“You mean run the light?” Gus said.
“You don’t need to run it. You can walk and still get through before it changes.”
Gus’ foot hovered over the gas. Shawn’s hand shot across the gear shift and pushed down on Gus’ knee.
“A woman’s life is at stake. Punch it!”
Gus struggled to keep his foot airborne. “Don’t touch the knee.”
“Then speed up.”
The hand pressed down on his knee. Gus had to risk taking one hand off the wheel to pry it off. But Shawn’s fingers were curved around his patella, and he couldn’t peel them away.
“Do you have any idea how fast we’re going?” Gus said.
“Yes. Thirty-three miles an hour.”
“ Eight miles over the legal limit. If there’s radar working, we’re in trouble.”
“We’re already in trouble. That’s why you need to speed up.”
“First, take your hand off my knee.”
Shawn scowled, but his hand retreated back to his side of the cabin. Up ahead, the light changed to red.
“We could have made it,” Shawn said.
“We’re not going to be able to help Veronica Mason if we’re killed in a car crash,” Gus said.
“She’s not going to care if we’re dead if we don’t get to the courthouse before the jury comes back.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that when we got the call, instead of watching TV all morning.”
“It wasn’t TV-it was HBO,” Shawn said. “More specifically, it was Into the Blue.”
“Jessica Alba is not taking off her bikini no matter how many times you watch that movie.”
“Are you sure? Because I’m thinking there might be a bonus every tenth time.”
“You explain that to Veronica Mason when she’s sitting on death row. Maybe you can watch it with her in her cell,” Gus said.
“They don’t give you a TV on death row. You get a Bible, and if you’re lucky, you can train a rat to be your friend.”
“She’s already got a rat for a friend.”
“Really?” Shawn said. “You’re going with the rat thing?”
The light changed to green and Gus hit the gas. The car chugged through the intersection and began to pick up speed. Shawn’s hand hovered over Gus’ knee, but after a stern look, he pulled it away.
“You promised a month ago you could prove she was innocent,” Gus said. “Now she’s about to be found guilty, and you haven’t done anything except play Centipede.”
That wasn’t exactly true. In the weeks since Veronica Mason first stepped into the beachside bungalow that housed their psychic-detective agency, Shawn and Gus had pored over every shred of evidence against her. They’d gone undercover as plumbers, pizza-delivery drivers, and piano tuners to question other suspects. And besides, Shawn wasn’t just playing Centipede. He was competing. He’d finally beaten Donald Hayes’ world record of 7,111,111 points, even if that had involved adding up the scores of a dozen separate games and then multiplying by eight.
“I was trying to get into our client’s mind,” Shawn said. “Centipede was the first arcade game ever written by a woman, and still one of the few to appeal to a female audience. Now would you please speed up?”
Gus glanced down at the speedometer. He was already thirty percent over the limit. But one look at Shawn showed him how much his partner was worrying about this case. Maybe it was worth the risk of a ticket.
When it started, it all looked so promising. Gus and Shawn were luxuriating in the glow of a string of successful cases. Which for Gus meant celebrating by rearranging their extensive DVD collection, moving from standard title-based alphabetization to a more intricate breakdown by genre, star, national origin, and release date. Shawn was busy studying the bra ads in the Santa Barbara Times. As Gus wrestled with the thorny question of whether Mannequin 2: On the Move should be filed with the Kristy Swanson collection, the “inanimate object becomes a hot chick” section, or the “sequel so bad it killed the franchise” area, the door opened. Gus looked up and saw a dollar sign standing in the doorway.
Actually, it was a young woman. In any other circumstance, Gus might have noticed her fiery red hair, blazing green eyes, and flawless skin, her long tan legs, and perfect shape. He certainly would have noticed the way her blouse hung open at the top, one button too many left undone. But after their unbroken string of solved cases, Gus was waiting for the Big One, the high-profile wealthy client who could put them at the very top of the local PI pyramid. This woman was obviously what he’d been looking for. He hoped that Shawn saw her the same way.
“Is this the detective agency?” the woman asked, her voice trembling.
Gus jumped out of his chair.
“Welcome to Psych,” he said, holding out a hand. “Come in. I’m Burton Guster.”
With a sinking heart, Gus saw her take a quick glance around the office at the frat-boy-with-a-credit-card decor: the leather armchairs, the wide flat screen, the comic books scattered over the coffee table.
“This is a mistake,” the woman said. “You can’t help me. No one can.”
“Many people think that before they come to us,” Gus said. “Before they meet Shawn Spencer.”
“Is he really psychic?”
Gus heard a moan of pain from behind him. Shawn lay spread-eagle in his desk chair, arms flung out at his sides, legs up on the desk, eyes screwed shut.
“I’m sensing something.” Shawn rose out of the chair as if yanked up by unseen strings and stared into the woman’s eyes. “There’s been a murder.”
“Yes,” she said. There was a flicker of hope in her eyes. Keep it coming, Gus thought. You’ve almost got her.
“I’m sensing that you were not the victim,” Shawn said.
The hope flickered out and died.“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.”
Gus dived for the door, throwing himself between the woman and the exit. “You have to understand that Shawn sees the spirit world so clearly that sometimes he can’t tell if he’s addressing a living person or a ghost.”
“Often I need to use my hands to be sure,” Shawn said, extending his arms toward her.
“Shawn!”
“But not this time,” Shawn said, dropping his arms. “I sense there was a murder.”
“Yes, you sensed that already,” Gus said. “Maybe you could sense a little more.”
“Maybe I could,” Shawn agreed.
“Maybe you should,” Gus said. “Like now.”
Shawn put his fingertips to his forehead and sniffed the air.
“I was wrong,” Shawn said. “You were the victim of this crime. Not only has someone you loved deeply been taken away-you have been blamed for it. Unfairly, cruelly blamed by a world jealous of your talent, your beauty, your capacity for love.”
The woman froze, then turned to Shawn. She started to tremble, then fell back in a swoon. Gus leapt forward to grab her before she could hit the floor, and guided her to the couch, where he laid her down gently. Shawn nudged him out of the way as he kneeled by the couch, taking her hand. She opened her eyes, then sat up quickly as she remembered where she was.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s been so long since…”
“Since anyone understood you?” Shawn said.
She nodded, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
“I see a wedding,” Shawn said. “A man who is much older-”
“Not so much,” she murmured. “Only forty-three years between us.”
Shawn turned to Gus, disgust on his face. Forty-three years- yuck . Then turned back to the woman on the couch.
“To the outside world, it seemed like a lot,” Shawn said. “But to two souls who’d been destined to be together, a matter of days.”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes, reliving her happier times.
