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my blood whoosh in my ears, I wouldn’t have heard even if I
     did give either of them a chance to answer. I raced the entire length of the shop
     and looked Stan over. He didn’t seem to be hurt, and if anything had happened to him,
     health-wise, he wouldn’t have been there, right? They would have taken him to the
     hospital in an ambulance.
    “So?” My throat suddenly tight, my gaze darted between Stan and the cop.
    Stan stomped past me. “That’s the last time I go to that store,” he grumbled. “There
     was this kid behind the counter, see, and she saw me looking at the batteries, and
     I guess…well, I don’t guess anything. I know she must have been high or something.
     Imagine her thinking that I could possibly steal anything!”
    “Shoplifting? You?” Honestly, it was so out of the realm of possibility, I almost
     laughed. Except for the cop still standing near my door.
    I spun to face him. “You don’t really think—”
    “We got it all straightened out, ma’am,” the cop said. He was young, fresh-faced,
     and he held his hat in his hands. “There was a little mix-up and—”
    “You call that a mix-up?” Stan’s cheeks were maroon. “Back in my day—”
    “You’re right, sir.” I could tell this cop would go far in the department. He had
     a soothing voice, and he knew how to use it to say all the right things. “And believe
     me, I understand how you feel. I’m sure Detective Riley did, too.”
    My turn to interrupt. “Nevin got involved? How? He’s working the afternoon shift.
     He shouldn’t even be at the station yet.”
    “Not exactly involved.” Stan had never finished his corned beef sandwich, and he went
     into the back room to retrieve it and took a chomp. “I had the store manager call
     him at home. You know, to tell them who I was and how that crazy girl must have been
     mistaken. And Nev…” Stan chewed and swallowed. “Well, she knows he’s a nice guy,”
     he explained to the officer in a classic example of too much information. “They’re
     dating, you see. Nev…” Stan looked my way. “He vouched for me, and explained everything
     to Officer Ramirez here.”
    I looked over my shoulder at the officer. “Thanks,” I said.
    “No problem, ma’am.” He set his hat back on his head. “Funny thing is, after I had
     another talk with that clerk at the store, she said she didn’t think Mr. Marzcak really
     took those batteries in the first place. Said she didn’t know what she was thinking
     when she said she did. It was like the whole situation was…I dunno…all confused or
     something, and then Mr. Marzcak, he told me about those old buttons of yours and the
     curse, and I remember what my
abuela
used to say about bad luck and—”
    I opened the door and stepped back so OfficerRamirez could leave. Don’t worry, I was polite. After all, I didn’t point out that
     he and his
abuela
were both nuts if they thought I put any stock in superstition.
    I didn’t mention it to Stan, either, after the cop was gone. I didn’t need to. By
     the time I was heading back into the workroom, he was wiping a dab of mustard off
     his chin.
    “I dunno, Josie,” was all he said. “You know I don’t believe in curses, either, but
     it’s pretty hard to ignore facts.”
    Somehow, I managed.
    “H EY, LISTEN TO this.”
    Stan was sitting across my desk from me, reading the newspaper, and when he spoke,
     I looked up from the book I’d been paging through. It was nearly six that evening,
     and though I’d completed all the real research I had to do in regards to the charm
     string buttons, that didn’t stop me. I was happily perusing button book after button
     book, looking for examples of buttons that were similar to the ones on the string
     and making notes. Button collecting, see, isn’t all about the thrill of the hunt,
     though that’s certainly part of the mania. I always feel a rush of adrenaline when
     I walk into the vendor room of a button show or