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Another shrug. “I was sitting next to the guy at dinner. I didn’t have a lot of choice but to listen. I had him on one side and some lady from L.A. on the other. She specializes in buttons with pornographic pictures on them. Jo, you never told me button collecting could be so interesting!”

“You wouldn’t have listened if I’d tried.” There was no use debating the point. Even when I was in a good mood, being reminded of how Kaz had always treated my “little
hobby” as just that always had a way of rankling. I stood, ready to head up to the open deck. “I’ve got to go make sure everyone is happy,” I told him.

“You could start with me.”

Oh yeah, he was smiling, all right. In that devil-may-care way that used to make my blood boil. In a good sort of way. These days, the boil was usually because he was annoying me. This time…

I gave him a smile. “Thanks for helping out. For the rest of the week, Thad will be at the conference and at the hotel. You can take the limo back.”

“And miss all the fun?” Kaz followed along behind me. “Hey, I’m just getting into all this button stuff.”

“Right, and I just fell off a turnip truck.” I shook my head. Honestly, the man can be brazen. The fact that he still expected me to fall for his line never ceased to amaze me. “Good-bye, Kaz,” I said, just as a man came up behind me.

“Oh, there you are!” I turned to see what he wanted from me and realized he was one of the waitstaff and was talking to Kaz. “We’ve got the tea you requested for that woman from Japan,” he told Kaz. “It took some digging, but we found it in the kitchen.” The waiter turned to me. “You’re Josie, right? I saw you talking to Micah a little while ago. I’ve got to tell you, I don’t know where you got this guy…” The look he gave Kaz was one of pure admiration. “But you’ve got an amazing assistant here.”

“Assistant? I—”

There was no use trying to explain. Kaz and the waiter had already walked away.

And I told myself not to worry. If Kaz wanted to play the good guy for tonight, so be it. Once he took Thad back to the hotel, that would be that, and we could get on with our conference.

My conference.

I breathed a sigh of pure contentment.

Every program was organized and interesting.

Every speaker and panel was ready to go.

All was right with the world, Lake Michigan was as smooth as glass, and my guests were having the time of their lives.

“Oh, yeah?” The words—spoken by a woman—were loud and said with enough sarcasm to sour a lemon. They echoed down the metal stairway from the open third deck. “I can’t believe you’d have the nerve to show up here, you son of a bitch. I’m warning you right now; you’d better step away from that railing, Thad Wyant, or you’re going to find yourself in Lake Michigan—floating fish food!”

Chapter Three

I
SCRAMBLED UP THE STAIRWAY AS FAST AS MY LESS-THAN
-long legs allowed, and got up onto the open deck just in time to see that every single person out there had gathered in a semicircle around the far railing. The fabulous Chicago skyline was at their backs. But the show was happening right in front of them. Eager to diffuse whatever time bomb they were watching and waiting to explode, I pushed myself to the front of the crowd (politely, of course) just in time to see Thad Wyant shake his head in a way that told me that woman’s outraged voice I’d heard was nothing to him—nothing but pitiful.

My guest of honor had both his elbows propped against the railing. His lanky legs were stuck out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. With his Stetson far back on his head and those cowboy boots of his coated with enough dust to make it look as if he’d just come in off the range, he was the picture of serenity.

Not so the middle-aged woman who stood across from him, a woman I didn’t remember checking in at the gangplank. She was no more than five feet tall and as thin as a stick of chewing gum. Tiny hands, bitty feet. She reminded me of a little gray mouse. Gray pantsuit, gray hair, sensible gray shoes. From where I stood, I could see her trembling like the flag that snapped at the back of the boat in the breeze we kicked up as we scooted through the water.

“You don’t even care, do you?” Her voice—high-pitched and quivering—floated away on that same breeze. “How can you stand there and pretend like it doesn’t matter?”

“Aw, shucks, lady.” As if it was a monumental effort, Thad unfolded himself from the railing and scuffed his boots against the metal deck. “Why don’t you just head on out of here? I told you; I don’t know what in the tarnation you’re talkin’ about.”

“You… don’t… know… what…” The woman contained her aggravation, but just barely. And it cost her. Her hands curled into fists, she pressed her arms close to her sides, and she pulled in breath after uneven breath. “I’m not going to give you another chance. You hear me, Thad Wyant? You’ve had every opportunity to come clean about this. Now—”

“Yer wasting your time! Git along. Git yourself outta here.” Thad never touched her, but the shooing gesture he made toward her might as well have been a slap in the face. That’s how violently she reacted.

Her shoulders so stiff that I swore they were going to snap, the woman backed away from Thad and whirled around. It was the first she realized there were a couple dozen people watching their confrontation, and when she did, all the color drained from her cheeks, leaving her grayer than ever. Her chin quivering, she dropped her face into her hands and raced to the stairway, sobbing.

I was torn between going after her and checking on my guest of honor. I’m pretty sure I would have opted for the woman if not for the fact that Thad, hands in the pockets of his jeans, ambled over like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Well, ain’t that just the darndest thing.” He looked toward the now-empty stairway, shaking his head.

I am not the dithering type. Still, I found it hard to get anything evenly vaguely coherent out of my mouth. I looked from the stairway to Thad and from Thad to the crowd that, now that the excitement had ended, was heading over to stand near the railing and watch the city skyline float by and—no doubt—go over a play-by-play of the knock-down, drag-out they’d just witnessed. By the time I did, my blood pressure was down and I’d regained some of my legendary composure. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Things like that shouldn’t happen in public. It’s bad enough that your friend was upset, but—”

“Friend?” Thad wrinkled his too-big-for-his-face nose. “Never seen that there lady before in my life.”

“But how… Why?” I didn’t want to get into an instant replay. I mean, really, Thad must have remembered everything the woman said just as clearly as I did. “Why was she so angry then? And who is she?”

He had a glass in one hand, and he looked down into its empty depths. “Darned if I know. Crazy, huh? Button folks, they’re just darned crazy!” He threw back his head and laughed, then twitched his shoulders, tossing off the whole incident just like that. As if he didn’t have a care in the world, he strolled downstairs.

That’s exactly when I realized Daryl Tucker was standing next to me, looking where I was looking.

“I’m so sorry.” There I was, saying it again.
Sorry
was quickly turning into the conference mantra. “That certainly isn’t the best way to start off a conference.”

“It’s amazing.” He didn’t so much speak the words as let them escape on the end of a sigh. Behind his glasses, his eyes were thoughtful. “I can’t believe it.”

“Me, either.” I tried for light and was afraid I sounded callous, so I figured it was as good a moment as any to try to put Daryl at ease. “No worries. The woman apparently mistook Thad for someone else.”

Was that enough to reassure Daryl that he hadn’t come to his first button convention and found himself in the midst of a bunch of loony people? I can’t say. I do know that when he walked away, he was muttering to himself, “Didn’t look that way to me.”

“Chin up, Jo.” Before I even knew he was in the vicinity, Kaz had an arm around my shoulders. He gave me a squeeze. “You can’t control every minute of this conference. You do know that, don’t you?”

I slipped out of his embrace. “It’s my job. I should find that woman,” I said, already moving toward the stairway where I’d last seen her. “Only I don’t know who—”

“Beth Howell.” He supplied the information before I could even ask, and I guess my openmouthed stare said it all, because Kaz added, “She was one of the people I checked in after you boarded the boat. Said it was her first conference.”

“Beth Howell.” I committed the name to memory. “I need to make sure she’s all right.”

I would have, too, if I’d been able to find Beth. I tried every ladies’ room on the boat, glanced around the knots of people who were chatting, went to the bar—twice—and even checked the kitchen. Either I wasn’t very good at picking out a tiny gray woman in a crowd or I had terrible timing and always ended up exactly where Beth wasn’t exactly when she wasn’t there.

Either that or Beth Howell’s threat to Thad about ending
up as fish food had gone awry, and she was the one who’d gone over the side of the boat and into the water.

I had already mingled my way through the rest of the cruise, the boat was docked, and I was standing at the gangplank wishing folks a good evening when that thought hit. It took my breath away.

“What is it, dear?” Helen was just walking by, and she took me aside. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No. I was just thinking, that’s all, about—” From over Helen’s shoulder, I saw a wavering in the shadows, and the next thing I knew, a tiny gray figure slipped off the boat and hurried down the pier. I would have gone after Beth, right then and there, if not for the fact that the man who walked off after her was someone I had just sold an entire collection of Japanese satsuma buttons to. He couldn’t wait to thank me for my excellent service as well as my good taste in buttons, and by the time he was done, Beth was long gone.

And I was breathing a sigh of relief.

Beth hadn’t taken a header off the boat. Her argument with Thad hadn’t escalated further or continued later. Mayhem and murder didn’t happen at button conventions. By the time I was ready to head back to the hotel, my fears were calmed and I was smiling.

Little did I know that within twenty-four hours, I would welcome a little mayhem. Because mayhem isn’t necessarily murder, and murder… Well, that was about to hit a little too close to home.

A
DRENALINE IS A
wonderful thing.

So is coffee.

Though I didn’t get more than five hours of sleep that night, I was raring to go the next morning. I’d better be. I
had to emcee the opening ceremony at ten, host a panel on scrimshaw buttons at eleven, introduce our luncheon speaker (a wonderful woman who knew everything there was to know about rubber buttons), and still be perky at six for the banquet and Thad’s keynote address.

By eight in the morning, I was in the elevator and heading down to the hotel’s conference rooms, and when the doors swished open and the first thing I saw was a life-size picture of Thad on the poster that featured the huge headline “Geronimo!” in heavy block letters, I didn’t need to look at myself in the mirrored panels that lined the walls. I could feel my grin stretch from ear to ear.

Sure, there had been some bumps on the proverbial conference road. And yes, I was still on the lookout for Beth Howell so I could try to figure out what had happened on the boat the night before. But all in all, I was handling things with poise and assurance. And besides—I passed another poster advertising Thad’s keynote—I had gone after and snagged the most coveted speaker on the button circuit.

“Josie Giancola…” I shifted the briefcase I was carrying from one hand to the other and tugged my sage-green suit jacket into place, marching across the lobby. “You are doing an excellent job.”

“You really are!”

When I realized I’d spoken loud enough that the stranger standing nearby sipping a cup of coffee heard me, I blushed a thousand shades of red. She was kind enough not to point out that talking to yourself is one sure sign of mental instability and, instead, hurried forward. “My first national conference,” she said. “And things are going so smoothly over at the registration table that it’s a dream. Helen Obermyer… I’ve known Helen for years. She’s got everything moving
like clockwork. And that assistant of yours…” The woman’s little shiver spoke volumes. “Talk about a dream!”

I didn’t ask who she was talking about.

I didn’t have to.

The way she shivered said a whole lot. It ought to. I myself had once been prone to those same kinds of shivers, and not that long ago. In fact, I was convinced it was that shiver-inducing charm that had robbed me of my senses and made me utter those fateful words,
I do.

I hurried over to registration to find Kaz and get him the hell away from my conference, but that was not so easy considering when I finally spotted him in the crowd, he was in the middle of helping a man from Georgia—not the state—make sense of our conference booklet and which sessions were being held in which rooms.

I left my briefcase in the care of one of the conference volunteers and waited until they exchanged cordial good-byes in English and whatever language it is they speak in Georgia before I closed in on him. “What, you’re some kind of expert in foreign relations now? What are you doing—”