"So who are our two options?" Hardison asked, leaning comfortably back on the couch.
"Chris Summons and Michael DuPont," Shawn disclosed, out of habit making his way towards the Blueberry. "Force of habit," he informed Eliot, after trying to open the locked door and shrugging away his terrifying stare. "So which car are we taking?" Eliot nodded over to his rental; a black, standard issue four wheel drive. Shawn stared at it before coming to a conclusion. "A little on the nose but I'll go for it."
"And how did you narrow it down to those two names?" Hardison asked.
"Suspects one through four are all soccer moms-"
"Does not meant they're not capable of killing," Sophie interrupted. "They're brutal."
"Let me finish," Shawn continued gleefully, "soccer moms at a big meet interstate. Gus and I go every year, they have the best corndogs that we can't seem to find anywhere else." Eliot rolled his eyes and opened the driver side door. "Suspect number five is Summons, he's been in and out of rehab for anger management for the past few years."
"How did you miss this?" Parker asked Hardison. "How did he miss this?" she repeated.
"I don't know," the hacker replied quietly. "There was nothing about rehab on any of his accounts, facebook, email, nothing."
"True but-"
"But people don't tend to put the fact that they went to rehab out there for everyone to see," Nate finished for him, matter of factly.
"Then how'd you figure it out?" Hardison pressed.
"That one was Gus actually," he admitted as he stepped up into the vehicle. He rubbed his hand on his thighs as he sat down, trying out the vehicle. He flicked around in the compartments and under the visors looking for anything remotely exciting. "He's a pharmaceutical salesman and also an avid novelty pen collector and did rounds at the local rehab clinic. Number six and eight," he continued, "both work full time jobs and would have been working at the time of the murder, which leaves us with number seven, Michael DuPont." He finished with enthusiasm and waited for recognition.
Eliot just stared at him blankly. "You done?" the hitter finally asked.
"You're hacker guy wanted to know!" came Shawn's whiny reply as Eliot turned on the engine and, once again rolled his eyes.
"And now I wanna know where I'm going?"
"Ummm," Shawn looked as his cousin sheepishly, "that is an excellent question."
"Dammit Shawn!"
"Sycamore Lane," Gus declared seemingly out of nowhere as he opened the back door to the car and slid inside. "Summons' place is 537 Sycamore Lane. It's about a five minute drive from here."
"Gus!" the psychic spun enthusiastically in his seat to face his counterpart. "I knew you'd come!"
"Yeah well," Gus shrugged, "I liked the idea of an Ocean's Eleven's crossover too much to pass up."
"Put your damn seatbelt on," Eliot cursed as he pulled out of the police lot.
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"Okay, here's what I got on Mr. Summons," Hardison began to reel off as he took a large, thirst quenching gulp of orange soda. "Born in Santa Barbara, went to high school in Santa Barbara. Got average grades, went to a local community college, got a job as a retailer, then went on to running his own business as a pool installer. It's actually a fairly steady business, well, until the whole La Fleur incident."
"Yeah, what's his connection with La Fleur?" Eliot replied, pulling to the side of the road in front of Summons' house. It was an average, beaten weatherboard house in a plain grass garden, seemingly matching Hardison's description of the man.
"Very little. La Fleur's MO is, was," he corrected, "to get close enough to someone so he could swipe all their details enough to frame them, but not so close so people would consider him suspicious. It looks like he and La Fleur uh," he paused, scanning his computer screen for the details, "they met on a construction site."
"What was our La Fleur doing at a construction site?" Gus asked, peeking through the window and eyeing of the house. He was still more than mildly suspicious. "He doesn't seem like builder type."
"True," Shawn agreed. "His suit was waaaay too nice to be involved with hammers and…" he searched for the word.
"Nails?" Eliot suggested begrudgingly.
"No, not nails," Shawn shook his head, "the long skinny thing that you hit."
"Nails Shawn," Gus pressed.
"No-"
"The guy's a conman," Sophie interrupted to the delight of many. "He conned his way into the gallery, just like he conned his way into whatever construction site he was at."
"Screw?" he finally guessed. Eliot heaved a heavy sigh and forced the car door open.
"Somebody has a screw lose," Eliot muttered under his breath as Gus followed suit, straightening up his jacket and shutting the door behind him.
Shawn lingered a moment; his face was screwed up still trying to figure it out. "Nuts? Bolts?"
"Shawn!" Eliot yelled and the psychic jumped out of his seat in an instant.
"So what's the plan?" Shawn asked, surveying the garden and house. The weatherboard house was dishevelled and beaten from the sea air. The garden was likewise unkempt. The whole block, in fact, looked like it hadn't been cared for since Summons had been conned by La Fleur. Shawn's eyes flicked towards the mail box; letters, junk mail, and newspapers were falling out of the traditional white box and piling on the ground, each in a different state of decay.
Eliot noticed it too and tensed up a little. "Let's go," he declared in a gruff tone of voice, marching forward up the concrete path. Shawn followed closely, a swagger in his step while Gus lingered behind, less excited than his counterparts. He lingered nervously at the bottom of the stairs while the hitter stepped up on the porch and rapped on the door. "Mr Summons?" Eliot called out, knocking on the door again. Shawn walked along the porch and did his best to peer through the windows. They were blocked off by thick, heavy curtains covered in dust. "Mr Summons?" Eliot tried again, growing slightly more frustrated at the lack of response. "Forget this," he muttered and stepped back to kick down the door. He was interrupted however, by Gus, sniffing the air repeatedly and wrinkling his nose up to the sky.
"What the hell is he doing?" he asked Shawn, throwing his hand at the other man. Gus continued to sniff and stepped further up the stairs.
"It's the Super Sniffer," Shawn explained nonchalantly. He moved to stand next to his cousin and crossed his arms over his chest. "Gus has an uncanny oliphant nerve," Eliot didn't bother correcting him, "and can smell anything, even Dunkin' Donuts from five miles away. How his skills play into the whole Ocean's 11, Jason Bourne scenario I don't really know but that's neither here or there."
Eliot rolled his eyes as he watched, with confused curiosity as Gus rolled his head trying to find the source of the smell. He then took one final big breath in then screwed up his face before his stomach lurched and face turned an unsightly colour.
"Oh dear," Shawn said quickly, waving his arm towards the front door. "We uh, need to go inside."
"Why?" Eliot asked, flicking his eyes towards Gus. His reaction was slightly disconcerting.
"That's Gus' 'I smell a dead body' face," Shawn interpreted. At the mention of a dead body, Eliot turned quickly around and, in a smooth, deadly motion, kicked at the door. It splintered in two.
While Gus was hunched over, gagging and clutching his stomach, Eliot, followed by Shawn rushed inside. The stench was noticeable to them now, and they both coughed overcome by the rancid smell.
After they'd rushed into the foyer they looked both ways to try and locate the source of the odour. They saw him immediately, tied to a chair and covered in blood. Eliot didn't bother to check for a pulse.
"Well, we know he's not the killer," Shawn stated, leaning in close to his cousin to make the point.
"You think?"
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Much love to you all for sticking by; there's more to come!
And if you don't hear from me in a while, PM me. Sometimes I need a good kick in the butt!
Thanks to my awesome friend SweetyKinz for kicking my butt to get this chapter out.
XX A Lyrical Dreamer