“If she didn’t, that puts him in a distinct minority. She’s left a trail of broken necks across the country. And most of them belonged to phony psychics.”
“Phony psychics?” Gus said, already feeling the vertebrae in his neck cracking. Then he remembered who he was talking to. “In that case, we’re perfectly safe.”
“Whatever. She meets a psychic, declares that she’s his mind slave, does whatever she thinks he wants. And then at some point she decides he’s betrayed her, and somehow he falls down the stairs or trips on a skateboard or crashes his motorcycle.”
Gus could practically hear the sound of his own spine snapping. Which proved that you could find good in any catastrophe. As terrible as Dallas Steele’s murder was, at least it put Tara in jail before she could turn on them.
Or did it?
“That, um, matches our findings,” Gus said. “But why are you warning us now? She’s in jail.”
“She never made it,” Lassiter said. “Somehow she managed to break out of the prison bus. She killed the driver and disappeared.”
“You let her get away?”
“The SBPD didn’t let her out. The idiots who handle prison transportation did,” Lassiter said. “If she comes back into our jurisdiction, we’ll put her away again. Until then, the chief feels you two need protection. Because if Tara was ever going to feel betrayed by a psychic overlord, it would be the one who sent her to prison. Do you need us to send a squad car to pick you up?”
Gus glanced out the window and saw Shawn still arguing with Henry. “We’re okay,” he said.
“Not as long as that psycho is out there,” Lassiter said. There was a click as he hung up.
Gus looked out the window again. Shawn and his father were still at it, arguing over something either of them could have resolved with a simple apology or kind word. If they knew how close Shawn had come to sudden, violent death, would they keep on like this? Gus took a step toward the door. He was about to find out.
Something grabbed Gus around the neck and yanked him backward. His heels dug for purchase on the slippery hardwood, but he couldn’t keep his balance. He was going down.
At the car, Henry glanced up to the bungalow’s window and saw Gus waving at them with both hands. “I think Gus wants to say something.”
“You know how he is,” Shawn said. “Can’t stand to see Mom and Dad fighting. Needs to make peace.”
Gus pounded the window with both fists, his mouth contorting as he struggled to pull a breath of air to his lungs.
“Poor Gus,” Henry said. “That soft streak is what’s always let you take advantage of him.”
“I don’t take advantage of Gus.”
Inside the bungalow, Gus was sliding back from the window. He grabbed the windowsill and tried to pull himself forward.
“If you want to make it as a priest, you’re going to have to learn to be honest with yourself,” Henry said. “Look at that poor kid. He’s got the same naive, trusting spirit he had when you were ten. The same bright, hopeful attitude.”
Gus slammed his head against the window, then was dragged back again.
“He didn’t always have three arms, though, did he?” Henry said.
Shawn looked at the window. Gus did seem to have three arms. But the new limb was tanned bronze and wrapped around his neck.
“It’s Tara!”
Shawn sprinted to the office and kicked the door open, Henry right behind him. Gus was bent over, trying to shake Tara off his back.
“Let him go!” Shawn shouted.
At the sound of his voice, Tara jumped back. Gus grabbed his throat, grasping for breath.
“She tried to kill me!” Gus wheezed.
“No, it was an accident,” Tara said. “He fell down the stairs and broke his neck.”
“This is a bungalow,” Shawn said. “There are no stairs.”
“And we saw you with your arm around his throat,” Henry said.
Tara backed away, tears forming in her eyes. “No, I’d never hurt anyone. It was an accident. Shawn, you have to believe me. Please!” Her last word extended into a howl of pain.
“I can see how she fooled you, Shawn,” Henry said. “No way I’d ever guess she was crazy.”
Shawn took a step toward Tara, holding out a hand to her. “It’s all right, Tara. We know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
She sniffed back a sob. “I knew you’d understand.”
“And now we have to make the police understand.”
“No!” She stepped back from him. Her back was up against the wall.
“Come on, Tara,” Shawn said as gently as he could. He reached out and took her hand. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
She seemed to melt under his touch.
“Easy, Shawn,” Henry said. Gus gasped his agreement.
Shawn waved them back. He had this under control. Slowly, calmly, he took her other hand in his. “It’s all going to be okay,” he said.
She gazed up into his eyes, and he felt a buzz of electricity running up his arm. Then she squeezed her hand shut, and he got the entire shock.
Shawn collapsed to the ground, his arms and legs twitching uncontrollably.
“Shawn!” Henry shouted, rushing over to him.
“Ack!” Gus agreed, still trying to regain control of his vocal cords.
Tara let out a piercing scream and ran right at them, waving the stun gun wildly. Gus and Henry fell back on the floor, trying to avoid the crackling weapon, and she blasted out the front door. Scrambling to their feet, Gus and Henry got to the door just in time to see a red Mustang screaming away down the street, a blur of orange jumpsuit all they could make out of the driver.
Shawn let out a groan and managed to pull himself to his feet. “I do not want to know where she was hiding that thing when she was in jail,” Shawn said.
“I’m thinking she picked up a new one since she got out,” Henry said. “You’d be on the ground for an hour if she hit you with the same one she used on me.”
“We have to call the police,” Gus said. Actually, it came out sounding more like, “We ah oo leese,” but both Spencers were able to make sense of it.
“We do have to call the police,” Shawn said. “And tell them we now have proof that Tara is innocent of both murders.”
The outrage flooding Gus’ body was enough to bring back his power of speech. “She just tried to kill me!”
“Absolutely,” Shawn said.
“Not to mention Aunt Enid and Fred Larison and all the other phony psychics who broke their necks in tragic accidents,” Gus said.
“Phony psychics?” Henry said, cocking an eyebrow at Shawn.
Gus filled them in on what Lassiter told him. Henry’s scowl got more disapproving with every new detail. But Shawn was completely undaunted.
“Exactly what I was saying,” Shawn said.
Henry’s cell phone trilled. “Hold that thought. Or whatever it is that passes for thought in your head.” Before he could flip the phone open, the ringing stopped. Henry glanced at the incoming number. He pressed the CALLBACK key and let the phone on the other end ring five times before he disconnected, looking troubled.
“One of my clients,” Henry said. “No answer when I called back.”
“Maybe we can deal with that when the serial killer stalking us is back behind bars,” Gus said. “How are we going to stop her, Shawn?”
But Shawn wasn’t listening to Gus. He was deep in thought. “Which client?” he said finally.
“The first one,” Henry said.
