All language subtitles for surrealestate.s02e03.1080p.web.h264-nhtfs_Subtitles01.ENG

realEstate.

My name is Kit Rampart.

You’re threatened. You feel more like

Kit the Spirit Stalker
than you want to admit.

Worst part is the silence.

Tell me about it. Tempting offer.

Nah. I have a feeling

this real estate thing’s gonna work out.

I found a beautiful house
that brings it all back.

Susan,
you took what we do and you color-coded it.

There’s nothing magical
about your process.

I’ll take it from here.

What are you going to do?
Rat me out to Zooey again?

You were a condescending, dismissive jerk.

The new Luke seems defensive, territorial.

But on issues like this, you need to

check in with me on everything.

You might want to think
about doing things our way.

I love this property.

I mean,
I love all my listings but this one is--

It’s special.

It is that.

Don’t get me wrong,
we love working with you

and I am certain we will find you a buyer.

I hope so.

But I have to ask: Why are you selling?

You’ve only been here less than a year.

I assume you own a home.

Yeah. A brand new one.

Well, new to me.

And you love it, don’t you?

Mm-hm.

Well, you’re lucky.

This place and I never...

never quite...

connected.

Oh, I better make myself scarce.

Oh, you don’t have to--

Mm-hm.

You must be Emmett and Mandy! I’m Susan.

Hi. What a lovely place.

Oh, you are in for a treat!

It’s not often we come
across a heritage property

that has been so gracefully modernized.

Well, our place is so small.

Imagine having room to breathe!

To stretch out! To entertain!

Just wait until you see the
updated gourmet kitchen.

We could finally do Thanksgiving dinner

at our place.

Get ready to fall in love.

How’s this for a first impression?

Imagine hosting family celebrations here,

holidays, or just having friends drop in.

She never pulled that stunt
with anyone else before.

Just me.

I don’t suppose they’ll
be putting in an offer.

Oh, I don’t think so, no.

I heard that the Roman
Agency specialized in...

stuff like this.

We do. Um...

It is nice to have a little...

heads up before we start
bringing people through.

Of course. I’m sorry.

Like I say, it’s the first time
it’s happened to anyone but me.

Do you think you can help?

We can try.

I’ll talk to my people
and get back to you.

Any idea who she might be?

It’s an old house.

Probably someone who once lived here.

Right up until she didn’t.

The house was built in 1934;

only four owners prior to Tolliver.

Who goes through all the
trouble of planning a wedding

just to pull the plug on the day?

I’d be more prone to self-harm
at the actual proposal.

Drew is such a nice man.

Imagine moving into a
house you thought you loved

and having to deal with that.

Do we have any way to reach out to her?

In fact, I do.

Something new.

Well, let’s take it for a spin.

Nice place. What’s the square footage?

Just under 7,000.

Bedrooms?

Four. I emailed you all of this.

Must have missed it.

Well,
you need to organize your inbox folders.

I’ll get right on that.

Where is Mr Tolliver?
He said he’d be here.

You have the code for the lockbox,
don’t you?

Mr. Tolliver?

Mr. Tolliver, it’s Susan Ireland.

I guess this is where she generally hangs.

I’m going to check the kitchen.

Go ahead. I’ll check out,
uh, August’s walkie-talkie.

Must’ve stepped out.

Why do all of August’s machines
look like what people in 1953

thought machines in 1997 would look like?

Well, he explained it to me once.

Apparently the other side
is way more sensitive

to the analog stuff than the digital.

But you don’t need to understand it.

Just do it.

Hello.

Hello?

Hello?

Something happened.

Murdered.

Did you hear that?

- Oh.
- What did she say?

Murdered!

But you hanged yourself.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Murdered!

What is keeping you here?

What do you want and what do you need?

I...

have the man.

You have the man?

What man?

T-T-T-T...

olliver!

Where is Mr. Tolliver?

He was m-m-mine.

Find...

murdered... me.

You don’t know who killed you?

I... murdered...

me...

Or...

Tolliver hangs!

Who are you?

Who... murdered...

me--ee.

Killer... or-or...

T-T-T-Tolliver

hang by the neck!

- Ahh...
- What?

So, what happens now?

I guess we find a killer
or we lose a client.

The hard way.

This is why we can’t have nice things.

Well, see if you can fix it.

It worked okay until it overheated.

No respect.

So, somebody murdered her and
made it look like a suicide?

Apparently.

Look, I don’t have to tell
any of you what it’s gonna do

to our reputation if another
one of our clients...

- Our reputation?
- ...at the hands of a problem

Our reputation’s more important
than that nice man’s life?

- I don’t think that I said that!
- Okay!

What I don’t understand is how
she doesn’t know who did it.

She was there.

I guess if she was pushed.

You know, the dead are just like us;

they block out unpleasant experiences.

But it explains why she’s still...

hanging around.

She can’t move on until she knows
"who done it."

So, if we clear up the murder...

We clear out the house and we
save a client in the bargain.

All right, I’ll do a deep dive
into past owners, as well as

see who knew the bride when
she used to rock and roll.

I’ll check the first floor.

I’ll take the second.

I’ll take the top floor.
Let’s circle back in an hour.

Let’s go.

So, I looked behind the picture;

there was this hidden compartment.

These were inside.
It’s like she wanted us to find them.

Ooh. Diaries, secrets,

innermost thoughts from
someone named Genevieve.

- Genevieve. It’s a start.
- Divide and conquer.

We all take a diary home
and look at it tonight.

We’ll compare notes tomorrow.

Gimme one for August. He loves to read.

Hey! Luke!

Um, I just wanted to run something by you.

Right. Um...

I was thinking about getting
my real estate license.

- Really?
- Yeah.

You know,
I just thought how hard could it be, right?

Good point. Seriously,

you should totally do it.
You’d be great at it.

So, you’d hire me as an agent?

In a heartbeat.

Okay. Thank you.

Based on your response,

I have another thing to tell you.

- I got my license today.
- Really?

I’ve been studying for the last
three months and then I took--

Well, that’s great! Congratulations.

Oh!

Thank you.

So did you mean it about hiring me?

You’re already hired.
I mean, we’ll have to figure out

what this means as far as staffing and all.

Maybe you can transition a little at a time?

Yeah, yeah. Whatever works.

Regardless,

I am super proud of you.

Actually,

me too.

Kinda. Whatever. Okay, bye!

Welcome home, Susan.

You loved that house.

It was bright and cheerful

and I would just lie there and daydream.

That was the one summer
Daddy wasn’t away at work.

Mm.

I would just lie in the sunshine and...

And listen to him play piano.

That was a good summer.

Shit!

Ah, what happened to the alarm?

Oh, House, what time was the alarm set?

Your alarm is set for 6:15 PM.

No! I meant 6:15 AM!

Alarm is now set for 6:15 AM.

House, unlock the door.

House!

- Anybody heard from Susan?
- Uh-uh.

Okay, so, let’s get started.

All right.

Our Genevieve is one Genevieve Wilson,

age 49 when she apparently
hanged herself from the banister

a few hours after marrying
her third husband.

Now, the police

wrote it off as a suicide
once they found her note.

Genevieve... she was kind of a celebrity.

She wrote a bunch of books
on the joys of parenting.

She taught a generation
how to raise their kids.

Now, according to the police report,

most of the guests had already gone home;

only four remained in the house.

So, if Genevieve was murdered,
it had to be one of them.

Let’s meet our contestants.

Save some wine for the rest of the guests.

Let’s get this picture
taken so we can all go home.

Marilyn Bates,

Genevieve’s editor and closest friend.

Oh, Judy, for Heaven’s sakes,
will you stop fussing?

Judy Renault,

her long-time personal assistant.

We are always working.

Nathaniel Hingston, her teenage son

by way of husband number two.

He wrote a tell-all memoir
about his mom in the 90s.

Now, I sent you all a digital copy.

Thank you.

Find a spot.

Oh, there he is!

And batting cleanup...

Mr. Arthur Aldean,

freshly minted husband number three.

Moment, and there you are; you are perfect.

Thank you, Marilyn.

Now, all their testimony was the same:

as the party was winding down,

they all decided to take one final portrait.

Then Genevieve excused
herself and went upstairs.

It was less than an hour later
that she came back down--

the express route.

It’s gotta be the husband,

says every true crime podcast ever.

Now, in her diary,

she said Arthur loved her unreservedly.

The diary I read was mostly
about her son Nathaniel;

what a disappointment he was.

Nathaniel still lives in town.

I emailed him last night but
I don’t expect a response.

That memoir was pretty brutal.

My diary, Genevieve was pretty
sure everybody loved her.

Especially someone named "W."
A secret lover.

Let’s stick to the suspects
we know were there that night.

Listen to this:

I just got an email back from the son,
Nathaniel.

He’s agreed to come in
and talk to us tonight.

I don’t know.

He seemed pretty creepy in the diary.

I’m sure he’s grown up now.

Susan just texted me.

She stopped by the Tolliver house

in between showings.

Well, was he there?

No.

But I think the bride is getting impatient.

A little reminder of
what’s going to happen

to poor Mr. Tolliver if we
don’t figure this out.

We can’t let that happen.

Find anything interesting in your diary?

Soft-core porn about somebody named W.

Yeah, he shows up everywhere.

She said some pretty awful things

about Nathaniel, too. Her son?

Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you--

Sounded like he was a monster!

Lighting fires, torturing animals.

Ah! Oh, my God! I bet he did it!

Luke, he’s the killer!

Hold that thought.

Hi there. May I help you?

I’m here to see a Mr. Orley.

My name is Nathaniel Hingston.

Oh! You’re the son! Hiya, Nate!

Nathaniel.

I will go get him for you.

Can I get you something to drink?

Do you have any two percent milk?

Um... No.

Then I’m fine.

You’re joking.

I’m afraid not. She’s in the house

and she says she was murdered.

She’s taken the poor
man who owns the house

and is threatening to kill him
if we don’t figure this out.

Mama drama ding-dong.

What can you tell us about that night,
the night she died?

Oh, God.

Judy was...

She was my mother’s assistant.

Judy had climbed down off the cross

long enough to clear the dishes.

In her diary, your mother called Judy

"her good right hand."

Only if Mother’s left hand
was holding a fondue fork

to repeatedly poke out Judy’s eyes!

Mother loathed weakness and Judy was...

weak.

But, Nate, in your memoir you said--

My name is Nathaniel!

And yes, I lost my...

virginity to Judy.

Excuse me.

You are...

You are a Sagittarius, yes?

- I’m an Aries.
- Ah! I knew it.

May I smell your hair?

Oh, I’d rather you didn’t. Mm.

Maybe later.

Yes, Judy took my cherry.

A rather Herculean task.

And then she proceeded to blackmail me!

Cost me tens of thousands in allowance!

I could have slit her throat.

An Aries?

Are you sure?

Pretty sure.

Mm-hm.

Okay.

Anyway, Judy had neither the outright skills

nor the can-do attitude to kill anyone.

Besides, this was a fairly small matter

relative to Marilyn’s
ongoing affair with A-arthur.

- Sorry, what?
- Pardon me?

Oh, yes! Arthur was playing
hide the hamster with Marilyn

the entire time he was courting Mother.

Shockingly disloyal.

Made me want to toast them
both with a crystal flute

of drain cleaner and watch
as they slowly liquified.

Do you know someone your mother called W?

Her boy toy.

Her refuge,

for when Arthur couldn’t find the lead

in his Number Two Ticonderoga.

But in her diary, Genevieve said

that she loved him.

He wasn’t love. He was...

...exercise. If I thought he was

a serious contender for my new daddy,

I’d have taken a pair of
bolt cutters to his little--

Okay, Nathaniel,
I think we get the gist of it.

Thank you so much for coming by.

You’re judging me. I feel it.

But you don’t know what it’s like

to be a mother’s "proof of concept."

If I seriously thought
she was back in the world,

back in my life,
I might kill every last one of you,

and turn the gun on myself.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Now, just a minute, Nathaniel.

Hmm.

You really don’t need to do this.

For you.

It’s autographed.

In my own blood.

How special. Thank you.

Exquisite.

I think "the mommy that raised America"

should have taken a few more personal days.

I feel unsafe.

The man’s a carnival ride
with a loose bolt on a...

tight downhill turn.

So, it’s him, right? We agree?
He’s definitely the killer.

So, we gonna tell Genevieve now
or wait ’til Mother’s Day?

Something about this just feels wrong.

He totally did it.

He sniffed my hair.

Let’s think this through.

It is possible that Nathaniel left the room.

Went into his mother’s room...

Then he choked her with the golden rope.

He wrote the suicide note...

carried his mom to the stairwell...

And...

scene.

Phil, can we take another look at that note?

I wonder if he inherited a bunch of money.

No. Genevieve left her entire estate

to a Shetland pony rescue
in the Outer Hebrides.

Stiffed everyone, including Nate.

- Nathaniel.
- Hm?

Luke called him Nate and he
was corrected immediately.

Oh, yeah,
I did the same thing when he first came in.

Wants to be referred to as Nathaniel.

So, it’s pretty doubtful
that he would refer to himself

as Nate in a suicide note.

Can you put up the wedding picture again?

- Mm-hm.
- The one with the final four.

Yup. Still a creep.

He sniffed...

- my hair!
- I know. I’m so sorry.

So, if it wasn’t Nathaniel,

who could it be?

What about Judy? The assistant.

In his book, Nathaniel said

he told Judy he wasn’t going
to pay her blackmail anymore.

Maybe Judy went upstairs to tell all,

they got in a fight,

and she choked Genevieve
with the golden rope.

Judy had been answering her
fan mail for years, so...

the suicide note was easy and...

you know the rest.

Yeah, I’m not buying it.

See, I still like the husband for the thing.
Arthur.

Nah. He walks with a cane.
There’s no way that

he could drag Genevieve
and toss her over the side.

Not on his own! Hear me out:

So, Marilyn is hammered, right?

And she can’t think of
a more delicious irony

than to do the groom on his wedding night.

But before Arthur could, you know,

toss the bouquet...

Genevieve comes in.

Oh!

Arthur!

Marilyn!

So, they tandem-choke Genevieve...

Marilyn ghostwrites the suicide note...

they lug her to the staircase,
one on each end,

and they toss her over.

Teamwork makes the dream work, baby.

Just wait a minute:

Police report said these four people

were the last ones in the house.

That’s right.
One of them has to be a killer.

So, who took the picture?

Yes! Yes, ah, Mr. Hingston,
it’s Susan Ireland from--

The Aries. Yes.

Um, Mr. Hings--

Nathaniel.

I hate you all.

So, Nathaniel, um, there is that photograph

of you all on the night of your mother’s

wedding-slash-tragic
death and I was wondering

if you could remember who took it?

Mm-hm. Thanks,

it’s actually a Swedish
shampoo called Jordgubbe.

Um, so the photo, do you remember who--

Okay.

You’ve been incredibly helpful, Nathaniel.
Thank you.

No,
I’m actually moving out of the country.

Mm-hm.

Forever.

Mm-hm. Yeah. Okay. Goodbye.

So?

He couldn’t remember
exactly who took the photo,

but it was somebody on the staff.

Gardener or housekeeper.

Great.

Actually, I found her personnel records

when I was checking out Judy.

It had a full staff listing.

See if anything jumps out at you.

Figuratively speaking.

Phil, Hey. Whaddaya got?

So, um...

checked those personnel records.

I thought that was a dead end?

Yeah, not exactly. Look at this.

Warden G. Oliver?

Yeah, he was a gardener.
He worked for Genevieve

for about six months before she was wed.

And... dead.

He quit on this date? Are you sure?

Yeah; day after the wedding.

Look, um,

I know you really like this Tolliver guy.

- He is a sweet old man...
- Andrew Tolliver.

Warden Oliver.

And it always gets my
attention when things rhyme.

Think my mother was
traumatized by a greeting card

when I was in utero.

You don’t think there’s some connection?

The secret lover? W? Warden?

Could be a coincidence.

Warden is an anagram for Andrew.

Thought you should know.

So, Phil told me about Tolliver.

Kinda makes sense.

Nothing makes sense. Luke, I don’t know.

Could we just talk about it tomorrow?

You’re here!

You’re back...

Miss Ireland.

So glad you’re all right.

Where have you been?

Right where we are now.

In your dreams.

How did you find me?

Your new house.

It has more magic than you know.

I don’t understand.

I know. It’s terribly confusing.

And I’m sorry, but here we are.

You killed Genevieve.

I offer no defense.

Only an understanding.

I was 22.

Do you remember 22?

She was...

Amazing.

Beautiful.

Powerful.

And she noticed me.

Me...

someone who dug holes and
filled them up for a living.

What we had was wrong.

All I know is our time together
was the happiest I’ve been,

before or...

or since.

I used to call her my baby doll.

But I told her that we
couldn’t be together anymore.

She’d thought that she
could be married to Arthur,

enjoy his money, his station

and still be with me?

I told her no.

I didn’t respect myself much, but, God!

More than that.

Then came the drama.

- What are you doing?
- Stay away from me.

- We can talk about this.
- Don’t come near me!

No! No, don’t come near me!
You’re killing me!

I asked myself a thousand
time if she really jumped.

No, get away from me!

Ahh!

No!

I panicked.

Typed up a suicide note,

snuck out the back steps and--

quit the next day.

Moved to New Mexico, changed my name.

Speculated in land development,
did quite well.

Sent almost all of my money to that...

that charity in the Outer Hebrides.

Somewhere out there there’s a

herd of Shetland ponies
with quite a portfolio.

But the guilt...

Never went away.

So,
when this house came up for sale last year,

I bought it.

I thought it might stop the nightmares.

But they just got worse.

Genevieve wasn’t asking
you to find her killer.

She was trying to tell you that I...

was the killer.

That’s how she sees me.

That’s what I am.

But I loved her.

Miss Ireland, God, how I loved her.

What can we do?

Some mistakes you never stop paying for.

But at last someone knows the truth.

At last I can be at peace.

Nothing is impossible, Mr. Tolliver.

Not in my dreams.

Off.

House!

Off! Turn it off!

6:15 alarm is terminated.

You are a kind soul.

Hm. So I’m told.

Oh, you got another call
from that Rochelle something.

- Sent her to your voicemail.
- Thank you.

Is there a story there?

None that I care to tell.

Okay.

What’s that supposed to be?
Like, a satellite dish, or...?

Not unlike.

And who’s supposed to wear it?

I would imagine Luke.

It may help to restore
a bit of his intuition.

Just don’t mess with his hair.
It’s like a World Heritage Site.

We need to talk to her again.
It was an accident!

Says the killer himself!

Susan,
if we learned anything in the past few days,

that everybody sees everything
through their own lens.

They rationalize. They prevaricate.

- They lie?
- They lie!

And, frankly,
they know an easy mark when they see one.

So, there’s no redemption.

No hope. No matter how much regret,

how good a life you’ve lived otherwise,

no matter how many Shetland ponies

you put through college.

I want to try.

Let’s get August’s new
and improved radio thing

and try talking to Genevieve, please.

Just let me do the talking.

Don’t you think...

I got a little more experience
in these kinds of situations?

Luke,
if you could still do what you used to do

we wouldn’t be here, would we?

I know what to say.

Genevieve,

I know you’re here and
I know you can hear me.

I understand you, Genevieve.

A woman in business, working twice as hard

to get half as far. I see you!

You got used by a lot of men.

Three husbands; Nathaniel.

But Warden was different.

He didn’t want anything but to love you.

He didn’t murder you, it was an accident,

so you need to move on.

And let him do the same.

He loved you, Genevieve.

Granted,
the age difference and power dynamic

could have been a lot better, but...

he didn’t want anything from you.

Except you.

Set him free.

He is...

free.

Hey.

You okay?

Mm-hm.

Spoke to the paramedic.

Said Tolliver suffered a heart attack.

Probably happened so fast,
he didn’t even realize--

I think I need to take some time.

Yeah, why I’m always telling you

to find a better work-life balance.

This isn’t about balance.
It’s about getting out of here

and reassessing my life.

I worked for a horrible boss,
Bob Livingston.

I was enveloped by him,

controlled by him and
called it a relationship.

And now I’m here working
for you and it’s starting

to feel like the second verse
of a really shitty song.

I don’t particularly like
being mentioned in that company.

Well, tough, Luke! Try, just really dig deep

and endeavor to imagine a world
where it isn’t all about you.

I will see you all at the bowling fundraiser

that you volunteered me to organize.

In the meantime,
I am going home to my wonderful new house.

I’m going to spend some time there,
dress it up

and think about whether I
need a new life to match.

♪ Home ♪

♪ I’m finally home ♪

♪ My heart is a compass ♪

♪ And you are the road ♪

♪ Somehow ♪

♪ I’ve always known ♪

♪ There was a lighthouse ♪

♪ Guiding me through the storm ♪

♪ In this endless sea ♪

♪ You rescued me ♪

♪ I was on my knees When you found me ♪

♪ But you found me ♪

♪ I am not alone now ♪

♪ Because you found me ♪

♪ Home ♪

♪ I’m finally home ♪

- Hello?
- Hello, Susan.

The hot water for your herbal tea

is available in the kitchen.

There’s something about home.