Free A Fatal Frame of Mind by William Rabkin Page A

the outside world. But one day they stumble on a piece of information that doesn’t make sense to them, and unlike everybody else, they decide to follow it. And so it leads them to another piece of information and another, and soon they’re weaving them all together into a grand narrative of dark deeds.”
    “Wait a minute,” Gus said. “How is that any different from the last guys you described?”
    “Because these people,” Shawn said solemnly, “are brilliant. And the connections they come up with are brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, that any intelligent person who hears them could immediately see how they might be true.”
    The words hit Gus like a fist. “Are you saying that Professor Kitteredge really has stumbled across a global conspiracy and they’ve framed him for murder to shut him up?”
    “It’s possible,” Shawn said. “In the same way it’s possible that the car we’re in could actually be an alien transforming robot and you could be Megan Fox. But either way, he’s a danger to himself and everyone around him. Because his belief is a black hole that can suck in everything in its path.”
    For the first time in hours, Gus felt strength flowing back into his limbs. He could actually do something to help his old professor. Better yet, they could do something.
    Except for one small problem.
    “Don’t get me wrong,” Gus said. “I’m thrilled that you’ve come around to this way of thinking. And I’m delighted that you’re willing to help Professor Kitteredge. But how are we going to help him when we don’t have any idea where he is?”
    “You mean when you don’t have any idea where he is,” Shawn said.
    “You do?”
    “I know exactly where he is,” Shawn said. “And if you turn this car around, I’ll take you to him.”

Chapter Eleven
    T he lemon–poppy seed cake was even better than it looked. The citrus flavor was mild, yet sharp enough to ameliorate the richness of the huge amounts of butter. The black seeds scattered not only on top of the icing but throughout the crumb provided an appealing crunch with every bite.
    The only problem with the lemon–poppy seed cake served by the café in the Santa Barbara Museum of Art, as far as Gus could see, was that it provided no clue to the whereabouts of Professor Langston Kitteredge.
    “Tell me again what we’re doing here.” Gus leaned across the small table until his mouth was almost pressed against Shawn’s ear. “Because there’s no way Professor Kitteredge is going to stop in for a sandwich when every cop north of Los Angeles is hunting for him.”
    Shawn ran his fork through the last traces of chocolate icing on his own plate and licked off the tines. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said. “It’s a pretty good sandwich. Just look at this place.”
    Gus glanced around the room. The café was certainly popular. Every table was filled with art lovers here to check out the collection of European paintings, young parents eager to expose their small children to the joys of culture, and tourists determined to see every last attraction in the Santa Barbara area before they headed back to Minneapolis.
    Even in this large crowd, however, Gus couldn’t help feeling conspicuous. Because while the room might have been reaching its fire department–sanctioned occupancy limit of one hundred and twenty-nine people, only two men in the entire crowd were wearing tuxedos. And every one of those hundred and twenty-nine had taken a moment to stare at Shawn and Gus as they’d walked past carrying their trays.
    “I have been looking at this place almost as much as this place has been looking at me,” Gus said. “It’s hard to be inconspicuous when you’re the only one wearing formal wear in an informal setting.”
    “We don’t need to be inconspicuous,” Shawn said. “The police aren’t looking for us. No one is.”
    “What about that guy?” Gus said. Across the room, a burly man in a “Ski the Big Potato” T-shirt and