Psych s07e05 Episode Script

100 Clues

Whoo! 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.
7:00 P.
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.
Really? What? 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.
What? 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 Oh! 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.
What? 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.
Clizby? "Th" sound? Clizby.
So, uh, Clizby.
Who might our host be? I'll tell you what, Clizby, 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, actually.
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.
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--it's okay.
I'm sorry--my 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-- hosting? 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! You were our bumber-one Snoopy back in the gay.
Excuse me.
Excuse me.
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? Oh.
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 biography.
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.
Ooh! 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.
Oh! 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! Oof.
Harry? Oh! 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! Hava! I'm having a vision.
What the heck are you doing? You better run, Rip! Aah! Uh 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! 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, lurking, 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.
Clizby! 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-- Emma.
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-- pa-p-p-pa-- m-m-menopausal flashes.
Flames smoldering in and around my bosom.
I cannot stay.
I must leave.
Wait! Leslie, cool your bosom.
- We can't go out there.
- He's right.
There is a storm raging, Leslie, 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? Absolutely.
- What-- - No, no, Billy, Billy, Billy.
I'm saying we should all split up into pairs and search the house for Rip.
Right? 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.
Boring! Clear! Copy.
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 acoustics-ics-ics Listen.
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.
Gus? 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.
Martin Kahn-- Harvard.
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? Oh.
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? Okay, 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? Harvard.
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? Professionally.
M&M? 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! Clifby? Clizby.
- 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.
Ow! 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? Gus? 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, Jules.
Rumor has it that the secret chocolate room is somewhere off the living room.
Gus? 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.
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.
Really? I'm sorry.
The killer is in this room.
Is the killer in this room or not--yes or no? Yes.
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.
Oh! 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.
Okay! 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-- rece--re-r-- Recession! Yes.
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--it was like shooting pool with a rope.
Freeze! 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.
Yeah? 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.
Whoo! 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! Ow! 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.
Indeed! 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! Boom.
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.
Clizby! 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? Fine.
It was me.
Those cats have been stealing from me for years.
Hands behind your back.
Time to go to jail Clizby.
Stupid name.
Ooh! 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? Yes! Great.
Now Gus and I are going to go home and make love to our wives.
We're not married, Shawn.