“Who does that jerk think he is?” Shawn said. “Summoning us to see him like he’s some kind of king.”
“Most kings couldn’t afford Eagle’s View,” Gus said. “In the fifties, there was one who actually offered to trade his crown for the place.”
“I’m not him, and I’m not giving away my crown for anything.”
“You don’t have a crown.”
“No, but I have my dignity.”
Gus didn’t bother to argue. He just picked up the trophy Shawn had won in the Hollywood Tropicana Jell-O Wrestling Championship and pointed to the bottom, where the words “Dirtiest Fighter” were engraved.
“Okay, so I don’t have dignity. But I’m not going to go crawling to Mr. Dallas Steele just because he’s got some snooty secretary summoning us.”
“I don’t understand,” Gus said. “Why do you hate this guy so much?”
“I don’t understand why you don’t,” Shawn said. “He spent the entire senior prom making out with your date.”
“No,” Gus says, “that was you.”
“Oh. Well, he asked to read your English essay, then turned it in as his own, so you got an F for copying him.”
“No,” Gus said, “that was you, too.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I don’t just hate people for no reason,” Shawn said. “And I definitely hated him. So there must have been something.”
“Because even though he was incredibly handsome, hugely intelligent, and came from the richest family in town, he worked harder than anyone else in school and honestly earned everything he got,” Gus said.
“Right,” Shawn said. “I hate that guy.”
The phone rang again. Shawn hit the SPEAKER button. “Psych,” he said.
There was a familiar pause. “Mr. Guster.”
“No, this is Mr. Spencer,” Shawn said. “Can’t you even tell our voices apart?”
“But I-”
“I told you before, we’re not coming.”
“I thought that was Mr. Guster.”
“I’m Mr. Guster,” Gus said. “I’m the one who isn’t crazy.”
“And I’m Mr. Spencer,” Shawn said. “I’m the one who isn’t a suck-up toady for any multibillionaire who happens to have his assistant call my office.”
The silence on the other end of the line lasted twice as long as any of Shepler’s previous pauses. “Mr. Steele expects to see you within the hour,” he finally said.
“Then he’s coming to our office?” Shawn said.
“He would,” Shepler said. “But it seems there’s a problem.”
“I’m sure he can get someone to tie his shoes for him,” Shawn said.
“The problem is not with Mr. Steele,” Shepler said. “It’s with your office. You see, since our last conversation Mr. Steele has bought your building, and if you’re not here within the hour, he’s going to demolish it and put a community garden on the lot. So you can spend the next hour driving out to Eagle’s View or moving your possessions to another location. But I wouldn’t bother with the spray-on tan parlor next door. Mr. Steele bought that building, too.”
There was no pause before Shepler hung up his phone with a loud click.
“Now do you see why I hate that guy?” Shawn said.
“You don’t get to be a multibillionaire by letting people say no to you,” Gus said. “I wonder what he wants.”
“Too bad we’ll never find out.” Shawn walked around the office making a mental catalog of the items stored on the shelves. “How long do you think it will take to pack all this stuff up?”
“Almost as long as it did to collect it all,” Gus said. “You’re not going to let him knock down our offices?”
“I don’t see that we have a choice.”
“Can’t you just get over this bizarre high school fixation with the man?”
“Of course I can,” Shawn said, “because I’m a professional. I can get over just about anything. Last year, didn’t I get over the bird flu?”
“You didn’t have bird flu. You got food poisoning after eating week-old chicken salad.”
“But I got over it, all the same.”
“What’s your point?”
“There’s one thing I can’t get over.”
“What’s that?”
“The Santa Ynez Pass. At least, not without a car.”
That did present a problem that hadn’t occurred to Gus. To get to Eagle’s View required a long and arduous journey up a winding road into the mountains above Santa Barbara. The route was so slow and twisty that even if they had the Echo, it would still be a fight to get there before the sixty-minute window had closed. On foot they wouldn’t even make it to the base of the mountains, even if Gus could walk at his normal efficient pace.
“Maybe your father would let you borrow his truck,” Gus said.
“He’s off fishing.”
“Again? Isn’t he fishing an awful lot lately?”
“He’s old. He’s bored. He needs an excuse to wear that hideous hat.”
“But the coast is closed for fishing right now. There was another sewage spill last week, and the fish have been marinating in human waste.”
“Maybe he went to a lake.”
“What lake?”
“Lake Why the Hell Are We Talking About This,” Shawn snapped. “Can we get back to whatever we were talking about?”
“We were talking about how to get out to see Dallas Steele before he bulldozes our building,” Gus said. “But now I’m curious about why you’re so touchy.”
“You’re not going to let this drop, are you?” Shawn said.
“Would you?”
That was one argument Shawn couldn’t counter. “Okay, he’s not fishing. He’s… he’s…” Shawn’s voice trailed off in disgust.
“He’s what?”
“Scrapbooking.”
From Shawn’s tone of voice, Gus’ first thought was that “scrapbooking” must be a new slang term for drug running. Or murder for hire. Or white slavery. “What do you mean scrapbooking?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Shawn says. “Some old lady dumps a load of old photos, ticket stubs, used napkins, and all sorts of other garbage on him, and he sorts through it and pastes it all into a tastefully designed photo album.”
“Why is he doing that?”
“I can only think of one reason,” Shawn said. “To humiliate me and destroy any last vestiges of respect the world might have for his many years as a fine police detective.”
“That’s two reasons.”
“It’s two more than he’s given me. In fact, he’s so terrified of having to answer the question that every time I call, he hangs up before I can demand that he justify himself again.”
“So no ride. Why don’t we just call Shepler back and explain the problem? I’m sure they’d send a car.”
“And let him know you’re so poor you can’t even afford to get your own car out of the impound lot?” Shawn scowled. “There has to be a better way. One that will allow us to arrive there in style. In elegance. In-”
Gus felt his heart sinking. “You can’t be serious.”
Shawn was. “In sane,” he said.
