Junior Detective to the Santa Barbara Police Department Juliet O'Hara drummed her fingers on her desk, pursing her lips. She was focused on the details of the case in front of her, wanting a distraction.

Her father was due to arrive in the SBPD station, and she was nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory.

Her peripheral vision picked up the people milling around the station, and she really wished she could focus better… or just have the day finished already. She wasn't looking forward to the meeting with her dad, which was odd because in general she was a daddy's girl. She knew from her father's tone during their telephone conversation that, whatever he was going to tell her, it wasn't going to be good.

She felt a slight jar, and knew Shawn Spencer, the one and only 'psychic detective' for the SBPD, was leaning on the wood.

"Hey, Jules," he greeted her. "What's up?" She could feel him craning his neck to see the file. "Ooh… is that a case? Can I help?"

It was just the thing she needed; Shawn always had a way of bringing a smile to her face. His boundless bounding enthusiasm- a constant stream of annoyance to her partner, Head Detective Carlton Lasister- was a source of rejuvenation to her flagging spirits.

She looked up abruptly, and realized he was examining her face; there could be no other explanation for the fact that she found herself in an eye-lock with his hazel pools of mischief. She shrugged. "It's a case, Shawn."

He took the opportunity to snag the file, and glance through the documents. "Cold case," he said, surprised. "Weird." He looked Juliet in the eye again. "Jules, you're not going into the cold case division, are you? That would totally suck. They spend all day down in records, hoping against hope for an overlooked lead. Jules, you need sunlight!"

She laughed. "No, Shawn, I'm… I just kinda want to use my brain a little more; something more than tracking down the thief who just sold all the stolen stereo equipment at the neighborhood pawn shop. It can get boring."

Shawn nodded sagely, then looked back down at the file. "So why this case?" He flipped a page, still addressing her. "It's 35 years old…" he looked at Juliet. "Seriously? You're working a case that's been unsolved for longer than either of us has been alive."

Juliet shrugged. "Mental exercise. It's been slow in Santa Barbara lately."

"Jules, you know I can tell if someone's not telling the truth…" he faltered. "I mean, you were telling the truth, but it wasn't the truth, just sorta the truth…" he paused. "You know what? I'm gonna let you tell me why you're looking into cold cases and have spent each night this week eating Chow Mein- or Lo Mein as it's called in the Midwest- and pizza at your desk, rather than having fun."

Juliet frowned. "Wait… how'd you know…Shawn, seriously. How did you do that?"

Shawn smiled at her. "I didn't have to be a psychic to see the soy sauce packets in your trash can, the pizza napkins sticking out of your desk drawer, and the little pieces of paper from fortune cookies that have gone up since I was in last Monday… come on, Jules." He bobbed his head. "Plus, there might be the fact that all your paperwork is caught up on, and your in-tray is empty. No biggie."

"And you caught all that in the time before you snagged my file?"

Shawn shrugged. "What can I say? It's a gift." He set the manila folder down. "So, who're you trying to impress? Lassie? Seriously, Jules, please say no."

Juliet laughed. "No, not Detective Lassiter, Shawn."

He sighed in emphatic relief. "Thank you!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in celebration. He returned to a mock-serious pose and tilted his head. "So, if not Lassie, then who?"

Juliet bit her lower lip, then smiled. "You're the psychic. You tell me."

She raised her eyebrows at him in a mild challenge. He narrowed his eyes in amusement, as if deciding whether or not to 'bob and weave' to avoid the question. "May I ask one question?" he asked, one eyebrow up theatrically.

"You already did, but why not another?"

"Cool… are you going to put on lipstick?"

Juliet snorted. "No. I'm already wearing lipstick."

Shawn smiled. "Okay. Fine. I have a deal for you."

Juliet tilted her head. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I'll solve your cold case and tell you the reason that you've vacuumed your desk if you agree to split a pizza with me."

"Sounds good, but how about a time limit to make it interesting?"

"Great. I'll tell you both the secrets by Noon."

Jules was about to agree, but glanced at the office clock. "Shawn, that's in 15 minutes."

"Jules, please. Your father isn't going to arrive for another two hours, and I need to phone the pizza parlor to have them deliver lunch."

"One Hour fifty minutes," she corrected him, looking at the clock. She'd been willing time to speed up, to accelerate, so she could stop waiting for her father to arrive. Then Juliet froze. "Okay, how'd you do that?" When he didn't respond, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Seriously. How'd you know?" She hadn't told anyone her father was coming, yet somehow, Spencer had guessed it, and solved the first half of their wager.

Shawn grinned. "Trade secrets, Jules. I don't ask you how you get your badge so spiffy, do I?"

"You probably already know that."

Shawn nodded. "Dilute White Vinegar and a special toothbrush."

O'Hara shook her head, "Fine. I give you that one. And you guessed it was my dad." Shawn scoffed, Juliet continued. "But you still have to solve the case." She'd been staring at the evidence for the past five hours. She was fairly certain that even Shawn couldn't solve it in fifteen minutes.

"Jules," he admonished her, "You can't rush the psychic process. Do that, you get crappy readings. Trust me on this one."

She smirked at him, and turned back to the report when he winked at her.

"Okay, let's start again," she muttered under her breath, returning to the report. "Johann Metsworth, age 41, was stabbed with an un-recovered weapon. Forensics indicates it was a spiky, square object that left an acidic residue… great…" Juliet sighed, and rubbed at her eyes. She'd forgotten there was a reason she didn't go for cold cases. She liked to interview witnesses for herself. Unfortunately, most of them were dead by now.

There was a faint 'clunk' to her right, and the smell of coffee reached her nostrils. She looked up to see Shawn. The pseudo-psychic was looking at her with sympathy. "You looked like you could use it," he told her quietly.

Juliet looked down and saw a cup of steaming coffee at her elbow. She smiled gratefully at Shawn, and inhaled deeply. "Thanks," she told him sincerely, taking a sip. It was delicious. The blonde looked at the PI, and frowned.

"Something wrong, Jules?"

"It tastes great," she pointed out, confused.

"Ah," Spencer said, still acting comically, "And you thought it would taste like the average burnt cup of joe you get around here… do you like it?"

Juliet nodded enthusiastically, and took another sip. "It's great. What's your secret?"

Shawn shook his head, and wagged his finger at her. "You should know better than to ask that, Jules."

"Shawn, it's just coffee."

He tilted his head. "Hm…"

"Come on," Juliet said, batting her eyelashes, "Please?"

"Jules!" Shawn exclaimed, "Are you trying to bait me into giving away my secret?"

"No," she answered, still flirting.

"Well, I would tell you," Shawn said conspiratorially, "But if I told you how I made coffee, then you'd have no use for me whatsoever…" he frowned. "Well, that's not entirely true, I guess. I could always learn to fetch and carry files… slip love notes into your locker, ask you out to the policemen's ball…"

Juliet laughed. "What is this, High School?" She looked at the clock. "Okay, Shawn, you have five minutes in which to solve the cold case. And I really want to see how you do this."

Shawn shrugged, and gently tugged the file from Juliet's hands. He glanced through it quickly, intently. Juliet made note of how he examined the pages, taking in everything. He looked up two minutes later. "Got it," he said simply.

Juliet raised an eyebrow. "Just from the file?"

Shawn shrugged.

"Okay, right. Prove it."

Shawn gaped at her in mock incredulity. "You doubt me, Jules?"

"You said you copied my personality questionnaire. That means that you cheated and therefore I have every right to doubt you."

Shawn appeared as though he was about to say something about that, but changed his mind. "Fine." He handed O'Hara the file. "Take a look at the crime scene photos."

Juliet flipped to the pages. Shawn leaned over her shoulder, and flipped a few over. He pointed out the angle of the body, where the wound was. "See that?" he asked, "The way his hand is set? That's not a happy hand."

"Huh?"

"The bruises, Jules. The positioning and the bruises. The guy fought, and post-mortem, his hand was aligned into that cramped position… you read the coroner's report. That hand was the first to be released from rigor mortis, but the rest of the body took a lot longer. The rigor was broken… and that changes everything, y'see?"

"Other than changing murder to manslaughter, I don't get it, Shawn. His hand was weak. Great. Now what?"

"Did you see the marks on the palm?"

"What?"

Shawn flipped forward several pages to a small photo. "Check it out, Jules. He was holding a bank statement."

"Those numbers are tiny. How can you be sure?"

"The format. It looks just like the statement the bank always sent my dad… just inverted." When she raised her eyebrows at him, Spencer shrugged. "The spirits pointed out the similarities, Jules! And they said that it didn't match up with what was in the victim's hand."

"Metsworth was recovered with a stripper's number on a piece of stationary. The butler said he wrote it down and gave it to Metsworth… Shawn, are you saying the butler did it?"

Shawn abruptly made the 'touchdown' gesture. "Yes!"

"But… Shawn, come on. He was covering for Mr. Metsworth, taking a message."

"On stationary, Jules? Come on, that stuff was expensive. It's not the sort of stuff you keep next to a phone… more like in a closed roll-top desk waaaay in the back. It's the stuff you use to write a request for a girl's hand on. And seriously? The stripper's number wasn't even current."

"Where'd you pick up that info?"

"It's in the fine print, Jules. Check the wording in the report."

"Great. What about a murder weapon?"

"Jules, he's a butler. He has time to wipe everything down… and that's what he did." He pulled out another picture- the photograph of the room. "See anything like the murder weapon?"

Juliet sighed. How could she have missed that? How could the detectives on the case miss it? "The coroner said he was killed with a spiky square object… something that left acidic residues."

"Jules? I'm getting that you should look for something brass… like your shield… the… the polish…"

Juliet looked at Spencer, amused by his act. It was cute, the way he played for her attention. Without looking at the photos, she smiled at him. "The only thing brass in that photo was the flag-pole top. And it was checked by forensics, there was no blood anywhere on it. Besides, they tested the chemical properties and it turned up basic."

Shawn groaned. "Jules, we just established that the butler had time and means to wipe it down with bleach. Remember? He said to the detectives that he was polishing when he heard the sound of a struggle. The detectives assumed it was silver. What if it was brass?"

"You think he was polishing the murder weapon while calling the police?" she asked, incredulous. "Shawn, come on. He's a butler, not a sociopath."

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "What, in this day of equal opportunities, you can't be both?" he shook his head, then waved his hands emphatically. "That's not the point. The point is, he was the only one in the house, claimed not to hear anything other than a struggle… plus, look at the bank records, Jules. They're in the file. Metsworth's savings slowly decreased over the two years preceding his death. He had no serious habits, and the stocks he had were actually doing well. There was no reason for the amount to be decreasing."

"So, what?" She puzzled. "The butler embezzles from Metsworth's savings, Metsworth confronts him, the guy stabs him with a flag pole, pulls the bank statements out of the guy's hand, and wipes everything down before calling the cops? Come on, Shawn. That's a bit far-fetched."

Shawn shrugged. "Jules, check it out. The dude disappeared afterwards. No forwarding address, no later notification of employment, no taxes, no tax returns, nothing. This guy vanishes, leaving nothing behind but an empty bank account and a dead body."

"Wait, was that in the report?" She quickly shuffled through the pages, glancing at each one.

"Jules, you're missing the point. The butler was polishing. He was polishing the spike on the flag when his boss confronted him about the embezzlement. That's why there was an acidic residue; vinegar has acetic acid. It's what makes it smell so gross… or, in the case of apple cider vinegar, it's what makes the vinaigrette so tangy. At any rate, they had what you police-folk call an," Shawn made air quotes, " 'altercation', and he covered up the murder."

Juliet stared at Shawn, whose cell phone rang. He pulled the phone from his pocket, and grinned at her. The display showed an alarm time: 12:00.

Shawn looked up, enthused. "Ooh! Pizza's here! I hope you like extra pineapple, Jules."

Juliet continued to stare at the psychic as he practically ran down the byways of the police station in hot pursuit of a delivery boy who seemed to think Shawn was mildly crazy.

If she hadn't figured out otherwise (shortly after their first meeting), she might have been tempted to agree. But now, months later, she knew that if he stopped pretending to be psychic, if he stopped working with the SBPD, her existence would be a lot less cheerful, a lot more stressed, and a lot less fun.

Juliet liked Shawn, and all his antics. He just never asked her to admit it, and she never asked him why.

Shawn whooped and jumped, two pizza boxes in his arms as he approached her desk. Juliet laughed, and tried not to collapse in mirth as Spencer pointed to the boxes, and mouthed 'pineapple' to Lassiter.

The salt-and-pepper detective rolled his eyes, and shook his head. "Hey, Jules," Shawn whispered, "You think that if I timed it just right, I could land a pineapple chunk in Lassie's coffee?"

"With or without cheese?" she asked conspiratorially.

Shawn grinned, and shrugged.

Having Shawn around was good, Juliet decided firmly as he opened up the pizza box, inhaling deeply. He bowed theatrically to Jules, and offered her the first slice.

O'Hara winked at him, and picked up a wedge almost dripping with cheese and pineapple pieces. She contemplated the gooey goodness as she bit into it.

Shawn at the police station was kind of like pineapple on pizza. At first, it seemed illogical, completely ill-suited, and ill-fated. But then, one took a bite of the results. There was a sweetness in the combination that wasn't expected, but brought out so much flavor that one never knew existed before.

"What do you think?" Shawn asked, after swallowing.

The blonde detective smiled at him. "It's great, Shawn. I love the pineapple."

Shawn grinned at her, and took another bite. "Later," he told her once he'd swallowed, "we're going to see if Lassie likes pineapple in his coffee. If I make the mug, we're going out to dinner."

Juliet grinned. "And if you miss?"

Shawn opened his mouth, affronted. "Me? Miss? Jules, that hurt."

Juliet shrugged and helped herself to another slice. She definitely liked pineapple.