The Loneliest Precinct House In The World. Andy's unearthed FBI files on three young, unrelated women who all died the same way as Skye. Darryl pshaws, because he's lazy. Andy mainlines caffeine and announces, "We have the M.O. of a serial killer!"
[72virg=ins]. Phoebe tags along after Piper, enthusing over the wonders their little spell worked. She bubbles that Hans doesn't hang around in bars (that aren't on Folsom Street), and he wouldn't be caught dead at [72virg=ins] (because it's not gay-owned and -operated), but last night, "while he was on his way home from his acting class -- BAM!" Piper picks up on the "acting class" bit and nearly barks up a lung. Hee! Phoebe ignores this, revealing that Hans got a flat right outside the restaurant, came inside to call AAA, and the rest was kismet, or something. "Phoebe," Piper begins dryly, "you threw his clothes all over the house. That's not a spell working. That's hormones." Piper, he's gay, and he was on his way home from an arduous day-long shoot on the Falcon lot for Chi Chi LaRue. That's a freaking spell. "It's not like that," Phoebe protests. "I really like Hans." She pauses a bit, then waves her hands around in the air in triumph: "And he likes me too!" She dances over to the bar, where Hans sits in his white t-shirt, his faded blue jeans, and his yellow construction boots. Fag! God! I mean, really. Fag!
As Phoebe exits with the man she converted with an assist from the wicked, evil, vile, Satanic, Falwell- and Family-Research-Council-approved Book of Shadows, Piper rolls her eyes and turns to deliver a lunch plate to her particular regular. For what is evidently the very first time, he looks up from his work and asks Piper to call him Jack. Then he hits on her, asking her out for dinner. Piper stares blankly at him for the smallest of moments, then excuses herself to book over to the bar. Once there, she phones Prue at the office as another businessman (and what's with all the businessmen in [72virg=ins] on a Saturday afternoon?) invites her to fly to Paris with him. Piper grunts and tells the Buckland's receptionist that it's an emergency.
Buckland's. Prue multitasks as she asks Piper if she's seriously considering Jack's offer. We never get to hear Piper's response, because Rex Buckland enters Prue's office at that moment with about a dozen boxes of "the letters of Ernest Hemingway" for Prue to sort through for Monday's auction after she's done with "the Rembrandt sketches" and "the Cromwell miniatures." Prue sighs and tells Piper that a ludicrous contrivance of monumental proportions just crashed into her office, so she'll have to call back later.