A Fatal Frame of Mind

Chapter Twenty-nine

For a moment no one moved. Then Kitteredge pushed himself away from the table.

“Flaxman, don’t be ridiculous,” the professor said. “These two saved me on multiple occasions.”

“Saved you from being recaptured by the police,” Low said, his fiery eyes never leaving Shawn and Gus. “When you might have alerted law enforcement to the real nature of the threat we face.”

“But they brought me to you,” Kitteredge protested.

“To find out who else knew about the Cabal,” Low said. “And then they could shut down all threats at once.”

Gus managed to pull his eyes away from Low to sneak a look at Shawn, hoping to see the cocky smile he wore when he knew he was in charge of a situation everyone else thought was lost. What he saw made him wish he’d never turned away. Shawn wasn’t even looking at Low. He was staring past his shoulder, toward the kitchen. Gus knew he didn’t want to know what Shawn was looking at, but his neck refused to follow his explicit instructions. It swiveled until Gus’ gaze matched Shawn’s.

The hunchback was standing in the kitchen doorway, the shotgun leveled at them.

“How do you even know who they are?” Low said.

“He sent me that letter,” Gus said. He turned to Kitteredge. “I showed it to you.”

“You sent someone a letter,” Low said to Kitteredge. “Do you have any evidence that this man was the intended recipient? Do you even remember a student named Burton Guster?”

Yes, Gus implored Kitteredge silently. Think back of all those times we had together.

“I’ve had so many students over the years,” Kitteredge said warily. “The doctoral candidates I get to know very well. But the undergrads come and go so quickly, a hundred at a time. I’m lucky if I ever match a name to a face.”

Gus felt his heart break a little, although he suspected the sensation was really just a preview of the effect Malko’s shotgun was about to have on him.

“And their story about how they came to help you?” Low said. “They got a fund-raising form letter and mistook it for a personal cry of distress? Could you imagine anything more ridiculous?”

Gus saw that this last question seemed to be having an effect on Kitteredge, who sank slowly into his chair.

“I can’t believe it,” the professor said, although his voice didn’t hold a fraction of the conviction his words were intended to convey.

“You’ve been set up, Langston,” Low said. “From the very beginning, this entire charade has had one purpose-for the members of the conspiracy to find everyone who knows about them and wipe us out.”

“Could I have been so mistaken?” Kitteredge said in a tone of utter weariness. “Could I have been such a fool?”

“It’s not true!” Gus said. “All we ever wanted to do was help.”

“Of that, I’m sure,” Low said. “But that still leaves us with one question: You wanted to help whom? Fortunately my man Malko is extremely skilled at ascertaining the truth in this kind of situation.”

From across the room Malko gave Gus a twisted leer that suggested he not only was talented at this part of his job but was going to take great pleasure in it. Gus tried to fight off the images of what kind of tortures the hunchback could come up with. And what his mangled body would look like before his interrogator would believe that he didn’t actually know anything about this conspiracy.

Gus was so busy battling panic that at first he didn’t notice the low moaning sound that filled the dining room. Even after the noise finally registered, it took him a moment to understand where it was coming from. Only when he saw that Kitteredge, Low, and Malko were all staring at a spot to his left did he realize it must be emanating from Shawn.

He turned and saw that Shawn was staring straight up at the ceiling, eyes wide open, hands pressed against his temples. “Hmmmmmmm,” he moaned. “Hmmmmmmm.”

“What’s he doing?” Low snapped.

Gus felt his hopes rise. “I think he’s communing with the spirits.”

“Fascinating,” Kitteredge said. “I’d hoped to see a demonstration of his abilities.”

“You have been fooled by these spies too many times,” Low said. “Do not allow them to betray you again.”

“Hmmmmmmm,” Shawn said. “Hooooooommmmmmm.”

“Listen,” Gus said, desperately hoping to keep Kitteredge’s interest in the face of Low’s suspicion. “The sound of the spirits is changing.”

“What does that mean?” Kitteredge said.

“Hooooooommmmmmm!” Shawn moaned.

“We’ll have to ask him when he comes out of the trance,” Gus said, hoping that Shawn would come up with some kind of answer soon.

“Malko can get an answer out of him,” Low said.

“HOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!” Shawn wailed. Then his head snapped down and his eyes blazed at Low as his hands dropped away from his temples. “The spirits have a question.”

“What is it?” Kitteredge said eagerly.

“They want to know what kind of pretentious clown actually uses the word ‘whom’ in conversation,” Shawn said. “Especially when they’re getting ready to torture and kill someone.”

Gus felt his heart sink. He couldn’t really blame Shawn for not coming up with the miracle words that would free them from danger and make everything all right. But surely he could have tried a little harder than this.

“So much for the psychic abilities,” Low said. “Although I have to say I’m a little disappointed in the Cabal. I’d like to think that if they were going to make their final move to eliminate their enemies from the face of the earth, they’d send someone a little less transparently fake.”

Low signaled to Malko, and the hunchback came into the dining room, the black hole in the center of the shotgun never wavering from them.

“But the spirits aren’t surprised,” Shawn continued, apparently oblivious to anything occurring around him on the earthly plane. “They say that’s often the way with people who are desperate to cover their lack of education and fit into a class to which they don’t really belong.”

“That’s ludicrous,” Low said, his face paling a little under the white beard.

“Not according to the spirits,” Shawn said. “They say that just because a man looks like Albus Dumbledore, that doesn’t mean he could actually get into Hogwarts.”

“I don’t understand,” Kitteredge. “What are these names?”

“Great wizards,” Gus said quickly. “And, umm, the wizard school.”

“From a children’s fantasy,” Low said contemptuously.

“But a children’s fantasy that comes with a great lesson,” Shawn said. “Did we not learn after The Chamber of Secrets that if you stick enough hair on a man’s head and face it doesn’t matter who is beneath it?”

“What is the point of this?” Low demanded. “Malko!”

The hunchback marched over to Shawn and shoved him roughly toward the kitchen door. But Shawn simply rocked back into place.

“If a wig and a fake beard can turn the Singing Detective into a Man Called Horse, imagine what it could do for a forger and a smuggler,” Shawn said. “It could give him the kind of respectability he craved.”

Low took a step back, as if Shawn had slapped him. His face was ashen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kitteredge said. “Flaxman Low is a scholar and a great man in our field. If he were a smuggler and a forger, I can tell you there would be many museums across the world with phony masterpieces on their walls. But that’s simply not the case. There has never been a hint of scandal around his name, and unless the Cabal has planted lies, there never will be.”

There was no doubt in Kitteredge’s eyes, Gus saw, but Low’s were filled with apprehension.

“I only know what the spirits tell me,” Shawn said. “But sometimes the reception is a little hazy. Let me re-check the message.”

Shawn tilted his head back, pressed his fingers against his temples, and let out a deafening howl. “HOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!” Then he snapped his head back down. “Apparently, the first time around I woke the spirits up from a nap and they were a little confused,” he said.

“Confused about what?” Low said tentatively.

“The century,” Shawn said. “Apparently there was another Low who lived in this house who was a smuggler. He wouldn’t be any relation of yours, would he?”

“My father was a bootlegger,” Low said, relief heavy in his voice. “He ran his operation out of this house until Prohibition ended, then turned his business into a legitimate winery.”

Kitteredge stared at Low as if seeing him for the first time. “You never told me this before, Flaxman,” he said.

“It’s not the kind of family anecdote that breeds trust in a dealer of art and antiquities,” Low said. “I have never told a soul.”

Kitteredge silently digested this new information. Then his face lit up as its ramifications suddenly became clear. “If you’ve never told anyone, and if there is no public record-”

“There is none,” Low said. “My father was never arrested, or even suspected.”

“Then there’s no way the Cabal could have given Mr. Spencer this information. And there’s only one way he could have learned it.”

Low nodded his assent. “He does indeed seem to have special abilities.”

“Of course,” Shawn said cheerfully, “if you’d like further evidence, I can check back in with the spirits. I’m sure they’d be happy to tell me much more about your father-and even about you.”

Malko looked to Low for instructions, and his employer signaled him to leave the room again. Shouldering the shotgun, the hunchback glared at Shawn and Gus, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

“That would be fascinating,” Low said. “But I’m sure there are better uses to which we could put your skills.”

Gus wanted to reach over and give Shawn a hug. He wasn’t sure exactly what Shawn had done or how he’d done it, but something he’d said had spooked Low enough accept him as a real psychic. Or at least to pretend to in front of Kitteredge.

“So now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, maybe we could get back to the subject at hand,” Shawn said. “Which was dessert. I’m starving.”

Shawn plunked himself down in his chair and scooted up to the table.

“I think there’s something a little more important than food,” Kitteredge said.

“If you mean coffee, I was including that with dessert,” Shawn said. “Although I think I’ll stick with decaf. The shotgun in my face was enough stimulation for the moment.”

“I’m talking about The Defence of Guinevere,” Kitteredge said. “It’s time we all got a good look at it.”