Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster were hard up for work. They hadn’t been given a single case in weeks. Well, Gus’ pharmaceutical sales record was at an all-time high and he suspected it was because of Psych’s lack of business. Shawn, however, was almost to the point of having to sell his motorcycle for rent money. The need for work in the Psych office was dire. Shawn was generally not a negative person, but under the circumstances he was a little crabby. He’d eaten Chef Boyardee again for dinner the night before. He was a fan of the Chef when he was younger, but, being in his early thirties, his palette had matured past ravioli and lasagna from a can. He would not lower himself to eating Ramen noodles. He was resolved that he would starve first.

“This is pathetic. We are the best looking private detectives in the city. Why are we not getting work?”

Gus looked up from his desk and started to say something but Shawn cut him off.

“Listen—just because you are not in financial straits does not mean that you have to act so flippant about my... lamentable situation.”

“Why don’t you get a job?”

“I hav...”

“A real job, Shawn,” Gus interrupted.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Gus, this is my real job.”

“Well, why don’t you ask your Dad for some help until some work manages to magically fall into your lap?”

“Ok. Think about the question you just asked.”

“Look—just don’t come to me looking for money. You are not my responsibility.”

“Oh, come on Gus. Have I ever asked you for help with money?”

Once again Gus started to speak but Shawn beat him to it.

“Ok—don’t answer that.”

“That’s what I thought, Shawn.”

Gus could be such a killjoy. Shawn was scanning the paper looking for anything—anything at all—that could possibly get them some private work. He read through the classifieds determining how much lost and found posts could possibly pay.

A missing dog might be worth fifty bucks.
A missing cat may be worth forty-five bucks.
A lost wombat? Pass.
Maybe he could start coaxing dogs and cats away from their homes to get more potential work....

The bell on the front door jingled signaling someone’s entrance.

“Thanks be to... something— we might have some work.” Shawn sighed as he straightened up and wiped the flotsam off his desk. Gus rolled his eyes. He was packing up to go on another route and did not want to get distracted.

Shawn watched a tall figure walk into the office and his heart didn’t know what to do—sink or jump for joy. It was Lassiter. With his patented Lassiter-look. No smile, but there was the air of a nice scowl on his face.

“Gentlemen,” Lassiter began, “I see that you are hard at...work...or... you think you are.” Before he could go on, Juliet walked in behind him.

“Hey guys!” She said. Shawn immediately hated himself for not predicting a visit from Juliet—he hadn’t showered since the day before (saving on the water bill) and had been wearing the same jeans for two weeks (no laundry money).

Damn his financial instability.

“So guys, we may have some work for you. But... the only thing is that it will require just a little travel,” Juliet intimated nervously.

Shawn stood up immediately and started champing at the bit. “Absolutely we will take the case. I assume, however,” he walked towards Juliet “that you will be traveling with us? I can see it now—beaches, intrigue and romance. Where are we going? Hawaii? Fiji? Perhaps the island of Bali?”

Gus shot Shawn a warning look that said something to the effect of ‘Gee, Shawn, desperate much?’

“Alright, Spencer. Down, boy,” Lassiter interjected with a roll of his eyes.

Juliet was used to Shawn’s come-ons but since the day she experienced ‘very close talking’ with Shawn, she eyed him in a different way. In a way that was almost too much for her. She couldn’t—absolutely could not—allow anything to get in the way of her job.

“Um, actually yes. Lassiter and I will both be traveling with you. But we won’t be joining you in Scranton until a few days after you’ve arrived.”

Shawn was sure he’d misheard Juliet. It seemed like she referenced some place called Scranton. Shaking his head he said, “I’m sorry—did you say Scranton? Where on God’s green earth is that?”

“Scranton is a small town in Pennsylvania. I believe it is called, “The Electric City.” Gus looked rather pleased with himself for knowing this bit of trivia.

Shawn was floored. Would he really have to travel to “The Electric City” to find work? If he had more room to be picky he may have turned the SBPD down this time. However, he had just Googled ‘Chapter 13’ after Gus mentioned something about it. Bankruptcy wasn’t his style.

“No, yeah. That sounds wonderful. We were longing to get away from the dull, beach-lined vistas of boring, warm and beautiful Santa Barbara. Scranton sounds fantastic,” Shawn mumbled as he flopped back down in the chair behind his desk.

“So, is that a yes? You’ll go?” Juliet asked nervously.

“Wait—what exactly would be looking for in Scranton—if we agreed to go?” asked Gus forcefully. If he was going to be away from his recently very-well paying job, it had better be for a damn good reason.

“Here’s the situation,” Lassiter commanded. “There’s been a high-profile murder recently. The mayor and the Chief are doing everything they can to keep it under-the-radar.” Lassiter stopped for a second and then added, “but since they want to bring you in, Spencer, I guess they’ve amended that decision.”

“Wait,” Gus interrupted, “is this about the city councilman—Delman—that was just found dead in his office with a phone cord tied around his neck? I thought that was an open and shut case. Wasn’t it some disgruntled administrative assistant?”

Juliet explained: “No the case is still open. There have been some interesting disclosures regarding the questionable business practices of the victim since we started the investigation. The victim had more than several business connections to a paper supplier in Scranton. We know the connection’s pretty important but we’re having trouble putting the pieces together. That’s why we need you guys. We can’t figure out why Scranton.”

“Paper supplier. So we’re talking Staples, Office Depot, Office Max?” Gus asked thoughtfully. He had to admit- he was curious as to how a murder involved a paper company.

Juliet chuckled. “You wish. It’s called Dunder Mifflin—midsized paper company. Corporate headquarters is in New York with a few branches around the Northeast,” she finished.

“Wait wait wait. How is a paper company, of all things, involved in this? It sounds like...” started Shawn.
Lassiter quickly shot him a look full of daggers so he changed his tune.

“Ok, did the victim happen to expire due to an excess of paper cuts? Was he perhaps fatally stapled to something? Of course, there have been a rash of murders involving Bic pens,” Shawn quipped as he leaned back in his desk chair.

Gus jumped in to temper the irritation he saw on Lassiter’s face. “What does a paper company have to do with anything? And why do we have to go to Scranton? Surely the Chief wants to contact the headquarters in New York.” He thought for a second. “I would be a lot more interested in going to New York than Scranton.”

“Hmm.” Shawn was deep in thought. “Scranton. That name just sounds like something dirty. Like ‘scum’ or ‘smarmy’ or even—dare I say—‘smurf’? Smurfton. I can see it now...’”

“Alright Spencer, my patience has officially run out. We didn’t need you in the first place.” Lassiter said as he turned to walk out of the building.

“Oh alright, Lassie. No need to be...well... you about this. We’ll go.” Shawn said with resignation. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled loudly. He was pleased to have some work but he wasn’t sure if it was worth traveling to Nowheresville, PA.
Lassiter turned around as Shawn suddenly stood up, walked around his desk and leaned against the front of it. “When do we leave and how long do you want us in,” and with a look of disgust he said, “Scranton?”
“Tomorrow. And you’ll be glad to know that the Department has arranged your flight and accommodations while you stay in Scranton.” Juliet smiled and handed Shawn and Gus plane tickets and a couple of sheets of paper.

Gus looked at the paper he was handed. His brow furrowed and he said with great irritation, “You’re putting us up in the Rodeway Inn? It’s in Moosic, Pennsylvania?” Gus looked up in total disbelief. “How far away from Scranton is this place?” He walked over to his computer to Google the extremely questionable-sounding establishment.

“Ah yes, scenic Moosic,” said Lassie with a rare grin. “That is my gift to you. It really sounded like Spencer’s type of place.”

“It’s about six or seven miles away from Scranton—not that far away,” Juliet interjected.

“When will you be joining us, Jules?” Shawn asked with interest, but without looking up from his plane ticket.

“Lassiter and I will be flying up in about a week. Until then we need you guys to get to know the staff at Dunder Mifflin-Scranton. We suspect that someone in that office was an integral part of this murder.”

“Can we look over the case file—so we’ll know what we need to be looking for?” Gus asked from behind his computer.

“You have access to limited amounts of the case files. Only what I think is appropriate for the two of you to see,” Lassiter replied.

“Now that’s not how I work and you know it, Lassie. I need access to everything you’ve got if you expect me to go to,” Shawn visibly gulped, “Scranton.”

Lassiter just rolled his eyes and walked out. Juliet thanked Shawn and Gus for taking the project on while she discreetly handing Shawn duplicates of affidavits and crime scene photos. She knew how Shawn worked. She hated to admit it, but she did. Juliet leaned down to tell Shawn one more thing.

“There is one more aspect of the case that Lassiter didn’t tell you guys.” Both men looked up at her. She stood back up and looked from Shawn to Gus and back again. “The victim—Councilman Delman—well, when his body was found there was something...unusual about it.”

“Yeah, the telephone cord. Wouldn’t call that totally creative, though,” Shawn commented and looked back down at his ticket without a whole lot of interest.

“There was that, but there was something else.” Juliet swallowed, squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. This part still disturbed her more than she cared to express. “There was paper found shoved into all of his...orifices. Paper from reams traced back to the Dunder Mifflin-Scranton warehouse.” And with that, she walked out.

“Well Gus, this case might turn out to be more interesting than I thought,” Shawn said with wide eyes.

Jim and Pam were not on speaking terms. Not even general office chat. They exchanged no words unless absolutely necessary. They were both miserable. Pam was miserable because she was completely cut off from her best friend and Jim was miserable for the same reason, only he had a girlfriend to convince that he was happy. It was a mess.

They both thought that after the relatively tension-free day during Michael’s safety training things might be getting back to normal but the very next day things were right back where they were: silence between Jim and Pam.

Pam knew that her relationship with Jim was irrevocably damaged after Roy’s outburst. She never thought that she would resign herself to the fact that she and Jim were never going to be anything more than officemates. She truly thought that that day would never come. She always thought that they would be able to move past the recent ups and downs they’d undergone to preserve their friendship. Now there was no friendship to preserve and Pam found herself being angry with Jim for that very reason. If he had only given her a chance when he came back from Stamford...
She wouldn’t let herself think of things like that now. It only made her feel worse. She knew that Jim hated her now. How could he not? She had almost gotten him beaten into a bloody pulp. Had it not been for Dwight.... she’s really not sure what Roy would have done. Yes, she knew that Jim hated her now and she hated it. But what else could she possibly do?

Jim, too, thought about his current relationship with Pam and how there was no relationship any more. He was in pure, unadulterated self-preservation mode. He knew that she probably hated him for being distant and downright cruelly silent with her but he didn’t think he had any other choice. The name of the game was ‘moving on’ and he thought he was doing that pretty well with Karen. He knew that Karen was hyperaware of any interaction he had with Pam so that was another reason to stay away. He wasn’t too keen on her infamous nights of ‘talking’ so he saw her continued happiness with him as incentive to stay away from Pam. And he knew that Pam knew exactly why he was avoiding her. He also knew he was being a dick. He couldn’t help it- he was at his wits end. It was either: 1. Interact with Pam and go completely mental, or, 2. Pretend Pam was dead and survive another day in his own little hell. Some days he thought insanity wouldn’t be half bad. But there’s not a lot of money in it.
He was actually considering taking Karen somewhere far, far away and starting fresh. Maybe he’s get a job doing something he actually enjoyed. Maybe he’s go back to school; something he’s always kicked himself for not doing. He didn’t think Karen would have a problem going with him. She’s said in not-so-many-words that she wanted the two of them to get out of Scranton. Soon. New Career + Karen – Pam = Peace of Mind.
But part of him couldn’t let go and that’s what really drove him crazy. But to prevent the inevitable descent into total madness, he sold paper. He really didn’t even know why he still thought about her. She would never want him—she had made that more than clear. He had to remind himself DAILY that she shot him down twice, didn’t call when she didn’t get married and, oh yeah, she got back together with Roy and then tried to have him killed. He really should hate her—with all his heart—for everything she’d done to him; whether she knew she’d hurt him or not.

He was putting through shipping orders for a customer in Flagstaff, Arizona when he heard something at reception. He hated himself for his Pavlovian response to Pam’s voice.

“Yes, I’ll put you through.” Pam said into the phone.

Pam punched some buttons on the phone and spoke again, “Michael, there is a Police Chief from Santa Barbara that wants to speak with you. Yes, you. No, she didn’t say. She didn’t say much so I assumed that it was confidential. Do you want to take the call? Ok.” Pam paused for just a moment. “Still me. Ok, Chief Vick; Michael, Chief Karen Vick is on the line.” She hung up the phone.

Pam had never fielded a call to Michael that was more bizarre. And Pam had put through some incredibly bizarre characters to Michael’s extension. But a police chief from Santa Barbara? Michael hadn’t taken any vacations recently to California; and she’s pretty sure that he won’t patron any place that’s not associated with Sandals. Is someone in his family in some kind of trouble? She was sure that if it were something serious there would be either an announcement or a conference room meeting very soon.

Pam had no sooner thought those words than Michael stepped out of his office and said, “Everyone.... I have an announcement. Someone in our family is a criminal.”

Dwight immediately stood up and with great vim and vigor said, “Michael. You need to tell me everything.” He added in a hushed tone, “No one is safe until you tell me. I can protect you.”

Kevin chimed in, “But didn’t you fire that guy? The black guy?”

“No, Kevin. And his name was not ‘The Black Guy,’ it was Marvin. God. I was just informed by THE police chief in Santa Barbara that Dunder Mifflin, our family in particular, in involved in a homicide case back in SB.”

“SB?” Jim asked, as his eyebrows rose.

“SB. Santa Barbara. That’s what the locals call it.” Michael replied, irritated.

“Yoooou’re not a local.” Jim observed.

“Well, I might as well be since Karen thought I was important enough to debrief on the case.”

“What did I do?” asked a confused Karen from her desk.

“Not you.... Just. Everyone listen....” Michael started but Dwight interrupted him again.

“Everyone, I want you to know that EVERY single one of you is a suspect until proven otherwise. Consider yourselves guilty until I say that you are not.”

“Dwight, isn’t it ‘Everyone is innocent until proven guilty?’ And you don’t even know what the Santa Barbara police wanted. What did they tell you, Michael?” Pam observed in a cool, even and rational tone.

“THANK you, Pam. You can consider yourself excluded from the investigation because you’re just the receptionist,” Michael said. “Everyone, the SBPD will be sending some specialists.... probably FBI or CIA to investigate. The specialists will let us know what they need from us when they arrive the day after tomorrow.”

“Until then, consider yourselves under ‘Schrute Surveillance.’” I WILL know if you are doing something, anything, illegal.... Kevin.”

Kevin gave a blank stare while he closed several windows on his computer monitor before pretending to be enthralled with filling out the current paychecks.

Dwight gave one last sneer before sitting back down at his desk. Michael shook his head in irritation, exhaled loudly and retreated to his office.

Holy Cow, Pam thought. This might actually be serious. What kind of specialists were being sent in? Could it really be FBI? This had the potential, knowing Dwight and Michael, to get the entire office thrown in prison for.... Lord only knows what. She looked down at Jim and he looked stressed. He was combing his fingers through his hair—a sign that he was thinking deeply about something. She worried about him. She knew it wouldn't do any good—she’d probably never find out what he was thinking about. He hated her, remember? But deep down, at her core, she’d always worry about him.

Jim ran his hands through his hair and sensed Pam’s anxiety and worry. His brain knew it was for the best that he was sitting at a desk that didn’t give him a chance to look at her, but his heart kicked him in the ass for not kicking Ryan’s scrawny butt out of HIS desk. He shook his head. He was ridiculous. Pam’s emotions were not his problem anymore—not by a long shot.

Shawn and Gus arrived at their hotel, unloaded their luggage and sat down to take in their surroundings. Since their surroundings consisted of the highway, a gas station and an adult book/novelty store, the two men decided to drive into Scranton to get a feel for the place. They drove around the sleepy city in their rental car, a 1995 Ford Aspire, another gift from Lassiter, and discussed potential theories about the case they were on.

“I don’t know man, those crime scene photos Juliet left are quite possible the most disturbing things I’ve seen,” Shawn murmured as he flipped through the case file for the umpteenth time. He generally didn’t like to admit when something disturbed him, but he had a genuine chill run up his spine when he saw the graphic photos of the victim.

“Why paper, though? That’s the part that I can’t wrap my mind around,” Gus added. “It just seems unnecessary. And demented. The whole thing is off. There is something very off about all of this. Why would a dirty city councilman have anything to do with a paper company here in Scranton?”

“Maybe some tree huggers want to make a point about all the trees killed to make Dimhill Muffin paper company,” Shawn mentioned nonchalantly as he threw the file on the floorboard and gazed out the passenger-side window.

“The company’s name is Dunder Mifflin, Shawn.”

“But wouldn’t it be great if they were a muffin company? At least we wouldn’t go hungry during this investigation. Speaking of hungry, I’m starving. Let’s find a place to eat.”

Gus drove around until they found an open restaurant. Unfortunately, they were out after 8pm and most places in the city were already shut down for the night. They parked and walked into Poor Richards. There was a group of guys, and one woman, commandeering the large, semi-circular booth toward the back of the restaurant. Several empty pitchers and shot glasses indicated that they’d been there for a whiler12;or had just gotten there and hadn’t wasted any time in getting very drunk.

Shawn and Gus took a seat in a booth on the other side of the restaurant. Shawn sat facing the group in the back so he could observe and Gus immediately started scanning the menu for anything that looked edible. The guys in the back were all wearing the same gray collared shirts; obviously they all worked together. He honed in on the name of the company embroidered on all the grey shirts… did that say?... Dunder Mifflin? Yes, it did. These fine gentlemen, and lady, worked for Dunder Mifflin. Well I’ll be damned, Shawn thought. He then zeroed in on the guy making the most noise in the back. It was a stout, muscular guy with a beard, he’d obviously been drinking, and was animatedly telling a story that the rest of the group thought was hysterical. Suddenly Shawn realized that Gus had been trying to ask a question.

“…but without the cheese sauce. Shawn! Are you even listening to me?” Gus asked, annoyed.

“Umm, no. No I was not. Something about cheese sauce. But more importantly, the large group back there just happens to work for Dunder Mifflin. How lucky are we?” Shawn smirked.

“No. We are not starting the investigation until tomorrow. I have been traveling all day and intend to eat my dinner and immediately go to bed. If you want to stay here and pal around with those guys, be my guest. But get your own ride back to the hotel because I am leaving right after I finish my meal.” The waitress reappeared just as Shawn was getting up to walk over to the group of Dunder Mifflinites.

“Shawn, are you not ordering anything?” Gus was really irritated now, but Shawn always followed his instinct. Hey, it hadn’t let them down yet, right?

“Just order me whatever you’re getting,” Shawn said and walked away. He’s totally going to order something I hate just to be an ass. Whatever. I’m going to get this thing solved as fast as possible so that we can get the hell out of here and back home, Shawn thought. He approached the group, grabbed a nearby chair and swung it around so that it landed right in front of the group’s table and straddled it as he sat down.

“What’s going on, guys?” Shawn asked the suddenly silent group.

“Uh, sorry, who are you?” asked one of the guys; Darryl was embroidered on his shirt.

“Oh, sorry. Let me introduce myself. I’m Shawn Spencer. Spending a couple of days here in Scranton with my buddy Gus over there,” Shawn said as he pointed behind his shoulder at Gus. “I noticed, from your shirts, that you guys work for Dunder Mifflin? Gus and I are here to do a little investigative work on the company for the SBPD for a few days.”

“What are you investigating? Because, look, Michael might be kind of a douche, but I doubt he has the ability to intentionally do anything illegal…” the bearded guy said from the back of the booth.

“Michael? What? Who’s?…no, we’re just doing a little background work for a case based in California. It’s nothing big, I can assure you.”

“Well, Shawn Spencer, how about you and you’re buddy join us for a few drinks? We’re having a bit of a celebration and we can give you the low-down on Dunder Mifflin. But mostly we’re celebrating, right guys?” Darryl said, inciting hoots and hollers from the rest of the table.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Next round is on me! Gus! Get over here and meet these guys!” Shawn yelled out across the restaurant. He had no idea what they were celebrating but, hell, he could use a drink. Gus got up and gave Shawn the look that said “I really, really hate you right now,” as he walked over to the group.

The night wore on with discussions about the most insane boss Shawn and Gus had ever heard of. They heard stories from Lonnie, Roy (the bearded guy they saw when they walked in), Madge (the one woman) and a few others. They were told about the bearded guy’s fiancˇ cheating on him with some salesman from “upstairs” (Apparently these were the warehouse guys. Shawn and Gus would most likely be spending time with the folks in the office) and the fight that apparently got Roy fired recently and about the most unprofessional antics the two Californians had heard of in an office. Around the third pitcher that Shawn ordered (Gus, God-bless-him, was not drinking), he started asking about anything strange that any of them noticed with any of the guys from “upstairs.”

“Look, man. Everything up there is always strange. You’ll find that out when you experience it for yourself.”

Shawn was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol and noticed that it was getting to be 2am. They had to be at the office tomorrow at 9 to debrief the boss on the investigation. Well, at the least the debriefing with this Michael character should be interesting, Shawn thought.

“Look, guys, we’ve gotta go,” Gus said as he stood up and stretched his legs. “We’ll come down and see you tomorrow morning after our debriefing with the boss.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. Hey, do you think you could record that conversation? I’d love to hear what kinds of crazy things Michael says during that meeting,” asked Lonnie with a smirk.

“Really, be sure to come on down and chill with us for a while when you’re there. Trust mer12;you’re gonna need to get away from the crazy at some point in the day,” Darryl confided in Gus.

“Definitely. We’ll see you guys tomorrow! Take care!” Shawn called out as he and Gus shuffled out the door.

On the drive back to scenic Moosic, PA, Shawn and Gus were pretty silent. They were both digesting all of the insane tales the warehouse guys told them.

“They can’t be serious. It’s not possible for an office to be that dysfunctional,” Gus commented.

“Dude, a funeral for a bird? Really?” Shawn chuckled. “And that fake suicide attempt? What in the holy hell is that!? Who does that?!”

“Obviously this Michael guy.” Gus responded. “Tomorrow should be interesting.”