Psych

Dude, do you know they make silent window shades?

Some woman in Washington invented them

back in the early '90s.

Since when is the sound of opening and closing shades

so disruptive that it has to be alleviated?

Why do you have to hate on other peoples triumphs of innovation?

Weird. It's not weird, it's selfish

and more than a little petty.

No, not that, come take a look at this.

Man, this better not be another auction

for one of Stoney Jackson's neckerchiefs.

It's not, Shawn.

This came in on the Psych account.

The sender is "me-at-under-the-nail- dot-com."

I'm pretty sure it's not spam.

Well, what's the attachment?

Cinnamon festival.

The Great Northern.

I'm not familiar with that publication.

What, you know every small town newspaper in California?

Actually, I do, Shawn.

Ridgecrest? The Daily Independent.

Shawnopolis. That doesn't exist.

Yet.

I just need 50,000 signatures and a large plot of land.

Well, look up this town, Dual Spires.

I mean, how can there be a cinnamon festival that we've never heard of?

Zoom in.

Zoom in again.

Keep zooming. I am, Shawn.

Dude, this town is so small that it's in parenthesis.

How the heck did we get this email?

It's a delicious mystery.

Think about it, a tiny little town

we've never even heard of?

What's your schedule look like?

I'm open till my route tomorrow.

Let's see here.

You think they'll have monkey bread?

Yes, I do. What?

I'm good till next WrestleMania.

Half a mile from the nearest road.

No wonder it's in parenthesis.

This is one secluded town.

Let's get some cinnamon.

Wow. Everyone looks so happy,

and yet, so perplexed.

Something's off about this place, Shawn.

People keep looking,

like I'm the first black man they've seen.

Come on, Gus. Don't be absurd.

Hey mister, are you Frederick Douglass?

Shawn, we need to get out of here.

Nah, let's get something to eat.

Hey, top of the morning to you, boys.

Robert Barker. You can call me Bob.

Just passing through?

We're here for the festival.

We take our cinnamon very seriously.

Well, then you're in luck, because so do we.

Ninety years running.

Why do you call your diner The Sawmill?

'Cause that's what it used to be.

Most of it burned down back in '58.

Granddad turned it into this place,

and now it's just a bit of a local landmark.

We just need a little something

to hold us over until show time,

so, uh, what's good?

How about a cup

of the best pipin' hot apple cider

this side of the Mississippi

and a slice of cinnamon pie that may just bring tears?

Two slices of cinnamon pie, hon.

That's the wife. Isn't she a peach?

Ah, I'll get that cider.

Bob's a real Chatty Cathy. You think?

You should check your email.

See if our secret pal sent us any cinnamon comps.

I'm afraid you won't have much luck with those here.

Sheriff Andrew Jackson.

You know, we had the opportunity

to put up some of those fancy towers,

but folks decided a basic landline was fine with them.

I couldn't help but overhear

that you're in town for the festival.

It's rare to get visitors.

Well, we heard all about it on underthenail. com.

We don't have the Internet in Dual Spires.

It's simpler that way.

Dude, we're doing Witness. They were Amish.

Not Danny Glover, he was black.

What are you talking about?

Well, we are happy you're here, nevertheless.

It should be a heck of a celebration.

Two slices of cinnamon pie.

Oh, thank you.

Well, we'll see you at the festival.

Sheriff.

What's the verdict?

Really?

Mmm.

Oh, mother of God.

Mmm. Mmm.

Mmm-hmm. Mmm.

Dude, that owl is made entirely of cinnamon.

Which means that it is both wise and delicious.

Let's have a nice, warm round of applause

for Mayor Douglas Fir.

And, this year's festival mascot,

Leo, the cinnamon owl.

You found the monkey bread. You know that's right.

And now, the moment I know you've all been waiting for.

It's time to announce this year's Cinnamon King.

Who-oo will it be?

Who, who, who?

Oh, who are we kidding?

Put your hands together

for the future leader of Dual Spires.

A young man that needs no introduction,

come up and claim your crown, Randy.

That's my boy.

What's 24 times 12?

Two-eighty-eight. Why?

There's a chair here for every person in town.

Three are empty. Sheriff's talking, so that's one.

Check it out.

There's one right next to the Barkers.

Hey. Hey, you found the monkey bread.

Yeah.

Mrs. Barker, is everything okay?

No. Everything is not okay.

Shelley. What?

I can't just sit here and pretend to be excited

about churros and Leo the cinnamon owl.

I sense someone is missing.

Yeah. Our niece, Paula.

She's been gone about a day and a half.

Everyone keeps telling us not to panic.

She's a teenager.

Wait, what did you mean, you sensed it?

Mr. and Mrs. Barker, I have a confession to make.

I'm not just a cinnamon enthusiast.

I'm also a psychic detective.

And this is my partner, Lodge Blackmunn.

Can you find Paula?

Perhaps. Oh!

I got a little something under the nail.

Right here, under... Under the nail.

We are available for hire.

We don't have much money.

None of us do, here.

We believe it complicates things.

Well, we have been known to work for cider or pie in the past.

Oh, of course. As much as you'd like.

We will find your niece.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Who is supposed to be sitting over there?

Oh, that's Paula's best friend, Jack.

I'm not sure where he is.

Would this be...

Something happened at the lake.

Something happened at the lake!

It's Paula.

I know it is.

Jack just discovered her, about an hour ago, Doc.

So young.

My God, Andrew.

Jack, is this how you found her?

No, sir. She was half naked.

It wasn't right. I didn't want people to see her like that.

I'm sorry.

Oh, now I've got to let the Barkers through.

No!

No, my baby.

Paula.

Paula!

Paula.

Come on, dude.

You know I'm a sympathetic crier, Shawn.

Just leave me be.

Dude, I have a bar.

And an email.

Gus, we weren't called here for a cinnamon festival.

In between the lines there's a lot of obscurity

I'm not inclined to resign to maturity

If it's all right then you're all wrong

But why bounce around to the same damn song?

You'd rather run when you can't crawl

I know, you know

I know, you know

I'm guessing the time of death was

sometime night before last.

Doc Gooden will do a full autopsy.

You know she won't miss a thing, Bob.

But I suspect what we will find

is that Paula went swimming after curfew,

like she always did,

and got pulled under by the current

and hit her head.