A/N: Welcome, my pineapple-loving friends and readers. This might be Shassie, might be a Shules. Might be a nothing. I don't know. Thanks to Jillybean(meatball42) for beta-ing. Thanks to you for reading. If you review at the end, I will reply and give you a pineapple shaped cookie. Just ask the others! Anyways, this might tie into Pineapple Cakes and Their Psychics, I don't know. So far it isn't looking like it will, but it could be a prequel or whatever. Fun, eh? Enjoy the story, pineapple-lovers.

Disclaimer: Do you really see me owning Psych? Really? But I do own her and the storyline.

Spoilers: None!

Characters: Jules, Shawn, Gus, Lassie, Karen, Henry. Abby will not be needed, and therefore does not exist. Perhaps this is a AU.

In all honesty, this wasn't the best idea Shawn had. And it wasn't really his fault. Could it truly be his fault if everything went horribly, horribly wrong and Carlton Lassiter was there when it happened? Shawn paused in his thoughts, glancing up at the gun pointed in his face. Okay, maybe it could. But that was not the point. Or maybe it was, he wasn't sure. The knock on the head must have done him in. A tug on his right hand alerted him to Lassie's presence, and the fact that the man with a gun had just asked him something. Lassie was staring at him funny.

"Well my theory, oh mystical chupacabra-man, is that the gun you have is on safety and that's why it's not working." Shawn grinned lazily, pulling some random answer out of the air.

The man above him blinked before snarling, "I didn't ask you about the gun. I asked who you were calling."

Shawn looked down, things were rather fuzzy at the moment. Sweat was clouding his eyes, and the cuffs connecting him to Lassie made him feel cold. The metal bit into his wrist painfully, and his head felt light. Dizzy. "Aly and Aj, I absolutely adore the potential break-up song. It's fantastic."

"Spencer," Lassiter hissed into his ear. "Don't provoke him."

Shawn winced as the gun cocked, the sound hammering in his ears. His head drooped, and, for some odd reason, the voice of Lassie calling out his name was growing fainter and fainter.

Two Weeks Before

Murder Case 1

And So She Comes Back.

She was stretched out, hands lying limp against what was once pure white sheets. Her limbs were tangled within, eyes closed as if in sleep, a slight smile gracing her ashen face. She had dark chestnut curls—ones that would remind you of Emmy Rossum—that spilled across her pillow, which had a yellow background with tulips and roses. The theme of the room was something called Shabby Chic; the curtains were yellow with roses, and the comforter on the bed matched the pillow. It was everything you would expect of a fifteen year old girl with high hopes: the bedside table lightly cluttered, the walls covered with posters and hand-made drawings. Nothing was disturbed, and if you looked closely you could see the messy pattern that meant she knew precisely where everything was. Her diary was locked, the key found in the pocket of a pair of jeans carelessly slung over a chair for later washing, and held the girlish secrets one would expect of one her age.

Her name was Aisha Morganne. She was murdered in her sleep by a bullet to the head and no one had heard the shot. There was no sign of a struggle, or a break-in. Nothing was taken.

Nobody expected her death: she was 'such a sweet girl' and ' no one could dare do her any harm'. She 'had a heart the size of South America'.

That one was a surprise. Who says 'a heart the size of South America'? Wasn't it supposed to be Texas? Or, even better, California?

But they were in shock. No one had a clue as to who would kill the darling. And Head Detective Carlton Lassiter was getting a little bit upset.

Sighing, he gripped his coffee and glared over at his partner, Juliet O'Hara who, at the moment, was trying to calm the girl's mother down enough for coherency. Lassiter shuddered, hysterical mothers. Scary. He did not envy the junior detective. The phone in his pocket vibrated, indicating some sort of message he probably wouldn't be able to see because the damn thing was mocking him with the fact he had to surrender his old phone after it got crushed in a car crash and now he couldn't figure this one out. Mocking.

It vibrated again, this time with a cheery ding. He sighed again, pried away a hand from his precious coffee, and fumbled about in his pocket for a moment or two before coming up with the contraption.

new cse? 3~s.s.

He glared down at the screen, rearranging his vocabulary to better suit the chat speak, and came up with the only probable explanation. Spencer. Shawn Spencer found out about the case and was well into his plan of bothering Lassiter. Although he couldn't decipher the '3'.

No, Spencer. Stay away. And what the hell is 3? CL

He pushed the send button with no small amount of triumph, he finally figured out the damned phone!

"I'd say the symbol is a heart, Carlton. But I'm certainly not Shawn." Juliet offered from across the hall, waving her phone in Lassiter's general direction.

Lassiter groaned loudly as Shawn Spencer entered the room and grinned over at his prized annoyee. Today was not a good day, Lassiter decided as Spencer weaved through the crowd towards him. In fact, it was probably safe to say it was a very bad day.

"Lassie!" Shawn cried out lightly, bouncing slightly on his heels as he stopped in front of the detective.

"Listen, Spencer," Lassiter began before the fake psychic could take another breath. "I don't have time for your shenanigans, I have actual work to do. And I would appreciate it greatly if you would leave."

Spencer shook his head, the grin momentarily leaving his face before coming back full-force. "No can do, Lassie-Fish. I have an urgent message from the chief." His right hand rose to his temple, eyes turning upward and squinting as he bent his legs. "S-something about the past...old relations..blue...something, something blue. I'm seeing...a car? No, truck. No, car! It's a car of some sort, a Chevy? No...Toyota? Yes! It's a blue Toyota! A-and a young woman!" Shawn didn't get to finish as Lassiter shoved him out of the way and bolted to the door, ignoring the calls of Juliet.

Shawn blinked after Lassie, "You're welcome!"

A/N: Yes, now you review for your cookie. That button, right there. Yes, below the text. Press it. You know you want to. Do it. Yes, that's right.

I remain your obedient Authoress,

Lushy