All language subtitles for Pushing.Daisies.S02E07.720p.HDTV.x264-CTU-eng

Pushing Daisies - Season 02 Episode 07
"Robbing Hood"

Subtitle (720p CTU v.1.00): A�S Team
--==All-about-Subs.fr==--

At this very moment
at the Longborough school for boys,

when it came to the
currency of popularity,

young Ned was poor
but not the poorest.

Eugene Mulchandani's thick accent

and unfortunate family history
of disproportionate jaw structure,

made him both
extremely difficult to understand

and an easy mark for bullies.

Young Ned knew that playing
with Eugene meant losing his marbles,

but he considered the sacrificed
aggies, steelies and shooters

an act of charity.

For, aside from Ned, Eugene
had only two other companions...

Bilbo, his lethargic Indian python,
and Ackbar, a bunny.

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Eugene was devastated
when he learned that,

upon attempting to eat
Ackbar the bunny,

Bilbo the snake, choked,
killing them both.

Under the guise of burying
Eugene's pets,

young Ned resolved to perform
another act of charity

for his language-mangling friend.

He knew that giving Eugene
his friends back

would require
two innocent creatures to die...

And a lie about how he found them
both barely breathing

when he went to bury them.

But as long as the benefits
outweighed the costs,

he also believed an act of charity
outweighed the consequences.

20 years, 16 weeks,
4 days, and 9 hours later,

the boy had grown
into the pie maker,

and the pie maker was,
at this very moment...

Troubled.

- You're stress-baking.
- Don't know what you're talking about.

I'm talking about you've been up
since before the sun,

and there's a traffic jam of pies
waiting to exit into the oven.

You're worried.

"Worried" would imply
an urge toward action.

"Troubled" seems more apt.

About a certain man named Dwight

who came asking questions about your dad
and is now dating my aunt Vivian?

Oh, you're stress-baking.

If he's dating your aunt,
he's going to see a picture of you,

and if he doesn't have amnesia,

he's going to recognize you,
if he hasn't already.

Why is he dating your aunt?

Not to suggest that she's not
datable and perfectly lovely,

but it does seem
more than coincidental.

Does Vivian's nice-smelling new boy toy
have something to do

- with why you faked your death?
- No.

Because maybe he's been after you
all along. Maybe he works for the IRS.

If anyone can figure out
whether you're dead, it's a tax man.

Or maybe he thinks
you really are dead,

and he's one of
those paranormal investigators.

Maybe he's the old priest,
and the young priest is coming.

That would be a waste of religion
because she's not...

dead.

I find myself urged to action.

Yeah. Me too.

Public records, criminal records...
We've got to find out who Dwight is

and if he's after more than
your aunt's companionship.

Counterintelligence
via pie delivery...

Like gossiping with a purpose.

My speciality.

- It's pie time!
- Olive!

What a surprise!
And with a pie...

The second sweetest treat of my day.

Something sweeter
than a Pie Hole pie?

The first was a surprise visit
from a certain gentleman caller.

Oh, the lovely lady of the Hole.

And with a special delivery to heel.

Oh, no need to stand on my account.
I'm just here doing my duty.

No other reason I can speak of.

And what type of duty
are you in again?

Clergy?
Tax services?

Dwight collects
and appraises antiques,

which I learned right after
he told me he's dating my sister.

Lily is naturally suspicious
of new liaisons,

but I felt compelled to come clean
about our relationship.

Sneaking around is for politicians
in bathroom stalls.

Not for a brisk and bucolic
autumn-cum-winter afternoon on the park.

Ladies.

Bye.

Seems nice.

I don't trust him
further than I can spit.

And I can spit.

God...

Look at the way
he drapes himself all over her.

Makes me want to stick
a fork in my eye.

I need a drink.

- You're holding one.
- I need a stronger one.

And a fork.

While Olive pondered
one sister blinded by love

and the other by distrust,

Emerson Cod pondered
the exorbitant amount of cash

he'd just been given.

I demand justice for the decedent,

and I will not rest, settle,
or adjourn...

until I have it!

Mind demanding it
in your inside voice?

I'm sorry.

Years of litigation
have made me a loud talker.

What makes a dead man's lawyer
so willing to shell out his own green

over a client's death?

I have a special practice.

Gustav was my one client,
and that client is now dead.

Why you still hanging on?

Looking for
a few stray cash capillaries?

Gustav was...
he was more than a client.

He was a...

He was a cantankerous bombast
with a violent temper

and a lust for power and wealth.

In lawyer speak,
I was in love with him.

You talk to the police
about your friend?

The police station is run
by a bunch of monkeys.

You want the best,
you pay the premium.

Why ain't the family
paying premium?

His wife was his family,
and she was the biggest leech of all.

Always after his will.

So you figure she got
to the will through murder.

Well, I never trusted her.

I tried my best, as a lover...

I mean, as a lawyer and a friend,
to protect Gustav.

She ruined his life.
She's gonna ruin his legacy.

I smell a big ol' "but"
heading my direction.

Gustav was robbed the night he died.

I mean, it happens when you have
a fortune like his.

- What kind of fortune we talkin' about?
- The kind built upon your tight balls.

The facts were these...

Gustav Hofer had lived
the American dream.

His mechanized yarn-baller

not only gave a generation
of frustrated grandmothers

the means to make unwanted gifts,

at the age of 19, it was
the first of countless inventions

that made Gustav Hofer
his first of countless millions.

Before Gustav Hofer could make
one penny more,

someone arranged
for his permanent retirement.

And the lawyer
who was in love with him

found his retired remains.

He doesn't look like
the richest man in town.

They say he had the Midas touch.

Do you ever stop to think
you're like King Midas?

Except substitute "life" for "gold" and,
obviously, you don't have donkey ears.

Midas was a miser
like Scrooge, but hungrier.

- I'm a philanthropist.
- Just touch the sucker.

We'd like to ask you a few questions,
but we've only have a minute.

I presume I'm dead.

Let's get down to business.
First, the matter of my will.

- It's in your lawyer's...
- Not that will. I have a new will.

And you're gonna track it down
for me, roger?

- Roger. Now, if...
- I like you, but you talk too much.

The will is in my trophy room.

Go to the biggest trophy.
Center of the wall.

Turn it clockwise.
Say it back to me.

- Who killed you?
- Who are you? Who's he?

Do you know who I am, Elmer?

You about to be the first man ever
be murdered twice. You want justice?

I don't want my hard-earned money
going where it doesn't belong.

Your generation has never
understood the value of a dollar.

Trophy room,
biggest trophy, turn clockwise.

Smartest one of the bunch.

I like your moxie, Sassafras.

Find my will and make sure

that no-good gold-digging
wife of mine

doesn't get one damn dime.
Got it?

- Who killed you?
- The bellman did it.

The private investigator,
the pie maker and Chuck

arrived at Gustav Hofer's mansion
to question his recent widow

and longtime porter
regarding the inventor's death.

All right, me and dead girl
are gonna go chat up the bellman.

You go find that trophy room
and get ahold of that will.

I can do that.

That said, what's your take
on Dwight dating Vivian?

How long before he looks
at a picture of Chuck and says,

"Hey, there's that girl
from the Pie Hole?"

Come on. When I see an out-of-context
picture of a nice-looking young girl,

I don't say: "Ooh, there's that
nice-looking young girl

who served me cappuccino
in that one restaurant".

Oh, my gosh! This wallpaper...
It's vintage Osborne & Little.

You could buy a small island
for what this must be worth.

Cool.
I never even noticed.

Isn't that weird?
I'm like the worst widow ever.

- Elise. You must be the PIs.
- Yes.

Thank you so much
for agreeing to help us.

- Is there a restroom?
- Down the hall, second left.

We're very sorry for your loss.
You must be devastated.

Crushed.

- Please, pop a squat.
- Thank you.

James-Andrew... that's the bellman
you wanted to see, is on his way.

I told him to bring some of those
awesome champagne-juice drinks he makes.

Mimosas?

James-Andrew!

They want mimosas instead!

James-Andrew!!

I'm sure he heard me.

Well, this is a very nice...

castle that you have, Mrs. Hofer.

Thanks.

It's a wreck right now,
getting it all set up for the wake.

You should totally come.

Everybody who's anybody is gonna be here
celebrating Gustav's death.

You mean "life".

Sure, whatever.

Oh, no.

Turn the largest trophy clockwise.

Cheers.

Cheers. That is the best
champagne-juice drink I've ever had.

I know, right?

Mrs. Hofer said
you wanted to see me.

I assume
it's not just for my mimosa.

How does one
become a bellman, anyway?

Bellmen wear monkey suits
and work in hotel lobbies.

I am a porter.

What exactly were you porting
the night your boss

had an encounter
with his light fixture?

I was at a key party.
At least 15 people can vouch.

James-Andrew is definitely not
the killing type.

Well, Mrs. Hofer,
excuse me for being blunt,

but you did stand to gain the most
from your late husband's death.

Oh, my god.
You think I totally did it!

Well, FYI, I was at a charity ball
the night of the murder.

Y'all sure got a big-ass dog.

Orbis Pro Vox.

And the safe was empty.
No will.

Nothing but a cryptic Latin phrase.

Poor Gustav. All he cared about was
getting that will into the right hands.

If we find the killer,
we'll find that will.

Problem is our case just went
from a slam dunk to a badunkadunk.

- Is "badunkadunk" bad?
- Badunkadunk means "big",

as in what our simple little murder
just became.

- What happened to "the bellman did it"?
- He's hiding something, but 15 people

vouching for him at a key party?
Well, that's an airtight alibi.

- Now, what is a key party anyway?
- Oh, I love that you don't know that.

It's a kind of raffle.

Of the porno variety.

Back to the case.

How does a safe with some cryptic Latin
phrase scrawled inside change anything?

You know, you need to peel back
that pie crust you working under

and turn on the news sometime.

Rich people are getting robbed
left and right by some happy hooligan

who leaves the same Latin
calling card at every scene.

So that's why it's a badunkadunk.

I got to go see a buddy
at the police station.

Great.

Gives us more time to start work
on our research project on Dwight.

It seems like the mysterious Dwight

didn't exist before checking into
the come-and-sleep motel.

Who knows? Maybe he's not
such a bad guy. He's very charming.

What do Lily and Vivian
think about him?

What you'd expect. Lily hates him,
but Vivian's completely ga.

Good news is
you're not even on his radar.

How about
another cup of coffee, please?

So, we know Dwight's got
a strange preoccupation

with your father's pocket watch.

Maybe we give it to him,
and he goes away.

Or...

We could wake my dad and ask.

- Chuck.
- I'm just saying

that it'd be a shortcut to finding out
who Dwight is and what he wants.

You just have to touch him
and ask him.

But that was an act of charity

the pie maker was not
willing to commit.

I'm sorry.
It's just...

I know you want to say goodbye
to your father,

and I know a lifetime of goodbyes
can't be condensed into a single minute.

Even if they could...

You'd have to watch him die
all over again.

I love you too much
to make you suffer like that.

You understand?

Well, I got us a good nugget.

The police say that our serial robber
always makes a donation to charity

the day after he robs someone.

Am I interrupting something?

- No.
- Yep.

Maybe Gustav Hofer was being robbed
by a latter-day Robin Hood.

- Killed by him.
- Call it whatever you want,

but I know where we can find a bellman
with a charity streak.

It's a new day, friends!

Another opportunity
to help the needy.

So, ring those bells,
collect spare change,

and remember...
Ring for right!

Ring for right!

Ring for right.

Orbis Pro Vox.

Which means "your ass is busted"
in PI lingo.

Welcome to
the Bellmen's Charity headquarters.

Are you here to make a donation?
Volunteer?

One of your bell-ringers rang for wrong
to the tune of robbery-homicide.

That's outrageous.
And impossible.

We screen our Bellmen regularly
to make sure that all who ring in

these hallowed halls
follow our motto...

Ring for right.

Which just happens to be written
at crime scenes all over the city.

In a dead language, but still.

Friends, I assure you
my Bellmen have nothing to hide.

I fling my doors open
to your investigation.

And if there's anything else
that I personally can do,

- please, don't hesitate...
- To ring?

Absolutely.

Oh, yeah?
Well, somewhere a starving street child

is chewing off his own fingers because
you're too cheap to give 50 bucks!

Telemarketers.
I hate these guys.

I'm Emerson Cod, private investigator.
These are my associates.

Mind if we have a gander
to your phone list?

- What phone list?
- The one you just slid into the folder.

- What folder?
- There's a comfort in knowing

that telemarketers are just
as horrible in real life.

Shift change!

- He was very suspect-ish.
- Very.

Yeah, well,

any of these phone numbers
match the one at Gustav's mansion,

he's gonna be very jailbird-ish.

After unearthing the grave of Charlotte
Charles in search of a pocket watch

and finding neither girl nor watch,

former jailbird Dwight Dixon
used his masculine wiles

to determine if Vivian knew

of the watch's
final final resting place.

The clarinet is a lovely instrument.

I always wanted to be a flautist,

but unusually tight tendons
in my pinkie finger

made hitting d-sharp impossible.

Well, they look just fine to me.

Perfect for holding.

I'm not the kind of woman who slips
notes into random men's coat pockets,

- but something about you...
- And what might that have been?

The charm you force
to cover the brutish shell

around your damaged heart.

I like layers.

Dwight felt his cold heart warm
ever so much.

Lily was under the impression

that you're only looking
to recover some personal property,

then disappear like a puddle
of gasoline in the sunshine.

I was saddened to hear

that Charles' watch was buried
with your dear late niece.

But what a fine gesture that was.

I imagine
the service was magnificent.

It was.

So, others, beside yourself,

were able to see poor Charlotte
at peace with the watch,

before her dear soul
was committed to the ground?

Mary Suddbury leaned in
and peeled back Charlotte's eyelids.

Said there was a vigorous black market
in stolen corneas,

but I thought it was in poor taste.

Charlotte...

I encouraged her to take the pleasure
cruise that ended so unpleasantly.

I was tired of being a shut-in,

but I couldn't bring myself
to leave,

and so I decided
to leave vicariously

and pushed Charlotte out the door.

Poor Charlotte.

Now...

you've gone and set those pretty
peepers a-weeping.

In his search for
a brass pocket watch,

Dwight Dixon found a heart of gold.

I've carried this with me

since the funeral, as a reminder

to stop living vicariously

and start living living.

You've probably seen
her face before.

She was all over the news
after she died.

Oh, I have definitely...

seen her face before.

Do you know if Gustav ever donated
to an organization called the Bellmen?

- "The Bellmen"?
- Every house that's been robbed

was called by a Bellmen telemarketer
named Tam Fong.

So Elise didn't do it?

This Tam Fong killed Gustav?

Well, where is he?

I'm gonna find that malfeas-ass
and slam him down...

Inside voice.

I'm not talking about
the gavel of justice.

- Outside voice.
- I'm talking about southern-style,

back-alley score settling doled out
by me and a couple of homeless...

Conversational patio voice?

Before you get to doling out
blind justice,

the smoking gun
don't always point to the bad guy.

So Tam Fong isn't the guilty party?

Yes.

Maybe.

All we know is, maybe he had
a hand in marking the mark.

Good news is, we have reason to believe
that Gustav completed a second will.

A second will? Hopefully, that tarnished
trophy wife of his is excluded.

Wait, wait...
I'm his lawyer.

If there were a second will,
I would have drafted it,

drawn it up, and drawn a tidy
20% commission for my troubles.

So how would you know differently?

Let's just say that our procedures
would be inadmissible in court.

Either way,
the will was taken during the robbery.

- You really mix the good with the bad.
- The world would be a better place

if everybody dabbed calamine
on welts of bad news.

Gustav Hofer deserved better
than the wife he had,

and the wife he had didn't deserve
the money he earned.

You find that second will,
I'll double your fee.

- Oh, we'll find that will.
- We'll find that will.

We know Tam's calling the houses to be
robbed even if he's not robbing them.

What if we put our names
on the do-call list?

No burglar worth his burgles
would take the bait

if they saw
your tiny-ass apartments.

We could use my aunts' house.

Is there a sting?
I want to sting. Can I sting?

That's a very bad idea.

It's a good idea made doubly-good
because while you're figuring out

who brought
the lights down on Gustav,

I'll be shining my own light
on the true identity of Dwight.

I have an old cigar box with my dad's
letters that's hidden in my bedroom.

Now, If dad did know Dwight, there
will be something about him inside.

The pie maker considered
the wooden box in her old room

a better alternative to the wooden box
that contained her father.

So a sting was set.

Mr. Fong,
I am so sorry to interrupt.

I'm Tessa Carville,
wife of Clarence Carville,

who, I'm sure you are aware,
owns Carville Steel.

I believe someone from here
called me yesterday?

Mrs. Carville, of course!

Please, take a seat.

I won't be staying long,
just long enough to explain

why I hate phone solicitations

almost as much as I hate
beggars and panhandlers.

I believe I have the right
to a net worth greater

than most developing countries
without being hounded

by sponging ne'er-do-wells

and sanctimonious bleeding hearts
like yourself.

So, unless you stop calling,

I will take a tiny fraction
of my immense wealth,

buy this building, knock it down,

and turn it into a glue factory so big,
the whole city will be smelling horse.

If you please leave your number,

I'll see to it that nobody
calls you again.

Psych.

Did you say, "Psych"?

Good,

because I'm getting on a hovercraft
bound for Saint Tropez

early this evening, and I expect it to
be dealt with before I return tomorrow.

Here is my card.

The trap was set,

so the pie maker and Chuck
returned to her childhood bedroom...

Not to catch a thief, but to uncover
Dwight Dixon's true intentions.

They turned my old room
into a cheese locker!

Can you smell the flowery overtones
of Stilton wafting through the air?

It's nice that they filled this room
with something you all loved so much.

It's amazing how a familiar smell
can wrap you in its arms and

coddle away any ugly memory

between now and the last time
you smelled it.

Thank you for letting me come.

I'm glad you came.

And don't worry
about getting caught.

I'll hear anybody coming before they
even get to the bottom of the stairs.

Listen.

The other end's hooked up
to the Victrola in the living room.

I used it to eavesdrop on my aunts
when I was a teenager.

That's very crafty.

Alone in a room that was once hers,

Chuck felt, for a moment,
like a little girl again.

Thinking of the momentos in the box,
among them the birthday present

she was never able to give
her father,

Chuck thanked her 8-year-old self.

Thank you, 8-year-old self.

You must be out of your damn minds!

There is no way in tinker bell's tiny
butt cheeks that you are gonna roll out

the welcome mat on my front porch
for a bunch of thieves!

- We know it's an imposition...
- An imposition

is ordering clams at a kosher deli.

Robbers nowadays are multi-hyphenate
hoodlums. They don't just rob.

Oh, no.
They strip you naked,

lather you in lard and slide you into
the walls and leave you there.

Then they rob you.

When you put it like that.

Why don't I just get a shovel
and start digging my shallow grave now?

I find a dash of danger titillating.

You've certainly made that clear.

I assume that's
a passive-aggressive insult

directed at my daring sashays
into romance.

I choose to ignore it.

You've ignored every other danger sign
on the road to abject heartbreak.

I find that interjecting at precisely
the right moment often defuses conflict.

- Wouldn't you agree?
- Lily Charles, you're jealous.

It simply slays you
that a man as tender

and as viscerally masculine
as Dwight chose me over you.

Missed it by that much.

I am not jealous.

I'm worried about you.

Damn it,

I love you.

I don't want to see this fetish
you have for raffish men

hurt you the way
it has in the past.

- On the topic of Dwight...
- Keep out of this!

Is my patch on the wrong eye,

or did it suddenly get
very dark in here?

Is it dark?
I didn't even notice.

They say
that extreme photosensitivity

is a sign of rabies or a hangover

or a delicate optical nerve
condition...

Yeah, or a bunch of part-time PIs

trying to hoodwink a hoodlum
by pretending my house is vacant.

Wait a minute!

We're being robbed tonight!

I just got a shiver.

While the bickering
downstairs continued,

Chuck decided she had heard
all the fighting she cared to

and turned her attention instead
to her father's dusty belongings.

Seeing Dwight engaged

in male bonding with her father
and the pie maker's father,

Chuck still found no indication
of Dwight Dixon's true intentions.

The secret behind those intentions
remained buried with her father

in the grave next to her grave,

a grave
she may soon be returning to.

Fear not, madam.

I mean you no harm.

Spectacular throw, by the way.

To be fair, I should tell you that
I have a gun in my pocket.

To be fair,
I don't really believe you.

To be even more fair, all I have to do
is scream, and a whole cadre of big,

strong men and sweet middle-aged ladies
with shotguns will come running.

Fair enough.
And yet, you haven't.

Perhaps because you believe
that society has a moral

obligation to protect
the least fortunate of its ranks.

- And where society fails...
- You pick up the slack.

Which sounds incredibly
noble until you kill someone.

I am no killer,
merely a soldier of fortune...

Other people's fortunes,
for the underprivileged.

Gustav would say otherwise.

He would if he could speak,
but he can't because he's dead.

You and Tam Fong killed Gustav
two days ago after you robbed him.

First of all, Tam Fong is but another
unwitting victim of my robberies.

I swipe his phone list
to choose my targets.

- And Gustav?
- I robbed him, it's true.

Not because he was stingy
and uncharitable,

but because he asked me to.

He asked you to rob him?

He was writing a new will

and needed to know whether to name
his wife as beneficiary.

I know how this must sound,

but the facts were these...
These were the facts...

Gustav was in the midst
of a crisis of faith.

His decision to rewrite his will
had made him question

whether his wife really loved him and
if he had any true friendships at all.

And that's when we met.

He wanted to make a contribution,
but I wouldn't let him.

He said: "Where I come from,
people get paid for their services".

But I said: "Charity is an impulse,
not a return for a friendly act".

So we talked. He told me his problems,
and I offered a solution.

I agreed to rob him.

He would appear
to be an innocent victim.

If his wife stayed faithfully
by his side,

his concerns could be laid to rest.

I'd return half his fortune
and keep the other half for charity.

But Gustav's wife intervened,
and I had to get out.

I read in the paper the next day
what happened to Gustav.

Even if you didn't kill him,
you're still a criminal.

My duty is to the downtrodden,
the meek,

those unable to reach their own
bootstraps, let alone pull them.

I take only what people
can afford to lose,

and that certainly doesn't
include their lives.

Do you like puppies?

Yeah.

The Papen County animal shelter
is about to be shut down tomorrow

unless I get them the money
to pay their mortgage.

With nowhere to house these animals,
the dogcatchers are calling it

- "the big sleep".
- You can save them?

Only if the help outweighs the hurt.
The act of charity always makes sense.

You let him go?

- What if he's a cold-blooded murderer?
- Shut it. Kitchen.

It was an act of charity.
There were puppies involved.

And besides, my grueneberg ganglia
wasn't activated.

That sounds personal.

Sounds like
one of them feminine conversations

you need to have
with your friends.

There's a bundle of nerves
at the tip of your nose

- that detect aggressive pheromones.
- As in, you can sniff out danger?

And the only thing I could smell
was a swashbuckling do-gooder

who was in the wrong place
at the wrong time.

Smells like puppy crap to me.

You shouldn't have let him go.
It was a mistake.

You're really angry at me.

I'm out of counter space,
so I'm stress-baking in my head.

- It feels like you're stress-baking me.
- I'm channeling fear into anger.

Anger leads to hate.

And hate leads to stress-baking
the people you love.

Bad, but better than stress-releasing,
which is what you did for the bellman.

Maybe he was telling the truth.
Maybe it was Gustav's musket-toting

wife that dropped the chandelier
on his head. You did say

that the bellman/porter
was hiding something.

He may have had an alibi,
but he may also know who killed Gustav.

Yeah...

Stakeouts are only fun
when there are binoculars for everybody.

Stakeouts are only fun
if you got a good football game

to listen to and the stake you're outing
is next to a hot-dog stand.

You seem like a good time
to have weighty conversations.

No, I don't.

If Dwight figures out
that I'm not dead,

it may be the best thing
that ever happened to me.

You talking a lot like a dead girl
who wants to go back in the ground.

- What's the worst that could happen?
- Pie maker becomes

a sideshow in the Circus Of Fun,
and I earn my wages peddling tickets.

This is a cavalier conversation about
a deep, dark, touchy subject for me.

- How deep, dark and touchy is it?
- Ever since I was little,

I'd have this dream that somebody
found out what I could do.

It starts off with
lots of ice cream and balloons,

and ends in a small white room

where little bits are cut out of me
until there's nothing left to cut.

That's awful.

If Dwight finds out about me,
then he finds out about you,

and you still won't wake up my dad
and find out what Dwight wants.

You're putting my emotional well-being
before your fears.

That's so courageous and romantic.

Thank you.

Well, looky, looky.

It's Gustav's widow
and the bellman petting.

Hello, motive.

Nice to see you again.

All that remained for Emerson Cod
was to confront the bellman and widow.

Across town,

all that remained of Charles Charles
was a loving box of memories

and a pocket watch.

Although Charles Charles,
the man who had set so much in motion,

was long gone,

Dwight Dixon, the man who intended
to bring it all to a crashing end,

was still here.

We're closed.

Excuse me.

What I meant to say was:
"We're closed".

So you're here all by your lonesome.

No, no.
I'm not here all by my lonesome.

Manuel, the big cholo janitor,
is in the back.

I think he used to be in one of those,
super-dangerous El Salvadoran gangs

who murder white older men
as a warning to the police to buzz off.

Isn't that right, Manuel?

He's probably,
you know, cleaning the toilet.

I'd like to leave a message
for your friends.

Yeah, I'll just grab a pad.

It's around here somewhere.

Boy, look at all this sugar.

Yeah, I hope you don't need a...

Hello?

While Olive Snook was unable
to provide the pen and paper she sought,

she'd received the mysterious

Dwight's message loud and clear.

1 hour, 23 min and 42 seconds ago,

Olive Snook made
two alarming discoveries...

First, that in time of duress,

the pie maker's penchant
for stress-baking was matched

only by the petite waitress'
predilection for stress-binging.

Second, that the dark stranger,
Dwight Dixon, had

discovered Chuck, a.k.a.
Charlotte Charles' true identity.

It did little to lighten
the load in Olive's heart

as she anxiously awaited
the pie maker's return.

Having acquired the brass pocket watch
he so eagerly sought,

Dwight Dixon set his sights
on Vivian's heart of gold.

But sister Lily was not about
to let that treasure go so easily.

You can turn your fanny right around
and walkway, mister.

We're done buying
what you're peddling.

Now, Lily, that's not entirely true.
More accurate would be:

"I'm not buying what you're peddling,
but Vivian will be right down".

And how long you suppose
she'll stay interested

in the wares of a two-bit
huckster pitching lies?

I didn't think you were
so concerned about lies.

Shouldn't you be more worried
about the truth?

It's time to nip you
in the budding romance

before Vivian convinces herself
you really are the second coming.

I assume you're referring to my friend,
your lover, Charles Charles.

You're nothing like Charles.

I think you'd find that Charlie and me
are more similar than you'd reckon.

Few stark differences,
of course, but...

we had the same ambitions.

He made bad decisions.

You were a bad decision.

My bad decisions landed me in prison.
His landed him with a baby girl.

I don't think
I ever had the opportunity

to express my condolences.

You got your thumb on a big, red button
you definitely don't want to push.

Vivian said
the service was beautiful.

And what a lovely gesture
to bury your daughter

with her father's watch.

You are such thoughtful women,
who have loved and lost so

much.

We're gonna lose you right now,

before you get one inch closer
to my little sister's heart.

Get gone and stay gone.

Lily's encounter with Dwight
had stirred

the pot of her sentimental soup,

one spoonful of which gave her
a terrible case of the yearns

to visit her daughter's grave.

What in hell's kitchen...

But
when she saw the overturned dirt,

she thought about the pocket watch and
the man obsessed with its whereabouts,

and wondered whether Dwight Dixon

had unearthed
more than Vivian's buried emotion.

Meanwhile,
the private investigators had unearthed

the buried motives
of Gustav Hofer's widow.

You bumped off Gustav

so you could keep bumping uglies with
the bellman while inhering a fortune.

I told you. Alibi.

- Key party.
- Your alibi never checked out.

You never went to that charity ball.

Why'd you do it, Elise?

I didn't do anything...

Except James-Andrew.

Who do you think got his key?

I was still really wrong
about what I thought that was.

You two backing up
each other's alibis means bubkes.

You were canoodlin' and cahootin'
and you were cahootin' to kill.

We cahooted to keep quiet
about our affair.

Adulteresses totally
get the shaft in estate law.

Besides, I couldn't kill
anybody with these hands.

Since I grew these puppies out,
my manicure means I'm a mani-can't

for manual labor.

Yeah, but you were
a mani-can when it came

to pointin' a gun at robber Rob Wright
and almost pulled the trigger.

As if!

I never even saw the robber.
And even if I did...

Why is everybody
pointing their gun at me?

There is no way I could
pull the trigger on a gun.

I'm too blinked out!

You could have taken off the rings.

With those nails,
it'd have taken forever.

- Rob would have been out of there.
- If she's telling the truth

and didn't storm in on Rob Wright
robbing the house...

Our robbing hood's
had us hoodwinked.

So, the private investigator,
the pie maker,

and Chuck sought out
their winking hood

at the Bellmen's headquarters.

I'll thank you to keep
your sidearm holstered, sir,

lest I'll be forced to lunge.

At least it ain't another gun.

From one gentleman to another,

allow me to apologize
for our current situation.

Well, I'd be a lot more receptive
to that apology

if there wasn't a knife
pointed at my gullet.

You're a lying liar and a murderer,
both of which are bad.

One of which is worse.
You slaughtered a senior citizen.

That'll buy you
a ringside seat in hell.

But you might be able to get a refund on
that ticket if you put the knife down.

Gustav was the victim
of a tragic accident.

Born of good deeds, I might add.

Running from the scene of a crime
was no accident.

Did you even stop to consider
the consequences of your "good deeds"?

Those weren't "good deeds" for
Gustav's wife, his lawyer or his legacy.

Well, actually, now that you mention it,
I think I can make that right.

Gustav's will.

It was in his safe.
Now that that's settled,

I trust my quest
to rob from the rich

and give to the poor
may continue unabated.

Oh, hell no,

'cause, see, I plan on being real rich,
and I want to see your ass in jail.

I was afraid
you might feel that way.

So...

Orbis Pro Vox!

'Bout time I get to do
the gun-pointing around here.

The facts were these...

Upon coming to the realization
that his young wife

may only have married him
for his money,

Gustav Hofer found himself questioning
whether he should rewrite his will.

Bellman Rob Wright afforded him
the perfect plan...

Fake a robbery to learn
his wife's true feelings.

But Daniel Hill discovered
those feelings first.

He deserves the cr�me de la cr�me,

not some sugar-stuffed

pop-tart
with a helium voice and hooker heels.

One word from me
and you are out of the will!

Though his lawyer shielded Gustav

from his wife's treachery
in order to protect his pride,

Gustav had not only seen
her adulterous ways,

but also the way Daniel Hill defended
his good name and honor.

The billionaire resolved
to leave his estate to his esquire.

When the bellman arrived,
Gustav refused to play his role.

Rob Wright insisted Gustav
keep his end of the bargain.

Gustav insisted more emphatically
that Rob leave his mansion.

It was Gustav who would be
the dearly departed

and Daniel Hill who would find the body
he left behind

and pick up the pieces.

Gustav's revised will.

You get the whole Hofer coffer.

Me? All I ever did was...

give him my friendship.

It's all he wanted.

Now,

let's talk about
your next charitable donation.

While Emerson Cod was able
to deliver good news,

Lily Charles sought
to convince her sister

that the mysterious Dwight
was bad news.

Holy crap.

Lily knew Dwight dug up
her daughter's grave,

but she needed more proof
than overturned dirt.

Lily had found the proof she sought.

Dwight had his possession the watch
she believed was buried with Chuck.

And Dwight, believing the girl

who was not dead stole back
the watch he stole from her,

set off to retrieve his stolen,
stolen property.

The girl named Chuck,
who had not been so lucky with death,

learned that her death had come back to
haunt her in the form of Dwight Dixon.

This left the pie maker no choice.

In order to unearth
Dwight Dixon's agenda,

he must first unearth
Chuck's father.

I keep waiting for a euphoric high
to rush through my system, and instead,

I feel really nervous
and uncomfortable.

It's gonna be an awkward hello,
tender acceptance and a rushed goodbye.

Euphoric high barely figures in it.
It's gonna be hard.

I don't think I realized that until now,
and now it's too late to turn back.

It's not too late to turn back. We have
other options. We could leave town.

Even with Dwight knowing who I am,

you're still willing to put my emotional
well-being before your deepest fears.

If I knew the consequences,

I never would have alive-agained my
mother, and I had her for seven hours.

I'd rather take my chances with Dwight
than make you go through this.

When you lost your mother,
you were alone. I...

I have you.

You're
the real swashbuckling do-gooder,

and I love you.

I hope you still feel that way
when this is over.

You ready?

Yeah, I'm ready, I think.

Synchro: Salomon & Gaillots.

Rereading: Bruno & Toupack.

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