"Don't." I stopped him with a look that would have flash-frozen any normal human being. "It's been a long week, and I'm not in the mood, and besides, Kaz, all kidding aside, I really was worried. OK, yeah, all right, read whatever you want into that. At least I've got the guts to admit it. I figured something bad had happened to you. d.a.m.n, but when it does, I'm the one who's going to be left to plan your funeral, and I'll tell you what, Mitch.e.l.l Kazlowski, that is not one job I look forward to."

He slipped off his stool and poked his hands into his pockets, the picture of remorse. "I know you're serious when you use my full name. Sorry. I should have told you I was leaving for a while."

"No. That's just the thing. Don't you get it? You shouldn't have told me. You should never have to tell me where you're going, or what you're doing, or anything else. It's just that...I don't know, I guess it's just that when you didn't come around, it was a change, and I didn't know what to make of it. I was scared."

"And I was inconsiderate." Words he'd never spoken in the three turbulent years of our marriage. I wondered if Kaz was finally growing up. Or maybe I was just feeling gracious now that I knew his lifeless body wasn't at the bottom of some hole somewhere. "I'm sorry. I mean it. I should have at least called and told you. I just..." He rolled back on his heels and glanced away. "I figured, you know, that if I told you what I was up to, you'd tell me I was nuts."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"You got that right." He patted the stool I'd been sitting on earlier as a way of telling me to take a seat. I did, and he rummaged around in the cupboards again. This time, I knew he was looking for cookies. Kaz likes something sweet after dinner. He settled for a box of cinnamon-covered graham crackers. "I was doing some reading," he said. "And yeah, I know, that sounds a little weird. I'm not exactly a scholar. I mean, not like you. But I saw this article in the paper about this place up in Wisconsin and it kind of caught my interest so I went to the library and-"

"You know where the library is?"

His smile was stiff, but he ignored the question. That was OK, it deserved to be ignored, I just couldn't help getting in the zinger.

"I did a little research. About this town in Wisconsin called Prairie de Chien. It's right on the Mississippi River, a pretty little place. Anyway, there's a legend that says that back in 1832, four soldiers were bringing the payroll to a nearby fort, and they were ambushed by Indians. The soldiers were all killed, but before they were, they managed to bury their saddlebags filled with gold coins. I thought..." He sc.r.a.ped a hand over his chin. He obviously hadn't shaved that day; a shadow of stubble accentuated the planes and angles of his face and made him look rugged and weathered.

Kaz looked at me through his so-thick-they're-wasted-on-a-guy lashes. "You're gonna laugh."

"Won't," I promised.

His shoulders dropped. "You should. It was a dumb idea to begin with. I was just thinking...you know, sort of about what you said earlier. How I'm always coming around, asking you for help. I was thinking that you...well, Jo, you've managed to make something of yourself. You worked on that goofy movie and it paid off. You're getting royalties every month. And you've established yourself with the b.u.t.ton crowd as, you know, an expert. And you've got the shop and..." He didn't so much shrug as he twitched his shoulders. "You're kind of an inspiration."

Good thing I had just swallowed the last of my turkey sandwich or I might have choked. I took a sip of coffee to wash down the sudden knot of emotion that blocked my breathing. "So you're, what, going to open a b.u.t.ton shop in Wisconsin?"

Kaz laughed. That, of course, was what I was hoping for. Kaz's natural state is laid back to the nth degree; seeing him being introspective threw me for a loop.

When Kaz was in the room, I could not afford to lose my sense of equilibrium or my perspective.

"No b.u.t.ton shop," he said and raised his eyebrows to let me know he was kidding when he added, "I wouldn't want to give you that kind of compet.i.tion."

I grabbed my mug and wrapped my hands around it. "So why were you in Wisconsin?" I asked.

"To look for the treasure, of course." Before I could say anything-even though I didn't know what to say-he blurted out, "See, I knew you'd laugh. I knew you'd think it was crazy."

I set my cup on the table. "I'm not laughing. And I didn't say a word about it being crazy, did I?" I thought back to my quick visit to Kaz's apartment and nodded. "That explains the metal detector. But not..." I gave him what I hoped was an eagle-eyed look. "But not the card game."

Did I expect more than for him to shrug the whole thing off?

Not really, so I wasn't disappointed when he did and said, "I was camped at this really nice park. I'd look for the treasure during the day, come back to my tent at night. You know, Jo..." Thinking, he c.o.c.ked his head. "I'm a city boy through and through, but I sure liked being out there under the stars."

I did know; I'd thought the same thing about Ardent Lake. Of course, that was before I found out the whole town was a sham. These days, I wouldn't be surprised if I discovered that canopy of stars over the city was as much of a painted backdrop as the Victorian charm.

"So for the first week or so," Kaz went on, "things were pretty quiet. After treasure hunting all day, I'd get something to eat, then go back to the campground and just relax and do some more research about the treasure, you know, check maps and things. Then last weekend, some other campers arrived, and there was this guy who started up a card game."

"And you couldn't resist."

"No, I couldn't." It was as simple as that. At least to Kaz. "The first night, I actually won a few hands. I was in good shape."

"Until you weren't."

"You got that right. And the guy who ran the game was decent, and chatty, and while we were playing, I mentioned I lived in Chicago and he knew my name, of course."

"So now that you owe him money, and he knows where you live, he's looking for you."

Kaz made a face. "And I didn't even find the treasure."

It was the story of Kaz's life. The story of our marriage. There wasn't much I could say. Instead, I cleaned up the worktable and slipped on my jacket.

I made sure the back door was locked, and Kaz followed me to the front of the shop.

"I can't go home," he said.

"You're not coming with me," I replied.

He tried for slick and, yeah, s.e.xy, too, when he lowered his voice. "I don't take up much room, and I can be pretty well behaved-if you want me to be."

By this time, we were out on the sidewalk and I locked the shop door behind us. "I want you to go away," I said. "Like I've always wanted you to go away."

"Except when I was away-"

"Good-night, Kaz." I turned to walk to the nearest El stop.

And Kaz gave up with his usual equanimity and headed the other way. "See ya, Jo," he called. "Hey, I'll stop in next week. We can get dinner, and I'll tell you all about what it's like to be a treasure hunter."

I would have stopped cold even if I wasn't ready to cross a street and the light was against me. But then, that's because a couple odd things happened at the same time.

For one, LaSalle raced by, hot on a trail of a ginger-striped cat I saw duck into the nearest alley. That in itself wasn't all that unusual. The fact that LaSalle was wearing a bright blue collar was.

And the second thing?

That made me grin from ear to ear. See, I still didn't know who'd killed Angela and Susan. But suddenly, I was pretty sure I knew why.

Chapter Sixteen.

JIMMY CARNS WAS JUST GETTING READY TO PULL OUT of the parking lot of the Ardent Lake police station. He didn't look surprised to see me. Then again, I'd called Nev the night before (it was late and he was still at the station, knee deep in his newest case) and told him what I was up to. No doubt, the police grapevine had done its job.

"Of course we dusted for prints after Susan's murder. All over the Big Museum." It was a warm morning, and it promised to be an even warmer afternoon, and Jimmy had rolled down the windows of the patrol car. His cap was off and lying on the seat next to him. "In a place as big and as busy as that..."

The way he refused to say the words spoke volumes. I was afraid this was what was going to happen, and my shoulders drooped. "You didn't find anything out of the ordinary?" I asked. "You're sure?"

"Wish I could say otherwise. Hey..." As far as Jimmy was concerned, the subject wasn't so much closed as it was at a dead end. He changed it deftly. "You're staying around for the festival this weekend, aren't you?"

I was. I told him I'd gotten a room at Mary Lou's B and B for the night (and just for the record, it was a single room with a single bed in it) and that Nev would be joining me the next day for the festivities. "Until then..." Even from here, I could hear all the hustle and bustle going on over at the park. The festival was scheduled to start that evening with a speech from the mayor and a concert by the Ardent Lake High School marching band, and the sounds of trucks coming and going, of hammering, and of sound systems being checked and rechecked added a staccato rhythm and an air of antic.i.p.ation to the Friday morning. "You wouldn't mind if I just had a look around, would you?"

"You mean at the Big Museum?" Jimmy laughed in a way that told me he thought I watched too many episodes of Murder, She Wrote. Then again, there was that police grapevine. I think he was thinking about that, too, and about what he might have heard from Nev about my skills as a modern-day Jessica Fletcher, because he nodded. "Be my guest," he said. "The Big Museum's expecting a rush of visitors this weekend, so I know it's open now. You know, so they can get everything ready. Go on over there and poke around to your heart's content. I don't think you'll find anything, though."

"I'm sure you're right." I wished he wasn't. I hoped he wasn't. "No one will mind?"

Jimmy punched his patrol car into reverse. "There's an interim head curator in charge. I'll give her a call."

Was I surprised when I told the docent near the front door of the Big Museum that I was there to see that interim curator and she pointed me toward the woman with spiky red hair and high, high heels?

Not really. After all, it made sense. Marci had once applied for Susan's job at the Big Museum, and she knew a thing or two about curating. In fact, she looked perfectly at home click-clacking her way across the marble floors, directing staff where to put up this or that signage, and how to set up the rooms for the c.o.c.ktail party scheduled after the fireworks in the park the next evening.

"I can't say I'm surprised to see you." Marci zipped past me with barely a glance. "Jimmy Carns called."

I was grateful. It saved me from a lot of explaining.

There was a pile of brochures about the museum on a nearby table, and Marci grabbed them, handed them to the closest docent, and told him to put them into the racks near the door. When she was done, she brushed her hands together and finally gave me her full attention. "He said you wanted to take a look around, but he didn't say what you wanted to see."

"He didn't tell me you were the interim curator."

Her smile was sleek. "Who else would they have asked? Oh, you should have seen their faces. It was positively delicious! As soon as the board of trustees realized the festival was breathing down their necks and there were plenty of people who were going to show up for that, not to mention the c.o.c.ktail party Susan had scheduled...well..." She tugged her black suit jacket into place and squared her slim shoulders. "I love that sort of irony, don't you? They came calling, proverbial hat in hand."

"And you jumped at the chance to take Susan's place."

I guess Marci had never thought of it that way. That would explain why she narrowed her eyes and gave me a quick, scathing look. "I wouldn't say that, exactly."

"Really? What would you say, exactly?"

I didn't have a chance to find out. The front doors opened and a couple guys came in carrying huge arrangements of yellow, white, and pink spring flowers in tall white vases. Marci ducked away long enough to show them where to put the flowers, then waved me into the picture room, where less than a week earlier, I'd found Susan lying in a pool of blood.

She propped her fists on what she had of hips. "What are you getting at?" Marci asked.

"Me? Not a thing. I was just thinking. That's all. It's mighty convenient, what with Susan out of the way and you finally getting a chance to step into the job you wanted all along."

Some of the starch went out of Marci's shoulders. "I never thought of it that way. You don't think-" She chewed her lower lip. "I didn't ask for this opportunity. The board of trustees are the ones-"

"You said it yourself. You were the most logical choice."

"Well, yeah." When she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, I swore I heard her hair gel crack. "But that doesn't mean I'm guilty of anything. You don't think..." Whatever I was thinking, Marci was thinking about Susan. I could tell because her gaze darted from this corner of the room to that, scanning the now pristine floor, no doubt thinking of Susan's lifeless body lying on the cold marble. "I didn't kill her."

"I didn't say you did. But you did want her job. You still do."

She cast another quick look in my direction. This one was far more hesitant than it was challenging. "You're bound to find out sooner or later," she said, and I knew she wasn't happy to admit it because her bowed lips puckered. "I've already told the board, I'll close the Little Museum in a heartbeat. I mean, if they give me this job permanently."

I had to give Marci big points for honesty. Especially when the truth made her look as guilty as sin. Then again, job envy might give her a motive for killing Susan, but it didn't explain Angela's murder.

At least not yet, anyway.

"So..." Like most people-guilty or not-Marci wasn't comfortable discussing murder. She waved an arm casually, indicating all of the museum in one gesture. "Jimmy didn't say what you wanted to see."

As far as I remembered, I hadn't told him. Not specifically, anyway. I stepped around Marci and into the pirate room. "Actually, I'd like to get a good look at Thunderin' Ben's exhibit," I told her.

She lifted one shoulder. "Have at it. It's just like any other exhibit. Look all you want."

"No. I mean, I just don't want to look at it like any tourist would look at it. I was hoping to..." Now that it was time to explain how I wanted to plunder the pirate exhibit, I found the words hard to come by. I made a little waving gesture, indicating that I'd like the gla.s.s case that held Ben's things to be opened.

"Really?" Marci wrinkled her nose, and call me crazy, but I had a feeling she was about to pull out the I-am-interim-curator excuse and cut me off at the knees. It might have been because she was itching to exert a little authority. Or she may have had other reasons. Either way, I couldn't let it happen.

"Jimmy Carns said I've got carte blanche." OK, so it wasn't technically the truth, but hey, we were talking two homicides here, and murder trumps the truth card. "If there's a reason you don't want me to look around-"

"I don't have anything to hide." I actually might have believed her if Marci's shoulders weren't as stiff as her hair. "Look around. All you want. Be my guest."

"IT'S MOONCUSSING, DON'T you see?"

Kind of a bad way to phrase it, since Nev and I were talking on the phone and seeing what I'd seen at the Big Museum that day wasn't something it was possible for him to do.

He reminded me of this with a, "How can I? I'm not there."

I clamped my lips shut before I could snap back and say something I might regret.

The warm morning had transformed into a stuffy afternoon and an even more hot and humid evening. I'd pulled my hair off my neck and back into a ponytail, and I tugged on it. No doubt, Nev was just as uncomfortable in the big city as I was there in Ardent Lake, and dog-tired on top of it, too. He had been busy all afternoon; I'd called him four times before I actually got to talk to him.

Too-early-in-the-spring-for-these-high-temperatures plus multiple phone calls do not a patient person make, and I told myself not to forget it at the same time I imagined he wasn't exactly in the mood for a woman who wasn't making herself clear.

I vowed to make myself clear.

"OK, it's like this," I said, explaining slowly enough (I hoped) to be understood but not so slowly as to make Nev think I a.s.sumed he was obtuse. "Mooncussing was something pirates used to do. They'd move buoy markers so that they ended up near rocks and reefs. A ship's captain would see the buoy and a.s.sume it was in open water when it was really in a dangerous place instead. The ships would go aground. Or sink. And then the pirates would move in to steal anything they could get their hands on."

I couldn't see Nev, of course, but I could picture him nodding. I knew when he did, a single strand of s.h.a.ggy hair would end up hanging over his forehead. "And pirates and buoy markers are important to our investigation because..."

"Because Thunderin' Ben, the pirate who used to live in these parts and who's something of a folk hero around here...Thunderin' Ben used to do mooncussing. And our murderer did, too."

"Uh-huh."

So much for me making myself perfectly clear. Nev didn't sound any more certain now than he had at the beginning of our conversation.

"That's what I found at the museum this afternoon," I said. "The buoy marker in the Thunderin' Ben display...it had been moved."

"Uh-huh."

I counted to ten, and when that didn't work, I counted again before I said, "Don't you get it, Nev? There's no reason anyone should have been messing with that display. I talked to one of the docents who's been working at the museum for like forever. She told me that Ben's exhibit has always been the same. Nothing's been changed. Nothing's been added. That's how it's been since the exhibit opened, and that was two years ago."

"Which means..." I could practically hear the wheels turning inside Nev's head. I knew he'd catch on sooner rather than later, and I knew exactly when he did because I heard his sharp intake of breath. "There's no reason anyone needed to have the exhibit open and that means there's no reason that little replica buoy should have been moved-"

"From where it was at the southern end of that painted Lake Michigan when I first saw the exhibit, to where it is now, in the northern end of Lake Michigan. Not only that, Nev..." I fought to steady my voice. The full impact of what I'd found in that display case still made my blood tingle, and I dropped into the oak rocking chair near the open window in my room at Mary Lou's. "Ben's diary is gone," I said.

There was enough of a pause on the other end of the line to let me know Nev was considering the full implications of this bit of news. Of course, once a cop, always a cop, and he responded in true cop fashion. "No one noticed when a book that's been part of the exhibit for a couple years suddenly wasn't there?"