Kitteredge pointed at a large banner hanging from the ceiling. Orange type stood out from a gray background, proclaiming the arrival of Rossetti’s lost masterpiece. “To The Defence of Guenevere,” he said.

“I have no idea what that is,” Shawn said. “But if I have to miss the trailer for Fatal Affair to be here, you can wait a couple of minutes to help your girlfriend.”

“It’s a painting, Shawn,” Gus said. “It’s the reason for the event tonight.”

Kitteredge beamed at Gus like a trainer encouraging the seal who’d just jumped through the flaming hoop for the first time. “Not just a painting,” the professor said. “But one of the great mysteries of the art world. After Rossetti painted it in 1864, he-”

“That’s a great story, Doc,” Shawn said. “But maybe we should talk about something more important before we walk in on the cops. If you whacked that guy, this is your one chance to own up and let us protect you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Gus said. “Professor Kitteredge didn’t kill anyone.”

“It would explain a lot,” Shawn said. “Like why he was so desperate for you to meet him here tonight. How else would he know what was going to happen?”

“He’s our client, not a suspect,” Gus said.

“You said that like those are two mutually contradictory things,” Shawn said.

“Professor Kitteredge came to us for help, and you’re doing nothing but insulting him,” Gus said.

“Technically he came to you for help,” Shawn said. “And he doesn’t look offended to me.”

Gus checked. Kitteredge didn’t. He was studying Shawn with the expression of an entomologist who has just discovered an entirely new species of slug.