Panic Button Read Online Free PDF
Author: Kylie Logan
added mustard
and a dollop of horseradish. “And I don’t want to worry you, Josie, but you don’t
know it was random. He might have been staking out the place.”
“A button shop?” I asked, only since my mouth was full, it came out sounding more
like, “Abhtnshp?” I chewed and swallowed. “You and Nev must have been comparing notes.
That’s exactly what he said.”
“We didn’t need to compare notes. We attended the same police academy.” Stan made
sure he paused here, just to be sure I got the message. “You can’t be too careful,
kiddo. You should know that what with that actress getting killed here, then everything
that happened at that button convention of yours.”
He didn’t need to remind me. The fact that Josie Giancola, button purveyor, would
ever find herself mixedup with murder was as far-fetched as thinking that LaSalle would turn detective.
I opened one of those little plastic packs of mustard with my teeth and coated my
sandwich. “Maybe you and Nev would rest easier if you knew the whole story. Then you’d
know that guy wasn’t staking out the store. He just appeared—poof! You know, because
of the curse.”
I was going for funny, but Stan wasn’t laughing. He narrowed his eyes and gave me
a look designed to get the whole truth and nothing but.
I gave it to him. At least as much as I could remember. The bit about Angela and how
superstitious she was, and how she actually thought that the wonderful buttons on
the wonderful charm string had some crazy power to bring bad luck.
“See?” I asked when I was finished with the details. “Your theory about someone watching
me and just waiting for me to set down my purse in a public place is as silly as Angela’s
theory that bad luck follows the charm string. There’s no such thing as bad luck,
I know you believe that, Stan. You’re too logical not to. And there’s no such thing
as curses, either. Absolutely, positively not.”
Brave words.
They would have been far more effective if, at that very moment, every light in the
shop didn’t go out.
Chapter Three
“D ON’T MOVE AN INCH.”
Honestly, I didn’t need Stan to tell me. Any other day, the lack of light wouldn’t
have mattered nearly as much, but that particular afternoon, with thunder rumbling
overhead and Chicago blanketed in a thick layer of black clouds, the shop was plunged
into darkness.
“I’ll go into the basement and…ow!” I heard the bang before Stan’s grunt, and I knew
he’d run into the corner shelves near the back door. “I’ll check the fuse box in the
basement,” he said once he’d grumbled a couple unrepeatable words, and I pictured
his teeth clenched and his upper lip stiff. “If you have a flashlight.”
“Of course I have a flashlight.” I felt my way along the worktable, took the three
steps I knew separated thetable from the shelves where Stan was standing, and stuck out a hand toward the shelf
at nose level. My fingers closed around the cool cylinder of a small metal flashlight.
“Here.” I poked it through the dark toward where I knew Stan was, and when he reached
for it and I assumed he had a hold of it, it plunked to the floor.
“Don’t move an inch,” he said again when I was just about to, but then, I guess he
didn’t want to get stepped on while he scrambled around on his hands and knees. When
he stood up again, he was huffing and puffing.
I heard the click of the flashlight’s
on
button. Nothing happened. Another click. A third. “What’s that you said about a curse?”
he grumbled. “Maybe that lady with those old buttons was right. These batteries are
dead.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” It wasn’t like I didn’t trust him, but I groped through
the darkness to pry the flashlight out of Stan’s hands. I tried to turn it on, and
when nothing happened, I shook the flashlight, tried the button again, and groaned.
“I replaced the
and a dollop of horseradish. “And I don’t want to worry you, Josie, but you don’t
know it was random. He might have been staking out the place.”
“A button shop?” I asked, only since my mouth was full, it came out sounding more
like, “Abhtnshp?” I chewed and swallowed. “You and Nev must have been comparing notes.
That’s exactly what he said.”
“We didn’t need to compare notes. We attended the same police academy.” Stan made
sure he paused here, just to be sure I got the message. “You can’t be too careful,
kiddo. You should know that what with that actress getting killed here, then everything
that happened at that button convention of yours.”
He didn’t need to remind me. The fact that Josie Giancola, button purveyor, would
ever find herself mixedup with murder was as far-fetched as thinking that LaSalle would turn detective.
I opened one of those little plastic packs of mustard with my teeth and coated my
sandwich. “Maybe you and Nev would rest easier if you knew the whole story. Then you’d
know that guy wasn’t staking out the store. He just appeared—poof! You know, because
of the curse.”
I was going for funny, but Stan wasn’t laughing. He narrowed his eyes and gave me
a look designed to get the whole truth and nothing but.
I gave it to him. At least as much as I could remember. The bit about Angela and how
superstitious she was, and how she actually thought that the wonderful buttons on
the wonderful charm string had some crazy power to bring bad luck.
“See?” I asked when I was finished with the details. “Your theory about someone watching
me and just waiting for me to set down my purse in a public place is as silly as Angela’s
theory that bad luck follows the charm string. There’s no such thing as bad luck,
I know you believe that, Stan. You’re too logical not to. And there’s no such thing
as curses, either. Absolutely, positively not.”
Brave words.
They would have been far more effective if, at that very moment, every light in the
shop didn’t go out.
Chapter Three
“D ON’T MOVE AN INCH.”
Honestly, I didn’t need Stan to tell me. Any other day, the lack of light wouldn’t
have mattered nearly as much, but that particular afternoon, with thunder rumbling
overhead and Chicago blanketed in a thick layer of black clouds, the shop was plunged
into darkness.
“I’ll go into the basement and…ow!” I heard the bang before Stan’s grunt, and I knew
he’d run into the corner shelves near the back door. “I’ll check the fuse box in the
basement,” he said once he’d grumbled a couple unrepeatable words, and I pictured
his teeth clenched and his upper lip stiff. “If you have a flashlight.”
“Of course I have a flashlight.” I felt my way along the worktable, took the three
steps I knew separated thetable from the shelves where Stan was standing, and stuck out a hand toward the shelf
at nose level. My fingers closed around the cool cylinder of a small metal flashlight.
“Here.” I poked it through the dark toward where I knew Stan was, and when he reached
for it and I assumed he had a hold of it, it plunked to the floor.
“Don’t move an inch,” he said again when I was just about to, but then, I guess he
didn’t want to get stepped on while he scrambled around on his hands and knees. When
he stood up again, he was huffing and puffing.
I heard the click of the flashlight’s
on
button. Nothing happened. Another click. A third. “What’s that you said about a curse?”
he grumbled. “Maybe that lady with those old buttons was right. These batteries are
dead.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” It wasn’t like I didn’t trust him, but I groped through
the darkness to pry the flashlight out of Stan’s hands. I tried to turn it on, and
when nothing happened, I shook the flashlight, tried the button again, and groaned.
“I replaced the