“Gone With the Wind”

Shawn Spencer flailed madly. He shook, shimmied, rocked and rolled his way around the crime scene, seemingly intent on touching, and therefore contaminating, every piece of important evidence. Detectives Lassiter and O’Hara watched on with a sort of morbid fascination and even Gus, who usually seemed to have his best friend’s back, seemed vaguely off-put. O’Hara, her eyes never leaving the Psychic Detective currently caught in a full-body dry heave, leaned toward her partner.

“It’s been almost ten minutes. He hasn’t said a word since…” she said, letting her sentence drop off as she motioned in Shawn’s direction. She swore she’d seen a few of those moves from Jennifer Grey in ‘Dirty Dancing.’ “What do you think he’s up to?”

Lassiter snorted, more interested in the open file resting in his hands. Thankfully they’d dusted for prints prior to calling his favorite charlatan.

Lassiter idly examined the spent shell casing held within the evidence bag in his hands. “Frankly, O’Hara, I don’t give a damn.”

“Oh! Oh! Ohohohohohohoh!” Shawn moaned suddenly, lunging towards the Head Detective.

“Spencer! Spencer, what the hell—SPENCER?!” Lassiter yelped as Shawn’s hands latched onto his ears.

“Shh!” Shawn urged. “Shh, I’m getting… I’m getting…”

“If you don’t let go of me in the next three seconds…” Lassiter said in a warning growl.

“The spirits!” Shawn said insistently, eyes screwed shut in concentration, maintaining his grip on the detective’s ears. “The spirits, Lassie, they’re saying… something about…”

“Three…” Lassiter began counting, his face turning an interesting shade of shoot-you-dead red.

“Carlton, please!” O’Hara interrupted, rolling her eyes. Her patience was wearing thin as well. “He’s finally going to tell us something, so unless you want to spend an indeterminable length of time waiting for a lead, I suggest you sit still.”

This was enough to shut the Head Detective up. Maybe it was the parade of overbearing women throughout his life, maybe it was his seeming inability to hold a relationship with one, but when Juliet O’Hara put her foot down, one Carlton Lassiter usually went along with it. Even if it was a bit begrudgingly. O’Hara and Gus leaned forward eagerly, wondering just what was going through Shawn’s head as he rubbed the detective’s ears. For his part, Lassiter shifted his glare between the three of them as he attempted to resist the urge to violently remove Shawn’s hands from his person.

Quite suddenly, Shawn’s hands dropped to his sides. He sighed.

“…well?” Gus prodded expectantly, eyebrows raised so high on his forehead that they threatened to float away.

“I got nothin,’” Shawn admitted. “Oh, except that Lassie appears to be channeling Clark Gable.”

O’Hara’s eyes began to narrow.

“Or his ears, at least.”

Outside the house, patrolling the perimeter, Buzz McNab swore he heard screaming.