His case had hit a dead end, and Carlton Lassiter was stumped; and when Lassiter was stumped, that idiot Shawn Spencer would typically be waiting in the wings to drop one of his phony psychic episodes.

'But not today,' he assured himself with a smile. Today he was assigned to train some 20-something rookie from Florida. That meant his case would be suspended pending his return to the investigation, and there was nothing Spencer could prophesize that would make the Chief reopen it.

After a moment of triumph he frowned, recalling his last rookie. 'I swear, the next time they partner me with such an obviously inadequate officer, I'll put in my resignation!' He sighed, correcting himself. Well, I'll request reassignment...

According to the rookie's file, his name was Hunter. "First in his class at the academy, had a stint with the FBI. He was discharged from the Bureau and transferred to Santa Barbara a week ago... And according to my watch, he's five minutes late."

Two seconds after his observation, his desk phone rang loudly, and Lassiter gave it a disapproving look. 'If that's Spencer...' He snatched the phone up and held the receiver to his ear, snapping, "Santa Barbara Police Department, this is Head Detective Carlton Lassiter."
"Uh, this is Officer Hunter. I think you're expecting me?"

"Yes, and you're extremely late." Tapping his foot irritably at the static-filled greeting, he didn't bother to tell the rookie that extremely in his vocabulary meant five to ten minutes. "Would you care to explain that to me?"

"Oh, yes sir. Well, I've been delayed by a... case development, I suppose. A woman in her 20s keeled over in the middle of this restaurant, and... Um, sir? Could you hold on a sec? One of your guys is here, it looks like. Well, two... I've called an ambulance already, but the Chief said I should have you with me on any scene, so could you haul a- er, come to the Henderson's cafe on twenty-third? Thanks, bye-"

The call was cut off before Lassiter had a chance to object, and he hung the phone up with a sigh. "Two of my guys, huh? Spencer, you better not pull my rookie into your psychic mumbo jumbo..."

At Henderson's, Shawn and Gus were making an inconspicuous entrance... well, Gus was trying to walk onto the crime scene inconspicuously, but Shawn was already giving the crowd a taste of his "Psychic vision," studying the vacated tables and evacuating diners and introducing himself loudly as 'Shawn Spencer, the head Psychic for the Santa Barbara Police Department.'

"Psychic, huh? So who exactly hired you as a psychic for the Department?" Shawn turned to the woman who'd addressed him. She was wearing a black short-sleeved police uniform with slacks, a nametag that read 'Hunter,' and an SBPD badge. As he studied her, preparing to fire back with a clever fact about her personality, he was distracted by her boy-short purple and blue hair. It was too sporadic in pattern to be streaked, and her eyebrows and roots were a light brown.

"Overdue on your monthly color and cut, officer Hunter? I'm going to trust my psychic abilities when they tell me you've just transferred here from Florida and will be celebrating your... twenty-sixth birthday in a week, the day before Valentine's Day. AND~ You're an avid reader of the mystery genre. I'm getting something... Flowers. Roses? No, too red. Lilies aren't it either. Lilacs? No, it's not an L... Iris! Speaking of which, yours appear to be different colors. One green eye and one blue? I'd say that's binary vision."

"It's called Heterochromia."

"Great, so you do like men! How about a-"

"Shut it, Spencer. Iris is my first name. It's obvious by the length and roots that I dye my hair regularly. There's a birthday card labeled 26, addressed to Iris Hunter, and postmarked two weeks ahead of the date on my table over there. There is also a charm on my key-chain with a silhouette of the state, and a receipt for a copy of Agatha Christie's complete works sitting on top of the plate from my pancakes. I'm surprised you didn't try to tell me that you 'Psychically knew' that I'm right handed and drink orange juice every morning. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm trying to secure the scene."

She turned to leave as Shawn glanced at her hand, then put his fingers to his temples, calling, "Wait! I'm sensing an engagement... broken! A fiance, scorned by your skepticism!"

"Tan-line on my left ring finger, Spencer." Iris walked away with an annoyed sigh, and Gus put a hand on Shawn's shoulder. "You want me to get you some ice, Shawn?"

"Why- would I want ice at a time like this, Gus?"

Gus raised his eyebrows at his friend, shaking his head as Iris got back to work on securing the crime scene.
"Because you just got seriously burned..."