Psych (2006–2014): Season 7, Episode 5 - 100 Clues - full transcript

Shawn and Gus attend a party hosted by an aging rockstar, a man the SBPD arrested years ago for a murder he doesn't remember committing.

Are you wondering how healthy the food you are eating is? Check it -

Oh, man. God!

You really caught me flush
with that mic stand, Billy.

Oh, it's a flesh wound, mate.

Here, let me get
a good look at it.

Is it terrible?

Uh, no, you can barely see it.

- It's borderline nonexistent.
- All right.

It feels like the blood
is streaming

out of the back
of my head, Billy.

No, it'll heal.

Billy Lipps!

That show was the rockin' nuts!

Especially when you sang
Rockin' Nuts as an encore.

Who are you two?

Who are we?
You don't remember?

Billy, it's me,
Shawn Spencer, man.

This is my partner,
Domo Arigato...


Oh, yeah, I sort of
remember the black kid.

Billy! Billy! Billy Lipps!

Oh, man!

I've been a fan of yours
since the Dapshats.

All right.

- Cheers.
- Wait a minute. Dad?

Shawn? Gus?
What are you doing here?

I'm working with the SBPD

on this little cold-case
investigation of Melinda Lane.

You know, that groupie
that mysteriously died

at your mansion.

Wait a minute.
You're here on a case?

Yes, as a matter of fact,
we are.

- It's, like, our third one.
- Boom.

We're trying
to impress Chief Dick.

Chief Vick.

- Vick?
- Yes.

Yeah, uh, look,
why are you bringing up

this whole
Melinda Lane business?

Because, Lipps, there are
some very interesting tidbits

in your recently
released biography

that shed
some damning new light

on the Melinda Lane
murder investigation.

Huh, that's my book.

You remember Melinda,
don't you, Billy?

Sorry, Billy. I'm the one
that tipped them off.

But don't worry...I told them
that you could explain away

any tidbits they may have.

- Ha.
- For example, and I quote,

"I woke up in my bed
that fateful night

"and couldn't help but smell
Melinda's perfume

that she always wore
all over me."

- Don't ever do that again.
- Sorry.

Now, Billy, in our previous
interviews, you stated

that you and Melinda
didn't speak

the night she was murdered
because of a falling out.

Now, if that were the case,

why was her scent
all over your clothes?

Don't answer that yet.

Chapter four...
"I had scratches on my chest,

"but the dense, meerkat-like fur
that covers my torso

made them invisible
to the naked eye."

Who gave you
those scratches, Billy?

Was it Melinda Lane,
as you smothered her face

with a pillow and murdered her?

Go ahead, Billy.

Read him the riot act, man.
Tell him how wrong he is.

What do you say
we continue this little chat

down at the station, huh?

W-w-whoa, whoa.
Just wait one second,

okay, Detective Lassiter?

- Gus.
- Yeah.

Oh, yeah. What?

* Rockin' nuts

I'm just not sure
I follow you, Jules.

Shawn, we've eaten
at Thank The Lard

three times this week.

Plus, it's Saturday night.

You know what?
You're right.

I'm taking you to Fuddruckers.

* You're invited, lucky you *

* to a party,
whoop-de-do *

* there'll be wine
and cocktails too *

* who's your host?
I wish I knew *

* you're invited

* don't be a D-bag
and be late *

* you have a plus-one

"Bella Rosa Mansion.

"Tonight. 7:00 P.M.

RSVP now.
No cameras."

Shawn, I have wanted to go
to the Bella Rosa Mansion

since I moved to Santa Barbara.

It's a stunning landmark.

I bet they have those things
in the bathroom

- that hose off your bum.
- Huh?

Shawn Spencer
and Juliet O'Hara are in.

Wait, is it weird
that we don't know

who invited us
or why we were invited?

Jules, I think
it's mysterious by design.

It may be one of those
Eyes Wide Shut shindigs

with the masks
or a Boogie Nights shindig

with lots of cocaine.

Either way, I am talking
about exposed boobies.

You know what?
I don't care.

I'm gonna wear my one-of-a-kind
vintage Oscar de la Renta dress!

Wait a minute.

That guy boxes
and designs dresses?

That's just plain impressive.

Hey, Carlton.


And you're sure
that you need me?

- No, you don't.
- Okay.

We got some news
on a missing-persons case.

It doesn't look like
I'm gonna make it.

- That sucks.
- But don't invite anybody else.

There's still an outside
chance I might make it later.

Are you kidding?
I wouldn't dream of it.

- Okay.
- Careful out there.

- Hi, Gus.
- Hey, Jules.

Dude, I have an extra ticket
to a mysterious party

at a sweet mansion tonight...
you're my first choice.

I am so in.

* It's a secret party

* it's a secret party

- * Pri-ivate party
- * It's a secret party

* let's go see some boobs

Are you kidding me?

What is your major malfunction?

I stepped in scat, man!

- Scatman crothers?
- No, panther scat.

Gus, don't be the second
time ever I saw your face.

I know my scat, Shawn.

What's up?

Well, good evening, kind sir.

You're a half hour early.

We got stuck in traffic.

I'm Shawn Spencer,
and this is my plus-one.

Juliet O'Hara?

You invited Juliet before me?

It's true.
I invited her first.

But I brought you.
You know what I'm saying?

- Not really.
- Let's party.

Enter, gentlemen.

- Licorice pastels...12:00.
- That's amazing.

Give me your phones.

Why do you need our phones?

Because your host doesn't need
you shooting photos of him

and putting them
on the interweb.

- Oh...
- I'll buy that.

I got it. I got it.
Here you go.

So, uh, sir, we still
haven't gotten your name.



"Th" sound?



So, uh, Clizby.

Who might our host be?

I'll tell you what,

I've got an Abe Lincoln
with your name on it

if you give us a tour
of this joint, you feel me?

That means you get
to keep the $5.

I was hoping to get 2 back,

So, Clizby...

how long have you worked
for Denzel Washington?

Uh, what he meant to say was,

how long have you worked for
Wendy's founder Dave Thomas?

He's dead, Shawn.

- Is he really?
- Yes.

I'm so sorry
for your loss, sir.

I've been working for my boss
for 25 years.

Wow. Muhammad Ali must really
value you as an employee.

So, Clizby,

is there an itinerary
for the evening?

There will be
a six-course meal,

followed by live entertainment.

I see.

Uh, ooh.
Cliz, who is this guy?

- Oh!
- It's all right, buddy.

It''s okay.

I'm partner has
an intense fear of toupees,

tied to his grandfather.

- He used to whup me.
- For his fear of toupees.

It was a vicious cycle.

This is the original owner
of the house,

Bucky Sharavino.

He was a chocolatier.

My boss rented this mansion
from Bucky's estate.

Legend has it that Bucky built
his own secret chocolate room.

Does legend say
where this room is exactly?

Rumor has it it's somewhere
near the living room.

- Excuse me.
- Of course.

* Let's all do
the chocolate dance *

* Yah-yah-yah-yah
chocolate dance *

* Let's all do
the chocolate dance *

- * It's an entire...
- * Oh, yeah

* Let's all do
the chocolate dance *

* Chocolate dance,
chocolate dance, yeah! *

* Let's all do
the chocolate dance *

- * Chocolate
- * It's an entire room

And please leave a message.

Hey, Shawn, it's me.

Look, we found that
missing person's vehicle

and we're processing it
for evidence,

but I am still hoping that
I can make it to the party.

Just makes me so sad to think
of you there all by yourself.

They found blood in the car.

You're not making it
to that party.

- Oh, good evening.
- Oh, hello.

I'm Leslie.

I'm Gus.
This is Shawn.

I was wondering, perhaps,
do you two know

who's ho...ho...ho...hos...


We thought you might know.


Excuse me.

I have to get home
to my son, Germaine.

I'm sure his father
can watch him

while you enjoy a night out.

What father?

He's never met his father!

Oh, I'm sorry.

I-I-I'm a single mom,

and this is a s-s-s...

it's a s-s-sensitive subject.

- Oh.
- Sure, I can imagine, yeah.

Harry's here.

Uh, don't get up.


You were our bumber-one Snoopy
back in the gay.

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

Spencer. Guster.

Do you have any idea
who's hosting this thing?

I'm Magellan, I'm Magellan.

- He's Magellan.
- Your mama's Magellan.

- Shawn?
- What?


Good evening.
I'm Martin Kahn...

Harvard, class of '86.

- 1986?
- Burton Guster.

Pomona College, class of '98.

"Pomona College."

So, Martin, do you know
who's hosting this evening?

Of course, but I'm not one
to ruin a surprise, now, am I?

How should we know?
We've only just met.

My bad.

Some very interesting tidbits

in your recently released

Got it.

You are Martin Kahn,

the biographer
who wrote Rock Bottom,

which makes you Highway Harry,

longtime manager of Billy Lipps
and the guys behind me,

which also means that he didn't
call you a "Gay Snoopy."

He was saying you were
their number-one groupie

back in the day.


Which means our host
can only be...

Hello, everybody.

Billy Lipps.

Good to see you.
Thanks for coming.

As you all know, I've been in
prison for the last five years,

serving my sentence
for the manslaughter

of Melinda Lane.

Uh, Shawn, this is awkward.

Learned a lot of lessons
in the clink,

like perseverance, redemption,

and when your
androgynous bunk mate "Appetite"

says he's gonna shiv you for
not sharing your cherry jubilee,

it's not an idle threat.


Might I inquire
who the empty seat is for?

My guess is Rip,
but he'll never show.

He hates Highway Harry
with a passion

because he shafted him
on song royalties.

I'm in Mensa.

But what is important
is that I discovered

the power of faith.

I found God.

- Jesus.
- Oh.

And I asked them
to strike down appetite

with a holy vengeance.

But they didn't,
so now I'm Jewish.

Full on.
Wear the hat and everything.


Seriously, Harry.
I'm Jewish.

You can't tell
those jokes anymore.

- Barbra Streisand.
- No, I'm serious.

- Steven Spielberg.
- Stop it.

- Benihana.
- Stop!

- Bojangles!
- Stop it.

Ricardo Montalban.

Anyway, the reason that
I brought you all here tonight

is to tell you that prison

was the best thing
that ever happened to me.

I mean, sure,
my gorgeous angel of a wife

fell in love with Derek Hough,

the blond bastard-face
from Dancing with the Stars,

but it's all right.
It's okay.

I'm clean now.
I'm sober.

I'm writing songs again.
I'm circumcised.

Doing pilates.

I just want to say thank you.

This is a celebration
is what it is!

It's a celebration
of new beginnings...

- And of life!
- L'Chaim!




* I know you know

* that I'm not telling
the truth *

* I know you know

* they just don't have
any proof *

* embrace the deception

* learn how to bend

* your worst inhibitions

* tend to psych you out
in the end *

Excuse me.
I'm a registered nurse.

I was a registered nurse.

I was ter-t-t-ter...ter...

Spit it out, woman.

I was fired.

Let go.

This man is dead.

I, for one, am not surprised.

I mean, the man had
one functioning valve

in his heart.

Martin's right.

I mean, Highway has
flat-lined and died

at least ten times before.

I, too, am saddened
by the passing of Highway Harry.

So, in his honor, I would like
to volunteer to eat his meal.

We're splitting that food
down the middle.

Too late, Shawn.
I called it.

We split the food
of the dead 50/50.

- Man!
- That's always been the deal.

- Fine!
- Listen up.

Tonight's Mitzvah will now be
in Highway's honor.

And a proper Kevurah...
that means funeral...

will take place mañana
once we perform the Tahara.

Did he just do a mash-up
of Yiddish and Spanish?

He sure did.
It's like a matzo-dilla.

That sounds delicious.

Excuse me, Billy,
but you're the one who's Jewish.

- Yeah, that's right, mate.
- So why does Highway Harry...

get a Jewish funeral?

Wait a minute.
You're here on a case?

It's, like, our third one.
Trying to impress chief dick.

Martin, are you questioning
my faith?

Hava nagila!

I'm having a vision.

What the heck are you doing?

You better run, Rip!



I'm gonna shiv you just like
that androgynous boy shivved me!

Mick had Keith.

Axl had Slash.

Morrissey had Johnny.

And Billy has Rip.

Stop. Stop. Stop!

Martin, of course, was correct.

That empty seat was meant
for Billy's loyal guitarist,

but here's the twist.

He's been here all night long,
Lionel Richie style,

waiting for the opportunity

to get back at Highway Harry

for cheating him
out of song royalties.

This man did not die
of natural causes.

Say what?

He was hit in the back
of the head

during the blackout.

Uh, Shawn, we need to call
Lassie and Jules immediately.

Yes, that's a good idea.

The line is dead.

Probably the storm.

I experienced a similar one
years ago,

when I was at Harvard.

Ooh! Ooh! These pork-belly
bites of Clizby's

are like divine nuggets
of God's heroin meat.


We are going to need
to access our cell phones

so that we can call the police.

They're gone.

Uh, Clizby,
I'll take my main course

and my half
of Highway Harry's meal to go.

Gus, where are you going?

Home to my girl
and another man's child.

You can't do that...there's
a Roland Emmerich-style storm

- raging out there!
- I don't care!

- I'll take my chances.
- Gus.

Aah! Shawn!

I told you
there was a panther out there.

Hey, are you serious?

Billy, you really have
a pet panther?

Yeah, I do...

Oh, she's a peach,

when she's resting or, like,

when she's not broken free
of her chains.

But if she's out and about,
she'll take your face off.

- He's kidding.
- No, literally.

She took a friend of mine's
face right off.

- He's not kidding.
- Told you.

Hell of a flautist, though.
The real balls, yeah.

Well, not anymore...I mean,
his grill's barely functional.

Can't even whistle.

But he gives it a go, yeah.
And people clap.

But it's just to be nice...

empty applause, really.

I'm...I'm having...

m-m-menopausal flashes.

Flames smoldering
in and around my bosom.

I cannot stay.
I must leave.

Leslie, cool your bosom.

- We can't go out there.
- He's right.

There is a storm raging,

and there is a hungry panther.

And your bosom is full,
and th...there are six of us,

and there's only one Rip.

Shawn, are you saying
what I think you're saying?



- What...
- No, no, Billy, Billy, Billy.

I'm saying we should all
split up into pairs

and search the house for Rip.




This must be Clizby's room.

Tell you what.

When we find Rip,
I'm gonna bite him back

for having bitten me with
his little sewer-rat teeth.

Rip bit you?

Oh, that is so cool.

I mean, granted,
I have no memory of this, right?

But apparently Rip and I got
into this huge brawl

years ago over Melinda Lane.

He felt that she was toxic
to the band

'cause she loved me
but also fancied Harry.

Picked me, of course.

Been there.

Yeah, Gus once bit me
for stealing his honey.

Ah, women.

Yeah, could barely
blame him, though.

He had just gotten
some graham crackers

and had nothing to dip them in.

I've been with my boss
for 25 years.



Man, I knew
they were going to stick

the two black dudes together.

This either ends with us dead
or in jail.

Man, why do you have to buy

into all those
black stereotypes?

Says the black butler.

Touche, my brother.


- Uh, Clizby...
- Huh?

Were Billy and Martin
working on another book?

More like fighting
about another book.

In here all hours of the night,

yelling, throwing stuff.

I use it to caramelize.

I hear that.


Hey, Rip!

Come out, come out,
wherever you are.

Do the right thing, mate.
Own up to it.

Go to prison like I did.
It's not as bad as you think.

That's a lie.

It's where souls go to die.

So this is where
all the magic happens, huh?

Oh, yeah, yeah.
This spot right here...

this is the reason
why I rented this mansion,

Its perfect-ect-ect...



* Ah

* Ah

You're right.
That sounds absolutely amazing.

I know, right?

This is some bulls...

Clizby, do the honors,
will you?

Come on.

Extinguish that torch.


Shawn, you said you wouldn't
bring anyone else.

No, sweetheart,
I invited you first.

And then I brought Gus.
You follow?

- No.
- You will.

So what? You come to arrest me
again, have you?

First off, you might want

to lower that paint gun,
Alice Cooper.

Secondly, does the name
Albert Semento

ring any bells
in your dead head?

Uh, no.

Well, he's been missing
for a few days,

and we just located his car
not that far from here.

Spattered with blood.

And guess what address
was on his GPS?

Do we all get one guess?

- Or can...
- It's obvious...

It was this house.

Hi. Martin Kahn...

Carlton Lassiter...
shut up.

Well, I don't know
any Albert Semento,

and there's no one here
by that name, all right?

But there is someone here

named Highway Harry,
and he is dead.

Are you telling me there's
a dead person in this house?

He was murdered by Rip,
and, yes,

we already called dibs
on his meal.

And where's Rip?

He is somewhere in this house,

kicking ass in a classic game
of hide-and-seek.

Show us the body.

All right.

Harry's gone.

Great Scott, that's impossible.

No, it isn't.

Rip moved the body
to get rid of any evidence.

What is that smell?

Gus stepped in some...

- It's burning London broil.
- Excuse me.

All right, everybody.
Listen up.

As of 2100 hours,
we are officially

on a phase four lockdown.

Phase four?

What happened to the other
three phases, you cheap ba...

Oh, my God.


Also known by his birth name...
Albert Semento.

Do you mean to tell me

that none of you knew
Rip's real name?

we've got two stab wounds.

Looks to me like an ice pick.

And it's impossible to tell
how long he's been dead.

Could be two days.
Could be two hours.

All right, people, listen up.

This is officially
a crime scene,

and I am now calling the shots.

And my finely honed
investigative skills

are telling me
that someone in this room

is responsible for the murders

of Al Semento
and Highway Harry.

Now, I'm not sure
if you're familiar

with the 1984 Chuck Norris
classic, Missing in Action,

but my partner and I
are about to grill

each and every one of you

like Colonel Braddock
did the Vietcong.

- Yeah, I'm not doing that.
- Fine.

But if anyone's going to be
bound and denied oxygen,

might I suggest we establish
some clear safe words?

Move it out, freak show.

No, that's too many words.

I was thinking more along
the lines of "stop."

I'll be in the den.

That's not my job, man.

I need to know everything
you did

from the time
you arrived here tonight.

Well, Marty...

let me tell you what happens

when you cry "Harvard"
in prison.

A bunch of inmates
go to the prison library

and check out a bunch of books

that you've probably read
cover to cover,

and then they take turns
beating you with them

until you forget
you ever went to...

Care to guess?


You really are smart.

Just answer
the question, Billy.

All right, but first,
I have a question for you.

Would you ever consider
quitting police work

and going on tour
and sleeping with me

and my band and my crew?



All I know is I've got
a frozen body

and your alibi
doesn't hold water.

Now start talking.

This is a joke, right, Lassie?

Come on, man, you know
I didn't kill those dudes.

Hold on. Why are you
emphasizing the word "I"?

I don't know.

Maybe because you disappeared
for ten minutes

after Clizby gave us a tour
of the house.

Man, you know
I doubled back around

to that bowl
of licorice pastels.

And when I returned,
guess who was suspiciously gone.

Man, you know, I, too, crave
those licorice pastels.

And I doubled back
after you doubled back.

I ate them all, sucker.

Liar! You ate all of them
but the black ones.

Suck it.

- You suck it.
- You suck it.

* Suck it!

All right,
what did you learn from Clizby?

It's Clizby.

Stop it!


- Hey!
- Not you, Guster.

So what have we gleaned
from the grillings?

That any one of these guests
could have committed the murders

and that they're all
pointing fingers at each other.

Like this.

And they all claim
that a vast amount

of dirty laundry was aired
during Billy Lipps' trial.

Apparently, they all had some

pretty damning things to say
about him.

Wait a minute.

Everyone invited tonight
testified at Billy's trial.

That means we all played a role

in sending Billy
off to prison...

an experience
he claims was a blessing,

but I believe deep down
he's resentful and bitter

that his wife was stolen
from him

by that beautiful bastard-face
dancer Derek Hough...his words.

Though I, too, would have
chosen the word "Derek."

Oh, my God.

Billy Lipps didn't invite us
here tonight to celebrate.

He invited us here
to exact revenge.

Highway Harry and Rip
were his first victims.

But he is planning on
taking us out one by one

by one by one by one
by one by one.

So he's going to kill
four more people?

No. He's going
to kill five more people.

Two plus one plus one plus one
plus one plus one is seven.

- Let's talk to Lipps.
- Yeah.

Lipps split.

The other guests
are in grave danger.

Everybody, listen up!

When I call your names,
you answer.

- Martin!
- Detective, I have rights!

- Leslie!
- I'm fl...fl...flab...

- Flabbergasted?
- Clizby?

- Man, you know I'm in here.
- Guster.

- Guster?
- Gus?



Oh, no.
Billy must have taken him.

How in the hell did Lipps
get out of the den,

into the living room, and abduct
Gus without anyone seeing him?

This is all my fault.
I left him.

And I brought him
as my plus-one.

This should have been you,


Rumor has it that
the secret chocolate room

is somewhere
off the living room.


All I know is
I've got a frozen body

and your alibi
doesn't hold water.

Now start talking!

Did you go looking for...

the chocolate room?

You deserved better,
my magnificent friend.


Oh, no. Gus.

I-I-I thought...

I thought it was
the chocolate room.

I know you did, buddy.
Come on, let's...

let's get out of you here.

- No, no.
- Come on.

You can do it.

I found Gus.
He's all right.

He doesn't look all right.

- I thought it was chocolate.
- I know.

I've written a new song!

How the hell did you all
get out of your rooms?

I've written a song!

Yow, yeah!

'Cause I'm a genius
in me own genes.

Gather round.
Come on, people.

Oh, after-party
will be in my pants.

It's a hit song
that I have penned...

in memory of my mates,

Rip and Highway Harry.

All right,
enough of this nonsense.

You're under arrest, Lipps.

I was speaking English, right?

* It's a long road,
my brothers *

* and we travel it alone

* together we ride forever

* forever, to the other side *

* it's a long road

Wait a minute...
so he's riding solo

to the other side or...

I think he starts off alone,
and then he joins his friends.

I think.

- They're waiting for him?
- I don't know.

Well, it's not clear
who he's with.

* Together, alone, alone

* alone, alone, alone

* alone, alone, together

* and together, alone, alone

* Alone, alone, alone, alone *

- Billy, move!
- Don't move, Billy.

* Together alone

Aah! Aah!

Oh. That is quite a mess.

I don't know what the hell's
going on around here, Lipps,

but don't go thinking
you're in the clear.

You've got a lot
of explaining to do.

Can I make a phone call?

Phone call? To who?

I have to talk to my shrink.

It was Rip who actually
turned me on to her.

She's been working miracles
for us.

Helping us to get back all
the years that we lost to drugs

and late night games
of "Clock Me Noggin."

That's a white man's game.

- It's true.
- Pull yourself together, man.

You can call your quack
right after I figure out

which one of these three's
the killer.

O'Hara, cover me.

- Curt Smith!
- What?

- This is awesome.
- What are you doing here?

Billy invited me.

I'm producing his new album,

Curt Smith
Duets with Curt Smith.

How are you, mate?

Well, Billy, I've been shot
in the diaphragm...

and I'm fairly certain
I was also attacked by...

an adult panther?

- Emma, sure.
- Did you say "shot"?

That would explain
the shot we heard.



Elevate him!
Elevate him!

He...he is
deceptively heavy!

Let me through.
Let me through.

It's okay, Curt.
It's really just a flesh wound.

Don't think about it, okay?
Don't think about it.

Why don't...
why don't you sing us a song

from your new Duets album?

All right.

The first one is
a special version of Billy Boy.

- Oh, Billy Boy.
- So I start...

* Where have you gone,
Billy boy, Billy boy? *

And then I come in.

* Where have you gone

* Charming Billy?

Is your name Curt Smith?

No, it's not.

This is really serious.

It's so serious.
It's very, very serious.

- I have to get...
- Go!

Okay, yes, I will.

O'Hara, get on the phone

and call the paramedics.

I don't suppose
you saw who shot you?

I did, yes.
They were gripping an ice pick.

And I saw the face
clear as day.

It was...

No! No!

The legend that is Curt Smith
is dead.

Your hand is
on the gentleman's head.

- He's still alive.
- Oh, thank God!

All right.

One of you is the killer.

Now fess up.

What father?
He's never met his father.

You were our bumber one snoopy
back in the gay.

The killer is not in this room.


I'm sorry.
The killer is in this room.

Is the killer in this room
or not...yes or no?


Yes, the killer
is in this room,

or, yes, the killer
is not in this room?

The killer
is Leslie, the groupie.

That's right.

You hopscotched from bed to bed

with rich rock stars
back in the day,

and it led to a pea
in your pod.

The question is,
who is the daddy?

Wasn't so easy to force
a paternity test back then.

So you were left to raise
your child all by yourself.

Years of bitterness
fueled a vengeful fire

made from flames,

and you came back here tonight

to off all
the potential daddies,

one by one by one
by one by one.

I'm also sensing that you
lifted a few items

with DNA on them this evening.


What a brilliant
yet murderous plan.

Come back here, take out
all the potential daddies,

use DNA to figure out
who the real one was,

and then collect money
from their estate

to better support your child.


I took all the items.

But it was only because
I needed some extra cash.

I was going to put them
on eBay.

I was hit hard by the rece...



But I never, never hurt anyone.

And I know
who Germaine's father

really is.

From our one night of passion.

I remember it so clearly.

You were a vision
in your birthday suit.

And on that same night,

Melinda Lane was found dead
in the guest room.

We were sleeping when I heard
Billy screaming for help.

I rushed to the room
with Martin,

- and you stayed behind...
- Yes.

In a deep sleep
from all of the alcohol,

Quaaludes, and Clizby.

Oh, I obsessed over

whether to tell you
about Germaine,

because I was only sleeping
with the butler.

I was worried
they would fire you, Clizby.

Well, Spencer,
your whole Leslie theory

doesn't seem to be holding
water, now, does it?

Just, you know, for the record,

I'm pretty sure that Leslie
and I had sex.

I didn't sleep with you, Billy.

And I didn't sleep with Rip.

And I certainly didn't sleep
with Highway Harry.

She's right. We never did it.

It was like
shooting pool with a rope.


You put that gun on the floor
and kick it over.

Harry, mate!
We thought you were dead.

Where have you been?

I backed oot,

yoke up, every blonde
was blonde.


Pound of buns in the yard.

Hovered the rocket boom.

He blacked out, woke up,

everyone was gone,
found a gun in the yard,

and then discovered
the chocolate room,

and that was it.

You tell me where that
chocolate room is right now,

or I will kill you myself.

I don't...stone blender.

- What?
- He doesn't remember.

You sumbitch.

But then who hit Harry
on the back of the head?

Oh, be Bob.

Bit me with a bot and baldy
to groove out of her blazemint.

His mum hit him on the back
of the head with a pot

and told him to move
out of her basement.

You live
in your mother's basement?

Don't judge me.

Don't judge me!

Okay, so someone
in this room killed Rip,

dragged him to the freezer,

dumped the murder weapon
in the front yard,

shot Curt Smith,

and orchestrated
the colossal-chandelier trap?

She's summarizing,
the female detective.

She's giving us a summary
of the night's events.

My point is that perhaps
it wasn't

one person who committed
the crimes.


One person didn't commit
all these crimes.

It had to be
more than one person.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure
I just said that.

I mean, think about it.

How could one person
have pulled all this off

- without an accomplice?
- Very interesting.

Well, Lassie, what do you say
we put Juliet's theory

- to the test?
- Thank you, Shawn.


Perhaps it was Rip

who killed Melinda
all those years ago.

Apparently Rip and I got
into a huge brawl

years ago over Melinda Lane.

After all, she was toying

with both Billy's heart
and Harry's heart.

She was a cancer to the band.

Rip wouldn't allow it,
so he killed her.

You son of a bitch!

And Rip's mind was such mush,

he probably didn't even remember
committing the murders.

But then,
he started seeing a shrink,

and all the lost memories
came back,

including the murder
of Melinda Lane.

Riddled with guilt,

he confessed to Billy
what he'd done.

After five years in prison
for a murder

you didn't commit, you snapped.

And you picked up an ice pick,

and you chased him
throughout the house!

And you caught him,
and you plunged the ice pick

into his back, killing him.

And then you almost threw up,

but you didn't.

And you bent down
and you grabbed his warm,

thick, heavily tattooed arms

and began dragging
his lifeless corpse.

You dragged Rip's body
through the kitchen

and hid him in the freezer.

But then I came strutting
through the door,

and, stricken with panic,

you had to get rid
of the murder weapon.

To the Porte Cochere.

And so you snuck into the yard
to dispose of the ice pick.

Where you saw Curt Smith.

What are you...

And you shot
the legendary rock icon dead.

He's not dead!

You son of a bitch!


But then who tried
to kill Billy

with that big,
monstrous chandelier?

* Chocolate dance,
chocolate dance *

* Chocolate dance, yeah!
It's an entire room *

You know, it's funny,

I don't have any real clarity
on that one, Burton.

That's a lot of nonsense.

Rip didn't kill nobody.

He was in the room
next to me all night

snoring his ass off.

Which means I didn't kill Rip
because he didn't kill Melinda,

which means
I was never in the yard

dumping any murder weapon

because I didn't murder anyone!

Except for Melinda Lane.

I guess I still murdered her.

I'm sorry, sweetie.

It looks like
this multiple-killer theory

isn't holding much water
at the moment.

And you're right, Billy.

So everyone get comfy,

'cause I'm gonna tell you

how the real killer
pulled this off.

Melinda Lane
wasn't the real muse

behind the band
back in the day.

The real muse

makes the tastiest snacks
this side of the Pecos

and also has a gift
for whistling

undeniably catchy melodies.

Isn't that right, Clizby?

You see, Billy Lipps
and the guys behind him

had been stealing your tunes
and cash for years,

and all you have to show for it
is a $25 watch?

Melinda kept taking
all the credit

with the press for being
the inspiration

behind all the band's
hit songs,

and one day, you looked
in the mirror and said,

"Man, I'm done
with these Dapshats."

You snuck into the room

Melinda was sleeping,
and you smothered her good.

- That's crazy, man.
- Is it?

Years later, Rip,
after intensive psychotherapy,

started filling in the blanks.

He realized it was you
who killed Melinda.

Came here to confront you.

You ice-picked him

and were looking
for a better hiding place

for your murder weapon

when Curt Smith,
legend that he is,

found himself in the wrong place
at the wrong time.

May he rest in peace.

He's not dead.

Of course it was you, Clizby,

who loosened the screws
on the ginormous chandelier,

knowing full well that
it was Billy's magic spot,

and it was only
a matter of time

before it fell and crushed
that pasty, thieving ass.

Say it isn't so.

I only have one black friend.
It's you.

And I just don't have the time

or resources
to find a replacement.

Who are you?


It was me.

Those cats have been stealing
from me for years.

Hands behind your back.

Time to go to jail...


Stupid name.


Don't worry, Curt.

We're going to be with you
the whole way, mate.

You're gonna be fine, Curt.

Just a flesh wound, baby.

- Be good as new in no time.
- You're a trooper.

Curt Smith
sings with Curt Smith.

Oh, God, no!

Somebody should probably call
animal control, right?




Gus and I are going to go home

and make love to our wives.

We're not married, Shawn.