The headline read:
"Santa Barbara: Distraught husband looses pregnant wife and unborn child".
Later in the article, mentions of a "floating head" that was seen by the husband two nights before his wife died are scattered about.
"I think I found a case for us," Sam Winchester said, leaning back against the motel chair.
"And what would that be?" His older brother, Dean Winchester, sat nearby on one of the beds, reading the newest edition of 'Busty Asian Beauties.'
Sam turned around, "Dude. Is is too much to ask if you would please put that down in my presence?"
Dean, slightly annoyed, chucked the magazine across the room. "Just lay the case on me, Sam!" He crossed his arms and waited for the response.
"Well according to this article a pregnant mother just out of the blue died of malnutrition. That doesn't seem odd to you?"
"Not really Sammy, I mean, pregnant chicks die all the time. Babies are dangerous!" He chuckled, "That doesn't really sound like our thing."
"The man confessed to seeing a floating head with its guts spilling out hovering outside the night his wife got sick. She died two days after." Sam said with a grunt, trying to prove his point. "Sounds like our thing to me." Sam lifted an eyebrow.
Dean sat up, "Oh. Yeah, that's definitely our thing.. That's good, Santa Barbara is only about a three and a half hour drive from here. We should go speak to the husband about this 'floating head.'"
"Ya think?" Sam shook his head, "You never trust my judgement. Lets get packed then."
An hour later, they were on the road.
•*•*•*•*•
Meanwhile at the Santa Barbara Police Station...
Shawn Spencer waltzed into the station, and right into Chief Vick's office, followed by an annoyed Gus. "I sensed some strange mojo going on here! There's a case for me and Gus, isn't there?"
In reality, Shawn had gotten a glimpse of some forms on head detective Lassiter's desk.
Now he was just pretending to have had another of his "visions" in order to claim a job.
"There may be a case, yes." Karen glanced at the men from her seat at her desk.
"I was really hoping Gus and I could help, Chief. We wanted to attend Taco Tuesday at that small place downtown, they're having a sale on super-everything tacos. We're just running out of money!" Shawn spilled.
Gus scoffed, "If you didn't spend last month's money on that set of Thunder Cat Collectables, we'd be able to eat all the tacos we wanted, Shawn!"
"Gus, don't lie, those were special edition Thunder Cat action figures! You don't pass on an opportunity like that. Come on son!"
"Gentlemen! Please." Chief Vick turned to them annoyed, just as Gus was about to slap Shawn on the arm. "Yes, I have a case for you. No need to go running around blabbing about Taco Tuesday and Thunder Cats alright?" She got up and handed Gus a slip of paper. "Go to this address and see if you can get a psychic reading on anything in the house. They think the husband murdered his wife and unborn child, but we need solid evidence before making a proper arrest." Karen sighed, and sat back down.
The (fake) psychic and his friend stood there silently.
"Go on!" Karen gestured to the door.
The men ran outside, got into the blueberry, and sped off toward the crime scene.
•*•*•*•*•
Dean pulled up to the house and stopped the Impala across the street.
Sam reached into the glovebox and tossed Dean his fake FBI badge, and grabbed his own.
"Alright, let's get moving!" Dean jumped out of the car, "Stay safe, Baby." He patted her hood.
Sam was a few paces behind when they approached the scene, which was crawling with cops.
"Ugh, cops." Dean muttered, lifting the yellow tape so he and his brother could walk under it.
They approached a tall man standing with a shorter woman. They were questioning a possible witness, the next door neighbor. The man with salt-and-pepper hair was questioning the neighbor while his partner listened intently.
Dean cleared his throat and held up his badge as Sam followed suit. "Hi, my name is Agent Reynolds, and this is my parter Agent Smith. We'll take this over for you."
The salt-and-pepper man snorted and grabbed his parter to pull her toward the house. Sam and Dean heard him mumble, "I hate the Feds," as he walked away.
The neighbor was a short, skinny woman about the age of twenty five. Her long black hair flowed past her shoulders and she smoothed her hands down her tight red skirt. She looked up at them innocently.
"Ma'am-" Sam began.
"Sally. Sally Fredricks." She blurted out.
"Ms. Fredricks," Sam started again, "Did you see anything strange leading up to the days of the death?"
"Well, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Beare through the window a few days before Caroline died. Jeff smiled at her like he normally would, teeth and all. That night around one o'clock I heard a scream. I didn't think anything of it, there's a lot of teenagers on this block who stay out late and mess around in the street. It wasn't anything new to me."
Sam quickly pieced together the couples' names. "Would you say Caroline was any different leading up to her final hours? Did she seem panicked about anything unusual?"
"Um, no, she was as happy as ever. They were going to have a baby in a few days. Both of them were so happy as of late.. Now, I just feel so bad for Jeff. He lost the one person he cared about the most. I couldn't imagine that." Sally sighed.
"Thank you for your time, Ms. Fredricks. Carry on."
Sam turned to Dean as Sally walked back to her house, "We should go look inside."
"Yeee-ah!" Dean said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. They both walked inside.
•*•*•*•*•
Shawn sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window as Gus drove. "Gus, stop. This looks like the place." His eyes scanned over the yellow police tape and several squad cars.
Gus parked his car right being a black Chevy Impala. They both got out and walked over to the front door.
Shawn's eyes scanned the house, spotting Carlton he approached him. "Lassie, man! Spencer is here to solve the crime and save the day!"
Gus shook his head in embarrassment.
"Spencer, dammit, I told the Chief to let me and O'Hara fly solo on this one!" The lanky head detective whined.
"Carlton, give him a chance. If anyone can figure out the weird scene upstairs, it's Shawn." Juliet smiled at her boyfriend.
"I specialize in the weird, Lassie-o." The "psychic" smirked, and beckoned to Gus to follow him.
As they went into the other room, Shawn saw two FBI agents questioning Mr. Beare, who he remembered seeing as the husband of the deceased. "If there's FBI here, that definitely means something shady is going on," Shawn whispered to Gus.
He sneaked up to the agents and Mr. Beare and completely butt in to the conversation as he normally would. "Hello agents. My name is Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner Awholelottaswag."
Gus mimed flipping an invisible hat backwards, and leaned slightly back, crossing his arms and posing.
Both Sam and Dean glanced at each other before turning toward the childish men, "Uh, what?" Sam asked.
"We're psychic detectives, jack! Here to solve this case!" Shawn nearly shouted.
Lassiter and Juliet watched from the other room, lassie face-palming, and Jules sighing with a shake of her head, embarrassed her boyfriend was messing with federal agents.
"Actually, he's the psychic. I'm just a pharmaceutical rep. Name's Burton Guster, but you can call me Gus." The man smiled, extending his hand.
Dean glanced down, then back up to Gus.
"We are trying to be professional right now," Dean scoffed, "I could get you in trouble for interrupting a federal investigation."
His brother placed a large hand on his shoulder, "Dean, cool it. I think these guys are cops."
"They are the farthest thing from cops," Lassiter approached the group of guys, "But they work with us, so you've got to let them do what they do."
Mr. Beare took a seat on the couch behind him. Shawn noticed some pills laying out on the table. He turned around and Gus did the same. "Gus, what is Clopidogrel for?"
"Clopidogrel is used to prevent heart attacks or strokes, Shawn. What, did you see something?"
Shawn turned around his hand to his head, "Mr. Beare, is it true that you've recently had some heart issues?"
The man's eyebrows lifted slightly, "Yes, just a day ago I nearly had a stroke when I found my wife dead in my bed."
"So that would mean that you had to be surprised in order to have had a stroke?" Shawn kept going.
"Well, yes. I was utterly defeated." He started to tear up, "I loved Caroline with all my heart. How could this happen?"
Detective O'Hara, the sweetest, yet possibly most badass, of the group, sat next the Jeff Beare and pat him on the back. "It's okay. We've asked you enough questions today. We'll just poke around upstairs and then everyone will get out of your hair." She motioned to Shawn and Gus to go check upstairs in the bedroom where Mrs. Beare was found dead.
Gus followed Shawn upstairs, and the FBI agents followed after. Lassiter and Juliet stayed downstairs with the crying man, Juliet sitting beside him, Carlton standing against the wall, trying to ignore the scene.
"So you're a psychic, huh?" Sam asked.
"Also an avid junk food eater, and eighties lover." Shawn replied.
"Sorry I didn't get the chance to properly introduce myself. I'm Sam Smith, and this is my partner, Dean Reynolds."
Dean nodded at Shawn and Gus before turning the corner into the room.
The other three followed.
"Nice to meet- oooohh." Gus stopped and his face nearly turned green. (If that was even possible.) "Nngh..." He bolted out the room.
"You'll have to excuse my parter, he has problems with a little blood." Shawn glanced down, "...Or a lot of blood."