Meanwhile, Raige orbs back into the attic as Piper shrieks. "What the hell was that for?" Raige demands. Phoebe lamely explains that the Spawn within took momentary control of her body to pitch Raige headfirst out the window. "But why me?" Raige bleats. "I have nothing against that little fu...fetus." Yes. Raige almost called the Spawn of Sole a little fucker. Join me in rolling around on the floor in laughter, won't you? Or, more accurately, join me in rolling the eyes right out of my fucking skull as my brain turns into a runny oatmeal that dribbles from my ear to puddle onto my keyboard. "Kids at this age," Phoebe smarms. "They don't know any better." Raige smacks the taste right out of Phoebe's smug little mouth with an uppercut to the jaw as the Dolt orbs out to consult the ever-useless Elders on the Phoetus. Well, the Dolt orbs out, at any rate. Piper's certain that D'Eartha is involved somehow, and the three head out of the attic.
As they clomp down the stairs, Darryl greets them with, "What was that out there?" Raige nonchalantly informs him of the Phoetus's attempt on her life. He shrugs this nonsense off and gets right to business, asking them if anyone in the Manor has "learned the magic of the telephone." He's left four unanswered messages for them in the last week. The Sole "worked at a high-profile law firm," and the partners are starting to wonder where the hell he is. Right-o. They're just wondering now, because they wouldn't have wondered back when he was blowing off work to interview whores, chat with gay vampires, redecorate the apartment, or tryst with scorching demonic underlings. Gotcha. The Glamorous Ladies are about as interested in Darryl's concerns as I am in this episode. However, they are headed to the penthouse, which conveniently enough is the exact place Darryl "need[s them] to take care of this business." The gals blithely don jackets as Darryl stumbles out of the Manor after them.
Casa Del Sole. The camera pans up from the lonely pile of Cole ash on the terrazzo as Darryl emerges from the elevator with the ladies. He explains that they need to rearrange the apartment so it "looks like Cole left in a hurry." He's made an appointment for Phoebe that afternoon with the missing persons bureau. If she doesn't report Cole missing before his colleagues at the firm do, she'll become the primary suspect in his disappearance. Darryl's concerned that the police might link the Ps to Cole's death, and this plot bored me to tears the first time they fumbled their way through it. And that iteration featured Ruth Bader Ginsburg, The Angel Of Death, and coffee-flavored bat shit. This time around? Nothing quite so entertaining. The gals glumly agree to Darryl's plan. The detective takes in the pile of ash, the surrounding scorch mark on the floor, and the blown-out French doors. Darryl displays those mad policing skills of his when he duly notes, "This place looks like a crime scene." Raige steps up to the plate to recite her favorite all-purpose spell: