Psych: A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Read p-1 Page 2

“Which we’ll waive in your case.”

  Gus felt his face getting hot again. Only this time it wasn’t embarrassment.

  “The other detectives-”

  “Don’t have a direct link to the spirit world the way I do. Although in your case, it should be a link to Heaven, so I can communicate with the other angels.”

  “Thank you,” she said, squeezing Shawn’s hand.

  Gus could barely wait until the door closed behind her before he exploded.

  “You guarantee it?”

  “Don’t we guarantee every case?”

  “No!”

  Shawn sat down behind his desk and picked up the newspaper. “We should start. It’s a great marketing idea.”

  “Unless we fail and we have to give the client’s money back.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Shawn said. “We can’t give her her money back because we didn’t take any in the first place.”

  Shawn flipped through the pages of the paper, then tossed it to Gus. A gorgeous model in a skimpy bra and skimpier panties smiled serenely up at him. “What does this tell you?” Shawn asked.

  “That she’s Fit For The Cure,” Gus said, reading the copy on the bra ad.

  “True, although they never say the cure for what. I think it’s the high price of Maxim magazine. But that’s not what I meant.” Shawn took the paper and flipped it over, then gave it back to Gus.

  There was a small picture of their new client. Over it, a headline read “Model Wife or Murderess: Veronica Mason Trial Starts Monday.” Gus quickly skimmed the story, which included all the details that Shawn had “psychically” intuited and many he hadn’t mentioned. Oliver Mason was a pillar of the Santa Barbara community since his days as quarterback of the high school football team. He’d married the head cheerleader shortly after graduation, leaving many broken hearts behind, and begun a career in aviation that made him a billionaire. His first wife had died of cancer two years ago. Last summer he met Veronica in a restaurant where she was working as a waitress, and a month later they were married. Shortly after their honeymoon, Mason collapsed and died of an apparent heart attack. At first the death was ruled as natural causes, but an autopsy revealed a massive amount of the stimulant epinephrine in his tissues. With that discovery, the Santa Barbara police, led by Detective Carlton Lassiter, opened a murder investigation. They only had one suspect, and when they found multiple used “epi-pens”-one-shot epinephrine auto-injectors used to treat anaphylactic shock-in Veronica’s medicine cabinet, she was arrested and charged with her husband’s murder. The rest of the article was filled with quotes from people who had known and loved Mason.

  “So she did it,” Gus said.

  “Buddy, why so cynical?” Shawn chided. “Why would she kill him?”

  “For a billion dollars and a private island?”

  “He was decades older than her. If she wanted his money, she could have waited a few days for him to kick off from natural causes like Anna Nicole Smith did. Only without the whole posing for Playboy and dying of an overdose part. Which is too bad-the Playboy part, anyway.”

  “She was twenty-five. He was sixty-eight. He could have lived twenty more years easily.”

  Shawn stopped to do the math. “Twenty-five and forty-three is.. . Well, it’s really gross, however long he had to live. The point is, the police arrested the first suspect they could find, and they never looked any further. She’s obviously innocent.”

  “You just want to believe that because her blouse was unbuttoned down to her knees.”

  “Be that as it may, we’ve got to prove she’s innocent. Or we’re never going to get paid.”

  So they got to work. Gus had to admit there was an element of brilliance to Shawn’s plan. With the trial going on right now, as soon as they came up with the evidence, they’d be able to burst into the courtroom and prove both her innocence and their genius on live TV. There was only one problem. In all the weeks the trial dragged on, Shawn and Gus found nothing. Not one thing that would undercut the prosecution’s claim. Now both sides had presented their cases, the jury had deliberated, and the verdict was due to be announced this morning. In a matter of minutes, their client was going to be sentenced to life in prison, and Shawn and Gus were going to lose their only chance for a payday.

  Gus made a hard right onto Anacapa Street and saw the fake Spanish-Moorish palace that was the Santa Barbara courthouse. Shawn pointed at an empty space right in front of the steps.

  “Park there,” he said.

  “It’s red,” Gus said, scanning the street ahead for another space. There was nothing.

  “We’re here for five minutes, you’re not going to get a ticket.”

  “We’re right in front of the courthouse.”

  “And no one’s going to be stupid enough to park in a red zone where he knows there are going to be cops coming and going all day, right?” Shawn said.

  “Right,” Gus said.

  “So why would meter maids even bother to patrol here?” Shawn threw his door open and jumped out of the car. “You coming?”

  With a heavy sense of foreboding, Gus slid the Echo into the red zone, locked his door, and followed Shawn across the flagstones through the whitewashed archway and past a pair of heavy wooden doors. By the time Gus caught up with him, Shawn was standing in the vaulted hallway, frozen outside the door to courtroom number three.

  “Something wrong?” Gus asked.

  “Just going over the plan one last time,” Shawn said. “Making sure every piece is in place. Every angle is covered. Every contingency is

  … contingencied.”

  “Great,” Gus said. “What is the plan?”

  “No idea,” Shawn said, and kicked open the massive wooden doors.

  Chapter Two

  Every head in the courtroom swiveled to stare as Shawn marched down the aisle between benches packed with spectators. At the defense table, Veronica Mason gazed at Shawn with new hope. Under a low-cut blouse, her perfect breasts heaved as she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Man,” Shawn whispered to Gus, “does she ever button all the way up?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Gus said. “I thought we cared about her innocence, not her cleavage.”

  “I can care about lots of things at the same time.”

  Veronica’s was the only friendly face in the room. The spectators in the gallery looked like they were at a football game and Shawn had run onto the field just as the home team was about to score. Behind the bench, a graying Jerry Garcia look-alike in a black robe stared openmouthed at the interruption into his courtroom.

  “I object!” Shawn shouted, striding toward the wooden gate separating the spectators from the trial’s participants.

  The judge pounded his gavel so hard his small gray ponytail bounced up and down and his beard trembled. “What do you mean, you object? Who are you?”

  Shawn glanced at the judge. And saw. Saw the crystal pyramid holding down a stack of papers. The leather thong around his neck disappearing under the black robe.

  “I’m Oliver Mason, and I’m here to say my wife did not kill me!”

  A shocked whisper went through the crowd. In the jury box, the forewoman, a saggy matron in a black dress, went ashen, the verdict sheet trembling in her hand. Bert Coules, the Santa Barbara district attorney, jumped up from his chair.

  “Your Honor!” Coules shouted. A former Army Ranger, Coules still sported the buzzed hair and buffed body of the military’s most elite. When he looked at Shawn, Gus could almost see his eyes narrowing into sniper scopes.

  “Veronica loved me,” Shawn said. “You must not convict her!”

  The judge stared at Shawn. “Young man, this is a court of law. If you’re making some kind of joke, I will jail you for contempt.”

  “Do not blame this young man,” Shawn said. “He is only a vessel for my spirit. I have taken over his body to speak through.”

  The gavel hung in the air as the judge studied Shawn closely. “You’re a medium?” />
  “I used to be, but I think I’ve gained a few pounds,” Shawn said.

  Gus shoved him. Shawn shoved back.

  “Your Honor, this is ridiculous,” Coules said.

  “It’s unorthodox-I grant that,” the judge said. “But many people believe that communication with the spirit world is possible.”

  “Idiots,” Coules said.“The same brain-dead ex-hippies who believe that crystals cure cancer and-”

  The judge pulled the leather thong out from under his robe, revealing the gleaming crystal hanging from it.

  “-and if we’re going to take this ‘medium’ seriously, I demand some proof that he really is channeling Oliver Mason,” Coules said quickly. “Let him tell us something about his wife that only the deceased would know.”

  “That’s fair,” the judge said, tucking his crystal pendant back under his robe and turning back to Shawn. “If you are channeling Oliver Mason, you must know all sorts of secrets.”

  “Secrets,” Shawn said. “Yes, lots of them.”

  “We only need one,” the judge said.

  “One, right,” Shawn said. “You know, it’s amazing what being dead does to your short-term memory. Maybe if I had a couple of minutes to think…”

  “Our client is about to be found guilty, and we’re parked in a red zone,” Gus whispered furiously. “Think of something now.”

  “We’re waiting,” the judge said.

  “I think we’ve waited long enough,” Coules said. “He’s obviously a phony.”

  Shawn pressed his fingers to his forehead. “My wife has a small birthmark on her right breast, just above the nipple.”

  The judge glanced over at the female guard who brought Veronica to the courtroom every day. “You’ve seen the accused change from her prison jumpsuit into street clothes?”

  “I have, Your Honor,” the guard said.

  “Does she have such a birthmark?”

  “She does, Your Honor,” the guard said.

  “I’m impressed,” the judge said. “Mr. Coules?”

  “It’s in the shape of a strawberry,” Coules said, “and there’s a freckle at the top that looks like the stem. I guess I’m Oliver Mason, too. And so is every man in this courtroom. Including you, Your Honor.”

  The judge banged his gavel. “I warn you, Counselor-”

  “Come off it, Judge, I saw you looking when she was on the stand,” Coules said. “You’d have to be a lot deader than Oliver Mason not to. Now will you please get this fraud out of here?”

  The judge sighed as if he’d just learned at sixty that there is no Santa Claus. He banged his gavel desolately. “Bailiff, remove the medium.”

  The bailiff bolted up the aisle like a defensive end looking for a quick sack. He grabbed Shawn around the waist and started to haul him toward the exit.

  Gus followed. “I told you to stop thinking about her cleavage.”

  The judge cleared his throat. “I apologize to the jury for this interruption. Have you reached a verdict?”

  As he struggled to free himself from the bailiff’s arm-lock, Shawn saw the jury forewoman stand up again. She raised the verdict form and began to read.

  “We have, Your Honor,” she said with a quaver in her voice.

  Shawn looked at the forewoman and saw. Saw the savage pen stroke under the verdict that almost tore through the paper. Saw the ring on her finger-a class ring, Santa Barbara High School, class of 1958. Saw the Med Alert bracelet dangling off her wrist-allergic to bee stings. Saw the small smile of triumph on her face as she sneaked a glance at Veronica.

  “On the charge of murder in the first degree, we find the defendant-”

  “I’m sorry!” Shawn howled. “I’m so sorry I hurt you!”

  The judge gaveled again. “Quiet!”

  “I’ve been quiet too long,” Shawn said. “I should have spoken up in high school-when I broke your heart.”

  “How long does it take to get one guy out of a courtroom?” Coules said.

  The bailiff yanked Shawn toward the door. Shawn grabbed on to a bench. “But it was the second time that was unforgivable. After my first wife died, I knew you thought we’d finally be together. But I married this waitress instead.”

  The forewoman gasped. The judge glared at her. “Do you know this man?”

  “No,” the forewoman said. But her face had gone pale.

  The bailiff lifted Shawn off the ground, trying to break his grip on the bench. “And I know you didn’t mean to kill me when you stuck me with the epi-pen you carry in case you’re ever stung by a bee. Just like the one you undoubtedly have in your purse right now.”

  “Bailiff, release that man,” the judge said.

  The bailiff let go of Shawn, who crashed to the floor.

  “You wanted to provoke a minor heart attack so you could save my life and prove that we were meant to be together. But when I died, you knew who was really responsible-it was Veronica, who had weakened my heart with her intense sexuality. Every time I saw her cleavage, it took another year off my life.”

  “Enough with the cleavage,” Gus whispered.

  “Bailiff, I’d like to see the forewoman’s purse,” the judge said.

  The bailiff walked over to the jury box and held out his hand. The forewoman reluctantly gave him her large leather bag.

  “And since you knew that Veronica was ultimately to blame for my death, you planted several of your epipens in her belongings so that justice would be done,” Shawn said. “When you were put on this jury, it was like justice itself was congratulating you for a job well-done. When in fact it was probably just a close friend somewhere in the court system.”

  A wiry woman in a floral-print dress jumped up from her seat in the back of the galley so fast she nearly knocked over the bench full of spectators. She leveled a shaking forefinger at the forewoman.

  “You lied to me!” the woman said. “You told me you just wanted to get on the jury to get a book deal!” Fighting off tears, she ran out of the courtroom. At a signal from one of the prosecutors, a guard went after her.

  The judge dug through the forewoman’s purse and came up with a small black cylinder, roughly the size and shape of a ballpoint pen. He held it out to Coules.

  “Does this look like the murder weapon to you, Mr. Coules?” he said.

  Coules took the epi-pen and stared at it.

  A tear ran down the forewoman’s face. “I always loved you, Oliver. And you said you loved me. That night under the bleachers-that’s why I

  … I know you meant it. Wait for me-I’ll join you in the spirit world and we can have eternity together.”

  “Bailiff, take this woman into custody,” the judge said. Then he turned back to Coules. “I assume you won’t mind dropping the charges against Mrs. Mason.”

  “No, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said.

  The crowd burst into cheers. Veronica leapt up from her seat and hugged her defense attorney. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome… I guess,” he said, trying to figure out what had just happened.

  Shawn gave a quick shudder as if he’d just woken up from a deep sleep. “Where am I?” he said. “What am I doing here? Why am I lying on the floor?”

  Gus helped him back to his feet. “Good plan. Well contingencied,” he whispered as they headed toward the door, fighting their way through a throng of people begging to know who Shawn was. Gus made sure each one of them got a Psych business card.

  They finally got into the hallway, where another mob surrounded Veronica Mason. Now that the fear of prison was gone from her face, she was more beautiful than ever. As the crowd swept them past her, Veronica leaned over and whispered in Shawn’s ear.

  “Call me,” she said. “I’ve got a birthmark even Oliver didn’t know about.”

  And then the crowd swept her down the hallway from them. Shawn watched her go, then turned to Gus with a satisfied smile.

  “I think we’ve made a new friend,” Shawn said.

  “I th
ink you’ve made a new enemy.”

  They turned to see Bert Coules, the DA, looming over them. His fists were clenched, and a vein in his temple throbbed.

  “Hey, Bert,” Shawn said. “Good work in there. Think how well it would have gone if you’d tried the right person.”

  “She was the right person,” Coules said. “You just let a murderer walk free.”

  “The forewoman confessed,” Gus said. “You heard her.”

  “I heard a pathetic, lovelorn spinster desperately falling for a con dreamed up by a cheap fake,” Coules said.

  “I am not cheap,” Shawn said. “I’m reasonable. Maybe you should try my services next time.”

  Coules’ eyeballs looked like they were going to explode out of his head. “No, Mr. Spencer, you are going to try mine,” he said. “Unless you are the most law-abiding person in Santa Barbara County. Because if I discover you’ve committed the tiniest infraction of the smallest regulation, the entire office of the district attorney is going to find a way to make you serve the sentence Veronica Mason should be serving.”

  Chapter Three

  “Gus, this is just one of those things that no one could have anticipated.” Shawn and Gus trudged along the endless stretch of chain link, heat radiating up from the melting asphalt and burning through the thin leather soles of Gus’ best dress Oxfords.

  “No one except a psychic,” Gus said, staring through the metal links at the acres of cars. “Too bad neither of us knows one.”

  “Gus, Gus, Gus,” Shawn said, “that would have been a truly cutting comment if I actually believed I had psychic abilities. But since we both know I don’t, you’ve got to dig a little deeper.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Gus said. “Almost as useful as the last bit you gave me.”

  “I know you loved that fanny pack, but its day was over.”

  “I mean about the street signs,” Gus said. “Specifically about the signs that said, ‘No parking-violators will be towed.’ Specifically that we should ignore the signs because meter maids would never patrol outside the courthouse.”

  The day had been going so well. After Shawn’s triumph in the courtroom, they were mobbed by journalists. They spent two hours giving interviews that would lead to tons of free publicity. One of the reporters even asked who Gus was.