Andy's House Of Beef. Phoebe barges in and brightly greets the detective. Before he can ask what she's doing there, she cuts him off with a question about Prue. He casually reveals that while he got the message Prue left on his machine, he's not sure he wants to call her back.
Twinkle-Toes: What? I didn't say anything.
Demian: [Threatening snort.]
Phoebe retrieves a pad of paper from her vast purse and starts in with the third degree. The responses she receives from Andy are rapid-fire, automatic bursts of facts delivered in hushed, conspiratorial, urgent tones as Andy's expression gradually becomes more and more befuddled as the scene progresses. God help me, but I'm giggling. What does Andy know about the murdered doctor? "Lead detective says he's not the only victim -- last night they found a lab technician out in Oakland -- each of them had the same cauterized mark on their foreheads and their eyes were drained of color -- they were completely white."
Demian, avec Theme Mallet: [Thwack.]
Twinkle-Toes: Ow! What'd you do that for?
Demian: I told you I am not a fucking moron and I told you to keep your simpering, sniveling, sibilant mouth SHUT!
Twinkle-Toes: "Sibilant"? Moi? Look who's talking, sissy-girl. You'd best avoid those hissing sounds yourself if you want anyone to buy that butch act you keep trying to push.
Andy snaps his head back in disbelief at the words that just poured from his mouth, and darts his eyes around with alarm. Cause of death? "Unknown," Andy blurts. "Looks like they took a bullet wound to the head only there's no exit wound and no bullet." Suspects? "Not yet." Any leads? "They found a button at the crime scene -- possibly from the suspect's jacket -- but it's an alloy forensics has never seen before." Andy jams his fist against his mouth in a desperate attempt to shut himself up, and bugs out his eyes. Hee! Phoebe thanks him for his time and orders him to return Prue's call before giddily dancing on out of there. Andy scrunches lower into his chair and wigs.
Buckland's. Prue's daydreams are interrupted by her ringing phone. It's Andy, and they agree to meet that evening at five to chat. As Prue places the receiver back into its cradle, manky-haired lunch lady Tanya wheels her cart into the office, followed closely by the saucy, evilicious Hannah Webster. "Oooh, look!" Hannah croons. "Last turkey-no-mayo. My favorite!" Manky Tanya stammers that she was saving that sandwich for Prue. Hannah sneers at her while forking over a couple of bucks. "Don't you hate turkey?" Prue delicately asks. "Of course I do," comes the reply. "I just don't want you to have it."