All language subtitles for Murder She Wrote S01E01 The Murder of Sherlock Holmes 1080p BluRay FLAC2 0 H 264-NTb_Subtitles_3

Roger, is that you?

Roger?

Roger, please!

For God's sake!

If this is some kind of a sick joke...

House lights!

It's still too long.

We've gotta pep it up, people.
All right, second act in 10 minutes.

We open tomorrow night. I don't
intend to close the night after.

Ladies, this is a private
rehearsal. No outsiders.

Mr. Cellini, you did ask
us to meet you here.

Why would I do a thing like
that? I don't even know you.

We're the refreshment
committee. From the PTA.

Oh, yes, yes.
The cookie ladies.

George. George, will you
sharpen up that last cue.

Please, see me after the rehearsal.

Mr. Cellini, I just love the
show. It's so... mystifying.

It gave me the goose bumps. Oh, yes.

And I'm sure no one will ever
guess the uncle is the killer.

Uh, wait a minute.
Wait a minute.

Hold it, lady! Hold it! Hold it!

Uh, whatever made you think the uncle
is the killer? Well, isn't he?

How delightful.
I was totally fooled.

Yeah, as a matter of fact,
he is the killer.

Miss, uh...
Mrs. Fletcher.

This is Mrs. Hoey, in charge of
punch. And this is Mrs. Thompson.

She's brownies and, uh,
macaroons? Macaroons.

Charmed. Charmed. Somebody slipped
you a copy of the script, right?

Oh, no. No, but when the uncle
showed up after the party

wearing a different tie, obviously
he changed it for a reason.

Then there was the phone
call from the coroner.

He couldn't have known about that,

not unless he'd overheard the conversation
between the doctor and the priest.

Oh, how silly of me. Here I am
explaining your play to you.

I'm so sorry.
Come on, girls.

We'll catch the second act
tomorrow with everyone else.

[Mrs. Hoey] Jessica, could
you tell us about...

George! Get me that idiot of a
writer! I wanna talk to him now!

Hello!
It's Grady, Aunt Jess.

Grady?
Well, what's the matter?

Nothin's the matter,
Aunt Jess. Everything's terrific.

Oh! Nothing's terrific.
It's 6:23 in the morning.

You didn't lose your job with
that fish person, did you?

Nope. The job's fine.
Oh, what a relief.

You really should tell that Captain
Caleb to do something about his food.

The girls and I tried it last Friday,
and, honestly, it isn't very good.

Aunt Jess, I'm only an
accountant, not the cook.

Anyway, that's not why I called.

You remember the last time
I came to visit?

I found your manuscript, and I
read it. I hope you don't mind.

My book? Oh, of course I don't mind.

But I certainly wouldn't want
anybody else to read it.

Oh. Uh, well...

You see, not only did I read it,

I gave it to a friend of mine who
showed it to Coventry House, and...

Well, you see, Aunt Jess,
they want to publish it.

What!

Oh, dear, no.
I thought you'd be pleased.

Well, I am not pleased,
Grady. I'm not a writer.

Look, I... I was just filling
time after your uncle died.

I didn't dream for a minute...
That's the trouble, Aunt Jess.

You've never dreamed, and
it's about time you did.

Oh, be sensible. Look, just because
somebody wants to publish my book

doesn't mean anyone will
bother to read it.

But it's all been arranged. They
booked you on the Today show,

David Letterman,
Phil Donahue.

Phil Donahue?
Donahue?

I may die.

These publicity junkets, they
come with the territory.

Yes, but what would I say?
I'd just make a fool of myself.

Aw, come on. They'll love
you, just like I do.

Well, maybe just for a day or so.

That's terrific. Look, I gotta go.
The captain's called a meeting.

I'll see you in the morning
at the station, okay?

Oh, yes. Uh, good-bye.

Jessica, are you really going to
be on television? I'm afraid so.

Not like that, you're
not. What's the matter?

Jessica, millions of
people will be watching.

You have to look "now,"
"with it." Au courant.

And those tweeds have got to go.

Are you sure she caught
the train? Positive.

A very organized lady, my Aunt
Jess. She's precise and punctual.

There. What'd I tell you?
Aunt Jess!

Oh. There's my nephew now. Aunt Jess!

Thank you so much, Daniel,
for all your help.

Oh, no, ma'am.
My pleasure.

I certainly hope your boy gets that
scholarship. Thank you, ma'am.

You have a nice stay, all right? I will.

Grady!
Aunt Jess!

Ah!

I hope I look all right, but, you know,

the good Lord never intended for
me to look like a barber pole.

What are you talking about?
You look great.

Oh, thank heavens.
What a relief.

Oh, Aunt Jess, this is Kit Donovan.

She works for the publishing
company in public relations.

You must be the friend who's
responsible for getting me into this.

Guilty. Nevertheless,
I'm delighted to meet you.

Oh, it's a pleasure,
Mrs. Fletcher.

Grady's told me so much about you.

Isn't that a coincidence? Grady's told
me absolutely nothing about you.

Now, when do I get to meet this
publisher I've heard so much about?

Um, in about 20 minutes.

Oh, and believe me,
Mr. Giles can't wait to meet you. Oh.

Oh.

Jane, I have to talk to the accountants.

If Mr. Templeton calls,
ask him to meet me here at 3:00.

Oh! Ex-Excuse me.
Mr. Giles, um...

Oh, good Lord! Mrs. Fletcher,
can you forgive me?

I had a dozen crises
already this morning.

I certainly wouldn't
want to be your 13th.

We must have dinner and get acquainted.

I'm sure you're just as
delightful as your book.

Kit, coordinate with
Jane, will you? Um...

It is so good to meet you, and I do
hope you enjoy your stay in the city.

Do you eat apples?
What?

You really should, you know.

Pectin, it's very good for the
complexion. You look very gray.

Well, actually,
I've... I've not been sleeping well.

Apples.
Yes. Um, thank you.

Oh, I'm sorry,
Mrs. Fletcher.

If he wasn't so busy, I...
Oh, no matter, Kit.

I didn't come here to
be wined and dined.

Well, shall we have a
go at the inquisitors?

Well, actually, I never suspected
that my book would be published.

I really wrote it, well, for
my own enjoyment, I guess...

You know, like some people
needlepoint or paint.

Then you have no pretensions
to having created literature?

How refreshing in an era dedicated to...

the beatification of the trivial,

and the canonization of the mundane.

Well, on the other hand,
people do seem to enjoy it.

The people, yes.

Well, of course we both know, dear lady,

that it takes very little to
please the folks from Dubuque.

How else do you explain television?

Oh, I couldn't.

Uh, television is your
business, not mine.

Oh, my goodness.
Eight copies.

You must be a real book lover.
To whom shall I inscribe them?

Just sign your name and the date,
honey. This is just an investment.

If you ever become somebody,
they might be worth somethin'.

The fact is that I never intended
to have the book published.

It was all my nephew's idea.
Hey, isn't that something?

She got the idea to write the book from
her nephew. No, that isn't what I meant.

Let's see, It's 23 past the
hour, and we're sitting here

with that famous writer,
Miss Jennifer Fletcher.

And back with more of your
calls right after this word

from Henry's
Fur Storage.

I'm sorry, honey, but we're
just dying in here.

Oh, yes.

Look, m-maybe you're
living with somebody.

How about a prison record?
Anything?

I, for one, Mrs. Fletcher, was
delighted by the feminist thrust...

you were able to weave
into your story line.

That really wasn't my
intention. Oh, nonsense.

I suppose what I like best
of all was your courage

in choosing the pregnant
ballerina as your killer.

I really don't think you
should reveal that.

In too many of these books,
women are merely ornaments...

...superfluous decoration. I really
do think we should stop the tape.

A lot of people haven't
read the book yet.

I don't think it's fair to reveal
the identity of the murderer.

What's the difference? Mrs. Fletcher,
I'm on your side.

J.B. Fletcher? Hey, hey!

You J...
You-You J.B. Fletcher?

Yes, I am.
Here.

No, don't write on it.
Read it.

I guess, next time, you'll
think twice about stealin'

ideas from
Agnes Peabody.

I'll see you in court, honey.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, please.
I wish you'd reconsider.

There's nothing to reconsider, dear.

Four days in the Big Apple is
quite enough for me, thank you.

Ah! Mrs. Fletcher.

Mrs. Fletcher?
Jessica?

I'm mortified by my behavior.
I've come to beg your forgiveness.

Oh, I...
I smell a conspiracy.

Please don't blame Kit.
She was just doing her job.

Mr. Giles, I'm sure you're
a very charming man,

but, these last few days, I've been
insulted, browbeaten and patronized.

And I say no, thank you.

Back in Cabot Cove, the only thing
we have with claws are lobsters,

and we eat them.

I know what you mean. Believe me. It
took me years to get used to this town.

Look,
I'm having a little party at my place

in the country over the weekend.

I'd like you to be my
guest... all of you.

I want you to meet some real people,

not critics or columnists,
but my friends.

And then on Monday, if you
still want to go back home,

I'll put you on this train personally.

Fair enough?

Well, we'd better put these
in water before they wilt.

[Giles] Dear old Agnes Peabody...

totally convinced she's written half the
novels in the Library of Congress.

She has those subpoenas
printed up herself.

In other words, just
another dotty old lady.

The people of your city
make me feel the same way.

Oh, you mean those
self-important media types.

Well, we live with them
because we have to.

Why?
Why? Well, because...

You know,
I'm damned if I know why.

You know, Mrs. J.B. Fletcher, you could be
a very disruptive influence in my life.

Well, only my students call
me Mrs. Fletcher, Mr. Giles.

Oh, and Mr. Giles is that stuffed
shirt in the three-piece suit

I left back in New York.

I don't know about you,

but I'm glad we let your nephew and
Kit find their own way out here today.

Pull!

Pull!

Good shot, darling.
Thank you, Louise.

You're really shooting well today.

You wanna try it? It just takes
a clear eye and a steady hand.

No, thank you.

If I'm gonna make a fool of myself,
let me choose my own pratfall.

Pull!

Louise.

How delightful to see you.
How nice of you to invite us.

Louise McCallum, Jessica Fletcher. You,
I am delighted to meet.

I loved your book.
Why, thank you.

Really, really.
I couldn't put it down.

Where's the captain? Oh, he's terminating
skeets with extreme prejudice.

Do you know, Pres, he invited
that what's her name?

That assistant with the slinky walk?

I want you to know, Louise,

that inviting Ashley
Vickers was not my idea. Ah.

But like a good host, you
offered to put her up anyway.

Oh. What was that?

Sonic boom. We've got an airport
a few miles down the road.

You get used to it. Jessica, who
are you coming as tonight?

What?
She hasn't decided.

Well, when you do, let me know.
I don't want to duplicate.

Uh, come as what?

What is she talking about? I'm so
sorry. I should have told you.

The party tonight... we're all coming
as our favorite fictional character.

I know,
I know. You haven't got a thing to wear.

Well, I could always
come as Lady Godiva.

Hello, Davis! I see we're
not the first to arrive.

Oh, I love that outfit. Who are you
supposed to be tonight, Rhett Butler?

Good evening, Mrs. March.

I'm flabbergasted.

Is this what you improvised
out of odds and ends?

Well, with a little help
from Louise McCallum.

And before you ask,
I'm Cinderella's godmother.

Care to make a wish? I could use a
dozen more novels by J.B. Fletcher.

Oh, that's not magic.
That's just hard work.

Suppose I just settle for the
pleasure of her company.

Darn it all, Pres. I've been waitin'
all day to meet this lady.

dumpty is the name,
Miss Fletcher.

Humpty dumpty. Bet you
can't guess what this is.

Jess, I warn you.
Arnold is a notorious punster.

Well, in that case,
I'd probably call it a wallflower.

"Eggs-zactly."

Bah, humbug

Bah, humbug

Bring on the sleet and ice up the street

Aren't you just a little out of season,
Ebenezer? After all, this is April.

Wrong, Ashley. You're wrong.
You're so terribly wrong.

It is never inappropriate to wish
the world a little ill will.

Well, any requests?
How about you, Doctor?

A medley of my hit from yesteryear.

Whatever you like to
play, dear, dear Peter.

Your stuff is always wonderful,
glorious, terrific!

Well, well, Doctor.
You have impeccable taste.

I may get deathly ill just
to develop a relationship.

What's this I hear about you
putting together a Broadway show?

No, no, no, no. Doctor, off-Broadway.
Off-Broadway, my friend.

The fringes of civilization.

To be specific... 17th
Street.

'Ey, look here. If it ain't Sherlock
Holmes himself.

Why don't we cut outta here?

Grady,
it's only 8:15. I hate parties.

Look, my boss is giving a
party. Your boss is a guest.

At least act like you enjoy
their company. I do.

I enjoy yours better.

Huh?

Does it tickle?
Just a little.

Grady, what's the matter? Am
I nuts, or is that my room?

Wait here.
Grady?

All right, young man.
That's quite enough.

There is no need to be boorish.

You're what?
A private investigator.

My name is Dexter Baxendale.
You're kidding.

Not everyone in my profession

sports a broken nose and dirty
fingernails, my pubescent friend.

When society seeks
confidential assistance,

they do not necessarily
hire Mike Hammer.

Once more... what are you doing here?

I have been retained by a
very influential individual

to conduct a discreet investigation.

With Dexter Baxendale,
discretion is a way of life.

My card. You still haven't
answered my question.

What are you doing here?

I'm not at liberty to say.

Very well.

Oh, you may turn me over to the
local constable, Mr. Giles,

but no amount of coercion will
force me to betray a trust.

On the other hand, when the local
newspapers get hold of this story,

the finger of suspicion will point
equally at each of your guests.

Which one is under investigation?

And need I remind you? The
Enquirer will have a field day.

Grady, do me a favor, will you?

Escort this gentleman to his
car. Sure thing, Mr. Giles.

And out the back way, please.
I'd rather not disturb our guests.

It was a great pleasure
meeting you, Mrs. Fletcher.

You have a rare gift for murder.

Continued success.

Why, thank you, I think.

Uh, forgive me.

Ever since I entered this room,

I've been trying to deduce
who you're dressed as.

And I think I have it.
It's Edmond Dantes, isn't it?

The Count of Monte Cristo.

Very good, Mr. Baxendale. I'm
almost sorry I'm throwing you out.

You might have made a charming guest.

What did I promise you?
A quiet little weekend?

Listen, Doc, if there's one thing I know
about, it's the public taste buds.

I'm telling you. They want their
food fast, and they want it cheap.

You're from Maine.
You know about fish.

Ever eat at Cap'n Caleb's?
Oh, yes, Captain.

And it is an experience
I'll never forget.

There you are.
I rest my case.

[Louise] Caleb?
Hmm?

Caleb. The party's beginning
to pall. Let's go home,

Get yourself some coffee, Louise.

I don't want coffee.
I wanna go home.

Well, I don't.
Oh.

Well, fine.

Fine, darling. I'll-I'll just
trot along like a civilized wife

and let you and Ashley...

do whatever it is you do.

'Scuse me.

Uh, Louise, dear.
Louise.

Oh, please don't...
Please don't go. Not just yet.

[Grady] Excuse me.
Oh, Grady, there you are.

Please, help
Mrs. McCallum home.

She's in no condition
to drive. Oh, sure.

Mrs. McCallum, why don't you let
me drive you home? I can manage.

That's okay. It's my pleasure.
Just give me your key.

Let me drive you home.
No! I can manage!

You're in no condition.
Leave me alone!

For God's sake, leave me
alone! Don't get... Geez!

Grady! Are you all right?

Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay.

It's her I'm worried about.
She's crazy.

$30 a ticket?

I'm sorry, Peter, but at those prices,
off-Broadway is off my budget.

Do you have any idea what it costs
to get a new production mounted?

$250,000 will barely get you started.

No, no, no. I suppose if
this new production fails,

I could always write for Nashville.

She was the queen of office sweethearts

He was the king that brought her to ruin

He gave her dictation
and a place to stay

Then he gave her a royal...

Oops. Sorry, Ashley.

No offense intended.
Oh, none taken.

For the past several months, my
relationship with the captain

has been strictly business.

Speaking of which, the old rooster
seems to have flown the coop.

That's right. I-I haven't
seen him in almost an hour.

And you haven't seen
Little Red Riding Hood either.

Maybe the both of them have run
off to Grandmother's house.

Oh, damn!
Oh, dear.

We must get that out
before it leaves a stain.

Forget it. Oh, no. Come with me.

We can't let that beautiful
dress be ruined.

Yes, I understand.

I'll see what I can work out.

What happened? Accident?
Oh, nothing serious.

We need milk, soda, lemons.

Oh, and eggs.
What was that about?

Surely not business on a Saturday night?

A very persistent reporter
from the New York Times.

He insists on interviewing you
first thing Monday morning. Oh.

I told him you left for Pago
Pago and weren't expected back

till the turn of the century.

Good for you. I don't know what
that is, but I'm not eating it.

Well, it's an old
Fletcher recipe...

guaranteed to take the
spots off of a leopard.

Now, you come along with me. We'll
go to one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Really, Jessica.
It's not worth it.

I'm a frugal Yankee.
Humor me.

Pres! Pres, will you please
tell this old grump

to sit his little fanny at the
piano and play something for us?

Sounds like a reasonable request to me.

Alas, Preston, Madame wishes to hear
a potpourri of Rodgers and Hart.

Hammerstein.
Even worse.

Oh, well.

What better way to repay your kind
invitation than to amuse your guests.

What would you all like to hear,
the complete score to Pipe Dream?

Ha ha! That should clear the
room nicely. Bah! Humbug!

All right.
I can only stay till 4:00,

so, please, get your requests
in early, all right?

Good morning,
Louise. Don't tell me. I look like hell.

I feel worse, and I'm in
no mood for a lecture.

How about a nice cup of
coffee? No, thanks.

I was looking for Caleb. I thought
he might have slept over.

Well, I, uh...
I wouldn't know about that.

It's all right. I can guess
where he went last night.

Usually he has the
decency to come home.

My God!

Jessica! God!

What's the matter,
Kit? In the pool! In the pool!

[Kit] Oh! Oh, God!

What's the matter?

Oh!
Jessica?

Jessica?

What is it? What's the matter?
What's wrong? No, Louise.

Caleb!

Yo, Jim, this is Central.

You find out who that
fella in the pool is?

Uh, yeah, Madge.
The name's Caleb McCallum.

You know, that seafood guy.
Course, that's unofficial.

The-The chief won't let the wife
identify. It's just as well.

The guy got his face blown
off with a 12-gauge.

How's the chief holding up?

Uh, he's better, Madge, now
that he's had his coffee.

You know how he feels about
trouble on Sundays.

Now, I wanna keep this
short and to the point.

Fact is, what we're dealing
with here is, uh, murder.

No amount of tip-toein'
around's gonna change that.

So, you'll forgive me, especially
you, Mrs. McCallum...

if my questions seem blunt.
We understand, Chief.

The body was discovered about
6:00 a.m. this morning by, uh...

Miss Donovan. Is that right?
She's upstairs lying down.

Yes. As a matter of fact,
I gave her a sedative.

Doc, I know you're not the coroner,
but you got a look at that body.

Now, just off the top of your head,

how long would you say he'd been dead?

Well, at least several hours.

In other words, somebody
killed him last night,

maybe while your party was goin' on.

And no-nobody heard a shot.
From a 12-gauge shotgun?

Chief, the party was noisy.

It was chilly, so the
windows were closed.

And the pool's some
distance from the house.

Suppose you tell me what happened
here last night, Mr. Giles.

Folks don't go around gettin' half
their heads blown off for no reason.

- I'm lookin' for motive.
- [Peter] For killing Caleb McCallum?

Surely you jest.

Half the country had reason to kill him.

The other half didn't know him.

Not funny, friend.

But accurate.

The captain wasn't
particularly well loved.

Though I doubt that any of us
despised him enough to kill him.

Except for me.

That's what you're all
thinking, isn't it?

I didn't kill my husband.

A least,
I don't think I did.

I vaguely remember driving
away last evening.

And then I-I... I woke up
behind the wheel of my car

at sunup, next to the lake.

Everything else in between is a blank.

All right. Uh, I'll be taking
statements from everybody.

So, uh, you know, just keep
yourselves available.

That's all for right now.

Chief. I've got auditions
for a new show.

I've gotta be in town by this evening.

You'll leave here when
I say so and not before.

Oh, I beg your pardon,
Chief Gunderson.

I was, uh, just checking something out.

I probably should have asked you first.

But I didn't disturb any
evidence. Believe me.

I read your book.
Oh, you did? How nice.

Didn't say I liked it.
Said I read it.

So...

What do you think?
I beg your pardon?

You know people, ma'am.
I can tell that.

You see the little things,
the inconsistencies.

So, what do you think
about Mrs. McCallum?

Well, surely she's not
a suspect, is she?

At the moment, she is the suspect.

She is?

Oh, my goodness.

Chief, did Mr. Giles tell you
about last night's intruder?

Oh, you mean the private
eye from New York?

You think he killed the captain?
Oh, no. No, not at all.

But I'm sure you noticed the shoes on the
body floating in the swimming pool.

"Shoes." Now, last night at the party,

Captain Caleb was wearing black
patent leather, highly polished.

Is that so? Now, that private detective

was discovered on the second floor.

I'm almost sure that he got in through
that window. Now, look here.

You see this broken plant?
And there, that footprint.

Now, in order to climb
up to that window,

that detective would have had to be
wearing soft rubber-soled shoes.

What are you tellin' me? The guy
in the pool wasn't McCallum?

[Caleb] Sure as hell wasn't.

Well, I'll be a son of a...

Yeah, you are, Chief.
You always have been.

And stupid to boot.
That so?

Well, Mr. McCallum, suppose you tell
us who the corpse was in the pool

and how come he was
wearin' your costume.

- Well, I haven't got the faintest idea.
- [Louise] Caleb!

I'm all right.
I'm just fine.

Oh! Thank God.
Hey.

Oh, Caleb! Oh, Caleb! No, no.

[Louise] Oh, thank God!
I'm just fine.

Well, I'm not.

Oh.
That's for last night.

And all the other "last nights"
you've put me through.

[Caleb] Baxendale?

Hmm. I hired the man.
He was workin' for me.

He's not the man in the pool, is he?

Mrs. Fletcher seems to think so.

We're checkin' the fingerprints.

Now, Mr. McCallum, suppose you
tell us what he was doin' here.

Well...

All right. I'm having some trouble
in my, uh... In my business,

some little problems. And somebody is
leaking out confidential information.

So I hired Baxendale to
find out who it was.

And he told me Friday...
Friday, he told me...

that he was onto somethin', and he was
gonna tie it all up this weekend.

Maybe he came here to report early.

What, with snoopin' around
in the upstairs bedrooms?

Well, I'm sure he didn't
want to be seen.

He was more than likely waitin'
for a chance to come down here

and talk to me privately.

Yeah. maybe.

But, Caleb, that still doesn't
explain what he was doing

in your Sherlock Holmes costume.

Well, I don't know about that.
I left the party early.

I went out. I went to
get some fresh air.

A young lady from the party, one
of the guests, was with me.

I hardly knew her.

All right. We spent the night
at the local inn. Okay?

That still doesn't explain the costume.

I put it in the front closet.
I wasn't gonna go prancing

through the lobby of that motel

looking like a refugee
from a costume ball.

Gunderson.
We don't have to...

Not gonna drag that girl
into this, are we?

Don't see as how we have much choice,

considerin' she's your only alibi.

See you back in New York,
Aunt Jess. Bye-bye.

Have a good trip.
[Kit] Okay.

Bye-bye.
I hope you don't mind

my not going back with you.

I've got a lot to clear up
around here. I understand.

But really, Preston, this limousine
is totally unnecessary.

Just put me on the train. I'll be fine.

Nonsense. You arrived in style.
You'll go back the same way.

Something wrong?

Oh. Hmm?

You seem, I don't know,
a little distracted.

I realize this weekend didn't turn out

quite the way we planned.

Oh, no, no.
It's nothing like that.

It's just that, well, it's so
easy to write about murder.

But confronting the reality, hmm,
that's quite a different thing.

And then...
Yes?

Oh, nothing.
I'll be fine.

Safe trip.
Yes.

Afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher.

Uh, Davis, do you mind dropping
me off at headquarters?

I'd be delighted to.
Thank you, sir.

[Jessica] What's the matter,
Chief? Your car break down?

No, ma'am. I just, uh,
wanna have a chat.

A private chat.
So, what's the problem?

Problem? I don't know what you
mean. Just now, back there,

you had a look on your face same
as you had outside by the bushes.

So, let's hear it. Chief, really,
this is none of my business.

I'm makin' it your business.

Well, the point is, someone
killed Sherlock Holmes.

That New York gumshoe was no
Sherlock Holmes. Ah, but he was, Chief.

At least he was the moment
that he was killed.

The question is, did the
killer know that he was?

What?

You're investigating the murder
of a private detective.

Now, suppose the killer didn't
know that it was Mr. Baxendale.

Suppose the killer thought
it was Captain Caleb.

After all, the captain was the one

wearing the Sherlock
Holmes outfit all night.

Wait a minute.

You're telling me we've got
two possible victims...

and two sets of suspects,

dependin' on who the killer
thought he was killing.

I'm afraid so.

Between church and football,

and the fact the town
council never calls me,

this is my favorite day of the week.

Mrs. Fletcher, you've just made this the
worst Sunday I've spent in 10 years.

[Grady] "McCallum had registered
at the inn shortly after 10:30.

"The internationally known fast food
king was accompanied by a young woman

whose identity had not been
divulged by authorities."

I wonder who that
detective was spying on.

Bet you whoever it was
is the killer. Maybe.

You know, I bet you
could solve this case.

Me? I'm not a detective. I'm a
substitute English teacher.

You mean a writer. I
don't know what I mean.

But I do know that Ethel Jenks is leaving
Wednesday to visit her daughter in Montpelier,

and I promised
I'd take her class for her.

They can get somebody else.
No. The truth is, I want to go back.

Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I don't
have much use for city life.

And, you know, frankly, except
for you and Kit Donovan,

I don't much care for the people
either. Even Preston Giles?

At least you could've called
him, told him you were leaving.

Oh, Grady, don't pout. I'll
call him from Cabot Cove.

And, you know, it's a tad unseemly

for you to be fixing up your
old auntie with a suitor,

no matter how pleasant or
distinguished he might be.

Hey, I wasn't. Honest.

You were. Honest.

Well, I'm sorry you guys
didn't hit it off.

Oh, but don't you see?
That's the trouble.

We were beginning to hit
it off much too well.

Well, Mrs. Fletcher, good morning.
Daniel, how nice to see you.

Here, let me help you
with that. No, no, no.

That's not your job.

Now, don't be silly.
Well.

How was your stay? Well,
I can't wait to get home.

Jessica! Oh,
Mrs. Fletcher!

Oh! Oh, thank God I've caught
you. What's the matter, child?

It's Grady. He's been arrested.
Arrested? For what?

For suspicion of murder.

Chief, my nephew did not kill
that private detective.

I hope you're right,
Mrs. Fletcher.

He seems to be a nice young
man... for a thief.

A thief? What are you talking about?

He's been stealing confidential
information from his company.

Oh, but that's ridiculous.

Maybe so.
Maybe so, Mrs. Fletcher.

But there's some county detectives
in there questioning him,

and they're not so sure.

Well, I should think that you'd
be doing the questioning.

It's a matter of jurisdiction.

When it's murder, the county
cops have a way of takin' over.

I suppose they think
that a chief of police

from a small town like
me is in over his head.

Well, if you believe that Grady
is a thief, maybe they're right.

Look, Mrs. Fletcher,
I know he's kin, but facts are facts.

At 6:00 a.m. this morning, we
found that detective's car

parked about half a mile
from Giles's place.

In the glove compartment, we found
a confidential real estate report

that McCallum tells us is worth $300,000
or $400,000 in the wrong hands.

And it was stolen from his
office early Friday morning.

And you assume that Grady is the thief?

He had access, ma'am. And so,
I'm sure, did Miss Vickers.

Well, she's being questioned
just right at this very moment.

But Baxendale was discovered
in your nephew's room.

And that automatically
makes Grady the killer.

Makes him a suspect, and
a pretty good one, too.

Baxendale could have been in
my nephew's room by accident.

The first-floor bathroom
was out of order.

People were traipsing up and
down the staircase all night.

That detective could have ducked into
Grady's room to avoid being seen.

That's weak, Mrs. Fletcher.
That's very weak.

Now, second, if Grady were the thief,

his fingerprints would have
been all over that report.

We checked the fingerprints.
They're all kinda smudged.

And third, have you also
checked the bank accounts?

Now, Grady's account,
I know it's... It's anemic.

But what about Miss
Vickers? We're looking into it.

Jess, are you all right? Oh,
better now that you're here.

Grady is fine. Karl Teretsky
is having him released.

We'll meet him in 15 minutes at the
restaurant across the street.

Karl Teretsky? That's pretty
high-priced legal talent, Mr. Giles.

And what do you suggest, Chief,

that I retain some boy
right out of law school?

No, thanks. I know how
you people operate.

You find yourself a scapegoat,

and then you mold your
facts to fit the case.

Well, not this time.

I'm gonna ignore that,
Mr. Giles.

I may be a small town cop, but I know
my job. Do you, Chief? I wonder.

I suppose you're part of that crowd
that's tryin' to get rid of me.

No, but don't tempt me.

Just so you understand...

I'm gonna catch this killer.

That's a promise.

I never saw that report
before or that detective.

[Jessica] Oh, I'm sure
you didn't, Grady.

I just got off the phone
with Karl Teretsky.

Things aren't looking any better.

Seems that Baxendale had a
reputation as a cheap blackmailer.

What's that got to do with Grady?

The way the police figure it,
Baxendale got the goods on Grady,

then came back to the party to confront
him, probably to extort a payoff.

Baxendale took the
Sherlock Holmes costume

out of the front closet
so he could mingle,

then lured Grady out to the pool area.

They think that Grady lost his temper
and shot him with the skeet gun.

Oh, fiddle-faddle!

Mr. Baxendale was a detective,
not a mind-reader.

I mean, how could he possibly have known

that that costume was
in the hall closet?

They're not thinking clearly.
Even so, there must be a reason

he was dressed that way.

Oh, of course. And once we can figure
out why, I suspect we'll know who.

Which brings me to the
subject of Miss Vickers.

Would she have taken that
report, do you think?

Are you kidding? Two years ago, she
was low gal in the steno pool.

Then, all of a sudden, she and the
captain were practicing indoor Olympics

in hotel rooms all over town. Kit.

Well, it's the truth, isn't it?

Then, for the last few months,
she gets frozen out.

Oh, not her job.
She's too smart for that.

But the captain's got
himself another bunkmate.

Now, if you ask me, that gives
her a hell of a good reason.

Ashley. Oh,
Mrs. Fletcher. What are you doing here?

I think it's called a war council.
Would you like to join us?

Oh, thanks, but, no. I just spent
several hours across the street

being hounded by a couple
of Homicide detectives.

All I want now is a hot
bath and a cold drink.

You know, Ashley, there could
be strength in numbers.

You know, the police are
absolutely convinced...

that either you or my nephew
murdered that private detective.

But that's not true.
Don't you know? What?

The police have just
pinpointed the time of death.

Preston's neighbors heard
a loud noise at 11:15.

They didn't bother to investigate it

because they thought
it was a sonic boom.

But the police investigated. There
were no jets overhead Saturday night.

So that sonic boom was the
sound of the shotgun. Ah. 11:15.

Uh-huh. Time for which I gratefully could
provide them with an ironclad alibi.

You mean when you and I... That's right.

At 11:15, I was sitting half-naked
in an upstairs bedroom,

while you were washing out my dress.

Now, you really must excuse me.

[Giles] Please don't worry.

Karl Teretsky is one of the best
trial lawyers in the state.

Do you really think it'll
come to that, a trial?

No, of course not.
Jess, you have my word.

Grady will be exonerated
one way or the other.

I'm sorry. I think the police have
already made up their minds.

Kit tells me she caught up with
you at the railway station.

I was going to call you.

From Maine.

I feel a little foolish.

This weekend, before the trouble,

was one of the happiest
times I've spent in years.

Did I misread you so
badly? Of course not.

But back home, we have a saying.

Flowers that bloom too quickly
are fair game for a late frost.

Do you really say that?

Well, actually, no.

You'll be going back then.

Well, not until I know
that Grady's all right.

Driver, take the lady to her
hotel. Sure thing, Mac.

How about dinner tonight?
Well, there's a lot to do.

And you do have to eat. I'd love to.

I'll call you later.

Uh, driver, do you know
a place called, uh...

Now, where was it?
I had it here someplace.

Uh, Bayview? Baytown?

We got a Bay Ridge, lady.
That's in Brooklyn.

Over in Jersey, you got your Bayonne.

Now, out on the Island, you got your
Bayshore, your Bayville, your Bayside.

Bayside. That's it.
Bayside.

Bayside Yacht Club. Would
you mind driving me there?

For 20 bucks? Oh,
I'm prepared to make up the difference.

Look, lady, to tell you the truth,
I wanna get home.

My feet are killin' me.

What's your hurry?

Yeah, yeah, I know.

Guys at my job are supposed to
have a problem someplace else.

But with me, it's my feet.
What can I tell ya?

It's some joke, huh?
Oh, no, no.

They can be terribly painful.

My friend Lena Miller, she
had the most awful time.

For years, she had these
little calluses.

They were like corns,
only they weren't corns.

That's what I got. Oh, then you
must try some of our ointment.

Nah. Listen,
I tried all that stuff.

Oh, not ours, you haven't. Back
home, we make it ourselves.

Get away.

You know, my old man's got the same
problem. I think it's "heretical."

Oh, dear. I was sure
I brought more cash with me.

Two, three, four. I don't suppose
you'd take a credit card.

No, I didn't think you would.

Look, Mrs. Fletcher, you
gonna be in there long?

Well, not if I can help it.
Okay. Then I'll tell you what.

I'll wait for you here, and I'll drive
you back to the city off the meter.

Oh, Bernie, I couldn't
ask you to do that.

What are you gonna do, take a subway?
Forget about it, Mrs. Fletcher.

You go do what you gotta do, and I'll
be here readin' the paper. All right?

You're very kind.
know. I'm a real prince.

Hello! Captain Caleb?

Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, well, well.

What a delight.
I called your office.

They told me
I'd find you here.

I hope you don't mind. Oh, not
a bit. Come right aboard.

To what do I owe this great pleasure?

I assume you know that
they've arrested my nephew.

Yes. Well, the evidence is
conclusive. "Evidence"?

You've been talking to Chief Gunderson.

Gunderson is an incompetent fool!

I've been trying to get him
fired for six months.

Strange. I found him very diligent.

Well, he's a political hack,
Mrs. Fletcher.

He's putting in his time
till he gets his pension.

However, in this case,
I think he does have his facts correct.

What facts are those?
Well, I told you.

Someone in my organization has
been stealing information.

This information is about proposed
sites for my chowder houses.

These leaks have cost me
a great deal of money.

Baxendale narrowed the list
of suspects down to six.

And at his suggestion, I made those
six people, and only those six,

aware of a confidential
report that I'd received.

The report was a phony, of course.

I also let it be known that I'd be
acting on that information on Monday.

Oh, I see. You were forcing
your traitor to act quickly.

Precisely. Those six people were very
carefully watched, as you know,

Baxendale's surveillance took
him to that party on Saturday.

You don't suppose he could have found
that report in Ashley's room?

No, I don't.

He wasn't caught in Ashley's
room, and, as you also know,

Ashley had an alibi that night,

which is more than I can
say for your nephew.

Grady was with Kit Donovan.

That's like Bonnie Parker
alibiing Clyde Barrow.

Captain, we may be forgetting something.

I mean, how do we know for sure that
anyone intended to kill Baxendale?

I mean, in that costume, the
killer may have been after you.

Not a chance.
According to the police,

the shot was fired from
25 feet away, no more.

I just can't help but think, It was such
a dark night, you know, so cloudy.

And you know that if a
mistake was made...

Oh, you're probably right.

Mrs. Fletcher, you're a
very shrewd cookie,

but you're barking up the wrong tree.

All my employees know that I am
Cap'n Caleb's Chowder Houses, okay?

Without me, the whole thing falls apart.

And as for my wife, Louise, we
have a prenuptial agreement.

As long as I'm alive, she
lives like a queen.

If I die, she gets next to nothin'.

There goes your theory
of mistaken identity.

[Jessica] Now, you wait here, Bernie, and
I'll go upstairs and get some money.

Aw, forget it, Mrs. F. If
this ointment works,

it's worth a lot more than
a few bucks on a meter.

Oh, Bernie, you're really very kind.

Now, be sure to put it on for a
half hour every night for a week.

And don't forget to write to me
and let me know how it worked.

You bet.
Take it easy, Mrs. F.

Bye.

Thank you very much.

Hello?

Where have you been? We've
been worried sick.

Grady, what time does your office close?

What time what? I don't know.
What's the difference?

What time, Grady?

Uh, 6:30, 7:00.
Aunt Jess, what's going on?

Listen. Only two people could have
stolen that real estate report,

you and Ashley Vickers.

Now, I've pretty much eliminated
you as a suspect. Thanks.

Which means that we have to prove
that Ashley is the culprit.

Now, I want to look around her office.

Aunt Jess, that's police business.

At the moment, the police
business seems to be

convicting you of murder.

Meet me outside
the hotel at 7:00.

Swell, they can tack on breaking and
entering onto my murder one sentence.

Are you sure you want to do this?

I'm only sure that someone
has to do something.

Even if Ashley did take those papers,

she couldn't have killed that detective.

No, but her accomplice
could. What accomplice?

Grady, at great risk of exposure,

Miss Vickers not only stole that report,

she brought it back to New Holvang.

Why? Obviously, to pass
it on to someone else.

Someone at the party.
Well, probably.

And remember, whoever
she was dealing with

was just as vulnerable as she was.

Well, it doesn't figure she'd keep
anything incriminating in her office.

Well, we'll never know unless we look.

Come on.

Good evening, Mr. Fletcher.
Evening, Tom.

Workin' late tonight, huh? No.
I mean, I'm not working.

I'm showing my aunt where I work.

This is my aunt visiting from Maine.

How do, ma'am? I hope
you're enjoying your stay.

Oh, it's been a rare
experience. Believe me.

Uh, we shouldn't be very
long. Oh, that's all right.

Of course, we could be quite a while.

Uh, there's a lot to see.

Don't worry if we're
up there a long time.

No problem. You folks can
take all the time you want.

Right. Well, thanks a lot.

You're welcome, sir.
Grady, let's go.

All right. Ashley's office is at the
end of the corridor on the left.

Why are you whispering?
Shh!

Oh, for heaven's sakes,
Grady. There's no one here.

I'll search the office, and
you check the records. What?

We need to know the names of the people

from whom the company
bought the properties.

Now, can you get them? Yeah.
They're in the computer, but I don't...

Grady, whoever bought and then
resold those overpriced properties

has to have some connection, directly or
indirectly, with Ashley and her contact.

Now scoot.
I'll be fine.

This may take a while.

Yes? Why are you calling me here?

I told you I don't want you calling
me anywhere, especially now.

Talk about what?
I thought I made it clear.

It's over.
I want no part of murder.

All right, all right.
Stop getting hysterical.

Where are you?

All right.
I'll be there as soon as possible.

Because they may be following
me. I can't be sure.

I will do the best I can.

Grady!

Grady!

That was a fast trip, Miss Vickers.

Sign me out, will you,
Tom? Sure thing.

Good night now.

So nice to meet you, Tom. Ma'am.
Ma'am? Excuse me, ma'am. Ma'am?

Uh, taxi!

Taxi!

Oh! Taxi!

Uh! Oh! Taxi!

Can you follow that bus?

Are you kiddin' me, lady? You
know where that thing's goin'?

But that's the trouble. I
don't know where it's going.

Thank you so much.

Does this bus go to the same
place as that bus up ahead?

That's the way it works, lady.
Up the street. Down the street.

Seventy-five cents.
Oh, y-yes, of course.

I've got my wallet here
someplace. Oh, here we are.

Exact change, lady. Oh, but
I don't have exact change.

Then off you get at the next stop.

Oh, no. I'm sorry.
I can't do that.

Then the bus will sit there till you do.

Excuse me. Do you have four
quarters for a dollar?

Nope. I've got three
quarters for a dollar.

Oh, yes.
Uh, three quarters.

- [Jessica] Ah.

You must do quite well. Beats
hell out of welfare, sweetie.

For seventy-five cents, you're
entitled to a seat, lady.

Oh, I'm fine just like this. Well,
I'm not. Sit down.

You know, "George," rudeness
does not become you.

Yeah, I know, but it's a job
requirement. Please, lady, take a seat.

George, I want to get off.
You just got on.

I know. I want...
I want to get off.

Immediately.
Please.

Lady, I'm not supposed to
open the doors anyplace

but a special stop, but for you...

Hey, mama, you lookin' for
somethin'? Excuse me.

Hello. Oh, excuse her. The
lady wants to be excused.

Please, would you mind
letting me pass? Uh-huh.

You give me a pass, and I'll let you by.

Don't be ridiculous. Step aside
before I call the police.

You gonna call the police? What,
you got the phone in there?

Ah, well, ah, yes.
As a matter of fact, I do.

Come here!
Oh!

Get back here, mama.

You see, I'm not only
gonna take your purse,

I'm gonna give ya a free blood test.

Are you all right?

Yes.

I think so.

Oh, thank you.
Thank you.

You want some advice? I'd stay out of
this neighborhood, Mrs. Fletcher.

You know me?
Yes, ma'am.

I recognized you as soon as
I saw you back on the bus.

I read your book. It's
terrific. Oh, thank you.

But I-I still don't...

Hey, don't you know,
Mrs. Fletcher? You're a celebrity.

What time is it? About the
same as it was a minute ago.

11:30. I'm sure she'll be all right,
Mr. Giles.

Chasing around New York City alone,
at night, maybe following a killer?

What happens if Ashley discovers
she's being followed?

Sir!

Jess! In God's name, where have you
been? We've been worried sick.

For heaven's sakes, Preston.
I'm fine.

Don't tell me you've been
waiting here for me?

You weren't actually following
Ashley Vickers? I was, but I lost her.

Oh, I must hurry. I've got a
phone call to make. Kit.

Grady, did you get what we
need? Well, not exactly.

Roy Gunderson.

He's the chief of police.

Grady, what were you saying
about that computer?

I think I hit a wrong button.
Instead of real estate transactions,

it started spitting out last
year's wholesale fish prices.

Well, we may not need that
list of names anyway.

Hello, operator?

Well, would you be good enough to
connect me? Well, that's very kind.

What do you mean you won't need them?

You could have been
arrested for trespassing.

Yes, but I think I've
got the connection.

Hello? Hello.
Chief Gunderson?

This is Jessica Fletcher.

Jessica Fletcher.

Uh, well, I believe it's about
a quarter past midnight.

Oh, I'm sorry. Yes. Yes, but
we do have a murder to solve.

And I think you'll sleep much better
once you've arrested Ashley Vickers.

Chief, this evening,
I was privy to a conversation

in which she practically admitted
having stolen that report.

Chief.

Would you please stop complaining
about your insomnia and listen!

Now, I believe that
your private detective

was the intended victim all along,

and I suggest that you scour his
records to find some connection

between Ashley Vickers and
that Broadway composer.

You remember him,
Peter Brill. Peter?

Now, I may be wrong, but,
frankly, I doubt it.

Anyway, Mr. Baxendale's files
need a good going-over.

Well... I... It...

Yes, I suppose tomorrow would
be soon enough to start.

But...

Oh, you're quite welcome, Chief.

Good night. Oh!

Oh, you can't be serious
about Peter Brill.

What do you mean? Don't you
remember, at the party,

him telling us about how
he was holding auditions

for a new musical in a small theater?

Off 17th Street. That's where
I lost Ashley Vickers.

That could just be a coincidence. Oh,
I don't think so, Kit.

Mr. Brill has been very
unsuccessful for several years,

yet now he has the funds
to mount a new show.

Even off-Broadway doesn't
come that cheap.

There is nothing in these
papers about the show.

Oh, but there must be an item

or an ad or something that
would identify the theater.

Now, first thing tomorrow morning,

that gentleman and I are
going to have a...

a little chat.

Listen.
Sounds of life.

No, Grady. I want you to wait out here.

I'm not lettin' you go in there
alone. Of course you will.

Aunt Jess, it could be dangerous.

If Mr. Brill believes
we're ganging up on him,

it could be very unproductive. I
think I'll get further on my own.

All right, but if you're
not back in 20 minutes,

I'm comin' in there.
I'll count on you.

You played a trick on my heart, honey

You made my love disappear

I was the rabbit in your hat

I was your lucky boutonniere

You played a trick on my heart, honey

It became so very clear

When you tucked me up your sleeve

And you didn't even shed a tear

Whoa!

Well, Petey, sweetheart,
ain't she great, huh?

Yes. Marvin, your client's
talent is exceeded only

by her monumental capacity for
flagellation of the treble clef.

Ah! You got it. Are-Are we through here?

I gotta be on
the switchboard by 8:30.

Yes. I've heard all I need to hear.

Thank you so much,
Miss Devine.

That means I stink, right?

Hey, well, listen, buddy, you know,
you don't play so hot either.

Yes, well, you see,
I've had only two hours sleep.

Whereas with you, sweet thing,
the oblivion of Morpheus

seems to be a perpetual state of mind.

Oh, yeah?
Listen, honey.

Honey, sweetheart.
Sweetheart, come on.

Come on.
Let's get outta here.

Petey. Petey,
I'll be seein' ya.

Uh, listen.

You got the dough for this thing, right?

Yes, Marvin.
I got the dough.

Dynamite.

Come on, honey.
Let's go.

[Jessica] Just where did you
get the dough, Mr. Brill?

If you're here to audition,
honey, come back tonight.

I was hoping we could have a
nice little private chat.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, nothing would delight me
more, but not this morning.

Perhaps, uh, lunch sometime
later in the week.

Mr. Brill, tell me about
the stolen information

that you've been receiving
from Ashley Vickers.

My dear lady, I have no idea
what you're talking about.

But of course you do. I
followed her here last night.

If Ashley chose to sit
in on my auditions,

that is no reason to assume that we are
in league in some clandestine scheme.

Oh, now stop this fiddle-faddle.

A young man's future is in dire jeopardy

because of your shenanigans,
and I won't allow it.

At the risk of repeating myself, I do
not know what you are talking about.

[Ashley] Peter.

Give it up.
Don't be a fool.

It's going to come out
now anyway, all of it.

Are you out of your mind?
Do you wanna go to jail?

Do you want to be arrested for murder?

Yes, Mrs. Fletcher.

Peter and I have enjoyed
a perfect partnership.

He made enough money to
stage a modest comeback,

and I had my revenge on Captain Caleb.

But murder?

You, of all people, should realize

I couldn't possibly have
killed that detective.

Yes, of course.

What a pity Mr. Brill couldn't
have been in the room with us.

Then I could have been your alibi, too.

What a generous thought,

but you needn't concern
yourself with me.

At the time of that
detective's untimely demise,

I was seated at the parlor piano
delighting my fellow guests

with dozens of melodic gems from
my incomparable repertoire.

Aunt Jess?
You all right?

Just fine.

Hold it, mister!
Stay right there.

Now very slowly,
I want your hands over your head,

flat against the wood.

I know the drill, son.

My name is Roy Gunderson.

I'm chief of police up in New Holvang.

My... My identification's
in my inside coat pocket.

Sorry, Chief.

Can't be too careful, you know?

What are you fellas doin'
here? Got an anonymous tip.

Said we'd find something very
interesting on this boat.

Hmm. Funny.

I got the same message.

You boys know anything about
sailin'? Sure, a little bit.

Well, lay on that winch, and
let's hoist this mainsail.

Turn the crank.

The victim's wife,
Louise McCallum,

arrived at the Hudson Street
Police Station

shortly after 1:00 p.m. today,
accompanied by her attorney.

When asked if she was under
suspicion in her husband's death,

authorities had no official comment.

Mrs. McCallum, could I ask you,

why would they ask you to
come down here today?

Could I just get one
answer from you, ma'am?

Well, to recap, fast food mogul
Caleb McCallum is dead at 58,

fatally shot several times in the chest.

I can't believe it.
Why not?

The murderer was just rectifying
his earlier mistake.

It's so hard to imagine
Louise a murderer.

Oh. Chief.
Mr. Giles.

Hope I'm not disturbin'.
Afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher.

Chief, why did they arrest
Louise McCallum?

Oh, they just brought her in for
questioning, ma'am. That's all.

To tell you the truth, we're kinda
back to the start line on this thing.

Except for the fact that your
nephew is off the hook.

Miss Vickers and Mr. Brill
have made full statements

about the theft of the documents.

But not about the murder.

Jess, that detective was just in the
wrong place at the wrong time,

and wearing the wrong costume.

Caleb's murder proves that.
Sure does.

Anyway, the two of them have
alibis for both killings.

Seems that last night,

Brill dragged the lady over
to some New Jersey nightclub

to catch this singer's act.

Accordin' to the witnesses,

they didn't leave there
till past 2:30 in the mornin'.

Coroner says McCallum
was dead by that time.

Well, the New York City
Homicide has taken over this case.

So I'm headin' back home.

I just want to say, Mrs. Fletcher,
that I'm proud I met ya.

You can horn in on one
of my cases anytime.

Thanks,
Chief. And anytime you're in Maine,

you let me cook you up
some lobster stew.

I'll do that.

Jess.

That "anytime" business sounds
like you've decided something.

Yes, Preston.
I-I'm going back.

I've got a... I've got a 4:30
reservation on the train.

Funny.

Despite the insanity that has
surrounded our brief acquaintance,

these days have been very special to me.

You know, over the past several years,

I've acquired every
luxury a man could want.

But I've been operating
on automatic pilot...

automatic banking,

automatic security systems,
automatic lights, appliances.

I'm a pampered rich man who
does nothing for himself,

and I'm miserable.

Or, at least,
I have been.

Preston, wait.

I do like you... a great deal.

But, uh...
Oh, I'm sorry.

This is all moving just

too fast for a widow woman from Maine.

I can respect that.

Are you sure?
Absolutely.

Look, Jess,

you and I are going to be joined
at the hip professionally

for a long, long time.

If something else is destined to
come out of this relationship,

so be it.

If not,

at least I'll have made
a very good friend.

They're talking about a movie deal,
but don't get your hopes up.

They usually fall through. Oh,
I certainly hope so.

After New York, I know I'm
not ready for Hollywood.

Well, the tape with Barbara
Walters is going to air on Friday.

Oh, and finally the New
York Times book reporter

that's been assigned to you...

um, a Chris Landon... will
be calling you by phone.

Fine. Is that it?
Well, not quite.

There's a reporter from
the Yale newspaper...

that wants to get on with you in
New London and ride to Providence.

Oh!
Be nice to him, Jessica.

Those Yalies are big fans of yours. Oh,
I adore them.

And I adore you too.
You're a dear, Kit.

Now, see that this nephew of mine
keeps out of trouble. Promise.

Are you sure you have to go? Positive.

And I was so sure you'd
solve the mystery.

Well, I couldn't and I
didn't, and that's it.

It will have to remain unsolved,
at least by me. All aboard!

Well, Mrs. Fletcher, nice to
see you again. Hello, Daniel.

Are you sure you're leaving
this time? Absolutely.

Oh, and one other thing, young man.

I want no surprise telegram
mentioning the word "elopement."

I expect the deed to be
done in my parlor.

[Daniel] Well,
I guess you must have had a fine visit.

Well, I could hardly drag myself away.

Did your boy hear from the
university? Oh, yes, ma'am.

He starts next September 4.
Oh.

You and your wife must be
so proud. Mm, that we are.

Excuse me, ma'am. Uh, are
you feeling all right?

Yes. Why, don't I look well?
Oh, yeah, you look just fine.

It's just that, uh... Well, you
seem a little out of sorts.

Well, it's funny, you know.
This past week or so,

I-I couldn't wait to get out of
this city, go back where I belong.

And now I'm... I'm not
exactly sure where that is.

Yes, ma'am.

Well, if, uh, you need anything,
you just let me know.

Thank you.

Daniel! Daniel.

Daniel! What happened?
What's the matter?

How do I get a train to New Holvang?

You have to take the ramp to the
north end of the station. But...

Mrs. Fletcher, what about your luggage?

Check it through to Boston.
I'll pick it up there.

Good night, Jane. Have a pleasant
evening. You too, Mr. Giles.

Mr. Giles' office.

Yes. One moment, please.

It's some reporter from Yale
University. I think you better take it.

This is Preston Giles.
What can I do for you?

She wasn't?
Well, where'd she go?

New Holvang?
Are you sure?

Well, thank you for calling.

Jane, this is what I need.

I want a charter plane
waiting for me at Teterboro

ready to go when I arrive.

Yes, sir.

Excuse me.
Do you know 33 Amber Lane?

Big house, red brick, iron
gates. Sure, I know it.

Are you sure you wanna
go there? Oh, yes.

Oh, good evening, Deputy.
Nice to see you again.

Oh, yes, ma'am.

Hey, lady, you sure you want this house?

Maybe nobody told ya, but
we had a murder here

a few days ago.

Yes. I was here.

Oh, yeah?

You know, uh, I don't think
there's anybody here right now.

Well, I didn't expect there would be.

I'm not sure how long I'll be
here. Would you please wait?

Aw, gee, lady, I don't know.
It was the end of the shift,

and I was on my way home.

Well, naturally,
I'll make I worth your while.

Well... Aw, sure.
I guess so.

For a few minutes anyway.
Thanks so much.

[Giles] I can unlock that for you.

That is you, isn't it, Jess?

Yes, it's me.
A little hard to see.

I thought you were in New York.

You're supposed to be
on your way to Maine.

What are you doing here?

Trying to tie up a loose end.

I didn't think you'd go away happy.

What is it?
What have you figured out?

I'm not sure.

It's almost 8:00.
What happens at 8:00?

Maybe nothing.

The house is dark.
Where's Davis?

I gave him a couple of days off.

Look, this is silly. I've paid
your cab driver and let him go.

Come on. Let's go inside
and have a drink.

Uh, not yet.
What is it?

What are you trying to prove?

You know, Preston, you
and I are standing

about 25 feet apart.

That's the same distance the
killer was from Sherlock Holmes

when he was shot.

I guess.

The police believe that Mr. Baxendale

was shot by mistake,
that, in the darkness,

the killer thought he was
firing at Captain Caleb.

But, at this distance,
I can see you perfectly.

That's because we're standing

in bright moonlight.

Jess, the night of the
party, it was overcast.

There was no moon.
It was pitch-dark out here.

The killer saw the costume

and assumed that McCallum
was in that costume.

Automatic lights.

I'd hoped I was wrong.

They went on at 8:00.
When do they shut off?

Midnight, but what's the point?

The point is,
the murder occurred at 11:15.

The point is, the killer knew
exactly who his victim was.

Or, more specifically,
Preston,

you knew you were
shooting that detective.

Jess, for God's sake,
you're not serious?

With this much light, there
couldn't have been a mistake.

Someone had reason to kill Baxendale.

We know it wasn't Ashley
Vickers or Peter Brill.

No one at the party knew he was around,

no one but you and me and Kit and Grady.

Why, I can't believe you're saying this.

Do you think I'm taking
any pleasure in it?

But why would I kill the man?
I didn't even know him.

Oh, I think you did.
At least he knew you.

Don't you remember?

As he was leaving the bedroom,

he saw that brass figure
of Blind Justice.

And he turned and he said
something very strange.

He knew that you were the
Count of Monte Cristo.

It was as if something
suddenly clicked into place.

Is that it?
No, of course it isn't.

There were lots of little things,
things that didn't mean

anything at the time,
but now I understand.

In the cab, after you'd
retained the lawyer,

you promised that Grady
would be exonerated

one way or the other.

I was trying to comfort you.
Oh, no.

I think you would have confessed
if you thought that Grady

was in any real danger.

Jess, honestly.

No, you're not being honest,
Preston, not at all.

The telephone call proved
that. What telephone call?

At the party, when you
were on the telephone

when Ashley and I walked
into the kitchen

and I asked you who was calling.

Do you remember what you said?

A very persistent reporter
from the New York Times.

He insists on interviewing you
first thing Monday morning.

I told him you left for Pago
Pago and weren't expected back

till the turn of the century.

The Times reporter
assigned to interview me

was a young woman, not a man, Preston.

It was Mr. Baxendale on
the phone, wasn't it?

Yes.

He insisted I meet him
by the pool at 11:00.

The subject was blackmail.

I couldn't go through that,
not after all these years.

I was in a blind rage.
I took a gun and shot him.

When I realized how easily
I could have been seen...

If anyone had been outside, they
could have heard the shot.

Many years ago,
I was betrayed by three partners

in a business venture.

An apartment house we built collapsed.

Several people were killed.

Although I had nothing to do
with the construction end,

I was made the scapegoat.

They got off free, and I was sentenced

to 15 years in prison.

After two years,
I managed to escape.

Don't ask the details,
but the police assumed

I died in the attempt.

Like the Count of Monte Cristo.

As you well know, my favorite
fictional character.

Well, not everyone was
convinced that I was dead.

A hotshot detective, third grade, had
a hunch that I was still alive.

He became even more positive when,
over the next couple of years,

like the Count of Monte Cristo...

I financially destroyed
my three ex-partners

from a safe distance.

Saturday was the first time
I'd seen him in 22 years,

and I didn't recognize him.

But obviously, he recognized me.

He'd changed his name, as I had,

but I knew that, if the police ever
started poking around his files,

sooner or later they'd come across me.

Yes, the files.

That's why you dressed Baxendale
up in the Sherlock Holmes outfit,

to make the police think that the killer

had intended to kill Caleb.

You had to divert attention
away from Baxendale.

Yes.

He was a slimy blackmailer,
Jess. He threatened to destroy my life.

Morally, it was a case of self-defense.

Preston, even if I could bring
myself to believe that,

there's no way that you can justify
the murdering of Caleb McCallum.

And you did kill him,
for the same reason...

to divert suspicion from yourself.

Caleb wasn't much of a
human being either.

Oh, but he didn't deserve killing.

No one deserves killing.

Oh, Preston! I'm so angry!
I don't know whether

to scream or cry.

All the way to the railway station,
I was thinking about you.

Twice, I nearly turned
around and came back.

Then when I realized,

When I read that newspaper...

I'm sorry, Jess.
I truly am.

Another time, a different place,
we might have had something.

I'm going to talk to Gunderson.

Would you go with me?

Yes.

I'd like to very much.

Grady, I'm not coming back to this
city. Not next month, not next year.

Hey, I know you're a little upset.

"Upset"? These last seven days
have been the most miserable week

of my entire life.

You really liked him, didn't you?

Yes, I really liked him.

Oh, Grady, if only I hadn't
been such a terrible busybody.

If only I could have just let it be.

Great. Then I'd be on
trial, not Preston Giles.

Well, I've had enough.

I've had enough murders, enough
puzzles, enough suspects.

You know, I don't even think
I'm gonna write another book.

Sure, you will, and I'll be
the first one to read it.

We'll see.
[Kit] Jessica! Wait!

Oh, thank God I caught you.
Kit, what's the matter?

Oh, the police, they've been
trying to find you all morning.

They won't say, but I think
they need your help.

Help from me?

The bodies of two dead wrestlers
were found this morning

at Madison Square Garden.

They were lying in the
middle of the ring.

One had been stabbed,
and the other drowned.

Absolutely not.

They say there's a logical explanation,

but they really need your help.

Grady, tell her, dear.

Good-bye, children, and
don't forget to write.

It's been wonderful being with you both.

Take care.
Bye.

"Drowned"?