CHAPTER FIVE

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Lassiter's cell rang mid-morning as he was heading out to the Crown Vic to go talk to a man who was convinced his branch library was hosting meetings of Canadian bacon smugglers. He could have sent McNab, but truthfully, he needed the break from his own thoughts, so a whackjob interview might be just the ticket.

When he glanced at the phone's screen, he was surprised—pleased—uncertain—to see it was Juliet.

Yesterday's unexpected flirtations had left him jazzed throughout the night and he knew—reluctantly—they needed to back off from whatever the hell that was until whatever the hell was going on with Spencer was resolved. However, he hadn't decided how to tell her without sounding like an arrogant, presumptive, condescending, completely-unworthy-of-her jerk.

"Hey," he said. "I didn't expect to—"

"Carlton," she interrupted, obviously upset. "Carlton, I need a favor. A crazy favor and I don't see how you can possibly do it but please, please for me, just—"

"Juliet, settle down. Of course I'll do whatever needs doing. What's wrong?" He slid into the Vic, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Where are you? Are you in the middle of a case? I'm so sorry, but I just had to get to you right away and I—"

He stopped her again. "Juliet. I'm in the car. It's okay. I'm alone and I don't have to rush anywhere. I'm only supposed to go talk to a wingnut. It's not urgent."

She half-laughed, half-sobbed, and he urged her to take a few deep breaths and start slow. "Okay. Okay. I contacted Shawn this morning. Like you suggested; I sent it so early there's no way he'd be awake. And I told him what was wrong, but Carlton, I want you to hear it from me, not him. I need you to promise you won't listen to anything from anyone about what I emailed him until I can tell you myself. I know that's crazy because you can't help what you hear and you can't help what people tell you but please, oh, please, I just need to be the one who tells you." She drew in a hitching breath, and his heart ached for her.

"Okay," he said quietly, "stop worrying. I'll do that."

He was thinking, damn you Spencer, and I don't even know what you did.

Damn Spencer as well for making Juliet worry he wouldn't keep their problem private, because she was right—he'd tell Gus, he'd tell Henry; he'd blab it all over the place himself if Gus didn't do it for him.

She was quiet.

"Juliet?"

Another long breath. "I know. It's wrong of me."

"No, it's not."

"I'm asking for something impossible. I'm selfish. I was a coward to email him anyway, but I knew I'd never be able to stay calm if I tried to tell him in person and I didn't want him to have to wait any longer and I didn't want him bugging you anymore and I'm stupid."

"You are no such thing," he said, a little irritated. "Don't let Spencer do this to you. Whatever happened, you're not to blame for how it affects you. Besides, you know I never listen to him when you're not around to force me."

Juliet laughed a little, and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry."

"Stop that, O'Hara. I mean it."

"Hang on," she said, and blew her nose. "I panicked after I sent the email. I've been kind of a basket case, I was so worried about you."

"Me?"

"You're going to want to kill him," she said, so quietly he almost didn't catch it.

He counted to four. "Juliet. Did he hurt you physically? Because yeah, I will kill the son of a bitch."

"No, Carlton. No. He never did, and he never would." Her voice was steady. "And I would never protect him if he had. You know that."

He did know. She'd kick Spencer's ass herself before anyone else even knew there was a problem. "All right. But stop worrying, and tell me what you need to tell me."

"I can't do it over the phone. It has to be face-to-face."

"You tell me which way to point the car and I'll come right this minute, O'Hara, wingnut be damned."

She laughed again, one of those half-sobbing laughs, and whispered, "I know you would, Carlton. Oh, God, I know you would. But I'm not ready. Obviously I'm a mess right now and I need a clear head so I can help you keep a clear head, too." She hesitated. "Will you come up on Saturday?"

"Yes." Of course. Hell yeah. "But that's so far away."

"It's close enough, and I'm going to need the time to get back to sanity."

He couldn't help it; he said what he was thinking. "I ought to go haul his sorry ass out of bed right now and kick it from here to—"

"Stop, please. It's not like that. I don't want that." Her tone took on a brief grimness. "And if I did, I'd want to do it myself."

Lassiter ran a hand through his hair, restless and needing to pound on something.

"Carlton," she said, more softly. "I'm so sorry to put you through this for me. I promise I will tell you everything, in detail, full-out honesty, when you get here Saturday."

"You going to tell me where 'here' is at some point?" He'd sworn he wouldn't ask, but it seemed moot now.

"I will. And thank you, so much. You have no idea." She let out another huge sigh. "I already feel less crazy, and I owe that to you."

"O'Hara, you don't owe me a damn thing that you haven't paid back a hundredfold just by being my partner all these years." He swallowed. "My best friend."

"Oh," she whispered. He heard her sniffling, and God, if he could have climbed through the phone to get to her… "Maybe you could come Friday instead of Saturday."

So that's what the Grinch felt when his heart grew two sizes, he thought somewhat dazedly. "I'll come up whenever you let me."

"Friday," she said with more confidence. "And I'll talk to you tonight, okay? I think you have a wingnut waiting."

Oh, but I am a wingnut. A happy damned wingnut.

. . . .

. . .

Henry held the ring up to the light. Beautiful, delicate, silver and blue. His mother had loved it and would have loved the idea of her grandson's fiancée wearing it. She wouldn't have been quite so keen on her grandson stealing it from Henry, but there you go.

"You proposed?"

Shawn was gray-faced. "No. I… wanted to have it just in case she expected me to. I'm not ready for marriage, Dad, you know that. Not even to Jules. Not any time soon." He added dismally, "And now not ever, I guess."

Henry reviewed in his mind what Shawn had said of Juliet's email. Shawn had come over at one, distraught, and yet with a curious edge of calm suggesting he'd known this day was coming and wasn't even that surprised.

"I can't believe she did it in an email," he muttered.

"I can't believe you do most of the things you do, Shawn, and you're griping about Juliet being human? Sounds like she was cutting you some slack. She could have made you wait a few more weeks, going crazy about why she was gone, and then hit you upside the head when she came home."

Shawn put his head in his hands, sighing.

"You want to tell me about Desperaux?"

"No."

Henry shrugged. "Just as well. Plausible deniability for me. So what now?"

"You tell me, Dad. I don't know."

Slipping the ring into his shirt pocket, Henry put his legs up on the sofa, surveying his son. "Are you asking about your broken heart, or are you asking about the rest of the email?"

A hollow laugh. "I don't know that either. What are you going to say, anyway? I should pick myself up and go on?"

"I could say that, but it's different this time, isn't it?"

Shawn looked at him, uncertain.

"In the past, you've had the luxury of being able to walk away from whatever mess you found yourself in. This time, there's a lot more at stake, and I'm not just talking about your heart, son. I'm talking about Psych and Gus. Your livelihood. Mine. We've covered for you—by choice," he clarified, when Shawn started to protest. "But we've covered for you. You go down, we all go down. I don't think Karen Vick's going to look so kindly upon me once she figures out I've been part of the Big Dupe, you big dope."

"Way to cheer me up, Dad."

"Hey. I made you what you are, so I get to be what I am: a pragmatic hardass. Now think. How did Juliet find out?"

"I don't know. I mean, I really… I have no idea." He rubbed his face. "I've been thinking about it all day."

Henry glanced at the clock.

Shawn amended, "Okay, in the two hours I've been awake."

"Talked to Gus yet?"

"No. He's gonna freak."

"Is it possible Juliet found out from him?"

"No way. Besides, he can't keep a secret from me longer than a few hours and it's been over a week. I'd have been able to get it out of him in no time."

Henry pursed his lips. "Ever think you might be just a little too invasive, Shawn?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Dad. You cursed me to be observant. I observe."

"I didn't curse you. I taught you."

"I feel cursed." He flopped back on the cushions, sighing. "I'm not getting her back, am I? I can't make this right."

Henry sighed too. "Probably not, son. This is one I don't think even the great Shawn SpenStar can fix."

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"Gus! Desperaux took one of Yerden's paintings!"

Gus frowned. "You must be out of your damned mind, Shawn."

"No, no! He did!" Shawn was almost gleeful.

"But that's impossible. We all left at the same time, and the police were like three seconds away from catching us there."

"I don't know how he did it, buddy, but he did!" He hopped up and down a little until Gus grabbed his arm.

"Knock it off. You don't need any more attention than you already get."

Shawn was oblivious. "This is just so cool! I mean, I thought faking his own death was the bomb, but this just adds to the super-awesome ice-cold coolness that is Pierre 'Prince of Cool' Desperaux."

Gus shook his head, still frowning. "How'd you find out about the painting?"

"Lassie and Jules told me. That is, they said there were five, and I thought they were wrong because I knew it was six, but they said five."

Gus' eyes got big. "You told them there were six?"

Shawn hesitated. "Well, I told them I made a mistake."

"You don't make mistakes like that, Shawn. You're supposed to be psychic, remember?"

"Relax, Gushimi-san. You know I sometimes have to remind them the spirits are fickle."

He was skeptical. "One of these days they're going to figure out the spirits are fake, too, you know, and then your ass goes to jail and my ass runs to Canada."

"Don't be the squashed loaf of bread at the bottom of the sack on New Bag Boy day, Gus. They're never going to find out. Well, I guess I have to tell Jules sometime. But that's a long way off. Anyway, you know Canada doesn't have black people."

"Shawn!" Gus punched him in the arm and stalked off, and Shawn hurried after him, holding his arm and pouting.

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The curving path to her cabin was well-lit and the air was scented with spring flowers. It was endlessly peaceful, and Juliet walked back slowly from the resort restaurant, remembering the conversation she'd witnessed that last day.

Her morning anxiety had faded somewhat. She knew Carlton would honor her ridiculous and unfair request—there was no doubt in her mind—and she knew she was right to wait a few more days before telling him what she'd overheard. What had driven her away from Santa Barbara.

She wanted to see him. It was curious to realize how important he had not become… but had always been.

But she also understood she was still in turmoil, and relying on anyone other than herself to work through it all was a mistake, as well as unfair. If she had feelings for Carlton (and she knew she did, and she knew they were real), she had to be absolutely sure they were separate from the aftermath of her relationship with Shawn. There couldn't be any question in either of their minds that if they had anything at all, it stood on its own.

When she texted him later from the back deck, underneath the twinkling stars, she started out with "Thanks," moved on to "I miss you," and couldn't help but smile when her screen lit up with the words: Then why are you making me wait until Friday?

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