Psych 3: This — Is Gus

The Blueberry sped through the streets of Santa Barbara, its engine making a sound that Shawn Spencer insisted was “majestic,” but Burton Guster knew was actually a cry for an oil change.

Gus sprinted, his legs a blur of motion, cornering the thief behind a crate of velvet capes. With a flick of his wrist, Gus used a nearby velvet sash to trip the suspect. Psych 3: This Is Gus

“It’s for the wax museum, you moron,” Lassiter sighed. “And Chet? He’s the lead restoration artist. I’ve been trailing him because he’s the only one who can identify the thief.” The Blueberry sped through the streets of Santa

“Exactly! A botanist... or a deep-cover operative for the International Jelly League?” “It’s for the wax museum, you moron,” Lassiter sighed

As they crept inside, the floorboards groaned under Gus’s expensive Italian leather loafers. Suddenly, the lights flickered on. Standing there wasn't a spy, but Lassiter, looking sharper and more annoyed than ever.

They pulled up to a dilapidated warehouse labeled Ventura’s Vintage Velveteen . Shawn hopped out, doing a dramatic tuck-and-roll that ended with him face-planting into a pile of discarded bubble wrap. “You okay?” Gus asked, not moving from the car.

“Shawn, I’m telling you, the wedding is in forty-eight hours,” Gus said, his thumb hovering nervously over his phone. “Selene’s sister is coming. Selene’s scary sister. The one who supposedly works for ‘the agency’ but won’t say which one. We don’t have time for a side quest.”