Psych: A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Read

Chapter Fourteen

The ride through the mountains to Eagle’s View seemed even longer than it had before. The first time Gus had spent most of the drive terrified at the probability that he was being chauffeured by a psychopath. Looking back, that seemed like such a small problem, on a level with being caught reading under the covers with a flashlight or attracting the attention of the mean kids from first grade or all the other things that used to send him into a panic when he was six.

Now Gus realized that there was a great advantage to having a psychotic stalker as your driver: You didn’t have to worry about where she was or what she might be doing.

As Shepler piloted the car mechanically through the hairpin curves, Gus tried to keep his mind on the possibility that Steele’s assistant might slip into one of his mind-freeze moments just as they rounded a switch-back, and send them plummeting hundreds of feet to a fiery death. But as with most of Gus’ attempts to keep a cheery thought in the face of imminent disaster, the appealing notion of dying kept being replaced by the more troubling image of what Tara might be doing now.

It was an issue he’d tried to raise with Shawn when Shepler first showed up at Henry Spencer’s door. Shawn, not surprisingly, had seen his arrival as a reprieve from the onerous task of cleaning up his father’s house. Of course he tried to hide that fact from Henry by insisting he was motivated only by his fiduciary duty to a man who’d entrusted him with an investment fund of one hundred million dollars. And that started an entirely different argument.

“Please tell me that this is another attempt to cheat your way to the world Monopoly championship,” Henry said.

“First of all, that wasn’t cheating,” Shawn said, jumping back into an argument that had reached an armistice fourteen years ago as if they’d been in the middle of it when Shepler knocked on the door. “I was going to bring the concept of monopolization to Monopoly itself. If I’d been successful, it would have changed the game forever.”

“Whatever,” Henry said. “It’s a silly game for silly children, and nothing a grown man should be wasting his time on.”

“As opposed to say, cutting out pictures and gluing them into albums?” Shawn said.

“I’m preserving my clients’ precious memories, and if you think that’s a waste of time, I feel sorry for you,” Henry said.

“And I’m being paid to invest Dallas Steele’s money,” Shawn said. “Maybe you can feel sorry for me about that, too.”

“Technically speaking, we’re not getting paid,” Gus said. “Not until we show a profit.”

“If I wanted to speak technically, I would have chosen a profession that required some actual knowledge,” Shawn said.

“Maybe that might have paid some actual money,” Gus said.

There was a discreet throat clearing from the front door. Shepler stood at the doorstep like a vampire waiting for an invitation into the house. “Mr. Steele has a small window available and would very much like to speak with the two of you.”

“I’d think in that monstrosity of a house he’d have every size window you could think of,” Shawn said. “How did you find us here anyway?”

“Is that how you talk to a man who entrusts you with one hundred million dollars?” Henry said.

“This isn’t that man,” Shawn said. “And how would you talk to someone who gave me a hundred million dollars?”

“First I’d make sure his straitjacket was on securely,” Henry said.

“Oh, well, as long as we’re speaking respectfully,” Shawn said.

Gus glanced at his watch. He figured that Shawn and Henry could keep going at each other for at least another three minutes, which was fine with him. He needed the time to figure out what they should do.

The first choice was easy-they could go with Shepler. After all, Steele had entrusted them with a huge responsibility, and if he wanted to meet, it seemed ungenerous to refuse. It was disconcerting to have Shepler simply arrive with a summons, Gus had to admit, but he’d never met a multibillionaire before. Maybe that was how they did things.

Still, Gus didn’t like to think that Steele could send his minion for them whenever he wanted, and they’d be expected to jump. Even ignoring the question of just how Shepler had tracked them down to Henry’s house, there was the issue of the precedent this would set. If they agreed to come now, would that say that they’d be available for Steele no matter what they were doing? What if they were in the middle of a case? What if they were undercover? What if they were tracking a dangerous suspect?

And that was what was really troubling Gus. They weren’t tracking a dangerous suspect, and they should be. Tara was somewhere out there planning to enforce some twisted version of Shawn’s desires, which was a truly terrifying thought once you considered how twisted Shawn’s own version of Shawn’s desires could be. She was a monster they had helped to create, and it was their responsibility to track her down and put her back in a cage. Beyond that, someone had taken half a dozen shots at them, and that seemed like something that could use some investigating.

Unfortunately, by the time he’d come to this realization, Shawn was already halfway to Shepler’s car and Henry was yelling after him, “This mess is going to be here when you get back!”

Gus gave Henry an apologetic smile along with the half-filled box of charred photos and ran after Shawn.

As soon as Henry’s house had disappeared from the Bentley’s rear window, Gus tried to make Shawn share his urgency. “We have got to make this meeting short,” he said. “We’ve got to find Tara.”

“What’s the hurry?” Shawn said. “Odds are she’ll find us sooner or later.”

“The hurry is what she might do in that time between sooner and later.”

“She’s only doing what she thinks I want, right?” Shawn said. “It’s not like she’s going to kill anybody.”

“Are you sure?”

Shawn thought about that. “I think I’d remember if I sent her psychic orders to commit murder.”

“You mean you did order her to tase your dad?”

“Not exactly,” Shawn said. “But I’m pretty sure I was complaining about his ridiculous scrapbook hobby at least one time she was driving us around.”

“And who else were you complaining about?” Gus said. “What are we going to do to protect all those people?”

Shawn glanced out the rear window as the car began the long slow ascent up the mountains. “For the moment, nothing.”

Gus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “She’s already beaten one guy into the hospital.”

“If you can call him a guy,” Shawn said. “What kind of man is going to be taken out by a girl?”

“And she set your father’s house on fire.”

“For which the neighborhood-improvement committee will probably give her a medal.”

“Do you think this is funny?”

“Not Monty Python funny, but maybe Brady Bunch funny. You know, no big laughs, but a wry smile, a warm chuckle, and that nod of recognition that we’re all riders in the same cockeyed caravan of life.”

Shawn glanced out the back window again. Gus wanted to grab his face and force Shawn to look at him. Pretending it was all a joke wasn’t going to make this any less serious.

“Then let’s not think about her innocent victims for a minute,” Gus said, forcing his voice to stay calm. “Let’s think about us. The police know she beat up that BurgerZone kid, and if they don’t know what she did to your father, they will soon. If she acts again now that we know what she’s doing, they will come after us.”

Shawn glanced out the rear window again. “So that’s what you’re so worried about? That Tara’s going to do something awful before we can stop her?”

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.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” Steele said. “Shepler will bring you down to the auditorium for the press conference.”

Shepler stepped through the doorway and started up the spiral staircase, and Shawn was right behind him. Gus wasn’t quite ready to follow.

“Dal?”

Steele was already halfway through dialing a call on his BlackBerry, but he slipped it back into his pocket at the sound of Gus’ voice. “I was just going to make sure that the Pumas game really was canceled. Sometimes we get a storm up here, and by the time it gets down to the coast, it’s just a little drizzle.”

“That’s okay,” Gus said. “I just have a question about something you said before.”

“What’s that?”

Gus knew he could stop now. Let Dallas go without answering and try to enjoy the night ahead like Shawn. But Gus wasn’t like Shawn, and he knew he could never enjoy the night. He’d spend it lying awake, worrying about what would come tomorrow.

“When we first got here you took us to the celebration room,” Gus said. “You said it seemed appropriate.”

“I did say that.” Something in Steele’s voice suggested that he was happy Gus had asked the question.

“Because we were celebrating,” Shawn said. He and Shepler were standing on the steps just before they curved out of sight. “Let’s go. Those stairs aren’t going to climb themselves, you know.”

“But there were never actually celebrations in the celebration room,” Gus said.“As you pointed out, the whole thing was a fraud. Even the room itself was a fraud, just a big door hanging in front of a broom closet.”

“That’s true.”

“So why was it appropriate that we celebrate there?” Gus said.

Steele’s laugh boomed past Gus’ ear on its way up to Shawn. “Whatever you do, Shawn, never lose this guy. He’s one of the sharpest minds I’ve ever met.”

The dark fears in Gus’ mind suddenly grew large enough to split off into separate camps. One of them immediately set out and established a colony in his stomach. “So what is the answer?” he said, increasingly certain that he might never be as happy again as he was right now.

“I was going to let that be a surprise,” Dallas said, mulling it over. “Hold this little thing back and spring it on you at the press conference. Let the whole world see your faces when you found out what any sentient beings would have known before they came up here.”

Having completely conquered his stomach, the suspicions opened a new frontier in Gus’ knees, leaving him reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Umm, Shawn, I think you want to come down for this,” Gus called up the stairs.

“I’m already five stairs up,” Shawn said. “Why don’t you come here?”

“Shawn!” Gus didn’t glance back over his shoulder to see if Shawn was coming, but the heavy sighs and heavier footsteps told him the story. “There’s something Dallas wants to tell us before the press conference.”

“I promise I won’t bring up the whole shoelace thing, if that’s what this is about,” Shawn said.

“It’s not,” Gus said.

“Gus was asking why I thought it was appropriate to announce my intentions to you in a room that was designed as a complete fraud,” Steele said. “The reason for that is as simple as it is obvious. Because you are complete frauds. And tomorrow the whole world will know.”