"Breaker, breaker, this is Black Lightning. What's your twenty? Come on back now."

"Guster?" Lassiter barked angrily at his phone. "Is this you?"

"Of course it's me," Gus whispered. "Where are you?"

"Following a lead." Lassiter, at the city planning commission, nodded his thanks as the clerk deposited several thick folders on the table in front of him. "How's my car?"

"I'm tailing Burnett," Gus said. "And your car is fine. So far he's bought shaving cream and razors at the drug store, and got his hair cut at Kurly's Discount Kuts. Now I think he's going to the gym."

Lassiter opened another folder. "Doesn't sound incriminating."

"It sounds," Gus said triumphantly, "like the actions of a man trying to change his appearance. What have you found?"

"Nothing much. Burnett owns a derelict piece of real estate on the edge of town. Looks like he's trying to develop it. But unless it ties in with Perez it's useless. We're nowhere." He slammed the folder shut and started on another.

"So I guess I shouldn't tell you what I found out about the flowers from the Perez apartment?"

Lassiter stopped flipping pages. "Go on."

"The flowers are the Chandos Beauty, voted most fragrant at this year's Pacific Rose Society competition."

"I don't need their life story. Are they relevant to the investigation?"

"They were bought on Sunday," Gus continued, " at a garden centre on Calique. They were bought by—drumroll please—Mr. Steven Burnett. They're faxing a copy of the receipt to the station."

Lassiter's mind processed this information while Gus imitated the sound of a crowd, cheering his discovery.

"What I'dlike to know," Gus added, "is what made him go from buying her flowers yesterday afternoon to shooting her last night? Assuming he's our guy."

"Good question, Guster." Lassiter's voice lightened. "Maybe you're help isn't the lead weight I thought it would be in this investigation."

"Uh, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Now if you'll excuse me," Gus said, "I intend to continue my stakeout of the gym from the Jamba Juice next door."

"So you decided to evade arrest?" O'Hara's voice was high and sharp. "In what world does that help?"

"The Real World. My So-Called Life. Boy Meets World." In the back seat of the squad car, Shawn leaned forward. "Come on, Jules, I did the only thing I know how to do. Solve the case."

"That's our responsibility, Shawn."

"And look what a bang-up job you're doing!" He slapped the plexiglass partition.

"You knew we had a BOLO out on you and you fled." O'Hara sounded angry but Buzz noticed she'd missed at least two turnoffs that would have taken them in the direction of the station.

"Fled is such a guilty word," Shawn said. "I didn't flee. I simply moved from one location, which had no clues, to a second location, which was absolutely awash in clues. Back me up on this, Buzz."

"Well," Buzz admitted, "technically you did resist, delay, or obstruct a public officer in the discharge of our duties."

"Fine. I confess! I'll pay the fine." Shawn patted his pockets awkwardly. "Will you take Gus' credit card?"

"Actually," O'Hara said smugly, "the statute says we can also imprison you for up to a year."

"I was hoping you'd forget that part," Shawn admitted. "Look, I can prove my innocence, but only if I'm free to look and touch and smell and fondle. Okay, maybe not fondle. But grope. Certainly grope. There's a 65% chance of groping."

"Sorry Shawn," O'Hara said. And Shawn thought she really did sound sorry. "We have to bring you in."

"Are you angry?" McNab asked as O'Hara finally turned the squad car in the direction of the station.

Shawn threw himself back against the seat and glared out the window. "Angry-ish."

"Gosh," McNab said, looking through the two-way mirror into Interrogation Room A, "I feel bad for Shawn. He must be really scared."

O'Hara pursed her lips. "You know what, Buzz? I'm scared too."

Inside the interrogation room, Shawn considered his options. So much was on the line. The door opened and O'Hara entered, seemingly engrossed in the folder she was reading. She slid a picture onto the table. Samantha Perez, taken at the restaurant where she worked.

"How would you characterize your relationship with Ms. Perez?" O'Hara asked.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" When she didn't reply Shawn added, "I would characterize our relationship as that of murder victim and psychic detective. Nothing more." Strictly speaking, that was a lie. His mind went back to the recent evening he and Lassiter had spent at beefeaters. Perez had been their waitress. She'd seemed happy. Friendly.

"So you deny having an altercation with her last night?"

"I totally deny it. No altercation. No commotion. Not even a kerfuffle. Come on, Jules. You know me."

"I know your hair was found on the body and your print was found on the murder weapon." She added the trace analysis and the ballistics reports to the photo on the table. Evidence against him, piling up.

"I know. I know." Shawn glanced petulantly at the reports, noting the details almost automatically. "And that does not sit well with me. Much like the fish taco I got from the El Pescadero truck this morning." He bumped a fist lightly against his chest and grimaced. "Fish needs to be kept refrigerated, am I right?"

"Let me help you, Shawn." O'Hara leaned forward and squeezed his arm reassuringly. "I want to help you."

"Really?" Shawn looked at her squarely. "Then cut me loose and let's go get the bad guy."

O'Hara sighed. "I wish I could, Shawn. But I'm investigating a homicide and right now you're our best suspect."

"Oh yeah?" Shawn was agitated now. "What about her co-workers? Old boyfriends? People she blocked on Facebook? Enemies from high school?"

"We're looking into all angles," O'Hara assured him.

"Well what about the guy following me? Are you looking into that?"

She frowned. "Someone's following you?"

Shawn nodded. "I always feel like somebody's watching me. And I have no privacy!" His voice took on a choppy cadence. "When I'm in the shower, I'm afraid to wash my hair!"

"Can't you be serious for one minute?" O'Hara pleaded.

Shawn threw up his hands. "Are you kidding? This whole situation is ridiculous. I feel like I'm trapped in an Adam Sandler movie." He motioned toward the door. "Only instead of Gus there'll be a racist stereotype played by Rob Schneider coming in any minute now."

"The only person who'll be coming through that door is McNab, to take you to a cell. Unless you help me."

Shawn pulled out the big guns. "I'm getting something." He put a hand to his temple. "I sense that you know I'm innocent. You believe in me." He appealed to her. "Am I wrong, Jules?"

O'Hara's face fell. "Maybe not. But I know you're hiding something, and given the circumstances, Shawn, I have to know what. Do you have an alibi for the night Perez was killed?"

Shawn nodded glumly.

"Where were you?" She touched his arm again.

Shawn pulled back. "I can't tell you that. It's a secret. Like how Red Lobster makes those delicious Cheddar Bay biscuits."

She rolled her eyes. "That recipe's been online for years."

"Seriously? How have I not been eating delicious garlic cheddar biscuits all this time? I don't get it."

"Well get this, Shawn." She was using her angry voice now. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me where you were last night. Simple as that. You have an alibi? Give it up and walk free." She gestured toward the door, just waiting to be opened.

Shawn turned his head away from the tempting door and pouted. "I'd like to exercise my right to remain silent. "

O'Hara smirked and collected her papers. "Good luck with that." She turned toward the mirror. "Buzz, please escort Mr. Spencer to holding." She turned again, and her blue eyes were expectant. "Unless you have something to tell me?"

"I was with…someone," Shawn felt the words come almost unbidden from his mouth. Where was Gus when you needed him? For that matter, where was Lassie?

"Someone." O'Hara made the word sound like an accusation.

"A friend." Shawn smiled. "A part-time luvvah. Uno amigo con carne." Shawn mimicked answering a phone, "Hellooo? Who's there? It's booty. Booty who? Booty call! That's what I'm talking about."

"A name, Shawn. I need a name."

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Jules." Shawn mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

O'Hara pressed her lips together and this time Shawn could see a redness rimming her eyes. She cleared her throat and turned her face away.

"In that case, we're done here."

Lassiter climbed awkwardly into the small blue Echo and dumped a sheaf of photocopies onto the files already littering the passenger seat. His grunt work at the planning commission had paid off. Burnett was poised to make big bucks if his land deal went through. Maybe the Perez murder was linked in with shady corporate developers. At least it gave them an additional angle to work. He glanced at his watch. Guster had called to report that Burnett had returned to his apartment. Lassiter agreed to meet him at the Psych office to compare notes by 3:00.

"I am so gonna nail this guy!" he muttered to himself as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"I hope you're not talking about my son." Henry Spencer's gruff voice rang out from the back seat. Startled, Lassiter twisted round to face the intruder, and the car swerved.

"Goddamnit, Henry! What are you doing here?" Lassiter pulled back into the proper lane and glared at the elder Mr. Spencer in his rear view mirror.

"My son's been picked up and is probably going to be charged with murder." Henry's scowling face clashed with the playfulness of his pineapple print shirt. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

"How is that my problem?" Lassiter knew exactly how Shawn's arrest was his problem. But how much Henry knew, he wasn't sure.

"I'm making it your problem." Henry leaned forward and grabbed the photocopies on the passenger seat. "What's all this? More evidence to frame Shawn?"

"Easy, Serpico. I'm on your side." Lassiter headed toward the beach. "The neighbour who ID'd Shawn owns property he's hoping to develop. It's big money. Plus, we think that the victim and Burnett were romantically involved. He sent her flowers the day of the murder."

Henry thumbed through the papers. "How's the land deal tied in?"

Lassiter shook his head. "Not sure yet. But Burnett tried to hide it. When we questioned him he claimed to be employed as an accountant. No mention of the land or the proposed development."

Henry rubbed his hands together. "So let's wrap this baby up and put it to bed."

Lassiter looked annoyed. "I need more details before I can go to the Chief with this."

"So let's question Burnett." Henry looked prepared to question him with his bare hands.

Lassiter shook his head as he parked outside Shawn's office. "We can't. If we so much as—Oh crap!" He tried his best to duck within the confines of the small car. "I recognize that guy." He nodded toward a tall man in a slim-fitting suit peering into the Psych office through a window. "He's IA. I think his name's McClellan."

"IA?" Henry leaned forward and nodded his suntanned head. "Okay. I say we work this to our advantage."

Lassiter turned and raised an eyebrow. "What are you thinking?"

Henry glared intently at McClellan. "Well, if we can't talk to Burnett ourselves…." Henry let his sentence hang as he silently opened the rear door of the Blueberry and slid to the ground. "Follow my lead."

Burton Guster strolled through the corridors of the Santa Barbara police station, acutely aware that all eyes were on him. He tightened his grip on the white paper bag he carried and forged on.

"Oh Gus! Gus!" Shawn called down the corridor as his friend approached. "I knew you'd come! I knew you'd rescue me. You made a vow. A vow to clear my good name."

Gus looked concerned. "I didn't make any vow."

Shawn nodded vehemently. "Yes. Yes, you did. You vowed that you wouldn't return unless it was with evidence that meant I could walk out of here a free man." Shawn switched to his raspy imitation of Marlon Brando in The Godfather, "Cleared of all these false charges."

Gus' brow wrinkled. "I said I'd look into it."

Shawn grinned. "I knew what you meant."

"Well I am looking into it." Gus handed the bag over through the bars. "But first, I brought you some food."

Shawn grabbed the bag. "Thank goodness. I'm starving. You know they only serve three meals a day in here? It's cruel and unusual. I feel like Mandela."

"You are nothing like Nelson Mandela," Gus objected.

"Come on!" Shawn sat on the cot and opened the bag. "Imprisoned for a murder I didn't commit?"

"You're thinking of Hurricane Carter," Gus said, watching Shawn devour the crispy chicken. "Mandela was charged with conspiring to commit sabotage."

"Really?" Shawn paused, drumstick in hand. "That sounds pretty serious."

"He was fighting a racist dictatorship, Shawn."

Shawn nodded and finished chewing. "So back to my predicament. It's in your hands now, buddy. Well, You and Lassie. Maybe my dad. And Buzz. And Woody. Maybe Jules. Uh, on second thought, scratch Jules. I won't be counting on Jules."

"What about you? Aren't you trying to solve this?"

"Uh, I'm kind of busy." Shawn gestured with the drumstick. "Being imprisoned and all."

"So that's it?" Gus asked, angry. "You're throwing in the towel?"

"Think of it as passing the towel to someone who can actually move more than 6 by 8 feet at a time."

Gus pulled the stationary notepad and envelope from his pocket and held them through the bars. "I found these in the Perez apartment." Shawn sucked the sauce from his fingers and took the items as Gus smiled conspiratorially. "The notepad was blank," he said, "but I used the old pencil shading trick and there's an imprint of her last message on it."

"Kudos on your pencil shading skills. They're elementary, my dear Gus." He pursed his lips. "Restaurant. K. Chow. 6pm."

Gus' eyes shone. "It could be a clandestine meeting."

Shawn's mind ran back to the missing page from the reservation book. "You may be right. Beefeaters might have had a reservation for K. Chow at 6:00pm. But unless we can prove it, and connect it to the murder it's not much use."

Gus's face fell and he stuffed the notepad into a pocket. "Well her mail might give us a lead."

Shawn shuffled through envelopes. "Boring, boring, oooh! A letter to her mother." He frowned. "It's not opened."

Gus help up his palms. "I wasn't gonna open it," he hissed, lowering his voice. "That's mail tempering."

"Only if it's been left for collection." Shawn held the letter up to the light. "SBPD probably would have gotten around to opening this if they didn't have so much," he wiggled his fingers in little air quotes, "evidence." He passed the letter back to Gus. "I say we steam it, read it, seal it, and put it back."

"That's legal?"

"It's not a felony."

"I'll get right on that," Gus said. "What will you be doing?"

Shawn stretched out on his cot and took another bite of chicken. "I will be eating, then sleeping. Perhaps learning to play the harmonica."

Gus reached through the bars and flicked Shawn hard on the ear. "Think, dammnit!" He ignored Shawn's wince and wounded glare.

"I'm thinking," Shawn assured him. "Trust me, I'm on the case."

"Well I'm on the case too. As is Lassiter, who for some reason believes you're innocent."

Shawn smiled. "Lassie will figure it out."

"You better hope he does, because you're looking at life without parole, maybe even the death penalty. Have you spoken to a lawyer yet?"

"I don't need a lawyer." Shawn lowered his voice to a whisper. "I have a secret alibi."

Gus glanced around and lowered his voice as well. "A secret alibi?"

Shawn made a face. "Of course I do! Please. You think I just sit home all night playing Candy Crush and prank-calling Henry? That's just Wednesday thru Friday. The rest of the week I'm out, painting the town red. Or bubblegum pink. Perhaps a nice lavender."

"So what's your secret alibi?"

"It's not a what. It's a who."

"So who is it?"

"I don't kiss and tell, Gus."

"Yes you do." Gus crossed his arms. "In fact, I could probably list every girl you've kissed since elementary. Heck, you made me break up with two of them for you."

"Relationships were tougher in junior high," Shawn admitted. "And you're so good at giving bad news. I'd like to outsource all my breakups to you." He smiled. "Hey, you could make it a business."

Gus ignored Shawn's tangent. He'd had a lot of practice.

"So who's this alibi?" he asked. When Shawn didn't answer he added, "Is it Gina Repach?"

Shawn winced. "God, no."

Gus's face clouded. "It better not be my sister."

"It's not." Shawn smiled. "How is Joy, anyway? Is she seeing anyone?"

"Do not go there," Gus warned.

"Too soon?"

"Is it Jules?" Gus asked, ignoring Shawn's question.

"No. It's not Jules. What is this, twenty questions? Just trust me. I have an alibi. A good one."

"Then spill it," Gus demanded.

"It's need to know."

Gus pointed a finger at himself. "I need to know."

Shawn leaned back on his bunk and shrugged as if helpless.

Gus felt the anger rising in his chest. He'd blown off work to help clear his best friend's name. He'd searched a dead woman's apartment and stolen things from a crime scene. He'd agreed to work with Lassiter, who gave him the heebie jeebies. Yet Shawn seemed determined not to help himself. Gus fumed. How could he be expected to play their hand if he wasn't allowed to see all the cards? Shawn's alibi, if he had one, was their ace in the hole. He needed to know. Time was running out.

"I didn't want to have to do this," Gus said seriously. "But you leave me no choice." He cleared his throat, stood on one foot, and held his left hand up in the salute they'd invented when they were seven. "Shawn Spencer, I invoke the best friend code. Section four, subsection C. 'A best friend will share any and all secrets when asked.' I demand you tell me your secret alibi."

Shawn hung his head, defeated. "The code? Really?"

Gus shook his head, regretting nothing. "You left me no choice."

"Fine." Shawn moved toward the bars, peered down the hallway to ensure the coast was clear, and leaned in. "I was with Lassie last night," He whispered.

"Why were you at Lassiter's place at 4:00am?" Gus looked thoughtful. "Unless…"

Shawn nodded and beckoned with his hands. "Bring it home, buddy."

Gus' eyes widened. "Unless you were working a case without me!"

Shawn sighed. "Yes. If, by 'working a case' you mean something completely different. Something… sexual."

Gus' face wrinkled. "Sexual?"

Shawn stood, paced the tiny cell, and returned to rest his head against the bars. "I'm a Romeo in black jeans, Gus, and Lassiter is my Juliet. Not Juliet as in Jules, but Juliet as in Clare Danes. Although I would also accept Olivia Hussey."

Gus winced. "Juliet is 13 in that play, Shawn."

Shawn frowned. "Really? Wow. Now I feel dirty. And not in a good way."

"And considering how Romeo and Juliet ends, I'd pick a different template if I were you."

Shawn snapped his fingers and pointed at Gus. "You may have a point."

They stood in silence for a few moments as Shawn devoured the rest of the chicken.

Gus looked at the floor, hesitant to make eye contact. "So, you and Lassiter. Is this a thing?"

"Gus, don't be the Westboro Baptist Church protesting Glee's rendition of Elton John's Ice on Fire."

"I don't get what you see in him. That's all."

Shawn smiled. "Lassie's tall, aggressive, and he smells like new guns. What's not to like?" He tilted his head and stared at his friend. "Fess up. Is this about you and me?"

"You know I don't think of you that way, Shawn." Gus looked away. "I've had my 'like-you-as-a-friend' speech prepared since junior high."

"Fine. Next time I date a dude I'll get firmly but politely rebuffed by you first. I promise."

"So you and Lassiter are officially dating?"

"Uh, that's still to be determined. But I have hope." Shawn licked his fingers then wiped them with a napkin. "Time for some after dinner entertainment. Let's hear your speech."

"When this is all over," Gus promised. "When your name is cleared."

"Why not now?" Shawn asked, leaning back on the cot. "I've got nothing but time."

Gus shook his head, still looking doubtful. "Later. There's a portion I have to act out with hand puppets."