This Is Gus - Psych 3:

“Spencer. Guster,” Lassiter growled, holstering his weapon. “I assume you’re here because of the stolen shipment of high-grade artisanal wax?”

Shawn gasped, clutching his head. “The spirits say… it’s for candles! Giant, ceremonial candles for a cult of people who hate wick-less lighting!”

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. Psych 3: This Is Gus

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.

“I’m better than okay. I’m inspired.” Shawn scrambled up. “Inside this building is the secret to why your future brother-in-law, a man named ‘Chet,’ has no digital footprint before 2014 and smells faintly of elderberries.” “He’s a botanist, Shawn!” “Spencer

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.

“Gus, don’t be the only spark plug in a diesel engine,” Shawn grinned. “We saved the wax, we saved the wedding, and I didn’t even have to use my backup mustache. I’d call that a ‘This Is Gus’ win.” “The spirits say… it’s for candles

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.