Geronimo b.u.t.ton. "You don't think an old rattlesnake like me is going to pa.s.s up food I already paid for, do you? But I'm not staying for Wyant's talk. Geronimo b.u.t.ton. Hah!"

By the time he walked away, Kaz was just returning. "Helen didn't answer her phone," he said. "You want me to-"

"There she is!" When the elevator doors whooshed open and Helen scurried out, what felt like the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders.

"Sorry!" Helen hurried past me with hardly a look. She was winded, and her cheeks were red. "Sorry, sorry, sorry! I fell asleep. Can you imagine? Went up to my room after the last session and fell sound asleep. By the time I woke up and got dressed and-"

"Not to worry!" Just like she would have done if our roles were reversed, I looped one arm through hers to force her to slow down and take a deep breath. "Everything is under control."

"Oh, don't tell me that." She looked positively stricken. "If you do, I'll think no one needs me."

By the time Helen was settled at the table, where the other members of her committee had efficiently checked in the dinner guests, most everybody was already in the ballroom, and it would have been rude of me to wait outside, even if I was waiting for our guest of honor. Instead, I went into the ballroom and went from table to table, welcoming people and telling them how excited I was about the evening's program. I did a last-minute sound check at the podium and then talked to the catering director to make sure the staff was ready to start serving and that the ice-cream cakes we'd ordered in the shape of b.u.t.tons had arrived and looked perfect.

And Thad Wyant was still nowhere to be seen.

"You pacing from the front of the ballroom to the lobby and looking worried isn't helping things." From out of nowhere, Kaz showed up at my side. "The salads are being served. You're going to have to sit down."

"But I-"

"I already called his room." As smoothly as if we'd ch.o.r.eographed it, Kaz spun me in the direction of the table at the front of the room with the "Reserved" sign on it. "No answer."

"But I-"