During Ralston’s entire sobbing confession, Kitteredge barely looked up once. His spirit seemed to have been completely broken, either by the revelation that his decades-long obsession had been ridiculous or by his guilt over how it had led him to betray the people who’d tried to help him. After he had been cleared of all involvement in the murder, and the escape charges had been dropped as a matter of justice, the professor had taken a leave of absence from the university and checked himself into a mental hospital.
That should have completely cleared Shawn and Gus as well. After all, they’d done nothing but try to help an innocent man clear his name. But in doing so they had accidentally committed an act of theft, and their victim demanded that they face justice. Not only had Shawn and Gus stolen two tuxedoes; they had taken them out of the country. And by the time the tuxes were recovered, they were so disgusting that they couldn’t be cleaned and had to be destroyed.
Which is why they were spending four days in orange jumpsuits picking up trash from the freeway median. Right under the sign reading “This stretch of freeway maintained by Sami’s Formal Wear.”
“Clearly,” Shawn said, “this is a time to revisit our rules.”
“I know, I know,” Gus said. “No cases that require formal wear.”
“That’s never going to be a problem,” Shawn said. “I’m sure we’re on a national tuxedo blacklist and we’ll never be able to rent again. No, I’ve got other rules in mind. Lots and lots of other rules.”
Gus braced himself. Whatever Shawn had come up with now was going to be big. And after getting them involved with Kitteredge, Gus would have no choice but to go along with it. “Let’s have them.”
Shawn leaned forward, bracing himself on his stick. He opened his mouth to speak. And then closed it again. He smiled. “You know, I think we’ve had enough of rules for a while.”
Gus stared at him suspiciously. “How long a while?”
“I don’t know,” Shawn said. “When’s lunch around here?
Acknowledgments
At the risk of disillusioning those readers who are in the process of booking their flights to London, I have to confess that, as far as anyone knows, William Morris and Dante Gabriel Rossetti never engaged in a search for Excalibur or gave any thought to claiming the throne of Britain. If it seems like a terrible calumny to suggest such a thing even in a work of fiction, I can only remind you—SPOILER ALERT for those three of you who read the acknowledgments first—that the entire theory was crafted in the mind of a crazy person.
That said, I have drawn on some aspects of Morris’ and Rossetti’s real lives. And as is so often the case, their true story is much more fascinating than any fictional account. If you are interested in learning more about their odd Arthurian triangle, you can’t do better than Fiona McCarthy’s William Morris: A Life for Our Times. It is unaccountably out of print but well worth searching for.
Rossetti’s painting of The Defence of Guenevere is as fictional as his search for the sword, but the poem is real and can be found in its entirety online.
There is a real Santa Barbara Museum of Art, but it in no way resembles the one portrayed here, which is purely a fictional creation, as are all its employees and benefactors.
And I’m almost positive that the sword of King Arthur is not hidden in the time capsule beneath Cleopatra’s Needle in London.
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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