The other detectives scurry off to investigate the fatal hit and run/fandom metaphor from the beginning of the show. But not before Frost stops at what appears to be the only coffee spot in all of Boston to get his flirt on with the barista who had previously called his partner a total bee-yotch.
Maura notices Frost flirting with the bitchy barista (p.s. Am I the only one who thought she was in on the scam because she was stalling Jane’s order and everything?) Maura gives him the Tilted Head of Righteous Disapproval. Too much? Hey I have to amuse myself this episode. So much beard action, so much. Korsak tells Frost he’s going to be in so much trouble, but we’re not sure if it’s with Jane or Frankie or both.
At the scene, Maura arrives without Jane and everyone is confused like, “What is this rift in the universe? One without the other? Are these the End Times?” Maura says she took Jane back to the station because of her bum ankle. So bossy, I like it. Jane calls, as if on cue, and asks to get video conferenced into the crime scene. Modern technologies! Next I demand my jet pack.
Evidence at the scene suggests it was a homicide. I’d like to know exactly where they are in Boston because it has amazing reception. I can’t make a phone call from my living room, but this outdoor location has crystal-clear HD video.
Maura notices three girls getting hassled by a reporter in the nearby field. They’re getting asked about the victim, who was a science teacher and driving instructor at the school. Hey, Alanis Morissette, a driving instructor who dies from bad driving? That’s actually ironic. The girls ask Maura for advice on how to handle the tragedy, but I’m getting a definite Rosewood vibe off these three.
Frost and Korsak go to interview the teacher’s wife – who looks like Minnie Driver lite. She tells them her husband went out jogging at night “a lot,” but his beer gut said otherwise. She says he also taught driver’s ed for free out of the goodness of his heart. Plus he won several “Teacher of the Year” awards. Yeah. So, you don’t need to be a Pretty Little Liars-level amateur sleuth to realize this shit is suspicious. No one is that good. I know, I watch TV.