Nothing came up. The number was blocked.

That might have been a problem for a civilian, Gus knew, but he was a private detective, the nonpsychic half of Santa Barbara’s premier psychic detective agency. Better than that, he was a self-taught private detective, so he wasn’t burdened with the by-the-book thinking of your average private detective school graduate-that is, if there were private detective schools and if they used books. The point was, Gus was a man of action. He tensed up his entire body, took a deep breath, and pounded his index finger against the buttons marked star, six, and nine.

An electronic siren screeched out through the phone. Apparently, call return was blocked as well. This was going to be harder than he thought. But hard was what Gus was all about.

Gus’ first thought was to call a friend on the force and get him to run a trace on the number the way the classic dicks of yore would have done. But since neither Shawn nor Gus had ever gotten around to saving the life of a future police detective in the jungles of ’Nam, thus earning his undying loyalty, there weren’t a lot of cops who would donate their morning to the agency.

Fortunately, Gus didn’t need police help to track this number. He could use his own mastery of technology. Snatching the receiver back up, Gus punched in the three numbers that would summon aid directly from the phone company. As soon as he heard the click of the connection, he let them know what he needed them to do.

“This is Burton Guster from Psych Investigations, and this is an-”

A soothing female voice interrupted him. “ Para ayuda en espanol, oprima el numero dos,” she said.

Before Gus could respond, there was a loud beep on the line. He knew the sound. There was another call coming in. He hit the TALK button.