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managed to keep my best smile in place. “We need a filet for Thad, and we need it cooked as rare as rare can be.” I looked at Thad for confirmation, and when he didn’t contradict me, I turned back to Micah. “Mr. Wyant will be seated at my table. You can bring it over to him when it’s done.”
    “Certainly, Ms. Giancola.” Micah was young and eager to make his way in the dog-eat-dog (no pun intended) world of Chicago restaurateurs. His expression was as smooth as the filling in the key-lime pie on the table over to our left. “But you do realize that the per-person buffet cost you agreed to doesn’t include individual dinners.”
    “Of course she does.” Thad gave Micah a too-friendly slap on the back. “You sittin’ over there, Josie?” he asked, with a glance at the table where my dinner was getting cold. “I’ll be by in a jiffy, soon as I stop up at the bar and get this here drink refilled.” He rattled the ice cubes in his glass. “Ajiffy.” He stepped away, his eyes on Micah. “That’s how soon that filet is gonna be ready, right? I mean, after you stop standing there staring at me, son, and get to the kitchen and put the order in.”
    I swear I squeezed my eyes shut only for a second. Just long enough to pray for patience. When I opened them again, Thad was already at the bar, and Micah was waiting for me to give him the go-ahead. I did, and with a sigh, I went back to the table to sit down.
    Helen was seated on my left, and just after I sat down, she dropped her napkin on the floor, bent to recover it, and crooned, “Well played,” on her way back up.
    It was, and I congratulated myself.
    Crisis averted.
    Dinner guests back to chatting and eating.
    Guest of honor happy.
    For now.
    My fork and the roasted vegetables on it were halfway to my mouth when that last thought struck, and my stomach soured, but since Langston had just turned to me to ask about the setup in the vendor room at the conference, I had no choice but to pretend everything was A-OK and go on eating. Good thing, too. Though my meal was a tad on the chilly side, the food was delicious, and I chomped my way through it, the tension unwinding inside me with each delicious bite.
    At least until Thad arrived. Lucky for all of us, so did his filet just a minute later, and wonder of wonders, he didn’t have one word of complaint. Well, except to say that the meat was a tad underdone for his taste. Fortunately, that didn’t seem to take the edge off his appetite. He wolfed down his steak, pointing around the table with the tip of his knife to whoever’s attention he hoped to capture.
    “And what’s your specialty, sir?” He poked his knife in Langston’s direction. “Let me guess: you look to me like one of them fellas who collects them cute little china buttons. What are they called, Josie?”
    “Calicoes.” I was amazed that a man whose knowledge of Western-themed buttons was encyclopedic could be that out of touch when it came to any other buttons. Then again, I supposed that was why Thad was considered to be the leading expert in his field (don’t tell Chase Cadell). He was a specialist, not a generalist.
    Langston had just finished the last of his grilled salmon, and he touched his napkin to his lips. “I’m afraid I’m not one of you,” he said. “Supplies are my specialty. I’m Langston Whitman.” He put out a hand to Thad.
    Thad shook it readily enough, but his expression was clouded in confusion. “Supplies. Is that some kind of button?”
    It wouldn’t have been all that funny of a joke coming from anyone else, but Thad was the conference guest of honor, after all. We all laughed a little more than was called for, and when we were done, Helen scooted forward in her seat.
    “How soon can we see it?” she asked, her eyes on Thad. “You’re not going to make us wait until dinner tomorrow night, are you, Thad?”
    He knew exactly what Helen was talking about, and his eyes lit up. I knew what she was