Psych: A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Read p-1 Read online

  Gus wanted to scream. “Yes!”

  “Then I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look.”

  Shawn pointed out the rear window. The road stretched out for a hundred yards behind them, then disappeared around a hairpin curve.

  “I don’t see anything,” Gus said.

  “Keep looking.”

  Gus did. All he saw was the roadway, the sheer drop next to it, and a pair of hawks circling slowly over a road sign. “I still don’t see-”

  Just before the car twisted around another switch-back, there was a flash of metallic red emerging from around the last twist.

  “That’s why,” Shawn said.

  For the rest of the ride up, Gus kept his eyes on the rear window, just to make sure Tara was still following them. There were long stretches when there wasn’t a hint of red, and he feared that she’d come just far enough to make sure where they were going, then turned back to Santa Barbara. But every time he came close to panic, he’d catch a glimpse of her creeping around a turn.

  When they crested the last rise before the descent into the cereal bowl, Gus couldn’t help craning his head for another long look at the famous house. The last time they were here, the sun was shining and the sky was brilliant blue. Now there were storm clouds hiding the sun and painting the entire valley a dismal gray. To Gus’ delight, Eagle’s View was even more magnificently ugly in the gloom.

  A thick wet drop splashed on the windshield. Shepler flicked on the windshield wipers before it could even start to trail away toward the roof.

  “So what happens if it rains a long time up here, Shepler?” Shawn said, peering out at the clouds. “Does the whole bowl fill up? Or is there a drain somewhere you just have to pull the plug on?”

  Shepler ignored Shawn, focusing all his attention on the spiraling road ahead.

  “That was actually a major concern of the original landscape architects who designed the property.” Gus was happy to have history take his mind off the present. “There was much debate about how quickly natural runoff would occur, and what the risks of flooding were. They ended up carving out a series of drain tunnels that would channel…”

  Gus spent the rest of the ride explaining the landscape architecture of the Eagle’s View grounds. Shawn spent the rest of the ride pretending to listen. Every so often Gus glanced out the rear window to see if there was a red Mercedes behind them. But Tara must have decided the concentric rings into the cereal bowl would be too exposed for her to follow surreptitiously. Gus hoped that she was waiting at the top of the pass.

  When the car finally pulled into the driveway, Steele was there to meet it. He marched up before Shepler put on the parking brake and flung open Shawn’s door, a champagne bottle in one hand and three flutes in the other.

  “Welcome back to Eagle’s View,” Steele said. Gus was practically blinded by the brilliant white of his teeth against the gray sky. “I guess you don’t need to be psychic to know why I brought you here.”

  Shawn and Gus scrambled out of the car as the cork exploded out of the champagne bottle.

  “I’m getting a celebratory vibe,” Shawn said. “It seems like someone’s happy about something.”

  “Try ecstatic.” Steele threw his arms around Shawn and Gus, and led them into the house. Shepler started the car and steered it toward the entrance to the underground garage.

  “So I guess we’re doing okay on the investments?” Gus said as Steele led them through the atrium. This time they passed both Steele’s massive office and the game room.

  “Let’s just say that it seems particularly appropriate that we meet in the celebration room,” Steele said.

  Gus gasped with excitement.

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m about to get another history lesson?” Shawn said.

  “The celebration room was famous in its day,” Gus said. “They had huge parties where the rich and famous could do whatever they wanted, because there was no chance anyone would ever find out. There were rumors of drugs, orgies, you name it.”

  “That’s really exciting,” Shawn said. “But we could also meet in the ‘pay your consultants a ton of money room’ if that’s convenient.”

  Steele let out a booming laugh and turned them down a wide, dark corridor that dead-ended at an enormous bronze door. As Gus got closer, he could see it was covered in a frieze of couples engaged in various sexual activities. Sometimes trios.

  “Are they doing what it looks like they’re doing?” Shawn said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Gus said.

  “Wow,” Shawn said, studying the images. “Try to bring this into the bathroom with you. No wonder they invented magazines.”

  After giving Shawn and Gus a few moments to study the images on the door, Steele reached past them and pushed on it. Despite the door’s massive size and weight, it glided open silently at a touch of Steele’s finger.

  Gus squeezed his eyes shut as the door swung open, wanting to get the full impact of the reveal. When he opened them, he found himself staring into a small black box of a room, barely more than a closet. A rough wooden floor ran for no more than six feet before hitting a plain stone wall. A couple of folding chairs leaned in one corner; a tray of rat poison lay open in another.

  Steele reached up and pulled the chain that switched on the lone bare bulb. “Gentlemen,” he said, his smile even wider now, if that was possible, “welcome to the celebration room.”

  “Must have been some rocking parties here,” Shawn said. “You could fit at least four people in this room.”

  “I don’t understand,” Gus said. “There are supposed to be rotating beds. And where’s the obscene Maxfield Parrish mural?”

  “Where did you hear about those?”

  “I studied this house in school,” Gus said, surreptitiously rapping his knuckles against a wall to see if it would slide aside to reveal the real room. It didn’t. “I read accounts of the parties.”

  “And who wrote those accounts?” Steele said.

  “People who talked to people who’d been at them, I guess,” Gus said.

  “But never a firsthand account, right?” Steele said.

  Gus tried to think back on his texts. “I guess,” he said.

  “Because there were no firsthand accounts,” Steele said.

  “Right.” Gus was putting it together now. “Because the parties were so private and the behavior so scandalous that no one would ever dare talk about them for fear that they’d be exposed.”

  “Because there were no parties. Elias Adler hated people. Despised being in their presence. And yet he wanted them to worship him. So he had his architects leak false information about an enormous, decadent room that would be dedicated to elaborate celebrations. He had this door imported from Padua and let one reporter sneak a photograph of it. Just a hint of all the terrible things that were going to happen behind it.”

  “And then no one would admit they’d been to the parties for fear they’d be accused of perversion,” Gus said.

  “Adler never even invited anyone,” Steele said. “He just had his paid flacks spread rumors of all the movie stars and politicians that had showed up for his parties. At first, they tried to deny it. But no one believed any of the denials, because who wouldn’t deny being in such a place? After a while the parties had such a cachet that people hoped no one would believe their denials. Adler became the most famous host in the United States, and he never let a guest cross his threshold.”

  “Must have saved him a fortune on catering bills,” Shawn said.

  “It reminds me what a genius that man was,” Steele said. “He understood that if you simply say something with enough confidence, people will believe you. You’ve got the same kind of genius, Shawn. That’s what we’re here to toast.”

  Steele raised the bottle and refilled their glasses, then knocked his back in one gulp. Gus glanced over at Shawn and saw that he was beaming under the praise. Gus wasn’t so sure this
was a time to be celebrating. There was something in Steele’s tone that suggested there might be more than a few thorns hidden among the roses.

  “So why exactly did you bring us up here, Dal?” Gus said.

  “As I said, for a celebration,” Dallas said. “I’m very impressed with the work you’ve done for me.”

  “So the investments are just as good as you expected?” Shawn said.

  “Every bit.”

  Again, Gus had the sensation of a thorn biting through his thumb.

  “What do we do now?” Shawn said. “Can we start dividing up the profits yet? Because my friend here could certainly use six thousand dollars. And I hope you notice that I’m acting entirely in his interests here, and that I’m putting my own desires second. Because that’s what friends do for each other.”

  Gus aimed a kick at Shawn’s ankle, but Shawn stepped neatly out of the way.

  “You’ll certainly be getting a large share of the profits,” Steele said. “But that’s just money. I want to let the world know all about your astonishing accomplishment. That’s why we’re having the press conference tomorrow.”

  Gus wasn’t sure why he was feeling so uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. He was even less sure why Shawn wasn’t. “Press conference?”

  “I’ve invited the local media,” Steele said. “And some of the more important figures in the community: mayor, city council president, police chief, heads of various charitable organizations. All groups that stand to profit from our investments in the local business community. I’m sure they’ll all want to express their gratitude to you for your hard work.”

  Gus glanced over at Shawn again. Was it possible that he was actually blushing?

  “I don’t know what to say,” Shawn said.

  “Just say you’ll be here.”

  “Of course we will,” Shawn said.

  Steele pressed an intercom button on the wall. Before he lifted his finger from the buzzer, Shepler had already arrived. “Yes, Mr. Steele?”

  “Are the rooms ready yet?”

  “Of course. I thought we’d put them in the north tower.”

  “Terrific,” Steele said, then turned his dazzling smile on Shawn and Gus. “The press conference is going to start at eight in the morning to make sure we maximize the news cycle. I thought it would be much more convenient for you guys to stay here overnight instead of schlepping down and back up the mountain.”

  What had been a nagging feeling in the back of Gus’ head was now spreading throughout his brain and trickling down into his body. He couldn’t remember which fairy tale he’d read as a kid that had a scenario frighteningly like this one, but he was sure that it had one hell of an ugly ending. And even if Gus managed to convince himself that the invitation was entirely for their own benefit, he couldn’t stop thinking about Tara. It was possible that she was still waiting for them at the pass. But would she stay there all night? Or would she realize that they were tucked safely away and go off to do some of Shawn’s psychic bidding?

  “That sounds great, Dal,” Shawn said.

  Gus tugged at Shawn’s sleeve. “Yes, Dal, great,” he said trying to put as much a significance into his voice as he could. “But we promised Shawn’s dad we’d help him clean up a little mess in his house. You remember what happened at your dad’s place, don’t you, Shawn?”

  “That’s the place Shepler picked you up today? The bungalow by the shore?” Steele asked.

  “Hasn’t moved in decades,” Shawn said. “He’s kind of like a fungus that way.”

  “How did you know where Shawn’s dad lives?” Gus said. “And how did you know we were there?”

  “Can’t hire a consultant without performing my due diligence,” Steele said, then turned to Shepler. “Get a full cleaning crew to that address this afternoon. Oh, and have the painters tag along, see if any of the rooms need freshening.”

  “Oh, they do,” Shawn said.

  “Great,” Steele said. “Send the whole crew: painters, plasterers, plumbers, electricians. Tell them to improve everything in the house, and not to stop until I tell them to personally.”

  Shepler turned away and spoke quietly into his cell phone as Steele gestured for Shawn and Gus to follow him back the way they’d come.

  “That’s incredibly generous of you,” Shawn said.

  “Got to keep my crew busy somehow,” Steele said. “You’re going to love the north tower. You’ll feel like kings of the world.”

  “Hear that, Gus?” Shawn said. “You always wanted to be like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic.”

  “Yes, because it worked out so well for him,” Gus said. “Don’t you think if we’re going to be speaking at a press conference tomorrow we should at the very least go home and change our clothes?”

  “What’s wrong with what we’re wearing?” Shawn asked.

  In Shawn’s case it was a plaid flannel shirt over a white T, blue jeans, and white sneakers. At least that was how his clothes had started out this morning. Now they were all various shades of gray and black, smeared with the ashy remains of the Perths’ less-than-memorable lives. Although Gus had tried to be careful when cleaning up the mess, his baby blue button-down and khakis were spotted with old oil from the chase through the auto-wrecking lot.

  “Nothing,” Gus said, “if the press conference is to launch a new laundry powder, and we’re the ‘before’ picture. You know, ‘I just spent the day rolling in oil from a thousand rotting cars. How can I ever get the spots out?’ Otherwise, I think we should go back home so we can get some clean clothes.”

  Shawn turned to Steele and gave him an apologetic shrug. “Some people just don’t understand how rich people live.”

  “It does take some adjustment,” Steele said.

  “Gus, I’m sure if we stay here, Shepler can have our clothes cleaned before eight o’clock tomorrow,” Shawn said. “Isn’t that right, Shep?”

  Gus hadn’t noticed that sometime in the conversation Shepler had caught up with them.

  “Of course my staff will have your clothes cleaned,” Steele said. “You’ll find robes in the rooms. Just put your stuff in a bag outside the door, and you’ll have everything back cleaned and pressed in plenty of time.”

  “Excellent,” Shawn said.

  “But-”

  “I won’t hear any buts, Gus,” Shepler said. “If there’s anything at all you need, we can provide it for you.”

  “What if we have tickets to a ball game tonight?” Gus snatched at one last straw. “Remember, you were going to take Tara?”

  “Dude, when have we ever had tickets to a ball game?”

  “When have the Pumas ever had an unbroken win streak?”

  “The Pumas? Really?” Shawn said. “The Santa Barbara Middle School Pumas?”

  “I like to support our alma mater,” Gus said. “And with the new coach and their winning season, Puma soft-ball is the hottest ticket in Santa Barbara.”

  “They don’t even have tickets,” Shawn said. “They ripped out the bleachers after Vice Principal Provenza found out Mary Lombardi was selling peeks at her bra for fifty cents under them.”

  “Lawn seating is extremely competitive,” Gus said. “You have to line up early to get a good spot.”

  A crack of thunder boomed somewhere above them. At the end of the corridor, sheets of rain pounded down into the open atrium, turning the tranquil surface of the reflecting pond into the kind of surf that capsized lobster boats.

  “I don’t think the championship is going to be settled tonight,” Steele said. “And now I really have to insist that you stay. You don’t want to ask Shepler to drive down and up the mountain in this kind of weather, do you?”

  Gus wanted to say that he didn’t care what Shepler had to do. He was getting the creeps here, and he wanted to get away from this place. But it didn’t look like that was going to happen easily, and the goofy grin on Shawn’s face suggested that he wasn’t going to help Gus out.

  “Of course
not,” Gus said. “Besides, who could resist the north tower?”

  After they’d been walking for what felt like an hour, the slick marble of the walls gave way to rough, unfinished stone blocks. The floor, too, was paved with uneven flagstones.

  Gus pulled Shawn aside and whispered in his ear, “Something’s wrong here.”

  “I agree,” Shawn said. “We seem to be going back in time. But Roman is actually older than German. So which way is the Wayback Machine going?”

  “Not with the house, with Steele,” Gus said. “I think he’s setting us up for something.”

  “Of course he is,” Shawn said. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that this whole thing was too good to be true?”

  For a moment, Gus was speechless. In his entire life he’d never been able to accept a gift without wondering about the motivation behind it. But he had welcomed Steele’s attention without question, lunged at the opportunity he offered with no qualms. Because he wanted it so badly. “You’ve known all along?”

  “I figured he must be up to something,” Shawn said.

  “Then why did you let us go along with it?”

  “Couldn’t think of a better way to find out what it was,” Shawn said.

  “So what is it?”

  “No idea,” Shawn said. “But I figure we’ll find out in the morning. So we might as well have a good time at Steele’s expense tonight.”

  Steele stopped in front of a massive wooden door. “These are the stairs to the north tower. I wish I could provide you with an elevator, but I’m afraid Mr. Adler was a stickler for authenticity, and if King Ludwig didn’t have an elevator in his tower, then Eagle’s View wouldn’t either.”

  “How did King Ludwig feel about cable?” Shawn said.

  Steele laughed again. “If there’s anything you need, just let Shepler know.” He glanced at his watch. “I was hoping to join you two for dinner, but I’ve got an international conference call that’s going to go late, so if you wouldn’t mind eating in the dining room up there, I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”

  “Sweet,” Shawn said.

  Dallas lifted a wrought-iron hoop the size of a hubcap and used it to pull open the door. In the gloom beyond, a tight spiral of stairs loomed upward roughly to eternity.