Original subtitles

Dead! Totally, absolutely dead!

The second half of your new novel is a spellbinding. You have another

bestseller on your hands. Just because you bought my father does not mean you

can buy me, too. I can guarantee you'll never see another cent from us. You look

absolutely delicious.

Unless we move very fast, there could be more murders.

That whole bunch was loony. You so much as breathe heavy, I go straight to

Valerie. Hold it, Poyle!

Seth, look out!

it before somebody sees us.

You said we'd have to run to the beach, Coyle.

And you told me that old lighthouse was empty.

I did the best I could.

Anyway, at least it's up in a couple of days.

By next time, we'll have the beach all to ourselves.

We better.

And if you can't deliver, there's half a dozen other guys between here and Nova

Scotia. I told you, Larry.

Next Thursday, okay?

I know a guy in Quincy can move this stuff in a big way.

Yeah, you'll get rich yet, Phil, unless you send us all to the joint first.

There was never any question in Rebecca's mind that Squire City's

primary business was smuggling.

But could she reach Constable Trelawney in time?

Undaunted, she pressed on, determined to arrive before the storm broke.

She felt the cold blast of the northeasterly against her cheek, while

above, the scudding clouds broke apart in a sudden fury.

She quickened her pace, regretting the stubborn pride that had forced her to

refuse Vance Pembroke's offer of a ride out to the estate.

Rounding a bend, she peered ahead, relief flooding.

lights of the house shown in the distance luring her on with their

illusion of safety sacrificing all decorum she dashed up the walk little

knowing or caring what twisted fate destiny might unleash Rebecca reached

the door

It's all right. Now, take a deep breath.

Tell us what happened. Who?

Who is dead?

Who? You mean what? My car, darn thing, died on me all the way back at Elm

Street. I hope I didn't wreck everything.

Oh, of course not.

It seems that the weather is conspiring against us.

With this storm on the way, we probably ought to dispense with the question and

answer period. So I suggest that we all thank Ms. Stone for truly a memorable

evening and wish her and her family a safe trip back to New York.

Oh, thank you. Thank you.

My stay in Cabot Cove has been an absolutely marvelous experience.

Well, I have to say this, Sabella. If the second half of your new novel is a

spellbinding as the first chapter you read to us tonight, you have another

bestseller on your hands. I absolutely agree.

Miss Stone, Sabella, would it be presumptuous to ask, do you ever miss

the Count?

Your first husband?

Oh, I suppose my reaction says it all.

Actually, Boris, Count Rosovsky, was a darling man.

But after my first novel, the men I wrote became far more forceful, vivid.

Ah, there you are.

Hello, Derek.

Hi, Jessica.

Here she is. Oh, darling.

Sorry, I'm late. I've been on the phone all afternoon to the coast.

Oh, poor dear.

That manuscript?

Actually, I think I have it pre-sold as a miniseries. Oh, Derek, that's...

That's really terrific.

It's your classic Cinderella story.

Jessica, can you believe it? This housewife from Enid, Oklahoma... What's

her name?

Um, Bobby Joe Pickenpah. Yeah. She sends Derek the very first thing she's ever

written straight over the transom, and it's fabulous. Well, a little rough

around the edges, but... But it means there's hope for all of us. Exactly.

Jessica, now please, you must come by and see those journals I found.

One of them dates from 1843. They are amazing.

Well, I'd be most interested. Thank you.

Good night. Good night.

Oh,

and drive carefully.

Look at my trousers what about Miss are you alright?

I'll survive which may be more than I can say for my mail How about we take a

look before we leap to conclusions

There.

Almost dry as a bone, wouldn't you say, Miss Hartman?

Pity about your dry cleaning.

Oh, brat.

Next time, perhaps you'll look where you're going.

Terry, over here.

Colin, enough.

Young man, you've got to be the rudest, most inconsiderate person I've met in a

long time.

Colin, it's time to get going.

Look, mister, get your jacket cleaned and put it on the stone account.

She's renting Bay House.

Stone? You mean the novelist?

My stepmother.

And don't worry, she's good for it.

Monroe?

Uh, you better snap, too. Mr. Turner's grumbling again.

Oh, thanks.

Miss Fletcher, wait.

It's Phil, isn't it? Yes, ma'am. Phil Coyle.

Of course. How's your mother?

Oh, much better, thanks.

Back's hardly bothering her at all.

The reason I yelled, Miss Fletcher, that first step's broken.

Hit her wrong, you might break a leg or worse.

Well, thank you for warning me.

I tried warning her, too.

Miss Stone, I mean.

Told her the place was falling apart, and what'd she do? She rents it anyway.

Now I hear they want to stay another week.

You might want to do her a favor, Ms. Fletcher. Talk her into leaving before

somebody gets hurt.

Here we are.

Oh, Jessica!

an absolute angel.

I couldn't think where in the world I'd left it. Please come and sit down.

Thank you. And you know I couldn't ask Derek.

Well, if he thought I lost the very first gift he ever gave me. I understand

from Phil Coyle that you're planning to spend a few more days here. It has been

so wonderful.

I'll be able to finish my book.

Assuming that is, that rocket scientist can keep the place from totally

crumbling for that long.

And then my reward.

Three weeks in Montego Bay.

Just Derek and me.

Here are the journals.

But why don't we take them outside and look at them?

What a good idea.

And, uh, Marion, be a dear and fax these copy changes back to New York. I'll take

care of it.

Nice to see you again, Mrs. Fletcher. Thank you, Marion.

And as the snows of the hardest winter in memory shed their melting tears

outside my window, I saw all nature wake us from a long and peaceful sleep. The

robin's song this morning had all the sweetness of a nosegay of violets. Oh,

Cybella, these really are a find.

You know, I must check with the owner and see if he won't donate these to the

local library.

Now, this one dates from 1879, apparently written by the daughter when

she was about ten.

Well, that would be, uh, well, let me think now.

That would be Catherine Moody. Now, Sibella, I can't believe that they're

still trying to toss Colin out of the country.

Excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher. Sibella, we have to talk.

Oh, I was just about to leave anyway. Oh, stay where you are, Jessica, please.

Now, Val, what is our problem today?

This from the INS. They want Colin to come in for a deportation hearing.

You said that you had a friend in Washington who could fix it so he could

stay. I do, but I never said I'd call him.

Val, he's an opportunist. No, he's not. He cares about me.

Oh, nonsense, girl. Colin cares about Colin.

Valerie, darling, if you're contemplating anything more serious than

sleeping with that Piccadilly prima donna, I can guarantee you'll never see

another cent from us, not so long as I live. Just because you bought my father

does not mean you can buy me, too.

Excellent. Since your father can now afford you in his own right, perhaps

you'd prefer that he buy you on his terms.

And they say my books are gothic trash.

This family is like life imitating satire.

Listen, about dinner.

Perhaps it would be better to make... Oh, nonsense, Jessica. I won't hear of

it. Seven o'clock Thursday, black tie.

Seven o'clock it is.

Oh, more journals. How lovely.

Isabella found them in the basement.

How about a cup of coffee? Oh, no, thank you. I have to be getting back.

I'll see you tonight, assuming our party preparations aren't a complete disaster.

Mrs. Fletcher, may I ask you a question?

Of course.

Do you find the writing to be satisfying?

Well, yes. Yes, I do.

Of course, that's not to say that some days aren't more fun than others.

Why do you ask?

Oh, I don't know.

Except for you, Sabella's the only professional novelist I've met.

I've been working pretty closely with her for the last couple of years, and...

I guess it just seems to me that it's not making her very happy.

For her, it's like she cares more about the success than the writing.

Well, of course, it's very easy for that to happen. Not the success, of course,

but everything that goes with it.

Oh, the publicists, the tours, the TV appearances, the media hype.

Sometimes it seems like it's taken over her life.

It can, if you let it.

Except it doesn't seem to bother her.

It obviously bothers you.

Look, Marion, I can't speak for Sabella, but I found that writing can get stale

if I'm not stretching myself.

I have to guard against slipping into patterns, doing it the same old way.

Maybe everyone does.

Are you thinking of becoming a writer?

I... Yes, I guess I've thought about it. On the other hand, it could be that

Sabella's unhappiness is caused by something other than her career.

Yes, I guess I never considered that. I better get back now.

Marion, I'm not much of an advice giver.

But if you do decide to write, you might give some thought to simply going out on

your own and just doing it. I know from my own experience, nobody is going to do

it for you.

Well, thanks, Mrs. Fletcher.

I'll see myself out.

Fine.

Hi, can you fix this? Oh, I've got to see to the caterers and the table and

the flowers.

Marion, you look lovely. Doesn't she, Derek? Yes, absolutely.

Thanks. I was wondering if you needed help with anything.

Oh, you're a dear.

How are you with bow ties?

I think I can do it.

Right there.

You look.

Absolutely delicious.

Marion, not now. Now's not the time.

When, for heaven's sakes? You just have to be a little more patient.

That's all. I promise.

You've said that before.

I know. Well, when she's through with her new novel, then.

All right?

The next batch, a little less dill. Yes, ma'am.

Those candles over there, please space them a little more evenly.

Mm-hmm.

Sabella, I must speak with you.

Where's Valerie?

Shining your shoes?

Preening. She'll be along shortly.

Listen, uh, about my visa.

I desperately need your help, you know.

I know.

All right.

What is it you want?

A trade-off.

I fix it so you can take out U.S. citizenship and you give up Valerie.

That's out of the question.

Not that you two don't deserve each other, but without you, she might turn

into a human being I can tolerate.

Forget it, love.

I wasn't under the impression that you had a choice.

Working late, aren't you? Shape this place is in, the work never stops, Miss

Stone.

Like I said, whole thing's just an accident waiting to happen.

I do appreciate your concern, but fortunately the building inspector

doesn't agree with it.

I swear, I don't know why I let you talk me into this.

Cheer up, Seth.

It's a lovely night.

No clouds, lots of stars.

Oh, look at those lights.

Lights?

Fishermen, probably.

It appears to be some sort of a signal.

S.O.S.? No.

No, it's too irregular.

See? I can't keep this thing on the road.

Well, it stopped.

Which is what I would like to do followed by turning around and going

home.

I hope we're not too late, sir.

It was my fault. I couldn't find my darn car keys.

Good evening, Mrs. Fletcher.

Just hang up your coat and join the others, won't you? I'm trying to find

Sabella. Ah.

Well, if this is what passes for hospitality, we're in for quite a long

night. By the way, did you notice that Miss Hartman and Mr.

Wonderful are right over there?

Come on, Seth, give it a chance. Okay, but I'm warning you, it's got disaster

written all over it.

And then again at Le Mans in 1980.

The identical thing happened. It was the 23rd hour. I had the race won. Bloody

car was running like a top and then cornering out of the Mulsanne straight,

the rear suspension broke and I spun out.

My full mechanic had neglected to install the proper shims. Oh, it makes

me very glad that I never learned how to drive.

Interesting, isn't it, how all his losses...

Seemed to be someone else's fault. All the same, I am fascinated by people who

live on the edge.

Well, I think Mr. Burnham has already fallen off his.

I heard a couple of the guests talking.

They said Colin had been dropped from his racing team, apparently lost his

nerve.

Jessica, we have been here 40 minutes.

Do you realize our hostess hasn't put in an appearance yet?

Dr. Haslett.

Yes, Jessica.

You look lovely. Thank you, Derek. So how can I induce you to leave your

publisher and sign with me?

Oh, I'm afraid that's a very hard sale, Derek. Oh, come on. Are you telling me

you're actually happy with your advertising and promotion?

Are you telling me you've ever met an author who was?

No.

Even my wife gives me grief about that.

Excuse me, Dad. Yes, I wonder where Sabella has disappeared to.

Oh, do you really care? You needed her ten years ago, not now.

Valerie, you shut up.

All right?

What's wrong, Mary? I'm not sure. I found this on her dressing table.

Boathouse. 7 p.m.

That's almost an hour ago.

Help!

Oh, God.

Isabella! My ankle's caught!

Hold on, darling. We'll get you out.

She's free. Pull her up.

Damn it!

Temperature, normal.

Except those bruises on your ankle, I'd say you're none the worse for wear.

Thank heaven for that.

Tide rising like that, another few minutes would have been all over.

What were you doing down at the boathouse anyway?

It's ridiculous, really.

Jessica was very excited by the Moody family diaries.

I recalled seeing some more volumes down there, so I went to get them.

So what's that got to do with the note?

What note?

Oh, yes, now I remember.

I wrote that memo to remind myself to meet Phil Coyle down there yesterday

evening to discuss some repairs.

Huh? Ironic, isn't it? I don't know if that's quite the word I'd use. In any

case, it's very fortunate that Miss King found the note.

Yes, I will certainly second that. And now, darling, I think it's essential

that you get some rest.

Oh, I feel terrible that I've ruined what promised to be a very lovely

evening. Thank you. Thank all of you. Good night.

Thanks again.

You're welcome.

Everything was very nice. Have a nice night.

Colin, you startled me.

Valerie needed something warmer.

It was perfectly awful what happened to Sabella.

He must be frightfully upset.

Forget it. You so much as breathe heavy, I go straight to Valerie.

I don't think so, love.

Because if you did, I'd have to inform Sabella of your nightly

rendezvous with Derek.

Be my guest.

Ta-ta, Colin.

And on top of that, you disappear for 15 minutes.

while I get treated to another round of family feud.

Where in the devil were you, anyway?

Well, if you'll give me half a chance, I'll tell you. I went back to the

boathouse. You know, those broken boards that Sabella thought were rotten?

Well, some of their edges were cleanly cut.

Are you saying someone tried to kill her?

Or frighten her.

I mean, either way, I'm almost certain it was deliberate.

And that's not all. I couldn't find any of those family journals that she said

were down there.

Somebody could have removed them.

You remember those flashing lights that we noticed on the water while we were

driving up? Do you think there's some sort of connection between those lights

and what happened?

Well, I don't know. But I did think that Sabella was being somewhat less than

candid about that note that Marion found.

My sentiments exactly.

As if she was frightened of something, but can't quite bring herself to tell us

what it is.

But who?

What would it possibly be? Seth, look out!

Well, yes, I think so.

Now, where do you suppose Phil Coyle is going in such an all-fired hurry?

Well, I was asking myself the same question.

Okay, Mr. Shepard, where is she?

Right down there.

Sandy?

Did you touch anything?

No, no way. I just took one look and ran to a phone.

You live around here?

No, sir.

I'm sort of new in town. I rent a room over on Elm.

I was out walking, watching the sunrise.

Any idea who it is?

I'm not sure.

I've seen that rider wearing a coat with a hood like that.

Jessica Fletcher?

No, I think her name's Stone.

Sabella Stone?

Is she?

It's okay if I move her, Sheriff?

Yeah, but as little as possible until Doc gets here.

Wait a minute, that isn't... That's not Mrs. Stone.

That's Sabella Stone's assistant, Marion King.

Dr. Haslett figures it happened last night, anywhere between 10 and 1 a.m.

It's horrible.

Yes, ma'am, it is.

A little ahead like that, the doctor said death was instantaneous.

And we figure she fell from the bluff after she was struck.

What was she doing out there, anyhow?

I was about to ask the same thing.

Perhaps she was headed to the boathouse to, uh...

Meet someone.

Colin, that's ridiculous.

Why is that, Miss Harbin? I'll tell you why.

Because the girl didn't have a devious bone in her body or an enemy in the

world, so far as I know.

I'm so sorry.

Thank you, Jessica.

Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher. Are you here to maybe shed some light on this?

Well, it's odd that you should mention light.

I have no idea if there's any connection, but has anyone mentioned to

you that someone has been flashing signal lights out in the bay at night

not far from here?

Signal lights? I saw it myself on the way up here last night, and Marion told

me that she'd seen them the past two nights.

Anyone else seen them?

Actually, I think I may have.

I usually take a walk before going to bed, weather permitting. On the beach?

Oh, heavens no. The bluff is as close as I care to get to the water.

Anyway, I just assumed that they were ships passing or something of that sort.

On these walks, ma'am, do you ever wear a long gray coat with a hood? I have a

gray cloak, yes.

Does Miss King have one like that? No, not that I know of.

Well, then I'm afraid, ma'am, that Miss King was wearing your cloak when she was

killed.

Oh, my God.

So, you're saying... I believe what the sheriff is suggesting is that the killer

might have mistaken Marion for you.

Monroe, I heard about the murder.

Are you okay?

More or less, yeah.

I'm worried about you.

Well, don't be.

They say that you discovered the body?

So?

Well, what were you doing way out there? I've answered enough questions for one

morning, Sue.

Please, Monroe, don't shut me out. I can't stand it.

I don't know what you're talking about. Yes, you do. You're involved somehow

with them, aren't you? Something to do with that family.

Forget it, Sue. You're imagining things.

Am I?

Ever since we've been seeing each other, ever since you got to town, I've sensed

that there's something between you and those people.

Sue, I... Please, Monroe, don't do this to me. I haven't wanted to pry, but it's

making me a little crazy.

The way you look at them when they come to town, the phone calls.

The dates that you've broken off with me?

The dead girl.

Ms. King.

That's it, isn't it?

You and she... No.

Then it's that... that Valerie.

The pretty one.

Sue.

I'm sorry.

Just let me get back to work, okay?

But why would she take my cloak?

If I remember correctly, Marion's coat was this pale cream one.

Is that Marion King's coat?

Yes, it is. But I still don't understand why she didn't wear it.

Well, maybe she couldn't find it under that top coat.

Or maybe she was just in such a hurry she grabbed the nearest one, yours.

Who does this belong to?

That is mine.

Then you were right about the incident at the boathouse last night. Whoa, hold

it. What incident?

Well, when Jessica got home, she called me suggesting that I get in touch with

you. I didn't think it was important.

Uh, Sabella, there were no journals in the boathouse.

Journals? And the note. Was it really about your meeting with Phil Coyle?

The count never existed.

This is Joe Walensky, my real first husband.

I've been receiving these for several weeks now.

You owe me love, Joe.

It's time to share the wealth. Joe W.

Well, this one is from Milwaukee, and this from St. Louis, but there's no

return address on either one.

Well, this one's even more threatening. If you refuse, I'll make mincemeat out

of you. Signed, J.W. He always had a crazy streak. I divorced him after I

left Birch Falls.

I hadn't heard from him in years until I got these notes.

Anyway, yesterday I received the one Marion found asking me to meet him in

the boathouse.

I thought perhaps if we talked, I might convince him to go away.

Jessica.

How is she holding up? Oh, pretty well, I think.

Sheriff Metzger is still taking her statement.

And you, Derek, how are you holding up?

I'm not sure how I should respond to that, Jessica.

Well, I suppose that depends how deeply you were involved with Marion.

Well, you do know how to cut to the chase, don't you?

For me, I think I was trying to convince myself that I wasn't growing old.

And for her?

Well, it was more serious for her.

She wanted me to divorce Sabella.

You're not suggesting that I... Oh, I'm not suggesting anything, Derek.

Hey, I'm just saying it wasn't supposed to include murder, okay?

Listen, for the kind of money you're paying me, you won't even see ripples.

Yeah, I gotta go.

Quick, old man Turner's looking for you.

Like I told you before, even if I wanted to help Connor, which I don't, I have no

way of doing it.

Sabella does.

She has a friend in Washington.

Please, Daddy.

Please.

Come on, I know you can talk her into it. God, she owes you everything, for

God's sake.

Well, knowing the way Sabella feels about Colin, I don't even think she'll

listen. What about the way I feel? Doesn't that count?

Damn it, why couldn't it have been her? It was her cloak.

It could have been so easy.

Hold it, Coyle!

Freeze!

Don't shoot!

I'm not armed!

Neither was Mary and King when someone killed her last night. That someone

wouldn't have been you, would it, Coyle? Are you crazy?

I don't even know her. Why would I want to kill her? Could be she saw the same

thing in the box that I see.

Bribery.

My guess is you've been smuggling that in by boat.

Probably by way of Canada.

which would explain the flashing lights people have been seeing offshore.

And the private beach made it a breeze until Miss Stone arrived.

No wonder you wanted her gone.

You got that part right, Sheriff, but not bad enough to kill for it. Yeah?

Suppose we let a jury decide that, huh, Coyle?

I'm placing you under arrest for smuggling ivory.

And I got a hunch before we're through, I'll be charging you with the attempted

murder of Sabella Stone and the murder of Marion King.

Joseph Henry Walensky.

So this was Ms. Stone's first husband.

Have you seen anybody around town that looks like him, Ms. Fletcher?

No, no, I haven't.

According to this, he served three years of a seven-year term.

Then after six months, he jumped bail.

He's been a fugitive ever since.

That was seven years ago.

And what did you say?

All of a sudden, a few months ago, right out of the blue, he starts sending notes

to Ms. Stone?

May I use your phone?

Of course, Ms. Fletcher.

Yes, I'd like the area code for Enid, Oklahoma, please.

Clean, simple, no muss, no fuss.

I love it. Makes you feel like you're doing your job. Also makes you

insufferable. Hey, I'm entitled to a little of that.

I mean, you find a lead, you follow it to its logical conclusion, and you catch

the guy, not only without an alibi for murder, but red-handed on a whole other

crime.

Besides... You're never insufferable? Me?

Oh, Sheriff.

I suggest that you seriously consider a brain scan.

Oh, right.

How about when you finally figured out what was wrong with Adele's foot?

We didn't hear the end of that for a month. The fact that your wife was

unaware that she was walking around for six weeks with a nail in her shoe has,

you must admit, a certain anecdotal quality.

Especially when you realize she never once wore that particular shoe.

when she came limping in to see me.

Yeah, well, uh, yeah.

Oh, Mrs. F. Oh, Jessica.

Sheriff, I, uh... Easy on the compliments, Mrs. F. The doc isn't

handling him too well.

Uh, actually, Sheriff, I came by to tell you that I think that you're mistaken.

And although I can't quite prove who did murder Marion King, I'm almost certain

that Phil Coyle had nothing to do with it.

My goodness, Jess, you don't say.

Come on, Mrs. F. We got enough on Coyle.

To put him away for a couple of lifetimes.

I mean, I myself caught him... Sheriff, on the off chance that it could prove

otherwise, would you authorize a credit card check?

A credit card check?

Sure. Why not?

But I gotta tell you, this is one time you're mistaken.

Okay, whose credit card and what detail?

Well, it's pretty much the way you had it figured, Mrs. F.

Airline tickets to St. Louis, New Orleans, Memphis.

But look who signed for them.

Yes.

Sheriff, this one frightens me. Why?

I think it means that unless we move very fast, there could be more murders.

Coffee shop?

Sure.

It's for you, Monroe.

Listen, you two close up for me, okay?

You got it, Mr. Turner.

Good night, Mr. Turner.

Hello?

Yeah, well, I gotta talk to you, too.

Tonight?

Okay.

I've gotta go out there.

Monroe, I'm scared.

Well, don't be. This is the last time.

I'm gonna put an end to this.

Take my chances.

Mr. Shepard, I wonder if we could have a word with you, please.

Oh, my God.

I was afraid you wouldn't be here.

Monroe, what's wrong?

Just tell me what the problem is, Sabella. What was so urgent?

It's Derek.

He knows about us.

He's furious. Well, I'm terrified.

So? You don't understand.

We're in danger.

He murdered Marion.

Sabella!

Derek, darling, help me!

Isabella.

Isabella.

Who's he?

What's going on?

What's going on, my darling, is your death.

Wait a minute.

You murdered Marion, didn't you? And now?

Don't even twitch, lady.

Andy. Nice job, Mr. Shepherd.

Thanks.

Well, it looks like you had this one nailed too, Mrs. F.

She uses this gun to kill her husband, plugs Monroe with this one, and then

puts the first one in Monroe's hand.

Thereby making it look as if Monroe had killed Derek and that you had no choice.

but to kill Monroe in self-defense.

Do you really think I'm so stupid, Derek, that I was blind to what was

going on between you and Marion?

You killed Marion because of our affair?

No, Derek, it wasn't as simple as that.

You came to Cabot Cove to play a calculated charade, knowing that I'd be

the first to suspect attempts were being made on your life, attempts which you

cleverly contrived. First, the dinner party.

during which a number of people would be made aware that you were missing,

leaving the note where Marion or someone else could find it. That way you felt

sure you'd be found at the boathouse in time to be rescued. It was you who saw

through the floorboards.

But the tide... She almost drowned.

The one thing she didn't take into account was her ankle getting caught,

trapping her down there.

Then I remembered the tide chart you kept prominently pinned to the bulletin

board.

Excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher.

Probably 80% of the people in Cabot Cove have a tie chart.

Even someone who insisted that the bluff was the closest she ever came to the

water's edge?

Okay.

But why was Marion King wearing Mrs. Stone's cloak?

Because you hid her coat, didn't you, Sabella, after the party?

Knowing that Marion would be going down to the boathouse for her usual

clandestine meeting with your husband. So she had no choice but to wear your

distinctive cloak.

I get it now.

She kills Miss King, making it look like a mistake, like she was the intended

victim. Then she puts Miss King's cream-colored coat back, so this morning

we all see that it's there under Mr. Hartman's.

My God, Sabella.

Why? I think that Sabella learned what I did, Derek.

When Marion dropped those journals off at my house the day of the party, she

questioned me about my work.

I have to guard against slipping into patterns, doing it the same old way.

Maybe everyone does.

Are you thinking of becoming a writer?

I...

Yes, I guess I've thought about it. It left me with the impression that though

she was reluctant to admit it, she might have done more than just consider the

possibility. And then later, I recalled a story about the new novelist from

Oklahoma, and I learned that the only record of Mrs. Bobby Joe Peckinpah in

Enid, Oklahoma, was a post office box rented by Marion King. The conniving

little tramp.

She learned to write by watching me.

With Marion and Derek dead, as publisher of my own books, I'd have the best of

all worlds.

But there were other key elements in your plan.

The first being your ex-husband, Joe Walensky.

He's still a fugitive.

Which gave you a ready-made scapegoat. An angry, vengeful ex-husband who wanted

a piece of your success.

But you needed somebody to help you create that fiction.

So I found Monroe.

Sweet boy.

Yeah. Sweet boy.

You had him scared to death.

Somehow you'd found out he had a police record and you threatened to use that

against him. You told him if he didn't do as you asked, you were going to tell

everyone that he had burglarized your place.

I might never have made the connection, Sabella, except that earlier today in

the coffee shop, while Monroe was preparing the menu, his chalk broke.

And I happened to notice that he misspelled the word mince in the same

way as that note you showed us after Marion's body was discovered.

My compliments, Jessica.

I should have stuck to my specialty, gothic romance, and left the murder

plotting to you.

I think you were mistaken on a far more basic level, Sabella.

You convinced yourself you could pull it off in real life.

And so we checked her credit card records. Here you go. Thank you. There

were air travel receipts signed for by Monroe for places like St. Louis,

Chicago, Des Moines.

Places he must have sent the Joe Walensky letters from. And the final

item was a purchase that Sabella signed for. First class airfare to Jamaica.

The holiday that she told me that she was planning with her husband.

Only the ticket was for just one person.

Sabella. Oh, yeah.

Well, I told you.

Told me what's that? What do you mean, what? That whole bunch was loony.

New Yorkers, race car drivers, vagabonds. They never should have been

allowed up here in the first place.

Mr. Fletcher, Dr. Haslund, I just wanted to thank you, Mrs. Fletcher, and to

let you know that I've decided to settle down here in Cabot Cove with Sue. Well,

I think that's lovely.

And I hope you'll both be very happy.

Thank you.

Monroe?

Well, have a nice day.

Well, now, Seth, doesn't that make you feel good?

Wonderful.

I just hope he takes some spelling lessons.