Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Acknowledgements
About the Author
A MASTERPIECE OF MURDER
“Professor, I understand how long you’ve wanted to see this painting, but this is not the time,” Gus said. “After we clear your name, you’ll be able to study it as much as you want. But now we’ve got to go.”
“That’s the problem,” Shawn said. “That painting is the only way to clear his name.”
Kitteredge looked at Shawn as if revising an earlier opinion of him. “The painting is the reason Filkins was killed,” Kitteredge said. “I’m convinced it contains essential clues to the identity and purpose of this global conspiracy. . . . They knew I would be able to decipher its secret message. They had to shut me up, so they killed poor Clay and framed me for it.”
“The picture’s a hundred and fifty years old,” Gus said. “Even if it does have all those clues in it, how is it going to help you identify the actual murderers?”
“I’ll know when I have a chance to study it,” Kitteredge said. . . .
THE PSYCH SERIES
A Fatal Frame of Mind
Call of the Mild
Mind Over Magic
A Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Read
OBSIDIAN
Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, August 2010
Copyright © NBC Universal Inc., 2010. Psych is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. All rights reserved
eISBN : 978-1-101-45880-8
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For Norman and Martha Rabkin,
on the occasion of their 160th birthday.
Prologue
1988
There had to be a way out of this. Shawn was only eleven years old. His life couldn’t be over already. There was so much he hadn’t done yet. He hadn’t even kissed a girl. Not that he felt any sense of loss over that particular nonexperience, but it was only one of a million things he’d been told he’d get to do “when he got older.”
That was back in a more innocent time, when he could peer into the future and see something other than four blank walls and a barred door.
Shawn rolled off his bed and went to the window. Cracking open the blinds, he peered out.
The man in the gray suit was still standing in front of the house. His government-issued sedan was still parked across the street. His jacket still bulged with the outline of his gun. There was no way Shawn could get past him.
And now Shawn’s life was about to get even worse. Because his father’s truck had just turned the corner and was pulling into the garage. In a couple of seconds Henry Spencer would walk to his front steps, and he would stop to talk to the man in the gray suit. If he had been a kind father, a considerate father, a loving father, he would have simply ignored the fact that a federal agent was standing guard over their house until Shawn had had a chance to explain. But Henry was a cop long before he was a dad, and Shawn knew that the law enforcement officer part of him would always take over in moments of crisis.
Shawn watched in mounting horror as Henry walked up to the man in gray, then looked up at his window. Shawn ducked behind his blinds, but not before he saw a look of panic flash over his father’s face.
Shawn stared around the room, praying that a trapdoor or a secret panel or a transporter chamber had materialized since he’d gone to school this morning. But there was no escape route, and he could already hear Henry’s heavy steps pounding up the stairs to his bedroom.
Before Shawn could begin to formulate a plan, his door blasted open and Henry was in the room. But this was a Henry he’d never seen before. Shawn expected his father to be angry. Or furious. Or so filled with rage that his skin was turning green and his muscles bursting out of his clothes.
But this was worse than anything Shawn had ever seen. Henry Spencer looked scared.
“Are you all right, son?” he asked, getting down on one knee and hugging Shawn close.
“I’m fine,” Shawn said, wishing desperately there was some way to ease his father’s fear. “This is really all a big misunderstanding.”
“That’s not how Calderone is going to see it,” Henry said. He gave Shawn one more squeeze, then marched to the closet and pulled out his suitcase.
“I’m just a kid,” Shawn said. “Calderone isn’t going to do anything to me.”
“You’re damn right he’s not,” Henry said. He tossed the suitcase on the bed and started pulling clothes out of Shawn’s dresser. “Because he’s never going to find you.”
“He’s not even looking for me,” Shawn said.
Henry crammed clothes into the suitcase. “As soon as word gets out, he will be,” he said. “And I’ve seen what Calderone does to informants. I’m never going to let that happen to you.”
“Dad, it’s really not a big deal,” Shawn said.
Henry forced the suitcase shut, then got back down on one knee so he could look Shawn in the eye. “I wish that was true, son,” he said. “But you overheard two of Calderone’s lieutenants describing a deal that’s about to do down. That makes you a threat to the biggest drug kingpin in the Northern Hemisphere.”
“I’m not that big a threat,” Shawn said.
“You could take down his whole operation,” Henry said. “And he’ll stop at nothing to make sure you never have the chance. Which is why you have to go with Agent Wenzel.”
Henry took the suitcase off the bed and handed it to Shawn. Then he went to the window and waved at the man in the gray suit, who nodded back at him and headed into the house.
“Go where?” Shawn said.
“I can’t know,” Henry said. “I can never know. Because that way, when Calderone’s men come looking for you, I won’t be able to tell them. No matter what they do to me.”
There was a rap on the door. Henry opened it to reveal the man in the gray suit standing there. “Is he ready?” Agent Wenzel said. “Jet’s waiting.”
“Jet?” Shawn said.
“To take you to your new home,” Henry said, and then his voice cracked. “To your new family. I’m sure they’ll love you every bit as much as I do.”
Henry turned away to hide his tears. Agent Wenzel came into the room and grabbed Shawn’s arm. “Hope you packed for the snow, kid,” he said. “Gets mighty cold where you’re going.”
Agent Wenzel started to drag Shawn out of the room. “Wait!” Shawn shouted. “This is all a mistake!”
Henry couldn’t bring himself to look at his son. “If only it were,” he said. “If only you hadn’t overheard that conversation.”
“I didn’t overhear anything!” Shawn said. “I made it all up!”
There was a moment of silence in the room. Then Shawn felt Wenzel’s grip tighten on his arm. At the same moment, Henry turned back to him, a gleam in his eye.
“Can this actually be true?” he said “If only I could believe it.”
“I left campus to get lunch at BurgerTown,” Shawn said. “I was late getting back to history class, and I forgot we had a test. So instead of taking an F, I told Mrs. Grisby I had used the bathroom in the public library when I went there to study and I couldn’t leave because I overheard two guys making a drug deal and didn’t want them to know I’d seen their faces.”
For a moment, a look of hope passed over Henry’s face. Then it was gone. “That’s a good try, Shawn, but I just can’t believe it,” he said. “Your description of the deal was so precise, you couldn’t have made that up.” He looked up at Agent Wenzel. “Take him away, Agent Wenzel. Take him before I change my mind.”
Wenzel dragged Shawn towards the hall. He grabbed the doorknob and held tight. “I got it all from Miami Vice,” Shawn said. “Don’t you remember? We watched it together last week. That’s why I used it on Mrs. Grisby—it was the first thing that came to mind.”
Henry thought that through. Then he nodded. “You know, son, I think I can believe that.”
“Honestly, I just wanted to get out of failing the test,” Shawn said, a wave of relief rolling through him. “I never thought anyone would take it so seriously they’d call the Feds!”
“One thing you have to understand,” Henry said. “The bigger and more ridiculous the story, the more likely people are to believe it. Because no one could ever imagine you’d make up something so crazy.”
For the first time since he’d seen the government-issue sedan roll up outside their house, Shawn was able to inhale easily. But for some reason, the gray-suited man was still clutching his shoulder.
“So I guess I don’t have to go with this guy and meet my new family, right?” Shawn said, trying to extricate himself from the agent’s grip.
“Oh, no; you do,” Henry said.
“But there is no drug deal,” Shawn said. “There never was.”
“Which is a good thing, because Curtis here wouldn’t do much good if a drug kingpin was really after you,” Henry said. “Shawn, I’d like you to meet Agent Wenzel of the Santa Barbara School Police, Truancy Enforcement Squad. He’s going to take you to your new home.”
“You’re going to like it there,” Wenzel said. “We call it ‘permanent detention.’ ”
The last thing Shawn saw as Agent Wenzel dragged him out of his room was Henry’s face splitting into a broad, wicked grin.
Chapter One
“Are you sure this is absolutely necessary?”Shawn examined himself in the full-length mirror that had appeared in the Psych offices earlier in the day along with the two tuxedos.
“Absolutely,” Gus said. “Are you ready yet?”
Gus slipped the rental studs through his French cuffs and flicked them open, locking them in place. He yanked his cummerbund into position, then slid into his dinner jacket. Even though the clock was ticking down and there was no time to waste, he took a moment to wonder why he didn’t wear a tuxedo all the time, like Dean Martin or the maitre d’ at Cappy’s Steak and Stein. He looked that good.
“I was born ready,” Shawn said. “Of course, I was also born naked, and that tells me there’s no actual reason for dressing up.”
“It’s the social event of the season,” Gus said as he smoothed his hand over his already smooth hair. “We were incredibly lucky to get an invitation. And that invitation specifically called for black tie.”
“I don’t wear ties,” Shawn said, flicking open his unbuttoned collar to emphasize the point. “And even if I did, I don’t see what that has to do with the rest of this ridiculous outfit.”
“Black tie is a dress code for semiformal events,” Gus said.
“I definitely agree that this event is semiformal,” Shawn said. “Because it’s only Ponyboy. I can’t imagine what we’d have to wear if Sodapop was going to be there, too.”
Gus hesitated. He’d been putting off telling Shawn the truth for so long he had begun to believe he’d never have to. “Ponyboy. Right. Look, there’s something I need to tell you about the C. Thomas Howell Film Festival,” Gus said.
“If you’re going to say that the man’s career is too vast to be shoehorned into one evening, I’m well aware we’re coming in partway through,” Shawn said. “Last night was his formative work from the eighties, when he grew from sensitive man-child into a solid, if still sensitive teen lead. Tonight, of course, is his timeless nineties’ material, which saw him mature into the hard-boiled hero of neo-noir classics like Jail Bait and Teresa’s Tattoo. And tomorrow is truly special, since so much of his work in this millennium was made for DVD and is being shown for the first time on the big screen. Or anywhere.”
“Glad to hear you won’t have to miss the best part,” Gus said.
“Miss?” Shawn said.
“We’ve got to go,” Gus said. “We’re going to be late.”
Gus scooped his car key off the coffee table and let it drop into the surprisingly roomy pocket of his rental pants, then heade
d for the street. Normally Shawn would have pushed past him just as he reached for the knob, showing a need equal to any golden retriever’s to be first through a door. But when Gus glanced back to see what had happened to his partner, Shawn was still sitting behind his desk.
“I don’t think you’re taking me to the C. Thomas Howell Film Festival at all,” Shawn said.
This was the moment. The absolute last second Gus could tell Shawn the truth before his small deception turned into a big lie.
“We’re going now,” Gus said.
This time Gus didn’t look back to see if Shawn was following him. He stepped out into the cool evening fog and crossed the curb to his waiting Echo. By the time he’d walked around to his door and slid behind the wheel, Shawn was already buckled into the passenger’s seat. Gus put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.
Chapter Two
The Echo cruised down State Street. Gus glanced over at Shawn to see if he was getting suspicious. But the Bijoux Theatre, where C. Thomas Howell was being feted, was in the same direction as their real destination, and Gus figured he had another minute or two before the truth became apparent. And Shawn seemed to be completely oblivious to the deception.
Gus felt a momentary thrill of triumph at successfully fooling his best friend and partner. At least he tried to feel it. This was a huge moment for him, one of the few times he’d ever gotten away with lying to Shawn, whose ability to see through other people’s lies was surpassed only by his skill at spinning his own.
But instead of victory, Gus felt ashamed. He’d lied to Shawn to get what he wanted, and now he was afraid that he’d ruined the evening for both of them. And maybe more than the evening. It was possible Gus had done ineradicable harm to their friendship.
“I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this film festival,” Shawn said. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but it could be the high point of my existence.”
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