Neal and Peter were just entering Gregory Caudwell's apartment when a they smelled a putrid scent outside of the door. They exchanged dark looks. Peter kicked down the door yelling, "FBI!" No one in the apartment heard the door crash down or the yell, because the only occupant of the room was dead.
"Call Diana and Jones and get them over here. I want to search for evidence," Peter instructed Neal. The con man nodded solemnly. Gregory had three bullet weapons in his chest. Neal shuddered, guns. Why did they always use guns? He distracted himself by pulling his cell phone out of his suit and dialing the White Collar team. After, he scrolled through his contacts until he found Shawn Spencer.
"Hey, buddy! Do you have an idea of what me and Jules are going to Friday at seven yet?"
"Shawn," Neal said, slightly annoyed, "Gregory Caudwell is dead."
"Murder! Gus, let's get going," Neal heard Shawn yelling to Gus.
"No, Shawn. They won't let you in here. You're not an official consultant on this case."
Shawn snorted, "As if that's ever stopped us before."
Ten minutes later, the whole Psych Gang was at the crime scene.
"No, get them out of here," Peter said instantly.
"What would I have to do to convince you to let us stay?" Shawn asked with puppy dog eyes.
"How about telling me who killed Caudwell?" he said sarcastically.
"I can do that," he said in all seriousness.
"Oh, yeah? Who is it psychic?" Peter's voice was just dripping with skepticism.
"For that impudence, the spirits are trying to tell me something." Shawn began to act like his legs were moving themselves. He headed towards the chair where the corpse was propped up, flailing his arms dramatically.
"Greg," he paused thoughtfully, "Do you mind if I call you Greg?" He waited a couple of seconds, as if waiting for a reply, "Ok, Gregory it is. It may be the last request you'll make to a live person, are you sure I can't call you Greg? It will short the explanation tremendously. Still no? Fine. Gregory here was murdered by a treacherous being," Shawn said, both hands pressed against his forehead, "You'd think he would stay loyal to poor Gregory, but he turned on him," he paused for the dramatic effect.
"Who murdered him?" The White Collar gang practically yelled at him.
"Himself. Gregory committed suicide. His own mind turned on him, made him so scared, there was no choice but to do the heinous deed," Shawn finished, putting his hands down.
"He made it look like a murder so we would investigate it as a murder," Neal concluded, "So, Gregory had a conscience after all."
"He was our only lead! What are we going to do?" Lassiter asked, frustrated.
Juliet followed up with another question, "Was there a note?"
Diana fetched the evidence bag with the note in it, "It's pretty confusing. Looks pretty rushed as well."
Shawn grabbed it out of her hands and removed it from the bag.
"Hey!" Peter said.
"Hi, I'm conducting a case, want to be apart of it?" he retorted. They all gathered around the table that Shawn sat down at. Neal pushed his way through the small crowd. The fake psychic pulled a pen out of Neal's suit. He began to circle the first letter of the first word. Realizing what was happening, Neal grabbed the pen back and circled the second letter of the second word . Once they were done circling what seemed like the rest of the group random letters, Shawn and Neal combined the letters and it made: "The front desk worker did it. I'm free from the consequences."
"So that's why he said something about quilts," Gus noted.
"That's what you think about? Gus, we have to grab that cranky lady before she murders someone else!" Shawn said in exasperation.
"Wait, you said it was a suicide," Peter said.
"I did that so I could stay and figure out who the real murderer was! You're welcome," Shawn said innocently.
"Thank you was not what I had in mind," Peter said sourly.
"Maybe 'We're eternally grateful'? Or perhaps 'What would we do without you?'"
Neal cracked up, Peter was speechless. When Neal did that to Peter, he always threatened to put him back in prison, but Peter couldn't threaten that to a civilian consultant. That must be nice, Neal thought a bit bitterly, lead a regular life while consulting.
Peter ignored the sarcasm and headed to his car. The Psych gang followed.
"Oh, no. Not enough room. You'll have to take a taxi to the museum if you want the action," Peter said, "Let's go Neal." The con man reluctantly went in the black car.
As soon as they drove off, Lassiter hit Shawn in the shoulder, "Great job, Spencer. Now Burke hates us."
"He doesn't hate us, it's not like he said not to come to the museum."
"If he did, would you still go?"
"Well, of course!"
"That's probably why."
"Alright, boys. Let's hail a taxi and get to the museum! Taxi!" Juliet called. A yellow cab pulled to the side and picked them up.
The Psych and White Collar just joined up when they entered the museum. There was the cranky front desk worker, flipping through a magazine.
"Not you guys again!" she said rolling her eyes.
"One question, what's your full name?" Peter asked.
"Rita Fledging. Why?"
"Rita Fledging, you're under arrest for the murder of Gregory Caudwell and suspected for art theft." Peter said rather monotonously. He signaled for Jones to book her.
"I want my lawyer!" she said with spite.
"You can contact him soon," Neal said simply as she was led away.
"Now to find the painting," Shawn said peppily.
Well, a little short for my taste. I worked pretty hard to get this done. Ah, well. I hope you're enjoying it! Keep favoriting/subscribing/reviewing! :)
