Button, Button(12)

Then she caught herself. There had to be an explanation. Things like this just didn't happen.

She moved firmly across the cafe floor and stopped before the counter. The man in the white ducks looked up from his paper.

"Would you please check the washroom?" she asked.

"The washroom?"

Anger tightened her.

"Yes, the washroom," she said. "I know my husband is in there."

"Ma'am, wasn't no one in there," said the man in the fedora.

"I'm sorry," she said tightly, refusing to allow his words. "My husband didn't just disappear."

The two men made her nervous with their silent stares.

"Well, are you going to look there?" she said, unable to control the break in her voice.

The man in the white ducks glanced at the man with the fedora and something twitched his mouth. Jean felt her hands jerk into angry fists. Then he moved down the length of the counter and she followed.

He turned the porcelain knob and held open the spring-hinged door. Jean held her breath as she moved closer to look.

The washroom was empty.

"Are you satisfied?" the man said. He let the door swing shut.

"Wait," she said. "Let me look again."

The man pressed his mouth into a line.

"Didn't you see it was empty?" he said.

"I said I want to look again."

"Lady, I'm tellin' ya-"

Jean pushed at the door suddenly and it banged against the washroom wall.

"There!" she said. "There's a door there!"

She pointed to a door in the far wall of the washroom.

"That door's been locked for years, lady," the man said.

"It doesn't open?"

"Ain't got no reason to open it."

"It must open," Jean said. "My husband went in there and he didn't come out this door. And he didn't disappear!"

The man looked at her sullenly without speaking.

"What's on the other side of the door?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Does it open on the outside?"

The man didn't answer.

"Does it?!"

"It opens on a shed, lady, a shed no one's used for years," the man said angrily.

She stepped forward and gripped the knob of the door.

"I told you it didn't open." The man's voice was rising more.

"Ma'am?" Behind her Jean heard the cajoling voice of the man in the fedora and green shirt. "Ain't nothin' in that shed but old trash, ma'am. You want, I'll show it to you."

The way he said it, Jean suddenly realized that she was alone. Nobody she knew knew where she was; there was no way of checking if-

She moved out of the washroom quickly.

"Excuse me," she said as she walked by the man in the fedora, "I want to make a call first."

She walked stiffly to the wall phone, shuddering as she thought of them coming after her. She picked up the ear piece. There was no dial tone. She waited a moment, then tensed herself and turned to face the two watching men.

"Does-does it work?" "Who ya call-" started the man in the white ducks, but the other man interrupted.

"You gotta crank it, ma'am," he said slowly. Jean noticed the other man glaring at him suddenly, and when she turned back to the phone, she heard their voices whispering heatedly.

She turned the crank with shaking fingers. What if they come at me? The thought wouldn't leave her.

"Yes?" a thin voice asked over the phone.

Jean swallowed. "Would you get me the marshal, please?" she asked.

"Marshal?"

"Yes, the-"

She lowered her voice suddenly, hoping the men wouldn't hear her. "The marshal," she repeated.

"There's no marshal, ma'am."

She felt close to screaming. "Who do I call?"

"You might want the sheriff, ma'am," the operator said.

Jean closed her eyes and ran her tongue over dry lips. "The sheriff then," she said.

There was a sputtering sound over the phone, a series of dull buzzes and then the sound of a receiver being lifted.

"Sheriffs office," said a voice.

"Sheriff, would you please come out to-"

"One second. I'll get the sheriff."

Jean's stomach muscles pulled in and her throat became taut. As she waited, she felt the eyes of the two men on her. She heard one of them move and her shoulders twitched spasmodically.

"Sheriff speaking."

"Sheriff, would you please come out to the-"

Her lips trembled as she realized suddenly that she didn't know the name of the cafe. She turned nervously and her heartbeat lurched when she saw the men looking at her coldly.

"What's the name of the cafe?"

"Why do you want to know?" asked the man in the white ducks.

He isn't going to tell me, she thought. He's going to make me go out to look at the sign so that he can-