Free Panic Button by Kylie Logan Page B

was sure that the only way to root out suspects—and find out which of them knew what
     about buttons—was to get to know the people Angela knew. There was no better way for
     me to do that, he insisted, than for me to attend her wake and funeral.
    This would look completely natural, he insisted, because I’d recently done business
     with Angela. No one would suspect that I was really trying to dig upinformation. No one would imagine that I had any other motive beside offering my condolences.
    No one would think I was a mole.
    Me? I wasn’t convinced. For one thing, I wasn’t sure I could blend in as completely
     or as inconspicuously with the other mourners as Nev assumed I would. For another…well,
     I admit it, attending the wake and funeral of a person I hardly knew made me feel
     ghoulish.
    Then again, Nev knew I felt a little responsible for what had happened to Angela and
     that I spent the weekend playing the ugly game of
What If.
    What if I’d taken her more seriously when she talked about the curse?
    What if I’d walked her to her car that fateful night?
    Maybe aside from a little information, Nev was hoping that my involvement in the investigation
     would absolve my guilt.
    Maybe I was hoping for the same thing.
    The Monday after the murder, I changed my voice mail so customers who called would
     know it might take me a day or two to get back to them. I put up a blog post on my
     website and a note on the front door of the Button Box: I’d be open for business again
     in a couple days. Those details taken care of, I headed north out of Chicago.
    “You really didn’t have to do this.” We had just passed a sign that said we were four
     miles from the town of Ardent Lake, and I glanced toward the passenger seat of my
     car. “You’re going to miss your poker game tonight,” I reminded Stan.
    He shrugged away the comment as being of noconsequence. “I can play poker any Monday night. But investigating a murder…” A smile
     on his face, he rubbed his hands together. “It’s like the old days! I can’t wait to
     get started.”
    “You do remember what Nev said?”
    “About being subtle? Yeah, yeah, not to worry. I’ve played this game before, remember.
     Besides, for all anybody knows, you’re just the button lady who was doing business
     with Angela, and I’m just the old friend who came along for the ride.”
    All well and good, but talk about guilt! “It’s Marty’s turn to host the poker game
     tonight, isn’t it? You’re going to miss his wife’s berry cobbler. It’s your favorite.”
    “Cobbler, shmobbler. I can get a piece of cobbler anytime. What I can’t get is a chance
     to do some official investigating.”
    “Unofficial investigating,” I reminded him. “All we’re supposed to do is talk to people
     and get some initial impressions.”
    “I know, I know.” Stan shifted in his seat, winced, and pressed a hand to the small
     of his back. We’d been in the car a little over an hour, and he wasn’t used to sitting
     still for so long. “Nev’s already been here interviewing people, but he knows what
     I know: they’re not going to open up. Not to a cop. But when we shake ’em down—”
    I laughed. “We’re not trying to shake anybody down. We’re just here to talk about
     buttons.”
    “Well, sure.” Stan’s smile sparkled in the spring sunshine. “I won’t forget. And I
     do appreciate it, Josie. I mean, you inviting me along. You could have asked Kaz.”
    I rolled my eyes. Which would have had a bit more of a dramatic effect if I hadn’t
     been making a left-hand turn at the same time. “If we’re talking subtle, you know
     Kaz would be the wrong choice. Kaz is about as subtle as a tsunami. Besides…” We were
     at an intersection, and the traffic light turned red. I slowed to a stop and drummed
     my fingers against the steering wheel, debating the wisdom of saying any more. On
     one hand, if I told Stan what I’d been thinking, it would look like