Previously on Rizzoli & Isles: Smug Kent smooches Maura to figure out if she is gay. Then he asks about the Boston Police Department’s inter-office dating policy to see if she can really date Jane. Meanwhile, Jane wears a dress.
This week on Rizzoli & Isles: When selfies kill! Yeah, think of that next time someone says, “Lemme take a selfie.” Or, alternately, look out for shady people wearing hoodies. Trust me, just ask the gals on Pretty Little Liars.
Jane emerges from her metaphorical and literal closet at Frankie’s place. She looks disgruntled, probably because she is waking up and looking at Frankie’s face instead of Maura’s each morning. Hey, it would make me grumpy, too.
While she complains about Frankie’s motor oil-like coffee, Jane gets a wrong number call confusing her with an escort service. She brushes it off and asks where Maura is. Aw, those two just can’t be apart. Luckily, Maura is there already. But she is on the floor trying to make her back feel better.
Jane looks at Maura on her back and briefly gets really excited, but then remembers they’re at Frankie’s place. See, this is why this whole living apart thing is so, so stupid. Her fantasies dashed already, Jane gets another irritating wrong number call for the escort service. And then another, and then one more.
Except that last one is actually the office. Maura alerts her girlfriend that she is actually berating a co-worker. Hope the caller didn’t take that “basement-dwelling, mouth-breather” comment too personally. Maura answers her call instead, setting up reverse “Isles” and “Rizzoli” synchronized greetings. Oh, maybe that means this will be a bizarro world episode where Jane and Maura are actually already out.
On the way to the scene Jane keeps complaining about all the wrong numbers. One guy asked her to wax his bannister. Jane and Maura share a laugh and then both agree this is why it’s great to be a lesbian. What, it’s a bizarro episode, remember? Korsak catches the end of their conversation and inquires. Maura tells him they’re just discussing “Euphemisms for the male phallus.” He asks no more questions.
After some super appropriate jokes about selfie sticks over the victim’s body, they find out the victim isn’t who he said he was. Instead, there’s someone else named Dan Walsh who is dead in Los Angeles. You know what that means, right? Break out the mix tapes, it’s time for a Big Gay Road Trip.