“Do you have any idea how fast we’re going?” Gus said.

“Yes. Thirty-three miles an hour.”

“ Eight miles over the legal limit. If there’s radar working, we’re in trouble.”

“We’re already in trouble. That’s why you need to speed up.”

“First, take your hand off my knee.”

Shawn scowled, but his hand retreated back to his side of the cabin. Up ahead, the light changed to red.

“We could have made it,” Shawn said.

“We’re not going to be able to help Veronica Mason if we’re killed in a car crash,” Gus said.

“She’s not going to care if we’re dead if we don’t get to the courthouse before the jury comes back.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that when we got the call, instead of watching TV all morning.”

“It wasn’t TV-it was HBO,” Shawn said. “More specifically, it was Into the Blue.”

“Jessica Alba is not taking off her bikini no matter how many times you watch that movie.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m thinking there might be a bonus every tenth time.”

“You explain that to Veronica Mason when she’s sitting on death row. Maybe you can watch it with her in her cell,” Gus said.

“They don’t give you a TV on death row. You get a Bible, and if you’re lucky, you can train a rat to be your friend.”

“She’s already got a rat for a friend.”

“Really?” Shawn said. “You’re going with the rat thing?”

The light changed to green and Gus hit the gas. The car chugged through the intersection and began to pick up speed. Shawn’s hand hovered over Gus’ knee, but after a stern look, he pulled it away.

“You promised a month ago you could prove she was innocent,” Gus said. “Now she’s about to be found guilty, and you haven’t done anything except play Centipede.”

That wasn’t exactly true. In the weeks since Veronica Mason first stepped into the beachside bungalow that housed their psychic-detective agency, Shawn and Gus had pored over every shred of evidence against her.