...Trudeau Memorial, formerly Andy's House Of Beef, formerly The Loneliest Precinct House In The World, where Detective Doormat agrees via his cell phone to meet Phoebe at the morgue, despite some grave misgivings. "This is not a good idea," he opines as he swings around the corner into the main room, where the Dazzling Sheila -- absolutely stunning in a form-fitting royal blue satin cocktail dress -- pops up from a chair to greet him. "Ready to go?" she beams. The Doormat wearily snaps his cell shut and prepares to disappoint his long-suffering wife yet again. The Dazzling Sheila's face falls as she realizes the Doormat's bailing on her in favor of the sisters for what has to be the 2476th time in the last seven years, but she does kindly enough wonder if the gals are okay. No answer on that from the Doormat as of yet, however, for Pepper Anderson powers over at this point with a curt "We need to talk -- it seems the Halliwells reported yet another suspicious murder." "You know what, Inspector Sheridan?" the Doormat dodges, awkwardly avoiding the topic. "You've met my wife Sheila, haven't you?" "No!" Pepper replies, instantly flipping from ill-mannered to gracious while extending her hand with a broad smile on her face. The Dazzling Sheila accepts it with a cautious and somewhat confused, "Actually we did -- six months ago at the medals ceremony?" Oh, Sheila. Why you gotta screw with the already fucked-up timeline on this show? As we shall shortly learn, it's poor, neglected, and doomed Tiny Gay Chris's first birthday, which means that six months ago, Pepper Anderson was still in her freaking coma. I think. I'm pretty sure. Oh, fuck it. I so don't care anymore, and this show can kiss my goddamned ass. In any event, Pepper flutters for a moment, then admits to having "memory problems" as of late. The Doormat, perhaps realizing his wife's presence might hurl Pepper into a dangerous flashback, shoots his partner a promise to phone her in the morning before dragging the Dazzling Sheila from the room. "What happened to her?" the Dazzling Sheila wonders suspiciously once Pepper's out of earshot. "You don't want to know," the Doormat bumbles. Sheila crosses her arms in front of her and demands, "What aren't you telling me?" The Doormat just pecks her on the cheek and flees. The Dazzling Sheila pivots to glare at her husband's retreating form as he vanishes down the precinct's hall.
Manor. Piper staggers through the front door with poor, doomed Tiny Gay Chris and a couple of shopping bags, bellowing for her sisters while bitching about traffic on the freeways the entire time. The Dolt trails her into the foyer with the dead-eyed Psycho, and I so do not care about their transportation issues now that they've given up, as the Dolt puts it, "the cosmic taxi" in favor of a normal life, so let's get to the point of this scene already, okay? And no, despite the howls of outraged protest the decision elicited from some on the forum boards, the point of this scene is not that Piper so thoughtlessly decides to cancel Tiny Gay Chris's birthday party in light of Tasty Tim's death. The point of this scene is actually Raige's NIPPLES, which arrive in the main hall from above about three minutes prior to their support system's own entrance, and are now threatening to poke Tiny Gay Chris's eyes right out of his ginormous head. Seriously, Raige: Bra. NOW. ANY-way, long story short, Piper's ignorance of Phoebe's trip to the morgue befuddles Raige for a moment, as Raige was under the impression that Piper herself encouraged Phoebe to go in the first place. This should, of course, set off all sorts of warning bells in the gals' minds because of their recent experiences with shape-shifters, but because everyone present is a complete fucking retard, it doesn't. Instead, Piper and Raige repair to the sun porch to perch on the wicker furniture and fret about Phoebe's Issues for a moment before Raige rises to orb off for a meeting with her new charge, "Joanna." Joanna's backstory is grindingly familiar, so I'll be skipping over it in favor of...skipping to the next scene, actually. Hooray for recycled plotlines!