All language subtitles for Murder, She Wrote S05E21 Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall - Part 1.DVDRip.NonHI.en.UNIV

I'm being outflanked, outwritten
by an English teacher from Maine.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

What is this? The
death capital of Maine?

Since she married Hank Shipton,
her work has been mediocre.

You're not gonna get drunk.

That a question or a statement?

- I went out in search of
alternative companionship.
- Was it a cash transaction?

Seth, are you trying to hurt me?

For pity's sake, woman.
That's the last thing I want to do.

You really are a
very special lady.

I'm gonna have to find some
way to repay you for your kindness.

Oh!

Shoot. Well, now.

I do believe I've found
me a wide-open door.

Table's got a bad lean. I'll keep it in
mind, Bobby. Twelve in the corner.

The old eight ball
in the side pocket.

Sorry, Bobby.

Uh, let's go again.
Double or nothing. Hmm?

Come on. You're down
500. It's just not your day.

What? What do you mean?
You think I'm not good for it?

Oh, hey. Did I say that?

Hey, you rummies.
What do you say?

Oh, my. Now, don't we
look righteously uptown, huh?

What'd you do? Go to a
funeral or something, Hank?

No. Lunch with some
newspaper writer.

A funeral would've
been more fun.

So, uh, how we doing, Son?

Not so good, Pop. 500 down.

Yeah? Which one of you clowns
been hustling my boy here?

Uh, hey, it was
his idea, Hank. Ah.

Well, uh, the
Cannonball Express...

has just come to a
screeching halt, boys.

Now I'm giving the party,
starting with you, Gadge.

- Want to shoot the whole 500?
- You call it.

500, eight ball.

I'll even give you the break.
Hey, Hank. Hank. Look.

I just got me a copy of one of your
wife's books. This is good stuff, man.

Yeah. That's a real old one,
Willie. An oldie but a goody.

Yeah, not like her new
ones, but— Knock it off, Bobby.

All I'm saying was—
I said, knock it off.

This is difficult,
Eudora. Most difficult.

In the mystery field you've been
on top for nearly two decades.

You're right up there—
And, uh, rightly so...

With Agatha Christie,
Dorothy Sayers, P.D. James.

But... there comes
a time when the...

Well, when the palette runs dry,

the colors fade away.

Look, Lew, if this is about rewrites,
we have no problem with that.

Rewrites aren't gonna
help this manuscript, Liza.

Mr. Bracken, may I remind you...

that for the past 22 years...

I have been America's undisputed
premiere female mystery writer.

Nobody questions that, Eudora, but
times change, people change, tastes change.

And we all have to
change with them.

- Meaning what exactly?
- Meaning...

that your works have
become repetitive and tired.

You're writing as if
we're still in the '60s.

According to whom? The critics?

That simpering cadre of
barnacles, ticks and other parasites.

Eudora, I have a great idea.

Why don't you take a year
off? Recharge your batteries.

Why don't you and
Hank move up to that little

cottage in Nantucket that
you rented last summer?

I have no intention of
vegetating on some sand dune.

Lewis, you need my new
book for your Christmas catalog.

I'll survive.

Wait a minute. I get it.

You're about to
sign J.B. Fletcher.

What?

That rumor's been on
the street for about a week.

We're talking, but
nothing's settled, Liza. Oh.

J.B. Fletcher.

Lewis, how could
you do this to me?

Eudora, this is
strictly business.

There's nothing personal about it. Mrs.
Fletcher's last six books are best sellers.

She's about to be named
Mystery Writer of the Year.

I'm sorry.

Dear old friend.

You are a paragon of fidelity.

I wish you and Mrs. Fletcher both
exactly what you deserve: each other.

Eudora.

I can't believe it.

The money that woman
has made for you.

Can't be helped.

I've never gotten
anywhere being subtle, Liza.

Since she married Hank Shipton,
her work has been mediocre.

What are you saying?
That marrying Hank was

a lousy idea? Tell me
something I don't know.

Eudora. Eudora.

We have to talk. About what?

I thought Mr. Bracken
said it all quite concisely.

Lew Bracken's a pompous, tasteless
jerk with a comic book mentality.

Oh? So that's why he's been
publishing my books all these years.

There are plenty of
other publishers. Liza.

Darling, you don't
seem to understand.

Lew Bracken is not the
source of my problems.

I'm being outflanked, outwritten
by an English teacher from Maine.

Somehow, when I wasn't looking, they
managed to coronate a new queen of mystery.

You—You are blowing this
all out of proportion. Oh, am I?

Let's face it,
darling. I'm passé.

Eudora McVeigh—
Is she still alive?

Now you are exaggerating.
Oh, for pity's sake.

My career is in tatters.

My marriage is
hanging by a thread.

And who do I have
to thank for this?

Dear, lovable, sweet-as-apple-pie
Jessica Fletcher,

who's just bounced me from fifth row
center back to the last row in the balcony.

You can't blame her personally.

You'd be surprised
at what I can do, Liza.

And what I will do
to get back on top.

Hey, Dorie.

Dorie, how are you, darlin'?

There's a warm hello.
Where have you been, Hank?

Been? I've been out.

Where?

What do you want, an itinerary?

There's no need to be snide.

I do have a right to
ask. I am your wife.

Yeah, but not my keeper. Or
maybe you are, and I forgot to notice.

That's fine stuff.

Very fine. By the way, darling,

I paid for this booze out
of my navy pension check,

in case you're wondering.

You're not gonna get drunk.

That a question or a
statement? Look, Dorie.

Before lunch, I spent an hour
with your business manager...

going over your investment
portfolio, as you requested.

During lunch, I said
all the right things...

to that birdbrained columnist from
Los Angeles— again, as you requested.

See how full my life is?

Then, afterwards,

I spent a little time
with some of my friends.

Shooting pool or
watching the races?

Come on. What are we
fightin' about? What do

you say to a— a little
dinner, just you and me?

What about Bobby? Maybe
your son would like to join us.

When you are you gonna get off of
his back? When he gets out of my purse.

I had a bill today for a VCR.

He charged it to my account.

Almost $400.

He shouldn't have done that. He
shouldn't have done a lot of things.

Oh, Hank. I married
you, not your family.

I told you. The boy never
had me around... growing up.

- I owe him a lot of years.
- Well, I don't owe him a thing.

I've had enough.

What, are you telling
me I gotta make a choice?

Don't you walk away from
me. Where are you going?

Where I should have
gone months ago,

but I was concerned about the—
The sanctity of this lousy marriage.

That fish weighed 40 pounds
if she weighed an ounce.

Oh, Seth. At least 28
inches, stem to stern.

I would swear my life on it. Well,
Caleb, you saw it. What do you think?

I didn't get that close a
look, Doc. And another thing...

Can I take those from
you? Thank you, Caleb.

You ought to do something
about this rotten tackle of yours.

If my line hadn't busted, I'd
have made the catch of the day.

Well, better luck
next time, Doc. Yeah.

Thank you, Caleb.
Great day. It was the bait.

The bait? What? The bait, woman.

Your bait was better than mine.
We got it out of the same bucket.

Well, you just made
it seem that way.

Well, putting aside my shortcomings
as an angler for the moment,

the day was not
exactly a total loss.

At least we made you laugh.

And if I'm not mistaken,
you have a bit of color

in your face. Well, what's
the matter with my face?

There's nothing wrong
with it at all, except it hasn't

seen the light of day for
about—What? Six weeks now.

Yeah, well, I've been working on my book.
Yes. You have been working on your book.

You're always working
on a book, Jessica.

I wonder sometimes how
you can tell them apart.

Honestly, Seth,

I want to know what
you meant by that remark.

No, you don’t, Jess.

If I thought you did, I'd tell
ya. But since I know you don't,

best I don't, rather
than be sorry I did.

Oh, sure. That
makes perfect sense.

A-yah.

Hello. Oh. Yes.
Hello, Mr. Bracken.

Hello, Mrs. Fletcher. I was worried about
you. I've been trying to reach you all day.

Well, uh, my doctor
prescribed a day of

fishing, and I was too
tired to argue with him.

Good. I hope you're too
tired to argue with me.

I've got these contracts
right here on my desk.

Oh, no. Uh, let's not
talk about that right now.

My plane is gassed up
at La Guardia and ready

to go. I could be at your
doorstep in two hours.

Please, Mr. Bracken. When I make
up my mind, I'll be in touch. I promise.

Could you give me some
idea of what the book is about?

Not even a hint. I'm sorry.

Of course. One way or the other.

Good. Good-bye.

Persistent fella. And stubborn.

Like some other
people that I know.

You must have
made this last night.

Well, I'll be seeing you, Jess.

Oh, no, Seth Hazlitt.
You're not going to leave...

until you tell me exactly what you
meant by that crack at the harbor.

That was a stupid remark. Why don't
we just drop it? No. Let's not. Let's not.

Jessica, what you do with your life
is absolutely none of my business.

I tend to forget that.
And a good thing too.

Do you realize, Seth, that if I didn't have
you to keep me on an even keel, then who?

Out with it!

All right.

Do you recall last month I asked you to
go hiking with me up to Spooner's Mill?

Yes. And I wanted to
go. You know that. Except

you had that article
you wanted to finish.

And a couple of months before
that, it was the fishing trip to Rockford,

except you couldn't find
any time for that either.

Well, I had this terribly
important, uh, meeting with my

accountant— I'm sure it was
very important. Yes, I am.

You know, Jess, I have arrived at an
age where— Well, I expect we both have...

Where I don't think we ought to have
to rev the engine as hard as we used to.

Well, are—are you saying
that I'm working too hard?

I'm saying that's all you seem
to have time for these days.

Have you looked at
your garden lately?

The weeds are threatening
to carry off the rhododendrons.

Well, I— I've got a
lot of obligations.

To whom, Jess?

Now, a few years back,

you needed this writing to help you get
through the empty days and lonely nights.

I know that. I went
through it myself.

But Frank's a long time
gone now, just like my Ruth.

And another best seller, or 10 best
sellers, is not going to fill that void.

Seth, I know that.

Maybe yes and maybe no.

All I know is that if Frank
Fletcher were still around...

you wouldn't be spending
half your life chained to that

typewriter and the other half
chasing around the country.

No, sir. You'd be out
smelling the salt air at sunrise.

Seth, are you trying
to hurt me? Hurt you?

Oh, for pity's sake, woman.
That's the last thing I want to do.

I just think maybe you ought to get off the
treadmill while you still have a chance.

Now, that's my piece, and I don't
want to talk about it anymore at this time,

so I will...

chat with you later.

Oh. Jessica, thank God.

- Eudora?
- I do not believe I finally found you.

Honestly, Jessica. Are
you hiding from the law,

or do you merely harbor a deep-seated
ill will towards the civilized world?

Well, there are a few of us, Eudora,
who think that this is the civilized world.

No doubt, though
frankly I feel like I've

wandered onto the set
of a Walt Disney movie.

Well, do you invite me in,

or do I spend the rest of the day inhaling
the fragrance of the outgoing tide?

Forgive me. I'm so sorry.

You know, you really are the
last person that I expected to see.

Oh, don't be silly. Two years ago,
when we met at the convention,

you said, "Drop by anytime."

Well, here I am,
dropping. I'm delighted.

We'll put the teakettle on.
Yeah. Oh, oh. Nearly forgot.

Mother said never come calling
with your hands at your side.

I found these at this
absolutely delightful

little produce stand
just off the interstate.

Isn't that the most magnificent
thing you've ever seen?

My God, they must feed
them steroids or something.

- You do like apples?
- Oh, yes, yes.

Of course. Thank you.
Wonderful. Wonderful.

Thank you very
much. Now, Jessica,

I do appreciate your
offer of liquid refreshments,

but what's this about a kettle?

I mean, quaint is all
right up to a point, but

let's not get
carried away. Right.

Dorie.

Dorie, it's me.

Hey, Pop. What are
you doing here, Bobby?

Got hungry.

Ran out of here last night
without taking my insulin shot.

About an hour ago, I
thought I was gonna pass out.

I sure wish you could
take this stuff orally.

What's that you're eating? It
smells like month-old pastrami.

It's Swiss cheese and
liverwurst. Want a bite?

No, thanks. I already
had something decent.

You got a stomach like a
septic tank. You know that?

So, where's Eudora?

Wouldn't know. Wherever she is,
she took her car. I parked in her spot.

She took her car? She never takes
her car unless she's leaving town.

Pop. Got any dough on you?

Need a couple of
hundred. For what?

Me and Vinnie. We're
going out to the trotters.

Get serious. Oh, come
on, Pop. He's got a tip.

And I only got about 20 bucks.

Yeah, Ray. Uh, it's Hank. I
understand Mrs. Shipton went out.

Know about what time that was?

Uh, you have any idea
where she was going?

Yeah?

She wanted a map of Maine, huh?

Yeah, well, thanks a lot, Ray.

So, what do you say, Pop?
Couple of hundred. That's all.

Pop?

Forget it. We're taking a ride.

Now? Yeah, now. Before your
stepmother does something real dumb.

Here. Bring my car around
front while I pack my things.

So, after 20 years
of marriage...

to bloodless, sexless and "oh, so
proper" Schuyler McVeigh, divorce.

I figured anything would
be an improvement,

which is why I ended
up with Hank Shipton.

I remember meeting him at the
convention. He was a lot of fun.

That's Hank, all right.
A laugh a minute.

Of course, I didn't know when I married
him I'd end up with a package deal.

His son, Bobby. Mmm.

What the hell am I complaining? The
man swept me off my feet, and I loved him.

Maybe I still do.

- Well, I'd better go if I'm going to find
someplace to stay tonight.
- You're not going back to New York?

I want to soak up some of
this Down East atmosphere.

If it's good enough for J.B.
Fletcher, it's good enough for me.

I tried your local hotel, the Hill House,
but they were all booked up this evening.

I suppose I'll just have to find
something on the road back to Portland.

Don't be silly. You're going
to stay right here with me.

Oh, no, I couldn't.
I insist on it.

Not another word.

I mean, don't you realize
what a joy it is for me

to chat with a fellow
writer under my own roof?

Well, in that case,

I think we should have one more cup
of coffee before we turn in. Why not?

You know, Jessica, you
really are a very special lady.

I'm gonna have to find some
way to repay you for your kindness.

Oh, nonsense.

Just call it a little more of
that Down East hospitality.

Oh. All this caffeine. I'm
going to be awake all night.

No, no, no. I'm sure
you'll sleep like the dead.

Eudora? Good morning.

Oh, good morning. I couldn't sleep,
and I was starved. I hope you don't mind.

Not at all. How do
you like your eggs?

Oh, over easy, please. I'm just
gonna get the morning paper.

Jessica, if I woke
you, I do apologize.

Oh, no. No, no. I'm
always up at this hour.

I can't believe how
soundly I slept last night.

Was dead to the world the
minute my head hit the pillow.

Didn't I tell you you
must be working too hard?

I'm only sorry that
you had to go out.

Out?

Whatever do you mean?
I haven't been anywhere.

Oh? Oh, I—I just
thought— I mean, uh...

Well, your car is parked
in a different place

than it was when we
went to bed last night.

Oh. You must be mistaken.

No, I don't think so.

Well, now. Here we are.
Two eggs over easy. Oh.

Couple of nice
pieces of toast. Lovely.

Would you like some bacon?
Uh, no. No, thanks. Thanks.

Well, now, when you're all done, I
want to see this town of yours, Jessica.

Every little street. You see? I'm
even wearing my walking shoes.

Oh, yes.

That's odd— a visitor at
this hour of the morning.

Excuse me.

Yes? Jessica?

- Hank Shipton.
- Hank. Hello. Come on inside.

Kind of early to be barging in, but I
saw Eudora's car parked outside, and...

Hank, what are you doing
here? You followed me.

I've come to bring
you home, Dorie.

Well, I'm not coming home.
I'm here visiting Jessica,

so why don't you just
scoot back to New York?

Honey, it's not a good
idea, you being here like this.

Now come on. We've
got some talking to do.

Stay away from me, Hank.

What we have—or maybe
had— Is hanging by a thread,

so, please, walk
out that door...

before one of us says something
we won't be able to take back.

Jessica, are you okay? Yes, of
course. Why—Why wouldn't I be?

Well, it's just that
Dorie's been...

kind of high-strung lately,
losing her temper, acting crazy.

Well, she seems fine to me.

Well, guess I better get going.

Hank, I'm sorry. Really.

Uh, maybe if you
came back later.

No. It wouldn't do
much good, Jess. When

she's like that, there's
no living with her.

Say, listen. You remember
my son Bobby, don't you?

Hey, Bobby. Say hi to Jessica.

Oh, yes. I think we
met at the convention.

Uh, he's a—a horse trainer
or something. Horse player.

Yeah, there's a big difference.

Uh, say, listen. Me and
Bobby— We're staying up

at the Hill House if you
want to get ahold of me.

At the Hill House?
Oh, that's odd.

Uh, Eudora said that
it was booked solid,

that—that she couldn't
get a room last night.

Yeah, they said some
practical joker phoned in

a dozen phony reservations
a couple of days ago.

But when we pulled in last night
around 2:00 there was plenty of room.

Well, I'll, uh, be
talking with you, Jess.

Yes.

I just love this little
town of yours, Jessica.

It's so homey.

How can you stand it? Well, having
lived here for some 30-odd years,

I guess I've gotten
used to it. Oh, 30 years.

Good Lord. Three days in this Toonersville,
and I'd be stark, staring mad.

Believe it or not, Eudora, we have a
perfectly good public library in town,

and we do have access to
major newspapers, magazines,

clean streets, fresh air,

friendly people— Once
they get to know you...

But most of all,
safe neighborhoods.

I mean, you can walk
anywhere without feeling afraid.

Mrs. Fletcher. Mrs. Fletcher.

Calm down, Johnny. What is it? It's a
dead body, ma'am. Down on the rocks.

Mr. Purdy sent me
to get the sheriff.

I wouldn't look down there,
ladies. It's not a pretty sight.

Sure am proud to have you
here in Cabot Cove, Mrs. McVeigh.

Uh, Jessica, could
you move in just a bit?

A nice smile now. Oh, Jonathan.
Smile? A man has just been killed here.

Say cheese.

So, Doc, what do you think
killed him? He slip and fall or what?

I wouldn't think so. That wound at
the head wouldn't be caused by a fall.

Besides, there
wasn't enough blood.

No, I expect he was killed somewhere
else and then dumped off here.

How long would you
say he's been dead?

Oh, probably about
five hours, maybe less.

Did you ever see him
before? Stranger to me.

Yeah. Me too.

Excuse me, Doc.

Mrs. Fletcher, could I
see you for a minute?

Well, didn't waste any
time sending out an S.O.S.

Even Amos Tupper would have made a
pretense of knowing what he was doing.

Run that by me again.

Sheriff Metzger. Nice enough fella, I
suppose, considering he's a city boy.

But, like as not, it'll be
Jessica that solves the murder,

like she always
does. Is that right?

Well, guess I better
get this developed.

Might be able to get it
on Channel 8 in Portland.

I'm the local
contact hereabouts.

Be seeing you.

I said, "Do me a favor, please, and
tell me what goes on in this town."

Sheriff, I'm sorry. I've been here
one year. This is my fifth murder.

What is this? The
death capital of Maine?

On a per capita basis, this place makes
the South Bronx look like Sunnybrook Farm.

But I assure you,
Sheriff— I mean, is that

why Tupper quit? He
couldn't take it anymore?

Somebody really should
have warned me, Mrs. Fletcher.

Now— Now perfect strangers
are coming to Cabot Cove to die.

I mean, look at this guy. You don't
know him. I don't know him. He has no I.D.

We don't know the first
thing about this guy. Of course

you do, Sheriff, if you just
take the time to observe.

Ma'am? Forgive me, Sheriff.

This is Eudora McVeigh. She's a very
well-known mystery novelist. How do you do?

Well, now, Sheriff. I'm sure you're
a terribly capable officer of the law,

and I'd be the last one to
interfere with your investigation,

but before you arrived, I took
the liberty of examining the body,

and I'm sure you noticed
the label in the jacket.

An off-the-rack clothing
store in New York City.

Lady, there must be 10,000
suits like that in New York.

Owned by men who wear a
$3,000 watch on their wrist?

This is definitely not
a knockoff, Sheriff.

Which means he may have stolen
it— Possibly at the point of a gun.

A gun? Hold it. Wait.
Where did you get that?

Well, that stain.

It appears to be gun
oil, which says to me...

he kept a pistol
tucked in here...

in a shoulder
holster. Mrs. Fletcher.

Jessica, I hope you don't
mind my helping out like this.

Oh, of course not. My goodness.

If I'm stepping on
your toes, just say so.

Eudora, don't be silly.

Uh, I think you've made some
very perceptive observations.

Yes. Well, now,

as to why the victim
didn't pull his gun, which

is missing, along with
the shoulder holster,

I'd say it might have something
to do with his missing glasses.

Glasses? Yes, he has those little
print marks on the bridge of his nose.

I'm sure you noticed
them. Oh, yeah.

The glasses must have
fallen when he was killed,

which, by the way,
didn't happen here.

The body was definitely moved, since
there would have been a lot more blood.

Seth.

Howdy, Jess.

Looks like Sheriff Metzger has got
his hands full with that friend of yours.

Forget Metzger. You and
I need to have a little talk.

Oh, now, Jess.
About yesterday, I...

I said some things I
probably shouldn't have. I'm

sorry, and I'd like to
forget the whole incident.

No, you don't, Seth Hazlitt.
I've had some time to think.

And I can't argue with a few
of the things that you said.

A few? Well, a lot
of them, I suppose.

You suppose quite right.

Just because I'm an opinionated,
self-righteous, Yankee chauvinist...

does not necessarily
mean that I'm always wrong.

Not all of the time. How
about dinner tonight?

Your place or mine? Mine.

What's on the menu? Pot roast.

Good. I'll bring the dessert.

Rhubarb pie? Have I
ever brought anything else?

See you around 7:00. Right.

Hello? Oh, hi, Carol.

Have you found Eudora?

I don't get it. Where
the hell is she?

Listen. Were you able to postpone
that interview with People magazine?

Oh, they did? W— You
just tell them from me that...

Never mind. I'll
tell them myself.

Liza.

Just call me as soon
as you hear anything.

My goodness. I see
we slept in this morning.

Back in Kansas, isn't that
considered a mortal sin?

I didn't get to
bed until very late.

Where were you, Victor?

Your business dinner couldn't
have lasted for 15 hours.

Unless, of course, your
appetite has improved.

As a matter of fact,
darling, I arrived home

early last evening,
shortly after 10:00.

Naturally, I was surprised
to find you weren't here,

and rather than wait
around like a jealous husband

to listen to you patently
transparent explanations,

I went out in search of
alternative companionship,

which, I am happy
to report, I found.

Well, terrific. Was it
a cash transaction?

Of course, darling. As my wife,

you are the only
one entitled to subtler

forms of compensation
for services rendered.

Oh, yes.

There's a little of the farm girl
still hiding under all that glitz.

You'd better answer that, darling.
I'm sure it's personal for you.

I’d get it myself, but I've really
come to hate those abrupt hang ups.

Whoever he is, he
isn't very imaginative.

Hello.

What? W— What channel?

All right. Thanks, Carol.

While in this peaceful little coastal
village of Cabot Cove, Maine,

the citizens have been
visited by murder most foul.

But never fear. Two
of fiction's most intrepid

sleuths just happen
to be on the scene.

And can a solution to this
knotty puzzle be far behind...

when Jessica Fletcher and
Eudora McVeigh sink their teeth...

Oh, no. What's the matter?

I can't believe she went there.
Victor, I'm sorry. I have to leave.

And we have to
talk. Not now, Victor.

Liza.

And, oh, yes. That's
right. A s of the moment,

Cabot Cove's newest
corpse is a John Doe—

A stranger with
no identification.

Though we understand he is reported
to be a six-foot tall, balding New Yorker,

in his 40s, who probably wore
thick glasses and carried a gun.

When asked how the case was going,
Sheriff Metzger said he had no comment,

or words to that effect.

- Eudora, you're not leaving.
- A good guest never overstays her welcome.

Oh, nonsense. Jessica,

I do hope you’re not put
out with me. About what?

Why, helping your
sheriff, of course.

I realize this is your town,
and I'm just an outsider.

Oh, don't be ridiculous. We're
not competing with each other.

No. Of course not.

Well, I must be off.

Frankly, Eudora, I wasn't expecting
you to run off quite so quickly,

and, uh, I was hoping I'd be able to
ask you a couple of questions about, uh...

Well, um, about last night and,
uh, also about your car, for instance.

Jessica, I would love
to stay and chat, but I

simply must get over to
your local newspaper office.

Oh? My publicist
has arranged for me...

to meet some reporters
from the Boston papers.

They're very interested in
my, uh— well, quasi-official

participation in this
murder investigation.

You understand.

Oh, yes. Yes. Of course. Well,
let me help you with your things.

N— No. I can manage, thank you.

Well, let me get the door.

You've been lovely, Jessica. I do hope
we see more of each other in the future.

And we may, perhaps
sooner than you think.

Uh, Eudora, I do really
think that we should

talk about what you
have in your attaché case.

Why? Just some silly
story notes. That's all.

Ladies. Good afternoon, Sheriff.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Uh, you're planning on
leaving, Mrs. McVeigh?

Oh, I'm sorry. That's
actually Mrs. Shipton, isn't it?

Either one will do,
Sheriff. I plan to stay

a day or two at the
Hill House until I, uh...

that is, we get to the
bottom of this murder.

Well, say, that's, uh— That's
real nice of you, ma'am. Sure is.

Sheriff, do I get the feeling that
you've discovered something?

Yes, ma'am. We sure have.
We've identified that John Doe.

The body was moved.

A couple of hikers found the
guy's car had been pushed

down off a bluff, couple
of miles from the coast.

Just as I suspected.

- And what about the gun?
- Missing, along with the shoulder holster.

But he wore one, all right.
We found the permit in the

guy's wallet, which had been
tossed into the underbrush.

- A permit?
- The victim was a New York
private investigator, name of Cappaletti.

P.I., criminal. Almost
the same thing.

But here's the funny thing.

You know what else we found
in that wallet, Mrs. Shipton?

A little piece of paper with
your name and address on it.

And your phone
number. Strange, huh?

All of a sudden it's
gettin' real clear to me

how come you knew
so much about this stiff.

Lady, you've got a
lot of explaining to do.

Sheriff Metzger, no doubt
there are rigid qualifications...

for your position
here in Cabot Cove,

but obviously intelligence
isn't one of them.

Now look, lady. You can insult me
from now until next Groundhog's Day,

but I'm not buyin' your story.

Like you just happened to know
the guy was from New York...

and you just happened
to know he carried a gun.

How long had this guy been
working for you? He hadn't.

Yeah? Well, we'll
see. Floyd. Try

Cappaletti's office
number again in New York.

You know, Sheriff, Mrs. McVeigh didn't
spot any clues that weren't fairly obvious.

Well, thank you, Jessica. How
sweet of you to make that observation.

And as for the
victim working for her,

I mean, have you
considered the possibility

that he might have had
her under surveillance,

that he might have followed
her here to Cabot Cove?

You mean, he could have
been working for somebody else?

Eudora? Well, don't be silly.

- Why would anyone be following me?
- Sheriff, there's still no answer
at that New York number.

Sheriff, you're wasting
my time and yours.

Even if I knew this
detective, which I didn't,

there's no way I could be
involved with his death...

because I was staying with Jessica,
asleep in her house, at the time he died.

- So if you'll excuse me.
- Now wait a minute, lady!

Unless you plan to
place me under arrest,

in which case I shall summon a battery of
very high-priced lawyers, from New York,

who will be delighted to bury you in
enough writs to start a good-size bonfire.

Ah. Good.

If you need me, I'll be
at the newspaper office.

Whether you like it or not, Sheriff,
I'm going to solve this murder for you.

No, no, no. No need to thank me.

Just think of me as a concerned
citizen performing her civic duty.

Excuse me.

Sheriff's office.
Sheriff, it's your wife.

Tell her, uh— Tell her, uh...

Hi, honey. Listen. I'm gonna
be a little late for supper tonight.

I'm sorry, Eudora.
I'm not mistaken.

Your car was moved during the night,
and I'm fairly certain that you moved it.

Oh, you're imagining things.

Well, I certainly didn't imagine the
dreadful headache I had this morning.

Last night you put a sedative in my
coffee so that I would sleep very soundly.

That's a monstrous
suggestion. Eudora,

earlier today, I had to look at
some notes for my new novel.

Now, some of the
pages were out of order.

Oh, I see. Now you're
accusing me of stealing from you.

I'm sorry, Jessica. I won't dignify
that with a response. Excuse me.

Well, perhaps I'd better let the
sheriff inspect your attaché case.

For a supposedly
intelligent woman, Jessica,

you are woefully ignorant
of our privacy laws,

which I'm sure even extend
to this outpost of civilization.

There is one tough cookie.

And one very unhappy lady.

Yeah, well, you vote
your way, I'll vote mine.

Well, you seem to be making
good progress on your investigation.

You've identified the victim
and pinpointed the murder site.

Well, I'm not so sure
I'd make book on that.

Oh? Some of the pieces to
this puzzle don't fit real good.

For example, the backseat of the
P.I.'s car was covered with bloodstains,

and the steering wheel had
been wiped clean of prints.

Oh, dear. That sounds as
if he was killed at point "A,"

his body put in the back of the
car and then dumped by the ocean,

and then the car driven into the
woods by the killer and abandoned.

Yeah. That's the
way I read it. But why?

Well, obviously to cover
up where he was killed.

Sheriff, that wallet in the
bush, did it have any cash in it?

Cleaned out. Why? What
do you think? Robbery?

Well, to be truthful, I just
don't know what to think.

Except that I do have
some shopping to do.

Can I give you a lift? Oh, no,
thanks. No. The walk'll do me good.

Okay.

Uh, hello, Hank.

Liza.

Is Eudora here?

Uh, no.

Good.

Are you crazy,
following me here?

Oh, I didn't follow
you here, Hank.

I saw Eudora on the
news, here in Cabot Cove.

I—I was terrified that
she'd— Do something insane.

No, I can't believe that.

Well, then what are you doing
here? The same thing I am.

Look, Hank. You know what she's been like
these past few months. She's ready to snap.

And we're not
helping her, are we?

Look, I— I feel guilty
enough already,

but, damn it, we're not
the only ones responsible.

I am not going to apologize for
what's happened between us, Hank.

Maybe we're on a dead-end
road. I—I don't know.

But I just think we have to hang
onto each other for as long as we can.

And Eudora?

Eudora needs professional
help. We both know that.

What am I supposed to do? She won't admit
she has a problem. She won't see a doctor.

Then one of us has to
speak to J.B. Fletcher.

And do what? Warn her?

That's what Bobby said. He
thinks Eudora's capable of anything,

that she's starting to
mix fantasy with reality.

Oh, he might be right, Hank.

It is possible that Eudora has spent
so much time writing about murder...

she actually thinks it's a
solution to her problems.

Let me see if I can get Jessica to
meet with me, away from Eudora.

Jess?

Jess?

Hello?

♪

♪

♪♪

Mmm.

Seth. Are you here?

Oh, my God. Seth!