Original subtitles

$1,000 bills for flowers?

Well, this is Beverly Hills, Mrs. Fletcher.

There is schlock gossip and quality gossip. Damn it, Frances. You told me we

had an absolute lock on this thing. We've got a leak.

Your prints were on that envelope because you were playing bag man for

someone. Oh, now, wait a minute, Betty.

I mean, I don't sell gossip. Which puts you there at the time he was murdered.

My crime is one of vanity, not murder, Mrs. Fletcher. There's a certain night

nurse who can vouch for my whereabouts, and I can certainly vouch for hers.

Gossip. It seems that no one around here is immune to it. Goodbye, J.B. Fletcher.

Kate, I told you, if we don't have an exclusive on that Kevin and Whitney

story, I am not interested.

And Phil, I want you to bury Marla and play up Frank.

And George, Snoopy's son Robin. It's a good start, but... It needs a whole new

take. It's anal. It doesn't begin to show the pain, the torment behind the

comic mask.

I want you to pull out all the stops. The sex, the booze, the compulsiveness,

the whole deal.

Okay. I'm sorry.

Listen, I don't usually let my rookies do their own rewrites.

Thanks.

But what about corroborations? Our sources are really shaky.

Let me worry about that, okay?

Go, go.

And I want it in my hand by 6 o'clock tonight. Those low-ranked

schlockmeisters have done it again. Damn it, Frances.

You told me we had an absolute lock on this thing. We did.

Well, what is this, the fourth time this month? I want you to kill our story.

It's too late.

Unless you want to burn two million copies.

She's in a meeting right now, but if you'll kindly have a seat to Mrs.

Fletcher, she'll be with you. Thank you. Well, I pay for an exclusive. I want it

to stay that way. And I want you to call a full staff meeting by noon tomorrow,

and I mean everybody.

Junie, I've told you, either our informants are playing both sides, or

we've got a leak.

Well, either way, darling, I'm not laying out top dollar for Mert Mandela

and his sleaze machine to make us look foolish.

Jessica.

How are you?

Oh, Frances, it's lovely to see you. And you.

I'm sorry I didn't meet your plane, but as you can see, things are pretty hectic

here. How was your flight?

Uneventful. The best kind.

And your driver met me with the most beautiful flowers. I felt just like a

movie star.

Oh, you are a sight for sore eyes. And I do mean sore. The smog today is

horrendous. Come with me while I pop my lenses.

The price one pays for vanity.

When Junie Cobb offered me this job, it took me ten seconds to decide that my

novel would have to wait while I got my bills paid.

Mrs. Fletcher, Gabriel Caceres, Beverly Hills PD. You helped me out on a murder

case, remember?

Oh, yes, of course. That was about three years ago.

Lieutenant Caceres, this is my friend Francis Hunt. Oh, nice to meet you. Now,

let me see. You were about to get married.

I tied the knot two years ago. She's a dream. Oh, how nice.

I'm delighted to meet you.

No, she's business.

Look, we gotta run. Give me a call, huh?

I have a pretty full schedule this trip. Maybe next time.

Okay, don't forget.

I won't.

Excuse me.

Hello? Ah, yes, Betty.

Call Rodeo Caterers and have them send over four more cervix just to play it

safe. Right. Thanks, Betty.

Okay, let's go.

Thanks.

Two weeks ago, I invited my boss and her husband to a quiet little dinner for

your first night in town. It's now up to ten, more or less, and still counting.

Well, at least I know I'm not in Cabo Cove. It was so sweet of you to have me

stay with you. Are you kidding? After all the times I've camped at your place.

Where have you been?

You're supposed to use the side door.

Oh.

I'm sorry. I got kind of confused.

Well, as long as you're here, bring it in.

Thank you.

Wait a second. Where's the wine?

Wine? Oh, no, these are pages for A-List.

I'm one of Ms. Hunt's writers.

You?

Oh, my God, I'm so embarrassed.

Don't be. I just started.

I can believe that.

Who was at the door?

George. You're a dear.

George?

What are you doing for dinner tonight?

I, uh... Nothing.

Gosh. My mom will flip out when I tell her that I'm a last-minute dinner party

replacement for her favorite soap opera star.

After only three weeks in Hollywood, I think he's doing very well, don't you,

Mr. Hendricks?

Oh, hello,

Stan, Mrs. Fletcher.

Malibu, right?

You're the young man that Wolfgang hired to do all those great things with the

shiitake mushrooms.

No, Miss Cobb, I work for Miss Hunt.

I'm at the magazine.

God, I met someone who doesn't call you by their first name ten seconds after

they meet you. We should bottle him.

Canapes, anyone?

Yes, thank you.

Betty, darling.

You always seem to know about everything.

Who's that gorgeous man over there?

I'm talking to the woman in the unfortunate dress.

Gee, Mrs. Cobb, I thought everyone knew him.

That's Dr. Johnny Windhurst, plastic surgeon to the stars. And I mean stars.

He does them all.

Barbara, Sally, Richard.

Isn't she a treasure, Mrs. Fletcher?

And I told her when she started A-List, I said, Junie, there is schlock gossip

and quality gossip.

And if you don't want Arnett's money to go straight down the tubes, you've got

to pay top dollar for your information.

Exactly. Now, I mean, that's the only way you can compete with Star Scene and

those supermarket tabloids.

And avoid the lawsuits.

I mean, you have got to spend it to make it. That's what I told her. Aggie, she's

been doing just that.

But lately, it's like Starseed knows what we're covering before we do.

I can't believe they're in a position to outbid us.

Oh, Aggie, thank you so much for referring Carol to me.

A couple of tucks and the opportunity of their hairline should be even more

irresistible than she is now.

As if that were possible.

Unless, of course, you could make her look like Michelle.

Well, I hope Mr. Mandela's star scene crashes and burns. And I hate to talk

business, Mrs. Fletcher, but what happened to our elusive football player?

Davey Wells?

We have two corroborations, but our lawyer says we need a third.

Listen to him, J.J.

Friend, I'll take my chances.

Your work absolutely fascinates me.

Well, thank you, Doctor.

Yours fascinates me.

Oh, so as this guy is climbing into his Rolls Royce, I tell him the house is his

for $4.8 million, and he says all he can come up with is $3,000 down.

Mrs. Fletcher, tell me the truth.

Where do you get all those stories?

Well, it's a bit complicated, Mr. Carr. I mean those suspects and plots. Surely

you can't make all of them up.

Oh, of course not. I mean, sometimes there are variations on real crimes.

For instance, I'm in town to research a murder that took place 65 years ago.

It's always fascinated me. I'll give it to her myself, all right?

Frances,

darling, to you and your guest.

My profound apologies.

Oh, Billy, you've outdone yourself.

Oh, they are lovely. They're just simply gorgeous.

Nobody, but nobody does flowers like Billy Kyle.

And he's only three hours late.

Don't ask me about today.

Both delivery trucks broke down, my refrigerator died, and just as soon as I

finished your piece, my assistant quit.

Just walked off into the sunset.

And I still have hours of work to do back at the store.

Oh, and there's no charge, of course.

Ah, in that case, I may forgive you.

Sunday,

10 a.m., Billy.

Count on it, Mrs. Cobb.

Have you been to his new shop?

No, I haven't. But I hear it's wonderful.

Okay, Mrs. Fletcher. Now, I suppose you got the basics.

George,

give Jessica a break.

She's got to be turning those chances.

$3,000 down.

Now, tell me the truth.

Where do you get all this stuff?

I mean, you can't make all this stuff.

Oh,

forgive me.

I guess it is getting to me after all.

Oh, I'm just glad you have my sympathy.

It's after midnight Cabot cold time.

Good night, everyone.

Good night.

Can you get in touch with Sorrentini, Sarge?

Mrs.

Fletcher! On behalf of my beat, welcome.

Lieutenant, what's wrong?

What else? Homicide. The proprietor. Billy Kyle?

You knew him?

Well, no, not really.

But, Lieutenant, I may have been one of the last people to see him alive.

When the delivery kit opened this morning, he found Billy Kyle's body.

Stabbed with these shears. They're probably his own. Blood traces.

It's likely they were lying out there on the county, you know.

Weapon of opportunity.

Yeah. You know, it looks as if the victim surprised the perp in the middle

of a burglary. I mean, the kid found the cash drawer open, empty.

What time did you see the victim? About 10 p.m.

And what do we got here?

Boy, you don't see many of these around.

5,000.

See, professional thieves know to look under the drawer for the larger

denominations.

What am I saying?

Most shoppers know the big bucks go below.

But $1,000 bills for flowers?

Well, it says Beverly Hills, Mrs. Fletcher. I mean, it could have been for

a function or married man, cash, standing order.

I mean, the price of long-stemmed roses these days.

Those bucks wouldn't go all that far.

If someone had broken in here and was surprised by Mr. Kyle, I wonder why his

burglar alarm didn't go off.

No, no, no. We checked with Rexford. The alarm works.

Oh, and one of their guards drove past and saw the victim working here. It was

around around midnight.

Do you...

Get the feeling that he must have known his assailant.

His assistant.

Well, Mr. Cowell said that he quit, that he walked off into the sunset was the

way he put it. Oh, hey, maybe the man returns later, Billy lets him in, they

quarrel. Or the guy still has his key and comes back to collect some midnight

severance pay. Billy catches him.

I'll get his name from the clerk.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, the other guest at the dinner party.

How's your memory for names?

Billy Kyle.

Oh, it's standing.

I don't know what I'll do without him.

My party on Sunday is going to be an absolute disaster.

Okay. Besides his broken delivery vans, his non-functional refrigerator, and his

assistant taking a hike, didn't Mr. Kyle indicate any other problems? I mean, you

know, something more serious.

To Billy, everything was serious.

Would you mind expanding on that?

You had to know Billy, Lieutenant.

He lived from crisis to crisis.

If it wasn't brown spots on his orchids, he was being horrified by some new

facial wrinkle or having the worst hair day of his life.

Uh-huh.

Okay.

And you were at home with your husband between midnight and 3 a.m., is that

right? Arnett and I went directly home after Francis' party.

Around 11.30, 11.15, wasn't it? Yes, about then.

Okay. Miss Hunt.

According to Mrs. Fletcher, she was occupying the bedroom next to yours.

Yes. She was asleep when I went to bed about ten minutes after the guests left.

Which would put it around 11.30?

Yes. But I doubt she heard me. She was really out of it.

So she said.

Okay.

Mr. Irwin, your turn.

Uh, tell about, oh, five past twelve I was in my car, driving. I live down in

Venice.

And then, after that, I was in bed.

Uh, asleep.

By yourself?

Yes, sir.

Well, so far, there isn't an airtight alibi in the whole lot of you.

Except for that realtor, Stan Hendricks. He was showing a fixer-upper in Benedict

Canyon. From midnight to 3?

Not only that, he made the sale.

So, how's the research going?

Oh, it's fascinating.

This silent movie director was murdered almost 65 years ago, and suddenly all

sorts of secrets are coming to light.

Blackmail, cultism. I may have enough material for two books.

Jessica, Lieutenant Caceres seems to confide in you.

Well, I worked with him on a case once, and he's a very capable individual.

Has he told you anything more about Billy's death?

Only that his department finally caught up with Mr. Kyle's assistant, the one

who quit so abruptly last evening. Then he's the killer.

No, no, he walked out at six and was on a flight to Seattle by nine.

He has an airtight airborne alibi.

Oh, excuse me.

Hello.

Oh, yes, Kate, read me the copy.

So, the senator was seen having dinner with Marla. Well, you sure they went up

to his suite afterwards?

They ordered strawberries and champagne up to the room at 3 a.m.

She was seen leaving in his limo around 6 a.m.

The waiter, housekeeping, and the valet all support the story.

Good. I like it. It's perfect.

Run it with a big picture of the senator. The one where he's leering.

Right.

Oh.

You'd think there was some law on the books requiring legislators to cheat on

their wives.

You're thinking, where is the law that says that I have to expose the senator?

Frances, you're the last person I ever expected to find driving around in a

stretch limo equipped with a telephone and a fax.

It's called success.

The fast lane, fast money.

I don't mind the long hours and the deadlines, and sometimes shedding light

on some superstar or media type isn't the worst thing in the world.

I've promised myself that after I put aside enough money, I will go back to

writing my novels.

I hope you do, Frances.

You have a great deal of talent.

Maps to the star's home, right here. It appears that Mr.

Kyle inadvertently left it at Frances Hunt's house the night of the murder.

Hmm. Yeah, but these initials and notations, I mean, they make any sense

to you?

Well, I asked Frances, and she suggested that they could be the initials of some

of the celebrities reported on the A-list magazine.

Yeah? For instance?

Well, she mentioned that D.W.

might be a Davey Wells.

What, the WizKid quarterback?

Oh, gee. You know, L.A. would be in contention for the playoffs if he was

healthy. For months now, they've been claiming he's got this mild aggravation

of an old injury. Who knows?

But, you know, now these seem to be street names or locations.

You see Davey Welch, Fairgate Clinic.

These dollar amounts.

I know. They're far too small to buy even a bunch of baby's breasts in Mr.

Kyle's shop.

So where do we go with this?

Well, it occurred to me that with all of Mr.

Kyle's access to the people covered by the gossip magazines, he may have been

one of their suppliers.

A paid informant.

Okay, but I mean, $5, $7?

Oh, Lieutenant, you know how big-time gamblers sometimes refer to, say, $5,000

as $5?

Hey, you know, why not?

I mean, it sure is playing away those $1,000 bills.

Not to mention giving us a dandy motive for murder.

Billy Kyle digs into dirt. Somebody doesn't want uncovered.

Somebody like Mr. Wells or... Can you believe I got one of these things?

Caceres?

Yeah.

Got it. All right, let the captain know.

Thanks, Tor.

That was a lab.

They just ID'd the only unsmudged prints on that envelope we found. The one with

the big bills in it.

It belonged to George Irwin.

That nice young man.

The one without an alibi.

Do you know, as a teenager, he spent some time in Juvenile Hall?

Lieutenant, I never even met Mr. Kyle before Miss Hunt's party.

I mean, I'm pretty new around here.

He's telling the truth, Lieutenant. Now, can we go to dinner? When you got a

whiff of the kind of clientele Mr. Kyle handled, you figured he kept big bucks

in his door. Lieutenant Caceres, I swear... So you stab him, rifle his cash

drawer... Lieutenant, why would he pick up an envelope with all that money in it

and then leave it behind?

Any number of reasons, Miss O'Hara.

I mean, somebody walks past the store, he panics. It's not like he's the most

competent thief in town.

Last time he tried it that we know of, he got caught before he got out of the

store.

George? There is one other possibility, Mr. Irwin.

One that your friend Mrs. Fletcher suggested.

That your prints were on that envelope because you were playing bag man for

someone.

He was delivering payoffs?

I'm beginning to think Mrs. Fletcher's even smarter than I thought she was.

Want to tell me about it, Mr. Irwin?

Would you rather I take you downtown and book you?

I might just go to accounting and pick up those envelopes after the payments

have already been authorized.

By whom?

Do I have to?

With that juvenile record, I was having a pretty tough time getting hired until

one of the executives spoke up on my behalf.

Who is it, George?

Oh, Johnny, it's Betty's night off, and I didn't do anything about dinner.

Let's keep it that way.

Oh.

Miss Hunt, I'd like to talk to you.

Oh, come on, Lieutenant.

Can't this wait till morning?

I'm afraid not.

New evidence has come up, Miss Hunt, and inconvenient as it may be, I'd like you

to come to me downtown to make a formal statement.

But I've told you everything I know, little as it is.

I'm sure you'd rather come voluntarily.

The alternative being arrest, I suppose.

Shall we go then, Miss Hunt?

Oh, my God.

I didn't kill anybody.

Really, I didn't.

So, you reviewed your sworn statement, Miss Hunt.

And there's nothing you wish to change. Is that correct?

No, nothing.

You misspelled Windhurst. There's a D in it.

May I go now?

Just bear with me a minute.

Let's see, the last of your guests, caterers and your housekeeper, Betty O

'Hara, they all left your dinner party by 11.30.

Yes, except for Jessica Fletcher, who was asleep.

I turn in about 12.

You remained in the house for the rest of the night? Yes.

Okay. Um, there is... Oh, thanks, Brian.

So you're saying, under oath, that I can't place you at Billy Kyle's shop

between midnight and 3 a.m.? No, Lieutenant, you can't.

Please don't look at me like that.

You're lying.

We found this self-service gas station receipt on the floor of your car.

A station one block from Billy Kyle's place.

The printout shows you gassed up at 1.35 a.m. that morning, which puts you there

at the time he was murdered. The people have gone to the gas chamber for far

less than that, Miss Hunt.

Oh, good Lord.

Very well.

That part is true. I did see Billy, but I didn't murder him.

What is the habit of yours?

A rendezvous in with your florist at 1.35 in the morning?

Well, now you're making it sound sordid.

Certain payments went to Billy on a regular basis.

Tips that were developed into features for the magazine.

I was behind $5,000, and he was getting nasty about it.

So when he said he was working late and alone, I thought this would be a good

opportunity.

Before George Irwin left the party, I got the envelope back from him.

So why didn't you tell me all this in the first place?

Lieutenant, my job is a lot like being a spy.

People reveal things, secrets to my informants, things they would never say

if they knew that I were the final recipient.

I paid Billy.

I left him alive on my oath.

That is the truth.

Your oath is proved unserviceable, Ms. Hunt.

I'm gonna have to hold you on investigation of murder.

George, it's just not your fault.

Betty's right.

I mean, the truth about Billy Kyle and the payments and Francis' visit to his

shop, it all would have come out whether or not you said a word. She has just

been such a good friend to me.

Do you think she did it, Miss Fletcher?

Of course she doesn't. Well, I'm tempted to say that Francis isn't the type, but

I've seen too many exceptions.

And when it's a friend, it's sometimes difficult to separate what you want to

believe from the reality of the situation.

But what this really is all about... is motive.

And I'm just not convinced that Lieutenant Caceres' theory is valid.

A crime of passion towards a jerk like Billy?

Mild aggravation, maybe.

Yeah.

Well, I'd better get over to the office.

Well, you sure you're okay?

Yeah, I am.

Miss Fletcher.

Betty. Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it. George, I wonder if I could ask you

to give me a lift.

Of course. Come on, Miss Fletcher. Thank you, Betty.

See you tonight?

Absolutely.

Excuse me. I wonder if you could help me.

Would you be kind enough to tell me where Davey Wells' room is? Aren't you a

little mature for this kind of thing, hon?

I beg your pardon? All the locker room groupies in town have been in here. They

tried every trick in the book to try to get to see golden arm Davey.

Excuse me, hon.

Farragate Clinic.

Nurse Tickle.

Hi, there.

Some autographs for the floor nurses, a couple for yourself and the other

volunteers. Oh, how lovely.

Oh, the ladies will be thrilled.

Uh, I read about you this morning in the newspaper.

Are you really hanging them up, like it said? Well, after nine years of 300

-pound lime and eyeing you like dinner, throw in two torn rotator cuffs and

three knee operations, yep, I'm ready. It's my last year.

Oh,

those must have been lovely.

From Billy Kyle's shop, I see.

What makes a week old Billy Kyle basket more important than the other he was

murdered the other night As I'm quite sure you're aware Lady, I don't know who

the hell you are, but you're no volunteer Actually, no, I'm a writer. My

name is JB Fletcher.

Oh You're with a list aren't you?

didn't anybody tell you I'm

suing that rag for what they wrote about me? Well, yes, I did read it in the

paper, but no, I am not with the A-list. And thirdly, a very dear friend of mine

is being held for the murder of Billy Kyle.

Unjustly, I suggest.

Your leg.

No cast?

No crotch, Mr. Wells?

I told you, I'm through.

Next time one of those gorillas blindsides me, it could be my last.

Six years now I've been playing in pain, and lots of it. Do they care?

Under my contract, team says if it ain't broke, shoot it full of Novocaine and

play ball.

Well, there's a middle ground, a place where they can't get me, and I found it

here at Fairgate.

I take it the clinic goes along with your charade.

Ain't cheap.

But not unaffordable.

A young friend of mine explained to me that as long as you're merely on the

injured list...

You're paid for the balance of the year. I also read about you and a possible $7

million TV announcer contract.

Look, lady, what is this you want?

You think I murdered Kyle because he sold me out to A-List?

It might have crossed your mind to get even with him. Maybe it did, but let me

ask you.

If I'm found running around at night bumping off florists, wouldn't I lose

both contracts?

Besides, there's a certain night nurse who can vouch for my whereabouts.

And I can certainly vouch for hers.

Dr. Windhurst.

Mr. Fletcher, I'll visit the patient in the recovery room.

Do you have patients here, Dr. Windhurst? I operate here.

See, I feel that high-profile clients should be allowed to have their

profiles... a retooled in private of course you've heard about francis oh yes

i happen to know she's a very passionate woman but i never believed her capable

of murder oh sorry playing my song excuse me

legal services please contact ob gyn

A regular Dr.

Pygmalion. He works his way through all the new nurses in the building and most

of his lady patients, too, if they qualify.

Which means if they got a pulse... Excuse me, hon.

Third floor.

Yes, I'll get the message to Dr. Wynhurst.

Yes, hon.

Oh, you'd like an appointment?

May I ask if this is a referral?

J.J.

Just say J.J.? Very well.

Frances is one of my oldest and closest friends, Mrs. Fletcher. I'd do anything

to help her.

I'm glad to hear you say that, Mrs. Cobb. You see, Frances has trapped

herself in needless lies.

And to help her out of her trouble, I think that we all need to pay scrupulous

attention to the truth.

I'm not sure I see your point.

Well, at Frances' dinner party, I recall your greeting Dr.

Windhurst as if you'd never met.

But at the Fairgate Clinic just a little while ago...

I happen to hear a prospective patient of his give your name as a referral.

Or rather, your initials.

I remember that your husband called you J.J. at Frances' party.

Well, why would I recommend a doctor I barely heard of? Everyone seems to be

avoiding the truth about something. Frances, George, now you and Dr.

Windhurst. I mean, none of this is helpful to Frances.

Mrs. Fletcher.

I'm a product of where and how I live.

Dr. Windhurst's magic touch has made me look younger.

That and my workouts with Eduardo.

I don't choose to look my age, whatever the damn number.

And it's my business that I don't share with every stranger and subordinate at a

dinner party my familiarity with the best cosmetic surgeon in Beverly Hills.

And I compliment Dr.

Windhurst on his discretion that night.

My...

My crime is one of vanity, not murder, Mrs. Fletcher. You're looking in the

wrong place.

I'm beginning to realize that.

Tell me, the other day, you and Frances seemed quite upset because you'd been

scooped by a competing magazine.

We have a leak.

Star Scene has turned me into a harridan and Frances into a nervous wreck.

I think the poor darling chewed through her glasses the other night.

This star scene published in L.A.

You'll find them in the yellow pages under R for rock.

Just look under the nearest one.

You're Betty O'Hara.

What are you doing here, Mrs. Fletcher?

So you were behind A-list being scooped by Starseed. The Irish Mata Hari. That's

me.

Listen, Mrs. Fletcher, making ends meet in L.A. is no day at the beach.

Starseed found out from my employment agency that I'm Frances' housekeeper and

that I moonlight for Mrs. Cobb. They paid me to brief them on A-list stories.

So, picking up phone messages, listening to idle chit-chat at the dinner table?

You got it.

My little five bills a week, they start seeing a major bundle.

And it really isn't costing A-list. I mean, since I started, their

circulation's gone up.

Hey, in the circles you travel, the inside stuff you've got must bring in

thousands. Oh, now, wait a minute, Betty. I mean, I don't sell gossip.

Hey, come on. You were at their offices, weren't you?

Really, your secret is safe with me. Don't worry.

Betty, is it possible that Star Scene had the same arrangement with Billy

Kyle, similar to the one he had with the A-List?

Sort of like a double agent?

Maybe.

I don't believe that they'd kill Billy to end it, if that's what you're

thinking. And if you're wondering if I had an axe to grind, Billy and I were

kindred souls, not mortal enemies.

I'm going to pick up George at A-List. We're going to dinner.

Can I give you a lift?

Well, would the Beverly Hills Police Department be out of your way?

Hey. If I happen to see them book some big movie star on a DUI, it'll pay for

the gas.

Hop in.

How much more?

Now look, we've got to cooperate.

Be careful.

The process takes time.

If I did that, I'd break.

Oh, hi, Miss Fletcher.

The lieutenant just told me about you, Mrs. Caceres.

Oh, no, no, no. Wrong again, Mrs. Fletcher. This here is Sergeant Daisy

Kenny, undercover squad.

Yeah, she's just teaching me a move she's found very effective with muggers.

Oh, that's very impressive.

You know, you look very familiar to me. Have we ever met before?

Maybe on moments of our years I did a walk-on.

She's also an aspiring actress.

Yes, and I'm going to be doing the prime of Miss Jean Brody in a workshop this

weekend, and I play the lead.

See? The spinster-y schoolteacher.

The glasses.

Acting is really what undercover work is all about, isn't it, Sergeant?

I think I have another part for you.

Uh-oh. This is deja vu, Mrs. Fletcher. You're pushing all the old buttons now.

You're on to something, right?

Are you willing to try a long shot, Lieutenant?

That depends.

There are apartments across the street from Billy Kyle's flower shop.

Now, suppose an occupant of one of them was at her window on the night that

Billy was murdered.

She'd have seen the killer come and go.

We checked those apartments. Nobody saw anything.

Wait a minute.

You mean... How do you want me to play it, Miss Fletcher? I can do

sexy, haughty...

Virginal. Nervous. Hold it, hold it, hold it, hold it. How do we get the word

out?

Gossip, Lieutenant.

It seems no one around here is immune to it. And there's a certain young lady

that I know who is definitely contagious.

May I use your phone?

Hunt residence.

Betty, this is Jessica Fletcher.

Listen, you were kind enough to give me a lift this afternoon, so this is by way

of returning the favor. I've run across an item that I think you'll be

interested in. Only this one will be worth considerably more to A-List than

to Star Scene.

Go on, Mrs. Fletcher.

What is it, Betty?

Junie, I have a great piece of gossip for A-List magazine.

I'm all ears.

I got it from a spy that I have in the Beverly Hills Police Department.

They've located an eyewitness who read about Billy Kyle's murder in the paper

and has come forward.

It was a maid working late in an apartment across the street from the

florist. She's ready to look at a lineup.

And you have her name and address?

Miss Kenny?

Yes. I understand you witnessed something that occurred across the

street three nights ago.

The police swore they would keep my name out of this. No, no, no. Now, Miss

Kenny, I'm not here to harm you. We have precious little time. Now, look.

That's $250,000, and it's all yours if you just disappear.

There's a flight to Rio at 10 o'clock. We can just get you on it.

My, my word.

You certainly know how to pull a girl's chain.

That... That's tenure salary.

You won't even have to pack. We'll get whatever you need at the airport.

It has to be now, Miss Kenny.

Just let me get my bag.

No, here. Let me get your hand.

Maybe you better do some explaining, Miss Kenny.

Let me do it for her, Mr. Cobb. Put the gun down, please.

Sergeant.

I killed Billy Kyle.

Mr. Cobb, bribing this policewoman is one thing, but killing Mr. Kyle?

Why don't you tell the lieutenant what you do know about the events that night?

Junie and I went to bed at midnight. I woke up around 1.30 and I... Stop right

there, Arnett.

Junie! Stop picking up on other people's phone calls.

And for heaven's sake, zip your lip before you get us both indicted for a

murder neither of us committed.

A clever ruse, Lieutenant, luring me here on the pretext of a news story.

lf l had to guess, l'd credit the idea to Mrs.

Fletcher's fertile imagination.

Arnett is here because he believes l may have killed Billy Kyle.

A natural assumption since we went to bed at midnight, as he said, and when he

woke up around 1.30, l wasn't in the bed or in the house.

Naturally, he worried until l returned safely at 2.

I was restless. I went for a walk.

The next morning, the radio said that Mr. Kyle was murdered, so... Before we

knew it, Lieutenant Caceres was asking questions.

It was all a little unsettling and a little too close to home, wasn't it?

So, if you folks will excuse us, I think Arnett and I will wind our way home.

And, darling, if you're committed to throwing that quarter of a million

dollars around, I would love to redecorate the house.

Just a minute, Mrs. Cobb.

I'm not sure I have all the pieces.

But I do think that you killed Billy Kyle.

Rewriting the last act, are we, Mrs. Fetcher?

When you told me that Frances was so upset she chewed her glasses, it made

sense, because I'd seen her do it, too.

Then I remembered she told me she only wore her glasses in private, never at

the office, nor, as I recalled, at her dinner party. The only other time that

you could have seen her wear them was after you left the party.

Later that night... Across the street, in Billy Kyle's shop. Look, I've heard

enough of this.

As much as it pains me to say so, Francis went to Billy's shop.

He buzzed her in and she killed him.

Let's go, Arnett.

No, Julie.

Go on, Mrs. Fletcher. At Francis' dinner party, you indicated that you'd never

been in Billy Kyle's shop.

And yet you just said that Billy must have buzzed Francis in. Now, that wasn't

the case, was it, Lieutenant Caceres?

No way.

Miss Hunt said that when she got to the shop, the door was unlocked.

But when the delivery boy arrived the next morning, the doors were locked.

It had to have been after Francis left and Billy locked his doors that anybody

had to be buzzed in. And that anybody was you, Mrs. Cobb.

That's how you knew about the buzzer system.

Lieutenant?

Where'd you find it?

In a trash bin behind their house.

Is that your raincoat, Mrs. Cobb?

If these bloodstains match Billy's... Why, Joanie?

You were in Africa for three months last year.

Just enough time for me to go see the fable John Wynhurst for a few

adjustments.

How could I expect you to understand, Arnett? John was so...

Handsome, so available.

He made the years vanish from my face and from my heart. I sent him flowers

through Billy Kyle.

Billy put two and two together.

Had some paparazzi chums take pictures of John and me in the doctor's bedroom.

And you were afraid those pictures would destroy your marriage and Mr. Cobble

withdraw his support for A-List.

I saw my life in ruins.

Billy wanted $50,000 for the negatives.

The night of Francis' party was the night I'd agreed to pay him for them,

unaware that Francis would also be in the shop.

And that's where you saw Francis chewing her glasses.

I saw Francis give him one of our envelopes. I assumed she was paying for

a story.

When she left, I rang the bell, and he let me in.

Mrs. Cobb, what a pleasant surprise.

I can't get you $50,000 in cash without my husband's signature.

I'll be able to raise ten for now.

What is this?

One call to Mandela over at Star Scene and I can get double what I'm asking

from you. Billy, give me some time.

Oh, shame. A classy operation like A-List has to go into the toilet. And a

fortune hunter like you has to lose a rich husband. But it is tough all over.

I can get you some small amounts from Patty Cash for tips on stories.

Even if you don't have the stories, you understand?

Get out of here.

Shop's closed, Mrs. Cobb. And I gotta make a phone call.

Hello. Yeah, I know you're closed.

Patch me through to Mert Mondello at home.

Yeah, I know how late it is.

So that's the way it was.

Darling, nothing would have spoiled my love for you. I would have understood,

forgiven.

Do me a favor, Arnett. Don't always be such an old fool.

Junie Cobb, I'm arresting you for the murder of William Kyle. You have the

right to remain silent. I'm not arresting anyone, Lieutenant.

It would have worked if you hadn't stuck your nose in it.

Goodbye, J.B. Fletcher.

I'm sorry,

Francis. It was very clumsy of me.

Don't worry about it, Betty.

Oh, Jessica.

You look like you were a million miles away.

I guess the jet lag is getting to me after all.

And to answer your question, George, I'd have to say that most of my mysteries

are built around people and events that I encounter every day.

I mean, events like this dinner, for instance.

Oh, there it is.

My receipt book.

Sorry to bother you again.

Now, tell us, Mrs. Fletcher, where do your characters come from?

J.J., if you'd listen, Mrs. Fletcher says she draws them from people she

meets every day.

Come on now, Jessica.

In your next book, make my wife a killer.

I just did.