All language subtitles for MSW s06e15 The Fixer Upper.eng

Vicky's a sweet little thing,
but totally over her head in real estate.

FEMALE NARRATOR:
Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

Why did she have to
get into a profession that's so insecure?

Unlike acting.

Sweet little Victoria is
a suspect in the death of Deborah Tarkington.

Howard isn't
a suspect.

I get to decide
who the suspects are.

The first sign of trouble,
you ran like a scared rabbit.

The man is a legend.
I wanted to meet his daughter.

The things I do
for an exclusive.

(HEART MONITOR FLATLINING)

Such a fine young man.
I'm sure he would have had a grand life.

I would have never believed
this new virus

could work so fast
and be so fatal.

Hey, wait a minute!
What's going on here?

Hey, look,
I agreed to do a hospital scene

because you promised me
a speedy recovery.

We all gotta go sometime.

Yeah,
but in the next script I'm on the road to recovery.

I guess you didn't
get the new pages, Howie.

Are you trying to tell me
that I'm fired?

I prefer to
think of you as dead.

Hey, but your wife's
in real estate, isn't she?

The way house
prices are going,

it's practically
a license to steal.

You can't put
a $3-million ceiling on your offer

if you want something
decent in today's market.

My husband would kill me.

He thinks houses
are overpriced,

and he says
you real estate people are out to gouge every last penny.

Let me guess,
your husband's a doctor.

You sure this is
the Errol Flynn house?

Pretty sure.
It's on the map here somewhere.

Errol Flynn, huh?

Boy, if these walls
could talk.

Uh, excuse me.

I hate to disturb you,
but isn't this a beautiful home?

Oh, gorgeous.

Well, I was wondering,
is that your new Rolls-Royce

out front
blocking the driveway?

Heavens, no.

No, I drive
a Volkswagen Bug.

Real honey of a car.
Had it for 20 years.

Sorry.

Gonna be hard to sell,
you know.

But the asking
price is so low.

Relatively speaking,
that is.

Can't even build
a tennis court here.

No resale value at all.

You blew it, kid.

Take it from an old pro,
there's always room for a tennis court.

Where, Didi?

Squeeze it in anywhere.

If only tennis courts
didn't have to be rectangular.

Why can't they
be kidney shaped?

Yeah, I know, it's tough.

Look, next time,
try the fitness approach.

Fitness?
Yeah.

Tell them the one about
the health nut

who dropped dead
playing doubles.

But the man did
have his heart set on a tennis court.

Honey, if you
start worrying what the buyer wants,

you're gonna starve to death
in this town.

Now, go find him,
make him feel guilty

for looking without buying.
Go ahead.

All right.
You'll be fine.

Alec, it's not gonna work.

If she sees you here...
In this car?

Look, with these
dark glasses on and her eyesight,

she'll never know it's me.

Just go in
and make the offer.

Look, there's gotta be
a better way than this. I mean, she'll know.

Arnold, you worry too much.

Just go in
and make the offer. Now.

(RINGS)

Deborah Tarkington.

Ah, Mrs. Griffin.

Mr. Hastings.

I believe
you have the listing on this property?

Yes, I do.

Well, I thought we might
talk about a full-price offer.

Really?

Hastings, out of my house!

Now, Deborah...
Out! You think I don't see that louse

sitting out there
in that wreck?

But just listen...
Out, out, out, out!

But, Deborah, if you'd just...
If I ever, ever see

his dissipated face
of my property again,

I will turn the dogs
loose on him!

But if...

I hired you
to sell my house fast, but not to that jerk.

I thought that
your fresh-scrubbed innocence

might be a welcome change

from the sharks
I usually deal with.

But if you can't
deliver a buyer, I will find someone who can.

But he made
a full-price offer.

Well, you check
the fine print on our agreement.

You will see that
it says I will sell to anyone except Alec Burton.

You know,
if it were left up to me, I'd sell it to anyone.

Mom knows who she likes,
and I know who I like.

Will you excuse me
for a moment? I... I...

I think I saw
a potential buyer outside.

Aunt Jess.
Vicky!

How are you?
I'm fine.

Good to see you.
I'm so sorry.

I've been having
a little crisis.

Oh, nothing serious,
I hope.

Not really.
Just business.

I've been trying
to sell a house for $4.9 million.

For $4.9 million
you could buy Cabot Cove!

The house you're selling
must be a mansion.

Not really.
But it is a nice fixer-upper.

The trouble is,
my exclusive expires at midnight.

Oh, dear.

But where's Howard?

Oh, he had an audition
he couldn't miss.

Well, we'll be
seeing each other for dinner tonight.

We'll catch up on
everything then.

But I thought that
Howard had a steady job on a TV series.

Oh, he did.

He decided that he wanted
something livelier.

Howard loves acting so much.

Almost as much
as he loves me.

Is that a problem?

No, really.

Whatever Howard wants
is fine with me.

I just don't know
if I'm ready for real estate.

Is anyone?

(PAGER BEEPING)
Oh, dear.

Oh, Aunt Jess,
I'm so sorry,

but I'm gonna have to
make a phone call.

Oh, don't apologize.
I understand the demands of business.

I have to meet
a bunch of booksellers this afternoon.

Okay, I'll be
right back. All right.

Why didn't you
stand your ground?

At the first sign of trouble,
you ran like a scared rabbit.

She threw me out.

Oh, Arnold, really.

There's no need to panic.

I mean,
the property hasn't been sold.

Nothing has been signed yet.

Just make sure
when something is, it's got my name on it.

Claire, light a fire
under your husband, please.

There goes commission
on nearly five million bucks.

I mean, I could have
had a new car.

For God's sakes,
get rid of that defeatist attitude.

Listen,
as long as she hasn't found another buyer,

anything is possible.

Now what are you taking?

Diet pills.

And you'll never guess
who turned me onto them.

Deborah Tarkington.

She's lost ten pounds.

If I could lose five,
I'd take arsenic.

Well, if you two girls
are such good buddies,

how come you can't
wangle her signature on a sales contract?

Arnold, sometimes
you amaze me how you insist

on keeping your eye
on the mudhole,

when it should be
on the shooting star.

Just what is that
supposed to mean?

Well, to put it another way,
you are content

to collect a couple
of golden eggs when, with a little ingenuity,

you could have
the whole goose.

Cheers.

I don't understand,
Mr. Gordon. Everyone needs a house.

You decided to buy a yacht?

I see.

You figure you can sail
around the world for several years,

with a full crew,

and it'll still be cheaper
than a house in Beverly Hills.

Well, if you ever decide
to live on land again, you have my number.

Bon voyage.

Let's go fishing sometime,
darling.

Fishing?
Yeah!

Oh, I'm a great fisherman.

But every time
you get a nibble,

it's off the hook
before you can get it into the boat.

I'm sorry, Didi.

I guess I'm just
a lousy real estate agent.

The worst I've ever seen.

It's unheard of
to have an open house

on the last day
of your exclusive.

Half the people
there were brokers,

urging their clients
to wait a day to make an offer. Hmm?

Alec Burton made an offer
through Arnold Hastings of the full asking price.

I couldn't believe it
when Deborah turned it down.

She seemed so bitter.

Mmm. You don't know
about that. It happened before you were born.

You see,
Alec Burton was a young, ambitious actor

with no credits to speak of.

Deborah, daughter of
movie mogul Harry Tarkington,

pressured her father into
giving Alec his first break.

Guns of San Simeon.

It made him
an overnight star.

Came the dawn,
he dumped Deborah like a two-bit stock option.

Well, that doesn't sound
very smart if her father was so powerful.

Her father?
You gotta be kidding.

That picture broke
all box office records.

The day Alec
dumped Deborah,

Harry Tarkington signed him
to a three-picture deal.

And that, my dear,
is showbiz.

(RINGING)

Precious Premises,
Victoria Griffin speaking.

Yes, I'm the little gal
who's handling the Tarkington estate.

Who is this, please?

(CHUCKLES)

This is Seymour Densch,
the hottest car dealer in Orange County.

Oh, you probably heard of me.
I do my own commercials.

I'm sorry, Mr. Densch,
I've never...

You know that open house
at the Tarkington estate? I was there.

I liked what I saw.

I want to buy it,
lock, stock and barrel.

The sticker is,
what, $4.9 million?

Yes, but...

Okay, knock off a mil,
you got a deal. I don't haggle.

Well, I'll have to
talk to the owner.

Sure, talk, talk.
But get back to me.

Call me at 555-4990.

If she says yes,
I'll need a binder check.

I'll do better than that.
I'll give you cash, all cash.

Listen, I gotta go.
The customers are beating down my door.

But where do you...

Look, look, look, look,
just nail it down.

The Tarkington estate,
right after I close here, 11:00 p.m.

Seymour Densch, I love you.

She's 30 minutes late.

You don't suppose
anything's happened to her?

Well, she may be busy.

You know, the exclusive
listing expires at midnight, you know.

No, I don't know.
I've asked her to stop telling me

about her exclusives
and her escrows

that cancel out
at the last minute.

Why did she have to
get into a profession that's so insecure?

Unlike acting.

Vicky told me at lunch
that you were out on an audition.

How did it go?

I was brilliant.

But they wanted
someone taller.

Or was it shorter? Fatter?
I don't remember.

Well, at least
I have my play.

Working for no money,
of course.

It's a workshop,
which is a nice way

of saying none
of the actors get paid.

I don't know,
maybe Victoria would have been better off without me.

Oh, come now, Howard.

Don't force me to
Dutch uncle you. I'm only an aunt.

One thing I'm certain of,
you two are made for each other.

Hope you're right,
Aunt Jess.

Howard.

Hi, honey!

You two must be
ready to kill me,

but I haven't got
time to be killed.

You're not gonna believe
what just happened.

I can't believe it myself.

Well, take a big, deep breath
and share it with us.

No time for breathing, either.

At 11:00 my guardian angel,

a car dealer
from Orange County,

is meeting me at
the Tarkington estate with a cash binder.

Deborah accepted
his $3.9- Million offer.

I've gotta get to my office
and type up the agreement right now.

Now?

I'm sorry, but I thought
the two people I love the most in the world would understand.

You do, don't you?

Of course we do!

Oh, yeah, sure.

What's the big deal
about a play?

Oh, Howard.

Honey,

I haven't forgotten
about it.

I just can't see it
on the first night, that's all.

(CLEARING THROAT)

Well, that's the nice thing
about a workshop. There's always a second night.

Well, maybe Vicky
can't go to the play, but I certainly can.

Are you sure you want to?

Well, of course I do.

It's an allegory.

(STAMMERING)
An allegory? Well, what fun!

I can't apologize enough
for the special effects.

Oh, you almost have.

The rainstorm that
rejuvenates the corn crop

was supposed to
be a light mist.

But something went wrong
with the plumbing.

I just hope
you didn't get too soaked.

Well, not as much
as the people in the two front rows.

They were drenched.

Oh, it looks as if
you got a message on the machine.

Maybe it's my agent.

I was wondering
why he didn't get to the play tonight.

(SPEECH SLURRED)
Victoria, dear, this is Deborah Tarkington.

I've just now realized
this buyer of yours is a real phony.

Is this some kind
of a stall just because the listing is running out?

It better not be,
because at midnight

the party's over,
and you, my sweet, turn back into a pumpkin.

Wasn't Vicky
supposed to meet that guy tonight at 11:00?

Well,
apparently she didn't get the message.

Well, I'm going
over there right now

to take Victoria away
if I have to drag her off physically.

Well, I'll go with you.

I don't want to
miss what may turn out

to be the best play
of the night.

Deborah?

Are you here?

Deborah?

(SCREAMING)

(DOOR CLOSING)

Howard?

Aunt Jessica, what
are you doing here?

What are you doing here?

And how come
the lights are out?

I have a more
important question.

Freeze!
Get your hands in the air and don't move!

(CAMERA CLICKING)

So, Mrs. Griffin,

according to this,
she was dead when you arrived.

I already explained it all
to the others.

Well, the others
aren't real cops.

They're play cops.
I'm the real thing.

Humor me,
explain it again, please.

Well, I'm the
real estate agent for this property

and I thought we sold it.

I came here
to meet the buyer.

There was no answer
when I rang the doorbell,

so I let myself in
with my key, and...

And then I found
Deborah's body.

I arrived immediately after
with Jessica Fletcher.

I'm Victoria's aunt.

How convenient for everyone.

Lieutenant.

What have you got, Doc?

Well, I can't give you
the exact minute,

but she's been dead
less than two hours.

Well within the framework
of our mass arrival.

How do you account
for the bruise on the head?

Well, probably the fall
when the lady passed out. Passed out?

Well, we found
a half dozen of those amphetamine capsules

on the floor near the body,

a half-empty bottle
of Scotch nearby.

You tell me.

Lieutenant.

What?

Was there a pill bottle
with a prescription label on it?

No.

Ross, look for
a prescription bottle, amphetamine.

Check the bathrooms
and the nightstand in the bedroom.

There's something
strange here, Lieutenant. What?

Well,
here is a second bottle of Scotch,

also half-empty,
with another glass.

So?

Well, why would anybody
open another bottle

when the first one
wasn't empty?

I mean, it doesn't
make any sense.

Mrs. Fletcher, in real life,
drunks don't always make sense.

We'll dust the second bottle
and the glass for prints, too.

Lieutenant, I found
Mrs. Tarkington dead.

Relax.

I'm just covering
all the bases.

I mean, if the coroner
comes back with a verdict of hanky-panky,

I'll have to begin somewhere,
won't I?

Good morning.

Feeling better
this morning, Vicky?

Can't you tell
how chipper I am?

Well, after last night,
maybe a good, strong cup of coffee

would be better
than going through the bills.

These bills have to
be paid.

Vicky,

why don't you let me
help you and Howard over this hump?

It's very sweet of you
to offer, but no.

Taking money from you
would kill Howard.

His ego can barely
deal with the idea of his wife working,

let alone
accepting money from relatives.

Oh, by the way, is he up?

Oh, he's been up for hours.

He wanted to be
at his agent's office

as soon as it opened
this morning.

He's so worried
about his career,

he'll probably
take anything now.

(TELEPHONE RINGING)

Hello?

Yes, of course I remember you,
Lieutenant.

Meet you at your
office this morning?

Why?

This little caper
is beginning to come together.

Caper?
Yes.

The more I learn,
the clearer it becomes.

And what have you learned,
Lieutenant?

About Mrs. Tarkington's
phone call to your niece,

threatening to take away
her exclusive listing.

A broker's commission
on $4 million

is certainly motive enough
to put you on the suspect list.

What did you do
after you received the call?

I didn't receive it.
I wasn't home.

My aunt told me
about the call after I found the body.

I'll tell you what you did.

You went there, you argued,
you became angry, and you hit her with something.

No!

Lieutenant,
I thought that she struck her head when she fell.

Yeah, well, it was
meant to look that way.

Our boys in the lab
found Mrs. Tarkington's prints

on one bottle of Scotch,
one glass.

The others by the body
were wiped clean.

I think it's highly unlikely
that Mrs. Tarkington got up after she fell

and wiped off
her own fingerprints.

Well, what about the pills
on the floor?

We found the empty bottle
upstairs in her bathroom.

Obviously,
she walked downstairs with them in her hand,

dropped a few
when she washed them down with the Scotch.

Now, why would I
kill a client who was going to pay me

a huge commission
for selling her house?

She had already
made up her mind.

By the way,
where's your husband?

He's supposed
to be here, too.

Well, Howard isn't
a suspect.

Mrs. Fletcher,
I get to decide who the suspects are.

Yes, but Howard was
on stage last night at the time of the murder.

So he says.

But I was there,
with the rest of the audience

and the cast from the play.

Mrs. Fletcher,
I have one very cold body,

two very warm suspects,
and until someone comes up

with something better,
your niece and her husband

get the bulk
of my attention.

Now, why don't you
tell me all about

this so-called buyer
who never showed up?

Calm down, Mr. Yakamoto,
now, just calm down.

Now, listen,
you're offering what?

Three million.
Is that yen or dollars?

Well, no,
I know the dollar is a little bouncy,

but, I mean, after all,
that is what we use in this country.

Uh-huh.

You want to be a member
of the country club?

The only way you'll buy?

Hold on one second.
I have an urgent call coming in from Yemen.

I'll be right back.

Yemen?

Not that old
"Hold for an important phone call" gag?

Well, when it stops working,
I'll stop using it. Hold on.

I'll be right back with you.

Ah, Mr. Yakamoto.

Listen, things are really
happening fast here.

That was an Arab oil man,
and he just bid on the property.

Now, listen,
it's not a full-price offer,

so if you could
authorize me to make a full-price offer now,

the property won't get away.

Uh-huh.

Thank you very much.
And listen, stay in touch.

Bye-bye.

(LAUGHING)
You're such a louse.

What did you
just unload, Arnold?

Oh, you know
the Emerson place up on Beverly Glen?

That dump?

A $3-million dump, Didi dear.

Mr. Yakamoto's gonna
tear it down and put something else in its place.

Probably some kind of
a Shinto shrine,

with overtones of
California stucco.

How lovely.

So.

So.

What brings Precious Premises'
number one saleslady

into the jaws
of competition?

A desire to make
a career move maybe?

No, no, no, not exactly.
Sweet little Victoria has gotten herself

sideways with the law.

Your protégé?
Mmm-hmm.

She's a suspect
in the death of Deborah Tarkington.

Well, what about
the exclusive listing on the Tarkington place?

Since I have an in
with sonny boy Kevin,

I might be able
to grab onto it.

Well, how nice for you.

I might even bring
it to you, Arnold,

if the deal is right.

Now, why would I be interested
in the Tarkington estate?

You're interested
because Alec Burton is interested,

but you can't get
an exclusive and I can.

I'm not greedy, Arnold.
Never have been.

There's enough
for both of us in this if we split the commission.

Or do you have to
go check with your darling little wife?

You've got yourself a deal,
sweetheart.

I love it when you're macho.

I'm so sorry to bother you
at a time like this, but I was here last night,

and I think I might have
dropped my reading glasses in the confusion.

Well, I haven't
seen any glasses.

But if you'd like
to come in and look for them, that's fine.

Oh, thank you very much.
I won't take but a minute.

My niece did call
and tell you I was coming?

You must be
the mystery writer

that the real estate
lady talks about all the time.

Yes, I'm afraid so.

Oh, this is a mess.

Those sloppy policemen,
they got fingerprint powder all over everything.

Oh, yes. You know,
when we were here last night,

apparently, you weren't here.

No, I wasn't here.
I see.

And you were?

Out.

Out. Yes.

Yes, of course.

The police found
amphetamine capsules near the body.

Did Mrs. Tarkington
take them often?

Often enough.

I suppose she
had a prescription.

You ask an awful
lot of questions, don't you?

Forgive me for being so nosy,
but my niece is a suspect in the murder.

That nice woman?

Mrs. Tarkington took
these pills for her diet.

Her supply ran out,

and I was supposed to get
a refill of her prescription,

but I forgot
until this morning.

Now it's too late.

Oh, there, there.

I know you're
going to miss her.

Not likely.
I hated her guts.

Well, then,
why are you crying?

Because I've lost my job,

and the boy doesn't
want the likes of me around here.

But I can tell you...

Hello. I'm Kevin Tarkington.

Excuse me.

Do we have an appointment?

I took a chance
that we would meet.

Oh, of course
you're here about the house.

I'm at your service, Mrs...

Fletcher. I'm not a buyer,
Mr. Tarkington.

I'm so very sorry
about your mother.

But I must say,
I'm surprised

that you're showing
the house today.

Were you a friend
of mother's?

No, I'm
Victoria Griffin's aunt.

Oh! Oh, that adorable one.

You can be proud of her,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, I am.

Tell me, why are you
so eager to sell?

Did I give that impression?

Actually,
I'm prepared to let it go to the next bidder.

Mother was
a crazy sentimentalist.

One day she wanted to sell,
and the next day she'd change her mind.

Well, I suspect
it was because she was brought up here.

You know, stars, parties.

I'd much rather have
a beach house in Malibu.

Victoria tells me
that you're an only child.

The last of
a distinguished line.

Oh, then
you'll get everything.

There is no "everything."
This is it.

And if you're implying
that I might have dispatched dear old Mom

to the hereafter for
a few lousy million bucks worth of real estate,

it's a reasonable guess,
but you're wrong.

I understand that the police
were unable to reach you after the murder.

I drove up the coast
to clear my head.

Oh. With someone
who can furnish you with an alibi?

I wasn't aware
that I needed one.

Mrs. Fletcher,
why are you here?

My mother's death
doesn't concern you.

Curiously enough,
it doesn't seem to concern you, either.

I came here because
I was looking for these. But I found them.

Don't bother,
I'll see myself out.

Oh, Vicky.

Aunt Jess.

You're the last person
I expected to see here.

Well, who were you expecting?

I was hoping to
find my guardian angel, buyer Seymour Densch.

I need him to
corroborate my story,

and I haven't been
able to reach him at his business number.

Vicky, were you
followed here?

No.

Why would anybody
follow me?

Becoming
a regular hangout for you ladies.

Any new developments,
Lieutenant?

A few.

The autopsy showed
that Deborah Tarkington

had plenty of Scotch
in her system, but no pills.

The cause of death
was a severe concussion.

The result of
a blow delivered by a blunt object.

Oh, dear.
We've identified the murder weapon.

The fireplace poker.

The lab found traces of
Mrs. Tarkington's blood on it

along with
Mrs. Griffin's fingerprints.

I can explain.

You'll have every opportunity
to do just that.

I'm taking you in.

You're arresting
Victoria for murder?

Yes.

How can you hold her?

She told you she was
alone in the dark house with a body

and heard footsteps,
so she grabbed up the poker.

When she saw that it was us,
she put it back.

Yes, that's what she told me.

Well, don't you people
believe anybody?

Not too many suspects
who go around

leaving their fingerprints
on the murder weapon.

She didn't know
it was the murder weapon when she picked it up!

Howard, I think
you can help Vicky better

by finding a good lawyer.

Lawyer, right.
I'll get the best!

I can't afford the best,
or even the second best, or the 42nd best.

Well, don't worry
about that now.

Just find someone. Please?

I'll be back!

You can't do this to Vicky.
This is really absurd!

He's right,
you know, Lieutenant.

I mean, this is absurd.

From your side
of the desk, perhaps.

From my side,
it's the only thing that makes any sense.

You know, Lieutenant,
if you're such a believer in fingerprints,

why didn't you find any
on the other Scotch bottle and the other glass?

That should be obvious
to you, Mrs. Fletcher.

Your niece
simply wiped them off.

And not off
the murder weapon?

I mean,
if this doesn't make any sense to you,

how is it going to sound
to a jury?

Hi. I'm Seymour Densch.

They told me
to come right in.

I guess you're
anxious to see me, huh?

Please, sit down,
Mr. Densch. Mrs. Fletcher.

Yesterday,
according to Victoria Griffin,

you called and
offered $3.9 million for the Tarkington estate.

Said you were going
to meet her at 11:00 p.m. With a bundle of cash.

Yeah, yeah.
That's a binder.

Where did you plan
to get the balance

of the $3.9 million
to conclude the transaction?

From Alec Burton.

The movie star?
Yeah.

Well, not exactly from him,
if you know what I mean, you know.

No, I don't know
what you mean.

Numbers of that magnitude
have a tendency to elude me.

Who was going to
give you the money to buy the estate?

Arnold Hastings.

The realtor. Why?

Well, okay.

Well, for some reason,

Deborah Tarkington
would not sell the house

to Mr. Hastings because

Mr. Hastings was fronting
for Mr. Burton.

So, I fronted
for both of them.

They paid me
$10,000.

Now, that is not
to say that I did it

just for the money,
you understand.

And why exactly
did you do it?

Why?

I was Harry Tarkington's
biggest fan.

I saw all his movies.
The man is a legend.

I wanted to meet his daughter,
I wanted to set foot in that house

and touch...
The place is a shrine.

I was a little late.
By the time I got there,

the place was
swarming with cops, so, I just went home. I left.

So you did come
to meet Victoria?

She did have
a reason for being there.

Oh, yeah, wait.

But, I mean,
killing the old doll, now, that was her own idea.

I had nothing
to do with that.

I mean, I was supposed
to just come there

and buy the house from her.

But you were working
for this fellow, Hastings?

Yeah.

And not for Victoria Griffin.

That's what I just said,
didn't I?

Good morning, Victoria.

I thought you were
in the slammer.

I'm out on bail.

I want you to know
that not for a moment

did I think that
you had anything to do with mother's death.

Thanks, Kevin.
I appreciate that.

No need to put these away.

But my exclusive listing
has expired.

With mother.
I have a house to sell, and I really like your style.

Kevin, that's very kind
of you, but...

You know,
when I first saw you I said to myself,

"Now there is a woman
who really knows how to move a good piece of real estate."

Deal?

Deal.

Kevin, thank you.

You know, shaking hands
is no way for friends to seal an agreement.

Say, how about
over dinner tonight?

Oh, gee, I can't.
Not tonight.

My husband's in a play.

And I thought
that this listing was important to you.

Was I mistaken?

Maybe you misinterpreted
his dinner invitation.

You know,
sometimes we read more into situations than is intended.

At his place,
where he's going to cook the spaghetti

because it's
the servants' night out?

Oh, dear.
"Oh, dear," is right.

Where's Howard?

I sent him out
on an errand.

An errand?

Well, he looked as if
he was about to jump out of his skin,

so I sent him
to the county tax assessor's office.

Tax assessor's?

Well, I had
this sudden hunch,

and Howard volunteered
to follow through on it.

(DOOR OPENING)
I've got it!

Howard.

(CLEARING THROAT)

Oh.

Jessica, you were
absolutely right.

That con artist
is trying to buy up Beverly Hills.

What con artist?

Alec Burton,
if what I suspect is in this envelope.

It's just as you thought.

The properties to
the east and west of the Tarkington estate

have been sold
to Alec Burton.

So that's why he was
so obsessed with buying the Tarkington estate.

He's trying to put together
a mega estate of his own.

Exactly.

With Deborah Tarkington's
house as the centerpiece.

Makes you wonder how far
Burton would go to get the place away from her.

Yeah.

There is nothing illegal
about these purchases, Lieutenant, I can assure you.

The thing I'm a bit fuzzy on,
Mr. Burton,

is none of these properties
was sold directly to you.

They were sold
to other parties, and then acquired by you.

Can you explain that?

Well, if the owners had
any idea that I was trying to buy their properties,

the prices would
have skyrocketed.

So I left it up to
my broker, Arnold Hastings,

who acquired the properties
through intermediaries I approved of,

and then resold them to me
at the same price.

Which is the reason
why you asked Mr. Hastings to have Seymour Densch

purchase the Tarkington
property for you.

Seymour Densch?

Who's Seymour Densch?

You mean, you didn't approve?

I never heard of the guy,
so I couldn't very well approve of him, could I?

Let's discuss your alibi,
Mr. Burton.

Now, I spoke with
the housekeeper at the party where you and your realtors,

the Hastings,
Claire and Arnold,

spent the evening
the night of the murder.

Contrary to what
Mr. Hastings said,

you did not stay
until the wee hours.

Matter of fact,
you were seen leaving about 11:00 p.m.

You're right, Lieutenant.
I did leave the party before 11:00 as a ruse.

It would have been simple
for me to slip out without being noticed,

but I went out of my way
to make sure that I was seen leaving.

May I ask why?

Because I immediately
came back for a certain

assignation with
the lady of the house,

who's husband was preoccupied
with the party.

I stayed till about 2:00.

So you and
the lady of the house were upstairs

in the bedroom
while her husband

was downstairs with
a few hundred other guests?

Not the bedroom.
It was the servants' quarters

above the garage.

Honest to God?

Mmm.

Well, you were taking
a hell of a chance, if you ask me, pal.

Let me say
I enjoy the danger. It stimulates me.

I'd cadged
a couple of pills from Claire just to stay awake.

The party was so boring.

And then the lady
slipped me a note and a key.

It was the adventure
of the thing.

Claire may get a kick
out of these little red and yellow pills,

but to me,
stimulation is living on the edge.

What?

Oh, dear.
What is it?

Lieutenant, would those
red and yellow pills be the same ones

that Deborah Tarkington took?
Yes.

Well, they're just diet pills.
So what?

You're onto something,
aren't you, Mrs. Fletcher?

Yes, I think
that maybe I am.

Please, Kevin,
just give me a few hours to get through this.

Sure, Vicky,
I can wait a few hours.

We'll just do supper late.

But I told you,
I'm seeing my husband's play tonight.

Vicky, I'm very
disappointed in you.

I thought you
were much more flexible, if you know what I mean.

This is Vicky's husband.

If you ever come
near her again,

I will personally
eliminate some of your favorite body parts,

if you know what I mean!

That's no way
to make it in real estate.

Hi.

Hi.

The grapevine says
there's a dinner invitation open here.

You wouldn't be
tapping my phone, now, would you?

Nothing that obvious.

I heard
that Mrs. Griffin is going to the theater tonight

with her aunt and husband.

But if I'm wrong
about that invitation, I'll say goodbye.

No, no, don't go.

How does spaghetti marinara
sound to you?

It's a special recipe,
and you can make the salad.

The things I do
for an exclusive.

I never made
a salad in my life.

ARNOLD: Now let me
get this straight.

You are interested
in relocating to the West Coast?

Oh, yes.

I'm growing tired
of those cold Maine winters. Thank you.

After a few days
here in this lovely climate,

I've decided that I want
a house in Beverly Hills.

Ah, very, very sensible,
Mrs. Fletcher.

But why come to us
instead of your

delightful niece?

Well, Vicky's
a sweet little thing,

but totally over her head
in the world of,

well, high-ticket real estate.

I'm going to be
in Cabot Cove during the escrow,

and I need someone
experienced, competent,

hardheaded and thorough
who can handle things for me.

Well, you know,
I have sold property

to some pretty
heavyweight buyers.

Now, do you have
a specific house in mind?

Oh, yes, indeed.

I am simply enchanted
with the Tarkington estate.

Well, now, you do realize
the asking price is rather high.

Well, it might
seem so for some,

but I've never
believed that the best things in life are free.

I mean, the more they cost,
the better they are.

Oh, my dear lady,
I've been telling my clients this

for years and years
and years.

CLAIRE: Arnold.

Oh, good afternoon,
Mrs. Hastings.

What is that
woman doing here?

My dear,
this is Jessica Fletcher, Victoria Griffin's aunt.

I know who she is.
The question is, why is she here?

Excuse us just a second.

Arnold.

To buy a house, darling.

Don't be a fool.
Mrs. Fletcher's niece is the prime suspect

in Deborah's murder.

She isn't shopping for houses,
she's shopping for suspects.

If you don't mind, darlings,
I'm bored with all that.

I want the Tarkington estate,
and I want it settled before I leave for Maine tomorrow.

You can't possibly
be serious.

Oh, well, I'll tell you
how serious I am.

I'm prepared
to offer ten percent over the asking price

of $4.9 million.

But of course,
if you have an agreement with Alec Burton...

Oh, well,

I'd hardly call it
an agreement, and certainly not a contract.

Tomorrow will be
just fine, Mrs. Fletcher.

You'd be amazed at
how quickly things happen with the right impetus.

Mr. Hastings,

everything about
your operation amazes me.

Good morning.

Good morning, Kevin, dear.

What are you
doing here so early?

What time is it?

High noon.

We got some great
news for you, buddy boy. Oh, good.

I could use some,
after last night.

We've found a buyer
for your property.

Who? And how much?

Us.

The last offer
was $3.9 million.

But I thought you were
Alec Burton's people.

Not when we're
competing for something that we dearly want.

Oh, Kevin, darling,
don't you see?

We've fallen in love
with your house.

Oh, dear,

after you promised it to me
for $4.9 million plus ten percent?

A tidy little profit
on a very crooked deal.

Kevin, I assure you,
this woman is absolutely mad.

Don't bother.
I warned you not to trust her.

Speaking of trust,
you violated Alec Burton's trust

when you paid Seymour Densch
to act as a stooge

without Mr. Burton's approval.

Hardly kosher,
right, partner?

Mrs. Tarkington probably
found out, tried to make trouble.

So, what are you saying,
I killed her?

I couldn't have done it.

I was at the party, remember?

I went upstairs
to the billiard room to play pool.

I was up there
until about 1:00 or so.

Yes, but as Mr. Burton
pointed out, it was a huge party.

So it wasn't difficult
for someone to slip out and return later, unobserved.

Wouldn't you agree,
Mrs. Hastings?

Me? You think
I killed Deborah?

Yes.

And I think after
you killed her,

you decided to make it look
as if she had accidentally

overdosed on stimulants
and alcohol, and then fallen and struck her head.

How clever, if true.

Which, of course, it is not.

Those pills found beside
Mrs. Tarkington's body couldn't have been hers

because her maid told me
she ran out of them that afternoon

and apparently
was rather upset

because the maid forgot
to refill the prescription.

Now, if she had
no more pills,

where did the pills
on the floor come from?

Your purse, Mrs. Hastings.

Your prescription bottle.

I think I should warn you,
Mrs. Hastings,

the autopsy showed
no pills in her system,

and we're having forensics

dust those found at the scene
for partial prints.

Claire.

Oh, Arnold,
close your mouth.

You know what it's like.
Been all these years

working with the rich,
not being rich ourselves.

Not rich, rich.

You actually start to feel
that you're one of them.

And then one day
you wake up and you realize

that you're on a par with
their poodle's hairdresser.

Mrs. Hastings,
why don't you bring us all up to speed

and tell us
what really happened?

That idiot, Seymour Densch,

couldn't resist
the opportunity to see the house

and meet the infamous
Deborah Tarkington,

daughter of his idol,
Harry Tarkington.

So he used his offer
on the house as an entrée

and introduced himself
to Deborah.

Well, after five minutes
she saw right through him, and she called him on it.

Of course,
he spilled his guts before she tossed him out.

I guess that's when
she called Victoria

and left the message
on her machine that the deal was off.

Then she called
Arnold at the party

to give him
a piece of her mind, but I intercepted the call.

She was talking about fraud.

Now I told her to calm down,
that we would talk about it.

So,

I left the party
and I went to Deborah's.

She'd been drinking
just enough to be abusive, and nasty and very dangerous.

And when she went
for the phone to call the police,

I went for the
fireplace poker.

I always was a good closer.

All right,
thank you very much. Bye-bye.

I've done it, Aunt Jess.
I've finally done it.

You've sold a house!
How wonderful!

I've found a buyer
for the Tarkington estate.

Once the paperwork
comes through from Kuwait, the house is sold.

And now maybe Howard
can concentrate on his play without any distractions.

The play closed.

Oh, dear.

How is Howard taking it?

He's not sure he wants
to act anymore.

He wants to try
something entirely new.

And a friend of his
told him about the wonderful opportunities

in the
commodities market.

You know,
buying and selling.

Well, buying
and selling what?

Soybean futures
and hog bellies.

Hey, listen you're
not gonna believe this.

I went on an interview
and got the job!

What kind of a job?
Hog bellies?

No. Acting!

This advertising guy
saw my performance in the workshop

as the mushroom,
and he liked it so much,

he wants me to be
the spokesperson

for all his
television commercials.

I play a pineapple
named Pepe.

But that's not acting.

No real actor would play
a talking pineapple.

The two things just
don't go together.

It's a job.

Well, what
do you think, Jessica?

Well, I think
that Vicky's wrong.

They go very
well together.

What?

Ham and pineapple.

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