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batteries in this thing not two weeks ago. I know I did.”
    “Not to worry.” Stan’s face suddenly glowed an eerie blue in the light of his cell
     phone screen. “I can find my way using this.”
    He did, and less than a couple minutes later, the lights were back on.
    When Stan came back upstairs and into the workroom, his snowy brows were low over
     his eyes. “Breaker wasn’t tripped,” he said. “Not like there was an overload or anything.”
    “The power must have been out to the whole neighborhood,” I said.
    He shook his head. Once. When Stan does that, it’s a sure sign he’s convinced he’s
     right. “I don’t think so, Josie.” His polite way of saying he knew so. “Looked more
     like someone turned off the breaker.”
    “Emilie, I bet.” I glanced toward the tin ceiling Stan had been eying such a short
     time before. The travel agent who worked upstairs from me had a tendency to try and
     fix things she should never touch. “I bet there’s something wrong with her computer.
     She’s convinced that every time it hiccups, it’s because something’s wrong with the
     electricity in the building.”
    Stan pursed his lips. “Maybe. But if that was the case, when all the lights went kerflooey,
     you’d think I would have seen her down in the basement. And when I came in a while
     ago, her car wasn’t out on the street where she usually parks.”
    I did not dispute this last bit of information. Retired or not, cops have a gift for
     remembering such things.
    “Then how…” I bit off the question because I knew what Stan was going to say, and
     I didn’t need to get teased about Angela’s curse. “Well, it’s fixed now,” I said instead.
     “And I can get back to work.”
    “And I’m going to go to Walgreens and pick up some batteries for you.” Stan headed
     to the front of the store. “You should always have a working flashlight.”
    He was right, and I didn’t argue. I finally had the shop to myself again, and I got
     right down to work. I had the phone in my hand and was about to make a call to a fellow
     collector in Cleveland about a couple of the charm string buttons when the bell above
     the front door clanged.
    Customer, I hoped.
    At the same time I knew my luck wouldn’t hold.
    “Kaz,” I told myself, and in a twist of fate designed to make me believe in déjà vu
     if not in curses, I stepped out of the back room only to find Stan standing at the
     front door.
    “Forgot my wallet,” he muttered, his lips thin with disgust. “I never forget my wallet.
     It’s not like I’m an old man or anything.” Still mumbling, he retrieved not only his
     wallet but his Windbreaker, too, and went on his way.
    This time he was gone for a while.
    A really long while.
    I wrapped up the first phone call and another to a collector in Baltimore who answered
     the questions my Cleveland friend couldn’t. I finished the last of my pastrami sandwich.
     Because I couldn’t resist it, I took a few more pictures of the beautiful enameled
     fish button, and I even waited on a particularly picky customer who was looking for
     buttons for a baby’s christening gown.
    No Stan.
    I actually had the phone in my hands and was all set to call Walgreens before I came
     to my senses. I’d told Stan I didn’t appreciate having a babysitter, and I imagined
     he wouldn’t, either.
    Still…
    Stan was no spring chicken, and anything could happen between the shop and Walgreens.
     If he wasn’t back in ten minutes…
    When the bell above the front door rang, I breathed a sigh of relief and swore I wouldn’t
     let him know how worried I’d been.
    That resolve lasted about ten seconds when I walkedout front and realized Stan wasn’t the only one who’d stepped into the Button Box.
     There was a uniformed Chicago cop there, too.
    “What happened? Are you all right? Was anybody hurt?”
    The way the questions poured out of me and the fact that my heart was suddenly beating
     double time and making