Button Holed by Kylie Logan Page A

Hugh, I glanced around the incredible living room, with its startling post-modern furniture, the white and plum decor, and an amazing view of Lake Michigan out the floor-to-ceiling windows that took the place of two walls.
    This time, I had to admit, I was worried. About Hugh’s phone call and that problem he said he had. About what he expected me to do about it.
    There was more than a thread of panic in his voice when we talked, and I couldn’t get that, or what he said, out of my head.
    You’ve got to help me out. Like you always do. It’s about Kate . . . I did something really, really stupid.
    I wondered how stupid really, really stupid was.
    And if that really, really stupid had something to do with murder.
    “Hey, baby girl!” Hugh’s voice zapped me out of my thoughts and back to reality. I looked up just in time to see him walk out of what must have been the bedroom of the suite. Hugh had always been good-looking, in a film-student, artsy sort of way. It was the long dark hair and the soulful eyes that had gotten to me years before along with the ragged jeans, the secondhand denim jackets, and the endless supply of T-shirts he borrowed from the endless one-night stands who were only too happy to share. These days, he preferred Dior to denim and a corporate haircut that made him look every inch the Hollywood power broker he was.
    None of that could disguise the furrows of worry on his forehead. The forced cheeriness in his voice didn’t fool me, either. Hugh’s eyes were red. So was his nose. His hair stuck up at odd angles like he’d been tugging at it.
    Instinctively, I stood, prepared—as always—to offer him comfort and a shoulder to cry on.
    He didn’t give me a chance. Before I could move away from the couch, he was right up in my face. He grabbed both my hands and squeezed tight.
    “I didn’t do it. You know that, don’t you, Josie? You know I had nothing to do with Kate’s murder.”
    Startled by his intensity, I gathered my thoughts, hung onto my composure, and took a moment to study Hugh. Though we chatted on the phone occasionally, it had been years since we’d been face-to-face, since that first summer after college, in fact, when we worked on Trolls together, and I could see there was more to his transformation than pricey clothes and designer hair.
    Hugh’s teeth were unnaturally white, and they’d been straightened since last I saw him. So had his nose. Come to think of it, I remembered his chin being rounder and fuller. At this point, I guess none of that mattered. Not as much as the way he hung onto me. Yeah, the phrase for dear life popped into my head.
    “You believe me, don’t you, Josie?” His words shivered from trembling lips.
    Too bad I wasn’t in any shape to offer reassurance. Listening to Hugh, seeing the desperation that shone in his eyes, my stomach flipped.
    I commanded it to settle down and extricated myself from his grip. I might not have been feeling it, but in an effort to at least look calm, I sat back down, and said, “Apparently, we have a lot to talk about.”
    He nodded. Took my lead and sat down. Stood up again. “There were lots of people who wanted Kate dead,” he announced.
    OK. Have I mentioned this was getting weird?
    Clearing my throat, I ordered my thoughts and gave him the kind of stare I’d once seen a trainer use on an unruly Jack Russell terrier. “Maybe you better start from the beginning,” I said. “I’m a little confused.”
    “Yeah. Sure.” Hugh did a spin around the room. Sort of like that Jack Russell did when the trainer made an effort to control him. “It’s just that . . . The police called. They want to talk. To me.” Even though the suite was bigger than the entire fourth floor of my apartment building, he was moving a mile a minute, and by this time, he was already back in front of me.
    I knew Nevin was the one who must have made the call since he was lead investigator on the case, and really, it wasn’t hard to think