Chapter I; Insanely Expensive
"Hey." Shawn is standing alone in the store, waiting for the manager to come back out of the back, rocking up on the balls of his feet and down again, so he has absolutely no idea who it is that is speaking to him.
"Hey!" Shawn looks around, but all he sees are little dolls. Collectors items. Some of the pieces, they cost upwards of a thousand dollars. It's pure insanity, as far as Shawn's concerned.
"Hey, Shawn Spencer! I am talking to you!" Shawn locks on to the doll, a little man dressed like a wander or something else medieval. And he is glaring at him.
"You?"
"Me." The doll confirms, but other than that, it didn't actually move. It has no lips.
"You're a doll."
"Thanks for reminding me." Shawn just shakes his head, baffled. He's never spoken to a doll before, so he isn't really up to date on proper conversational etiquette. Apparently, dolls do not like to be reminded of their dollexistence the same way fat people do not like to be reminded of their extra hips.
"You do know that someone was murdered here, right?"
"It might have crossed my mind."
"Then hop to it, you daisy!"
"H-hop to it? Really? Are you sure that's what you want your first impression to be?" But the doll never answers. The store owner clears his throat. His eyes, peering out from behind a pair of old fashioned wire frame glasses, are narrowed at him.
"Erhem." Shawn says, shuffling his feet.
"I was channeling the maker of the doll. Did you know that he harbored very extreme feelings of love towards furbies? Beastly little creatures."
The store owner's eyes narrow further and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, almost nervously.
"That doll was hand crafted in 1902."
"So you can imagine his problem." Shawn reaches forward to snag the documents, but the owner shuffles back, jerking the papers just out of reach.
"I could get in trouble for handing these over to you."
"I will keep that in mind, Dr. Kebler."
"I'm giving these to you because I trust your results, not your methods. Please stay out of my store, Mr. Spencer." With that, he thrusts the papers into Shawn's hands and doesn't bother to make sure if Shawn has them before he spins and starts to stalk back behind the counter.
"Dr. Kebler, how much does this doll cost?"
Dr. Kebler smirks ruefully and shakes his head.
"Three hundred and fifty, even."
"Woah."
"Woah." He agrees, nodding, a little bit of humor bleeding back into his voice. Shawn smiles and turns around, leaving the store, the little bell above the door tinkling.
He needs a drink. An image of the doll flits through his mind.
And it's words.
Preferably a pineapple smoothie with a generous shot of rum.
Mmm. Delicious.
Shawn does end up solving the murder and the robberies, as if there was any doubt. It was Dr. Kebler's assistant. Dr. Kebler thanks Shawn and gives him the doll that had spoken to him plus the promised reward (minus 350, even).
Shawn shrugs and takes it, smiling the whole time.
He names the doll Daisy. It never talks to him again.