Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a quaint, bright yellow house which looked like it had been taken straight off the set of The Truman Show, and dropped right in the middle of the otherwise normal neighborhood. After taking a moment to stare at it like they would a jackal with two heads, the pair made for the front door. Two sharp raps on the door later, they were face to face with their first witness. She was an older woman, probably no younger than forty-five years old based on the just developing wrinkles and age spots making an appearance around her eyes andon her hands.

"Hello, Mrs. Rankin. I am Shawn Spencer, head private consultant for the SBPD. This is my partner, Igor Brovinsky."

"Yes, the police told me you'd be coming. Please, come inside," she said, motioning to the lone sea-foam green couch in the living room.

Shawn and Gus both sat down hesitantly, nervous as to how this was actually going to play out. Mrs. Rankin, on the other hand went immediately to the kitchen, in an attempt to drum something up for her expected, yet somehow surprise guests.

"Tea," she asked, not even looking up from her spot by the fridge.

"Yes, please," Shawn answered, only to be elbowed in the ribs by an irate and anxious Gus.

Once she finally sat down after handing them both a glass of what might have just been the best iced tea they had ever tasted in their lives, the real questioning began.

"So, Mrs. Rankin, I have to begin with the obvious question: Did your husband have any enemies?"

"No, of course not. I can't think of anyone who would want to hurt him. None of his co-workers at the car plant were his biggest fans, but none of them wanted him dead."

"Okay, well have you noticed anything strange lately? Try to think back on even the obscure details. They may be more important than you think."

"I can't think of anything. Everything seemed normal before it happened," Mrs. Rankin paused, and looked up as though a light bulb had gone off. "Actually, there was one thing. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that our cell phone bill was much higher than it should have been. There were a lot of extra charges, and most of them were for data transfers. I tried to ask him about it, but he told me that he accidently accessed the internet a few times."

"And you believed him," Shawn asked gently.

"Well, yes. He had rheumatoid arthritis, and sometimes the cramping in his hands caused things to happen that was out of his control."

"Was it ever that consistent," Shawn questioned, once again earning an elbow to the ribs from Gus.

"I didn't think it was."

"So you mentioned he had trouble at work. Did he ever name any names?"

"Only once, his supervisor, Mark Duffy. The man had a bad habit of passing the blame for his mistakes on to his employees, and David usually took the brunt of it."

"You wouldn't happen to know the address would you?"

"Not by heart, but he left a business card."

Mrs. Rankin got up briefly and went over to the pull-over desk in the corner, picking out a palm-sized card, and handed it to the new private consultant.

"Okay. Well, Mrs. Rankin thanks for the tea. We'll be in touch," Shawn said, practically making a break for Gus's car.

"Shawn what are you doing," Gus asked from his place at the driver's seat.

"We need to talk to that supervisor. Rule number two of violent crimes: always suspect the boss."

They made it to the car plant in record time. In fact it almost took longer to find a parking space in the packed, security ridden lot. After ten more minutes of maneuvering and parking they made their way toward the factory. The pair made it as far as the inside gate, before being stopped by security. The guard was a gruff man who looked as if he was not going to have one issue beating them all the way back to the Blueberry, which is what he would have done had Shawn not flashed the false police ID he had made for himself a few years back. Upon seeing it, the man simply nodded his head and waved them through.

"I don't know about you Shawn, but after that I don't know who I should be more concerned for, them or us."

"What'd you mean?"

"You're kidding me right? That was way too easy, and what's worse, you got through using a fake ID."

"Exactly, that just proves my theory that we are looking in the right place."

As soon as he finished that sentence, they had made it to the front desk.

"Excuse me," Shawn asked, pouring on the charm.

"Yes, can I help you," the receptionist returned, smacking her gum in obvious disinterest.

"I'm looking for a Mark Duffy's office," Shawn said, once again flashing his fake ID.

"Down the hall and to the left. Just follow the signs," she told him, sounding even more agitated.

Not even having the time to be taken aback by her cold attitude Shawn motioned for Gus, and went down the direction she told him to go. When they reached his office, they noticed that he must have been higher up on the chain of command than they thought previously. After all, it was not common practice for a simple supervisor to get a corner office overlooking the entire plant. For a brief and perhaps the worst moment in time, Shawn momentarily reverted back to his old ways, and burst right through the executive's door like it was nothing.