Buttoned Up by Kylie Logan Page A

something I didn’t know then I owed it to my investigation, not to mention to Forbis, to find out what Gabriel had up his sleeve.
    “The buttons the murderer glued onto Forbis, were they valuable?” Gabriel asked. “Unusual? Striking? Was there anything extraordinary about any of them?”
    I’d gotten a close-up look at the body once the techs took Forbis down from Congo Savanne’s arms, and I closed my eyes, pictured the scene, and gulped.
    “Sorry.”
    When he spoke, and I opened my eyes again, Gabriel was refilling my wineglass. “It’s not easy, is it, staring death in the face?”
    “You didn’t ask about death, you asked about buttons. One button on each eye,” I said, and this was not some deep, dark secret because I knew the media had already reported it. “One button on his mouth. They were generic. Generic plastic buttons. My guess is that they were cut off shirts and probably manufactured in the mid nineties.”
    “My guess is that isn’t a guess at all.” Gabriel acknowledged my expertise with a lift of his wineglass.
    I took the compliment in stride. Just as I’d told Nev when he asked for my opinion at the church, if I couldn’t say that much about the buttons the murderer had glued to Forbis’s body, I’d be a poor expert, indeed. Rather than risk getting caught in the snare of Gabriel’s admiring look, I stuck to the facts. “One of the buttons was red, one was yellow, and one was green. Vudon colors.”
    “And the other buttons?” he asked.
    I nibbled my spring roll. “You saw the exhibit. There were thousands of them. They were . . . buttons.”
    “None more valuable than the others?”
    “Oh, I’m sure some were.” I thought back to what Nev had mentioned about the buttons earlier in the evening. He wanted me to go back to the church and check them out. This was not exactly information I was willing to share. Not until I knew what Gabriel Marsh was up to. Lo mein can only get a guy so far. Even a guy like Gabriel, who was as delicious as the dinner he’d brought with him.
    I told myself to get a grip. I hadn’t spoken more than a couple dozen sentences to the man and I already knew one thing about him—he was a lot like Kaz, my ex. In fact, he was way too much like Kaz. Handsome and snake-oil-salesman charming. I knew better than to get fooled. I’d been fooled once and once was enough for a lifetime.
    “When you found the body . . .” Gabriel pushed his chopsticks through the fried rice on his plate. “You didn’t happen to notice if any of those buttons were missing?”
    “Any of the thousands and thousands of buttons on Forbis’s artwork?” It should have been enough of an answer, but when all he did was sit there as if he was waiting for more, I sat back. “You’re serious. You think Forbis’s murder has something to do with buttons he used in his artwork.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “You didn’t have to.”
    “You’re used to being the one who asks the questions.”
    “And I’ve got plenty.” I took another sip of wine and realized my headache was still pounding, but not quite as much. For this, I was grateful. “Why do you care so much?”
    He considered the question while he dished up more lo mein. His perfect body (there I was getting off track again!) didn’t seem to go along with his super-sized appetite. “It would make a hell of a story, don’t you think?” .
    “And you’re that hard up for something to write about in an arts magazine?”
    “Unless I’m not thinking of writing this particular story for an arts magazine.”
    Some of the fog cleared, and I would have slapped my forehead if I wasn’t afraid that would make my head start pounding all over again. I should have seen it sooner. I would have if I was thinking more clearly. “You have delusions of grandeur! Is it a book or a movie deal you’re hoping for?”
    “With any luck, both. You can’t deny it, a story like this has bestseller list written all over it. The