“You think,” said Lassiter slowly, “that the killer shot him from out here, and hit none of those?” He gestured to the maze of glassware in the store.

Shawn blinked. “Yep.”

Lassiter glared. “Spencer, that shot isn’t even possible.”

“Sure it is.”

“No, it’s not,” said Lassiter flatly. “I couldn’t make a shot like that.”

“I could,” said Shawn simply.

Three pairs of eyes blinked at him.

“I just said I couldn’t,” said Lassiter.

“And I heard you.”

Lassiter’s brow lifted. “You’re saying you’re a better shot than me?”

“Inadvertently.”

“All right—“ said Lassiter. “Prove it. You prove you’re a better shot than me, I’ll eat my tie. You lose, and you two are off cases for six months.”

Shawn grinned. “I’m up to the challenge.”

“Shawn!”

“This is how it’s gonna go down,” said Lassiter. “Tomorrow, you’ll meet me at the shooting range at—“

But even as he spoke, Shawn sighed, grabbed Lassiter’s gun from his holster, aimed it and fired, startling all three of them.

“SPENCER!”

But there it was—Shawn’s shot pierced the wall across the room, breaking nothing in its wake, embedding perfectly over the killer’s bullet.

“That tie isn’t going to eat itself, Lassie.”