important element of all?”
“Because you’re not paying attention?”
Gus was about to respond when he noticed another squad car disgorging its passenger. Tall and blond, blue eyes sparkling almost as brightly as her white teeth, bronzed skin only slightly covered by her crop top, short shorts, and tiny green apron.
“Wait a minute,” Gus said. “You brought-”
“The girl from that coffee place,” Shawn said.
“Why?”
“We’re here to solve a series of mysteries,” Shawn said. “So we might as well answer the greatest one of all-who does she like, you or me?”
The girl stepped up to Shawn and Gus, gazing in astonishment at the house towering above them. “Cool,” she said. “You guys live here?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Shawn said.
She looked puzzled. “What manner?”
“The one that means no,” Gus said.
She thought that one through, then let it go. “Hey, I know you guys,” she said.
“You certainly do,” Shawn said.
“You’re that creepy guy who hangs out at the Coffee Barn for hours yapping about everything and never tips,” she said to Shawn.
“I’m sure you’re confusing me with someone else,” Shawn said, but she just shrugged.
“The creepy guy, eh?” Gus said. “I guess that’s one mystery solved.”
She turned to Gus. “And you’re the guy who talks so quietly I can never hear your order, but you take whatever I give you, anyway.”
Gus felt his face flushing. All those times she’d given him a special drink-a triple caramel chocolate maltolatte instead of the plain cappuccino he’d ordered-he had assumed she was demonstrating her affection. Now it turned out she simply didn’t care enough to ask him to speak up.
If Shawn was embarrassed, he didn’t show it. He leaned in close enough to see his reflection in her gleaming teeth. “So you’ve got a loud pushy guy and a timid stalker-which one do you like best?”
Gus found himself leaning in for the answer, too. But while she was still looking blankly at them, Shepler appeared and guided her down the hall.
“You going to do that good a job of solving the rest of the mysteries?” Gus muttered. “Because if you are, I’ve got dibs on the top bunk in our cell.”
The rest of the guests filed past Shawn and Gus without comment, casting them only puzzled stares or hostile glares-first Bert Coules, the prosecutor, and then, led in handcuffs by Detective Lassiter, Arno Galen, who was still awaiting trial on pet-napping charges. When everyone was inside, Shawn pulled Gus through the massive front doors. Shepler locked them with an ornate antique key, then brought them down the hall to the grand ballroom.
Under any other circumstance Gus would have paused in the doorway to study the ballroom’s ornate design, which put even the theater to shame. The floor was polished granite, inlayed with another mural celebrating some aspect of Adler’s domination over human history; the walls were hand-carved boiserie taken from a French chateau. But Gus’ attention was immediately riveted on the cluster of people in the center of the room, none of whom seemed to notice them when Shawn threw the doors open.
The detectives were prowling on opposite sides of the room so they could keep an eye on all the suspects at once. Chief Vick had positioned herself between Veronica Mason and Bert Coules, apparently trying to referee an argument. Arno Galen stood next to Veronica, his eyes shifting between the cops guarding him and the low-cut dress his hostess was wearing. Henry Spencer was lost in conversation with the coffee girl, who stared up at him rapturously. Gus couldn’t see the unidentified mystery woman, but her black case was in the back of the room, and it was possible she was hidden behind it.
Shawn cleared his throat loudly. Still no one seemed to notice him. He coughed theatrically. Veronica glanced up from her argument and noticed them standing in the doorway. Her face lit up as she stepped away from Coules.
“Finally here’s the man who can tell us who actually killed my husband, instead of casting vague, unsupported allegations,” she said. “Come in, Shawn, and let us share in your genius.”
Coules scowled at her. “That’s one way to keep him from pointing the finger at you.”
Shawn and Gus stepped into the room. All the other conversations stopped as the guests turned to look at them.
“Thank you all for coming,” Shawn said.
“As if we had a choice.” Arno Galen rattled his cuffed hands. “Only way you could get an audience, you cheap phony.”
“Detective, silence that man,” Shawn barked to Juliet O’Hara, who stood beside Galen.
“Silence him yourself,” O’Hara said.
“Just get on with it,” Lassiter said from across the room.
Shawn cast O’Hara a reproachful look, then turned back to the crowd. “You’re probably wondering why I’ve brought you all together.”
“No, we’re not,” Coules said. “We’ve all suffered through your shtick before.”
Veronica whirled on him. “You mean freeing an innocent woman you were trying to convict? Is that what you call ‘shtick’?”
Gus stepped forward. “People, please, we’re trying to solve a series of murders here!”
The coffee girl peered at Gus. “Did he say something? I can never understand that guy.”
“That’s two of us, honey,” Henry said.
The room dissolved into cross talk. Gus looked over to see if Shawn had noticed how completely he’d lost control over the situation, but Shawn didn’t seem concerned.
“Ahem!” Shawn waited until the various conversations died down. “I’ve brought you all here for two reasons.”
“What’s the one besides keeping your neck out of the noose?” Coules said.
Shawn clapped his hands sharply, and Shepler opened a door in the back of the ballroom. The crowd turned to see four tuxedoed waiters emerging from a service corridor, each one carrying a silver tray laden with crystal glasses filled with what looked like iced cola. They moved through the room until every guest was holding a drink. One waiter approached Gus with the last glass. Gus reached for it, but Shawn stepped in front of him and snagged it off the tray.
“Sorry,” Shawn said. “My plan, my beverage.”
Shawn knocked it back in a couple of gulps as the waiters retreated from the room; then he handed the empty glass to Gus.
“We are here tonight to correct a terrible injustice,” Shawn said. “But first, enjoy your drink.”
Those who hadn’t did. Some of the glasses were already empty.
“It tastes kind of like coffee,” the coffee girl said. “But it’s not.”
“This, my friends, is the elusive Coca-Cola Blak, one of the greatest inventions in the history of mankind,” Shawn said. “I admit, it’s not the standard commercial version. It’s Dallas Steele’s special blend. But through an injustice of global proportion, even the normal American version of Blak is unavailable anywhere in this country. I bring you here today to unite you all in my cause to force the Coca-Cola company to bring back Blak!”
Shawn’s arms shot in the air like Richard Nixon at the end of a speech. Somehow the gesture didn’t bring a wave of cheers from his audience.
Gus sniffed the glass. It smelled like Coke with a hint of coffee grounds emanating from the ice cubes. He had a hard time imagining why anyone would get so excited over a soft drink, but then he’d never actually tried the stuff. Maybe he could request it with his last meal if Shawn kept talking about Coca-Cola products instead of producing a killer.
“You have thirty-nine minutes left, Mr. Spencer,” Chief Vick said. “I urge you to use them wisely.”
Shawn dropped his arms to his side. “Fine. We’re also here to solve a bunch of murders.”
“Murders?” the coffee girl squealed. She looked around, frantic. “No one told me anything about
