Chapter Text
"Definitely time to call the police," you say. "If he's sneaking around and stealing things, who knows what else he could do?"
Shawn sighs, sounding enormously put upon for someone who spends most of his time making other people's lives harder. "Fine. I'll call Juliet. But I want it on the record that we could totally have handled this ourselves!"
"Yeah, there's nothing that could possibly go wrong with that scenario," Gus replies. Shawn ignores him in favor of fiddling with his cell phone.
"Juliet? I'm having a vision. A big one. Eggs Benedict..."
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"They're coming, right?" you whisper for the fourth time.
"Yes," Gus says firmly, while Shawn at the exact time says, "I told you we could handle this ourselves!"
"Fine, Shawn," Gus snaps. "If you're so eager to go confront this guy by yourself, go right ahead."
"Maybe I will!" Shawn whispers.
"So go then."
"I will! When the moment is right."
Just then, you see the front door to Joel's house open. A figure emerges. It's hard to see, because there aren't any lights on -- not outside the house, not inside, either. But you're pretty sure it's Joel.
And who else would be prowling around the house with the lights off? It's like he's trying not to be seen.
"Oh look," Gus says. "The moment is right." And he hits the unlock button on his car keys. "I believe you were about to do something?"
Shawn scowls at his bluff being called and makes an angry, indecipherable noise to Gus. Gus makes a noise back. They manage to have an argument for a solid ten seconds without saying any real words, which ends with Shawn swinging open his door and emerging from the car.
"Not so fast, Mr. O'Malley," he calls out. The probably-Joel figure comes to a dead stop, three feet away from his own car. "Or should I say...Mr. O'Grabby-Hands?"
"No, you should not say," Gus calls from, safely still inside the vehicle. "That's the best you can come up with?"
"It was between this and a very weak pun," Shawn says. "I thought perhaps I would get points for the homespun quality of the work."
"You don't," Gus says, and locks the car doors again.
"Really, you're going to be like this, now? When I'm just about to do my big wrap up?"
"What wrap up?" Gus asks. "Joel's getting away."
Shawn looks back at the driveway where, sure enough, Joel has hopped in his car, started the engine, and thrown it into reverse.
"Oh, for crying out loud -- " Shawn starts.
Just then, another car pulls up to the driveway, screeching to a halt so that it perfectly blocks off any escape route. Joel's car stops a mere inch from hitting it.
"This your jewel thief?" one of the car's occupants yells at Shawn. She and the driver both emerge, the driver pulling a gun and pointing it at Joel's car.
"Come out of there with your hands up!" the detective with the gun yells.
"He stole jewels from a dead guy in an empty house," Shawn says. "He's not exactly considered armed and dangerous."
The other detective rolls her eyes at Shawn. "You know Lassiter, it's not a good day's work until he's pulled his weapon on someone. You want to tell us why we're here?"
"Joel O'Malley," Shawn declares, in what you're starting to think of as his I'm-saying-something-important-pay-attention-to-me voice, to differentiate it from his I'm-saying-something-unimportant-but-pay-attention-to-me-anyway voice, or his I'm-just-spouting-gibberish-but-pay-attention-to-me-anyway voice. "You know everything there is to know about the Holyoke House, isn't that right? Including the old stories that Creedence Holyoke extorted jewels from some locals all those years ago. He hadn't come by them honestly, so he hid them away for a rainy day, but then bam! He was gored through the heart on a narwhal hunting expedition and died tragically young."
You cough. "He died of an aneurism," you point out. "He was eighty-seven."
"You'd heard stories like this your whole life, because you're a distant descendant of the Holyokes," Shawn says, undeterred. "That's why you started working for the historical society, right? But you probably didn't think too much of that particular story until you started having money troubles."
Shawn does the elaborate psychic hand move again. Joel's got his eyes locked on him, enthralled, but you're starting to get used to Shawn antics, and a quick look around shows you that Gus and the detectives are not the least impressed.
"That's when you had the idea," Shawn says. "You already had access to the house, you just had to go in when no one else was around, not even any of the other volunteers, and search the place top to bottom. Checking for loose floorboards, hollow walls, anywhere that someone could hide illicit treasure. You probably told yourself, it's not like it's even a crime, right? After all, you're practically the man's heir." Shawn's voice gets louder and louder; he's working himself up to a frenzy. "After all, the jewels were stolen in the first place. AFTER ALL, no one even knows about them, so it's a victimless crime! Right? WRONG!"
Shawn slaps his hands against Gus's car, loudly, and Joel jumps in surprise, though he quickly looks back to the detective with the gun and holds his hands up a little higher.
"Well, guess what, Joel," Shawn says, voice low and serious now. "There is a victim. It's a little someone I call the great city of Santa Barbara, who deserves to have her history and her treasures on display for all citizens to enjoy."
"Are you done with the civics lecture, Spencer?" the detective with the gun asks, sounding bored.
"Check his pockets," Shawn says. "You'll find the jewels. Should be about 70 kilos worth."
Gus glares at Shawn. "That's 150 pounds," he says.
"No, that can't be right," Shawn laughs. "Kilos. Kilograms."
"I know." Gus says. "I actually know what the metric system is."
"Please, I know all about metric," Shawn snorts. "Meters, gallons, those c's that have a little beard -- "
"Oh, my God," Gus turns away from him and looks back at Joel's car, just in time for you all to see the detectives pull a handful of glittering jewels out of his pockets.
-
"That, my friends," Shawn says, sipping on a cup of Mayan hot chocolate, "Is what you call a job well done."
"I don't know," Gus says. "I feel like we could have done better."
"What?" Shawn lowers his cup. "I'm actually offended right now. This is clearly the optimal end result." He looks at your for support. "Am I right or what?"
"I feel pretty good about it," you say, and clink your cup against his in a toast.
THE END
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