Gus was astonished the prosecutors were willing to give her that much. Once they started digging, they discovered she’d been smuggling tech secrets out of the country for years. Arnold Svaco was actually the third mole she’d had at JPL, although he was by far her favorite. Passing the information through his schoolteacher cousin made it that much harder to connect Jade to any crime.
She might have kept up her espionage for years if it hadn’t been for Archie Kane’s protectiveness towards Rushton. Once he started investigating, Jade knew he’d never stop. And when Ellen Svaco called her at the firm, in a panic, to say she was being followed, Jade realized Archie was about to unmask her. So she stopped him. First she killed both Svacos to make sure they couldn’t inform on her; then she dealt with Archie.
Still, she couldn’t know how much Archie had told anyone else. She needed to disappear. A company retreat gone disastrously wrong seemed like a good way to make that happen. And since Rushton’s retreats were famous for their difficulty and unpleasantness, no one would have any reason to suspect he wasn’t responsible. She’d kill all the lawyers and slip away in a car she’d arranged to have left in a parking lot at the base of the mountain. Maybe a body or two would be recovered over the years, but there would never be a reason for anyone to assume hers hadn’t been eaten by scavengers.
“So I was thinking, Rushton let us keep the backpacks, why not use them?” Shawn said. “You and me, a quick trip to the top of some mountain?”
“Did you have a mountain in mind?” Gus said warily.
“Normally I’d suggest the mountain of fries at BurgerZone,” Shawn said. “But something’s come up and it seems like a good time to get far out of town.”
“When?”
“Now. Run!”
Shawn jumped to his feet, but before he could get away there was a rustle from behind the tree.
“Not so fast.” Henry had come into his backyard with another tray of hot dogs for the grill.
“I’d love one, but I’m stuffed,” Shawn said. “Besides, Gus is desperate to get up the mountain before the season ends.”
“What season?” Henry said.
“Um, mountain season?” Shawn said. “Okay, fine. Let’s have it.”
“Let’s have what?” Henry said.
“The thing you haven’t said all night,” Shawn said. “The thing you’ve been dying to say every second of every day since you plucked us off that cliff.”
“That Shawn broke his promise,” Gus added helpfully. “That he promised to stay out of the case, but ended up right in the middle of it.”
Henry looked baffled. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“You weren’t?” Shawn said.
“You said you’d stay out of the Ellen Svaco murder case, and you did,” Henry said. “You were following a separate and distinct case, which just happened to dovetail with mine. And good work on that, by the way. You managed so save some lives.”
Shawn stared at him, searching for the trick. “What’s the trick?” he said finally.
“No trick,” Henry said. “I’m proud to have a son who listens to his father—and who knows when not to.”
Gus could see Shawn taking that statement and turning it over in his mind. Poking it, prodding it, dissecting it—and still finding nothing insincere about.
“Thanks,” Shawn finally said. “I guess we can stay to have another hot dog.”
“You sure about that?” Henry said.
“Absolutely,” Shawn said.
“Definitely,” Gus said.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Henry said. “Because speaking of listening, I’ve got some for you to do right now. I’ve decided to put the band back together, and you boys are our first audience.”
“Oh, no,” Shawn moaned.
“Oh, yes,” Henry said. “And there’s no way to weasel out of this one.”
He thrust the plate of hot dogs into Shawn’s hand and headed off to the garage. He threw open the door and climbed behind the drum kit he’d set up there. Ralph, Fred, and Sid all picked up their instruments and plugged them in.
Shawn tossed the hot dogs on the grill and he and Gus strolled over to the garage just as the band started to play.
“What do you know,” Shawn said. “Apparently I will get fooled again.”
Acknowledgments
I know it says in the beginning of this book that this is a work of fiction and that any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. I just want to point out here that that’s particularly true in the case of the Isla Vista Foot Patrol, which in real life is a highly regarded law enforcement agency staffed by members of the UCSB Police, Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s Department, and the California Highway Patrol.
As always, I am greatly indebted to Psych masterminds Steve Franks, Kelly Kulchak, and Chris Henze for entrusting me with these wonderful characters.
About the Author
William Rabkin is a two-time Edgar-nominated television writer and producer. He has written for numerous mystery shows, including Psych and Monk, and has served as showrunner on Diagnosis Murder and Martial Law.
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