All language subtitles for Pushing.Daisies.S02E10.720p.HDTV.x264-CTU-eng

Pushing Daisies - Season 02 Episode 10
"The Norwegians"

Subtitle (2HD v.1.00): A�S Team
--==All-about-Subs.fr==--

At this very moment
at the Longborough school for boys,

young Ned had convinced
Eugene Mulchandani to go to war.

For not only was it proof
of his undying patriotism,

it was also a much-needed escape

from an advanced geometry lesson
in proofs of the Pythagorean kind.

However, like all hill-advised
troop deployments,

it did not come without its share
of unexpected casualties.

As they approached
their first combat fatality,

Eugene's emotional radar
was overcome,

forcing a hasty retreat.

Young Ned, on the other hand,
stood his ground.

He rationalized that,
if he solved the hunter's murder,

the acclaim would bring
his father back into his life.

But the hunter revealed
his cause of death was accidental

and self-inflicted.

There was no murderer to be caught.

Though the park ranger
would believe otherwise.

Waking the dead had landed
young Ned in jail.

Both boys were perceived,

by Papen County juvenile
correction officers,

as anything but heroes.

And while his comrade secured
an honorable discharge,

through the strength
of his parental allies,

young Ned realized that his father was
not going to fight his battles for him.

For in jail, as in life,

he needed to take responsibility
for his actions.

- Dad!
- It's 20 years, 10 months,

8 days, 4 hours
and 17 minutes later.

Once again, waking the dead
was a cause for concern.

The dead in this instance
was Chuck's father, Charles Charles,

who had chosen to flee.

What's he doing?
Where's he going?

That's my car.
He stole my car!

He's not supposed to leave.
He's my dad.

This is really bad.

This...

is really...

bad.

Really...

really, really, really, really bad.

He just left.

No explanation, no apology,
no forwarding address.

At least mine left a forwarding address
to a new house, with a new family.

Now I know how you feel. Losing your dad
because he die is horrible enough,

but losing him because he chooses
to leave is just really horrible.

Basically I've been
dumped by my own dad.

You haven't been dad-dumped.

I'm the one he's mad at.
He asked you to choose, me or him.

It's my fault.

I'm the reason he left after you risked
everything to bring him back.

I risked you.
I used you to bring him back.

It was wrong and selfish, and
we're in this mess because of me.

What if dad goes and tells people
there's a pie maker who has a knack for

baking and...

waking dead people?

Change of career?
No more waking and/or baking?

I just want to hold your hand.

Me too.

I am done
with this by-proxy hand jive.

What's the matter?

You two are acting all lovey-dovey
when you ought to be squawking mad.

You screwed up when you used
his witchin' finger

to conjure up a corpse
and then not tell him.

You screwed up by not tapping her pops
when you had the chance

and I screwed up by cahooting
and colluding and covering up

and ended up having another dead body
in dear, old ghost dad's empty grave.

And both of you ladies ought to be mad
as hell at dear, old dead dad

for stealing your car
and stealing off into the night

with a corpse face that ain't gonna do
no favors for nobody.

Now that you mention it, I am mad.

- I'm furious.
- Get over it, fool.

Bitchin' and whinin' time has gotten
the boot. We need to fix this.

Fix what, chitchatters?
What you fixing?

Fixin' to tell you to mind yours.

You working a case?
Well, break it down.

Are there dead bodies?
Murder? Missing persons?

- Who are the players? Lay it on me.
- It's one of them need-to-know cases.

And you do not need,
therefore you shall not know.

No casual case chitchat to pass the time
whilst perusing the menu?

We don't chitchat where we eat.

But I'm your itty-bitty.
I'm helpful.

Strawberry-kiwi crumble � la mode.

Golden cherry crimson pear,
also � la mode.

Just coffee for me, thanks.

- Hold up, yo.
- Oh, boy.

I'm not some yo-yo
you can jerk up and down

on a "today let's include her,
tomorrow let's not" whim.

'cause if I am,

there are only so many knots I can tie
in my yo-yo string before it snaps...

- for good.
- Please, Olive.

"Please, Olive", my ass.
Where's my pie?

You know what? I hate this.
Olive is my friend.

We can't make her our depository
of secrets one minute, and then...

not include her the next.

- Why can't we just tell her everything?
- Oh, look at that.

A dumb idea just found a friend.

Think again. We ain't gonna
poke a stick in our business

and then snap it off by telling
little big mouth all our problems.

Maybe little big mouth
has earned it.

All she does is trust us
and help us and all we do is lie to her.

We can't afford to tell her.

With everything that's happening,
we don't need another variable.

Little did they know,

another unfortunate variable
was already on its way

in the form of one half

of a renowned synchronized-swimming duo
and sister neurotics,

who was called...

Miss Vivian!

Well, to what do I owe the pleasure?

I need you to find someone for me...

Dwight Dixon, my gentleman caller.

He hasn't come calling
since our last rendez-vous went awry.

Something horrible has happened!

The facts,

as Emerson Cod knew them
and Vivian did not, were these...

Dwight Dixon romanced Vivian
to get what he wanted,

and what he wanted was a watch.

I have a small confession
about Charles' pocket watch.

We buried it with our niece,
lonely tourist Charlotte Charles.

Dwight dug up her niece's grave,

but found the watch missing
and Chuck still alive.

Very nice to meet you.

So Dwight Dixon stole
the watch from Chuck

and Lily stole the watch
from Dwight,

but she didn't stop with one watch,
she stole Dwight's watch, too.

Believing Chuck and the pie maker
to be the thieves,

Dwight Dixon set about
to kill them both,

but Dwight failed to realize

his murderous plan made him
the target of a cosmic exchange

that allowed Chuck
to keep her father alive,

while taking
Dwight's life in trade...

An accidental, inadvertent death

that Emerson Cod hid
in order to protect his friends.

And so Dwight Dixon,
villain and thief,

was buried in the grave

once occupied by Charles Charles.

What makes you think something
happened to Dwight Dixon?

Because he cared about me.
He wouldn't leave without explanation.

Even worse, he could be dead.

Well, let's not jump to conclusions.

Let's just start with the facts.

You say he was your gentleman caller.
How many times he call on you?

Three.

He call you his girlfriend?

Give you a sock drawer?

- Offer you bling?
- No!

Well, did you two have...

intimate relations?

Very.

Long walks, clarinet concer...

I meant in the biblical sense.

Well, then allow me
to put this to you delicately.

You see, men are dogs.

They come, you know,
sniffin' around, barking up your tree,

but if they don't see a kitty cat up in
that tree, soon they just stop barking.

Dwight ain't missing.

He's barking up
somebody else's tree.

Dwight wouldn't do that.
He's a romantic...

a romantic who may need help.

I'm advising you
to not look for Dwight Dixon.

Then find him for me
so I don't have to.

Now, you listen to me. You have no idea
what kind of man Dwight Dixon is.

He's a bad man, a sociopath, a man
who'd stab a friend in the neck

or shoot 'em in the back with
a long-range, high-powered rifle.

Dwight Dixon's gone away.

Now, you just accept that
and stop trying to bring him back.

Thank you...

for your time.

Emerson Cod hated dropping the bomb
on Vivian Charles' heart,

but a shock-and-awe campaign
was the only way

to stop her search for Dwight.

Slice me up something fresh and
expensive and it better be on the house,

'cause I just saved both of your asses
a whole pile of grief.

- Why, what happened?
- Your aunt Vivian came to visit me.

She tried to hire me to find
her missing paramour, Dwight Dixon.

- What did you tell her?
- Oh, I said, "no need to pay me".

"I know damn well where Dwight Dixon is.
Buried in the ground where I put him."

- What you think I said? I said no.
- Poor Vivian.

She's carrying a torch
for a flame I extinguished.

- With my finger.
- Don't worry.

I gave her plenty of reasons
to forget all about him.

The last thing we need

is somebody investigating
the disappearance of Dwight Dixon.

Good day, Emerson Cod.

Hide.

Hello, Magnus.

We've been consigned to investigate
the disappearance of Dwight Dixon.

Hello, Magnus.

If it isn't Papen County's most
surprisingly successful detective.

And his pie-baking,
pretty-boy sidekick.

As flattering as that is,
you're not welcome here.

You either, Hedda.
Stay out of my kitchen.

I'm still mad, so ignore my caring tone,
but why are we hiding?

Chuck was hiding to avoid
a crack forensic team from discovering

she was infamous murder victim
lonely tourist Charlotte Charles.

As proud members of the Norwegian
ministry of justice and police,

lead detective Magnus Olsdatter,

his trusted criminalist,
Nils Nilsen,

and loyal profiler
Hedda Lillihammer,

were an investigative trio
without equal

until their beloved homeland,

ranked an astonishing 37th
in the world of homicides,

no longer deemed
their services necessary.

They abandoned their motherland

when reports of a small place
with a big murder rate

halfway around the world
caught their eye.

Positive their forensic know-how
and advanced skill set

would make them a big fish
in a small but lucrative pond,

only to find themselves
consistently trumped

by a large fish of another kind
by the name of Cod...

Emerson Cod.

Today our services were commissioned
by Vivian Charles

to locate a man
by the name of Dwight Dixon.

Imagine our surprise when,
during our debriefing of our client,

we began to suspect
that you knew something

about his disappearance
that you were not telling!

Tell us now
and save yourself the humiliation.

I don't know diddly

or squat.

Unfortunately for you,
the facts say the opposite.

Nils, refresh Mr. Cod's memory.

Fact 1:

Vivian Charles claims
you refused her case.

History shows Emerson Cod
never turns down easy money.

History shows I had a full docket,
just like my pocketbook.

It was nothing personal.

Fact 2:

When discussing Dwight Dixon with
Ms. Charles, you referred to him as a...

"Bad man, a sociopath,"

"the kind of man who'd stab a friend
or shoot him in the back."

I was merely trying to talk her
out of a bad relationship.

I didn't even know the man.
It's pure conjecture.

Fact 3:

it wasn't conjecture.

You and Dwight hobnobbed
in the same circles!

The hell I did.

We didn't nob no hobs.

And certainly not in no damn circle.

We have copies of
Dixon's credit-card statements.

He was a frequent eater
at this very eatery.

Therefore,
establishing a reasonable link?

Not reasonable.
Unreasonable and purely circumstantial.

- And a little rude.
- Not for all.

For I believe we will soon prove
beyond a shadow of a doubt

that you're hiding something
of importance to this case.

How you plan to do?

With help from our Mother,
the most sophisticated

mobile investigative
laboratory facility of its kind,

providing instantaneous
evidence collection,

inspection and documentation.

If there's a shred of evidence
connecting you to Dixon's disappearance,

Mother will find it.

Run on home to your Mother
because you're not welcome here.

This is my Pie Hole.

No clues, no dirt, no service.
Now go!

You'll find us
at the Come and Sleep hotel!

Big Mother is watching.
Any last words?

Thank you.

What just happened?

- Nothing.
- Nothing.

We are in a crisis, people.

We need to shut down
these Norwegians pronto-mundo.

Also pronto-mundo,
we need to find my dad.

Put daddy dead bucks on hold.

We need to cut these Norse fools
off at the source.

But what if these Norse fools
find Chuck's dad?

Or worse, he finds them
and tells them what happened.

And then there's
the waking and baking.

If he wants me to stay out of
Chuck's life, that's one way to do it.

Okay, fine,
you look for daddy dead bucks.

But I still need somebody
to take a second crack at Vivian

to call off the hounds while I find out
what these Norwegians dig up.

Oh, itty-bitty.

I'm itty-bitty again?

You mean it?

All I can tell you

is if you don't convince Vivian
to call off her investigation

into Dwight's disappearance,
we are gonna be in a lot of trouble.

What did you do, kill Dwight?

I'm just kidding.

- You didn't, did you?
- No, but...

But what?

- I still can't tell you what happened.
- Oh, hells bells!

The least you could is lie.

What hurts the most
is the total lack of effort.

None of you even seem
to care or mind the fact

that you won't let me in
on your super-secret pow-wows.

I promise you, it is not out of spite.
We're just trying to protect you.

But I don't need protection.

That's what I have several
long-standing restraining orders for.

I need to feel like I belong.

I need to feel appreciated, Chuck.

I want a full-fledged membership and
an all-access pass to the PI palooza.

So you'll do it?

Yes.

- Thank you, thank you.
- You're welcome. You're welcome.

I will not call them off,
not until they find Dwight.

Are you still mooning
over that creep?

Moons wax and wane.

I am steadfast in my investigation
of Dwight's disappearance.

I don't know if Vivian's told you,

but she's hired a team
of Norwegian PIs to find him.

Right now, they're running a couple
of those bright-blue body-fluid lights

all over his motel room,
looking for evidence of foul play.

There's been foul play?

Says... says who?

And who are these Norwegians?

They came highly recommended.

In their home country, they're the most
decorated figures since Thor Bjorklund,

inventor of the hand-held
cheese slicer.

Lily's sudden spike
in body temperature stemmed,

not from hearing
Thor Bjorklund's name,

but from the fear that if Dwight Dixon
was the victim of foul play,

amongst his possessions,

the Norwegians would discover
a trail of evidence leading them to...

Lily herself.

Call off the Norwegians.

- Let well enough alone.
- Not until I find out what happened.

Nothing happened to Dwight!

You don't know that.

What I do know
is Dwight was menacing.

He even snuck in to the Pie Hole
once after hours

and menaced me right to my face.

See? It's a good thing he's gone.

Why on earth would he menace you?

It's on a need-to-know basis.

Well, then, I need to know.

I'm tired of being a pushover.
I deserve the truth,

and I don't need anyone
to protect me from it.

Yes, you do.

Why?

I can't tell you.

This gives me pause.

A manicure might help.

No, pause, like one step past "play"
and not quite to "stop".

Because...

I've been hearing this conversation
on repeat all day,

and I'm finally hearing the music.

And I've heard enough to know
when people say,

"I can't tell you.
It's for your own good",

what they really mean is "I won't
tell you 'cause I don't trust you".

Because they don't think that you're
responsible enough to handle the truth.

So they have these private chitchats
in corners and in booths.

And when you shimmy on over to just say
a simple, "top o' the mornin' to ya"!

They clam up and avoid you
like you got the Ebola.

Aren't you tired of feeling like you
have to live your life from the outside?

You deserve to have those answers.

And if you want to enlist a crack team
of PIs from the land of Norwegia,

you go, girl! Because maybe then,
you'll finally get the respect,

trust, and honesty you deserve
from your "so-called" best friends.

As Olive Snook broke ranks with Lily
and came to the defense of Vivian,

she began to wonder if there were
other alliances in her life

she should be breaking.

Emerson Cod hoped that any evidence

the Norwegians gathered
from Dwight Dixon's motel room

was of no significance at all.

That's Lily's handwriting.

- Hello, Lily.
- Vivian.

Lily, I'm afraid
this is going to be a confrontation.

Is it, now?

Would you like to tell me

what happened at the cemetery
between you and Dwight?

Nothing happened at the cemetery
between me and Dwight.

He stood me up,

- just like he did you.
- I wasn't stood up.

You ran him off with both barrels
cocked at his manhood.

Then invited and/or lured him
to the cemetery for Heaven knows why.

I won't call you a liar.
If you say he didn't show, then...

I believe you.

He didn't show.

I don't believe you.

I can't protect you from the Norwegians
if you don't tell me the truth.

Protect me? What...

What is it you think I did?

Something rash.

Honestly, and this is a petty
accusation, therefore I'm not proud...

but I don't think you like
that he made me happy.

Dwight Dixon is trouble.

Dwight Dixon lavished me
with courtly blandishments

and picnics complete
with crudit�s and soup.

There may have been involvement
with a criminal element in his past,

but that's behind him now.

It ain't behind him. It's right
on top of him, if not inside him.

His motel room had enough buckshot
to blow Coeur d'Coeurs to Timbuktu!

What were you doing
in his motel room?

Looking for this.

Charles' pocket watch.

Your kind Dwight
stole it from Charlotte's grave

right after you told him
where it was.

He didn't... He couldn't... He...

He dug her up?

He dug her up and took it from her.

So I took it back
and took his watch, too.

You want to know what was gonna happen
between me and Dwight

at the cemetery if he showed?

Me and both barrels
were gonna convince him

to dig Charlotte's grave
right up again

and put that watch back
exactly where he found it.

And your intentions after that?

That was gonna be up to Dwight.

Congratulations, Lily.

I know how you like being right.

I didn't want to be right...

I knew I was gonna be,
but I didn't want to be.

I don't get any satisfaction
from seeing you hurt.

Now, I really don't believe you.

As the cold snap between
the aunts grew colder,

the pie maker and Chuck
were investigating

the equally serious matter
of the missing Charles Charles.

Bringing back the dead
is always complicated.

Sometimes you have to focus
on the tree instead of the forest.

You have to find that one thing

and that tiny glimmer of hope

and just hold onto it.

Wait.

What's that?
It's another button,

a big brass button.

It's placed conspicuously
on the windowsill.

It might have popped off
my dad's sweater 21 years,

2 months, and 24 days ago...
The day he moved out and abandoned me.

Or maybe it's a sign from my dad.

He'd always give me a button to hold
onto on long journeys to summer camp,

or he'd sneak one in my pocket on
the first day of school to let me know

that he was there and he was watching me
and that everything would be okay.

Chuck, it's...

Maybe the reason that I can't believe
that he just...

left is because he didn't.

Maybe he's keeping a safe distance.

Is that realistic?

My life has been so...

unreal. I don't know
what realistic is. I died...

and then I was alive again.
And so was my dad, and it's something

that we both share that nobody else can,
which is why I know.

Ned, I know,

and I feel it deep, deep down inside
of me that he wouldn't abandon me.

He's here.

He's here somewhere.

You can't hang all that on a button.

Yes, I can.

I'm his button-button.

While Chuck hoped the old

brass button was significant evidence
of her father's comforting presence,

131 miles due north,

the Norwegians continued
their investigation.

All the while, keeping
a watchful eye on Emerson Cod,

who they believed knew more
than he was willing to say.

Meanwhile, Emerson Cod was
once again keeping his eye on them,

in the hope
that the forensic bread crumbs

from Dwight's motel room would not lead
the Norwegians back his way.

Using the gumshoe skills
that made him great,

the number-one detective in Papen County
took the fight to his opponent.

His plan was this: first...

assess
the true nature of the threat.

Two, find and exploit
their weaknesses,

- and three...
- Shut your mouth.

I can't believe you guys think my former
friends are up to no good, too.

Oh, hell no.

Damn you, you itty-bitty traitor.

I don't have enough fingers

to count the secrets
that they flaunt in my face.

And that Dwight Dixon, he did
hang around the Pie Hole... a lot.

Until he didn't.

And then you guys show up,

and they're jumpier than a bunch
of kangaroos on a pogo stick.

So, I come bearing gifts.

The pie maker's saliva...

'cause they have things
in their mouth and in their hands

that they do not want spread around.

The kinds of things that
would lead them to kill a man, perhaps?

Well, that's why I'm here.
You tell me.

There's plenty of somethin'- somethin'
going on with those dirty birds,

and since you're all about
getting answers, and so am I,

I figured it was about time
I joined the A-team.

Which is why we were excited
to receive your...

inquiry about
joining our organization.

The DNA analysis that
I performed on your hair

told us everything
we needed to know.

I was under the impression
that penicillin would clear that up.

No, what he means is that
you're of good,

strong, shapely Norwegian stock.

- Skal!
- Skal!

Skal.

Thank you. Thank you!

You too.

Which goes without saying since you're
so obviously from the land of Norwegia.

And, as it turns out, so am I, so

it makes it swell to be home,
don't ya know.

I must say, you guys have
seriously pimped this ride.

This is fancier
than Liberace's camper!

Mother is the heart
and soul of what we do.

- Without her, we'd be just another...
- Emerson "Clod"?

So, what do you think
happened to Dwight Dixon?

He appears to have vanished.

And how he vanished probably
wasn't pretty like you.

He had enough weapons in his room
to arm the Norwegian militia.

All evidence points
to a dangerous man

with a destructive agenda
who most likely met with a violent end.

All in all, a bad man.

Can you handle more?

It's getting hotter from here.

We also find a shovel
under Dwight's bed.

The mineral content of
the caked-on dirt

matches that of
the local cemetery exactly.

More importantly, what Dwight Dixon
was doing by Charles Charles'

and Charlotte Charles' graves with
the shovel, we can only speculate.

For now.

An exhumation order.

You don't mean...
you're gonna dig 'em up?

Ja.

Ja.

Ja.

No.

- Olive's a Norwegian.
- Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome.

They've lured her in,
and she doesn't know what she's doing.

Chitty-chatty-boo-hoo
knew exactly what she was doing.

She was sufficiently lubed
and ready to spit tacks.

She even gave them your saliva swab
to get into their clubhouse.

What would they want with my saliva?

It's my fault.

She warned us not to push her,
and then I pushed her away,

and I pushed her to talk to Vivian,
and that pushed her to switch teams.

You're not that pushy, and you're not
to blame. Olive betrayed us

because we can't let her in
and we can't because of my magic finger.

Somehow or other, it always
comes back to my magic finger.

Maybe so, but in about five minutes,

the Norwegians are gonna have
the coffins of dead girl

and her pops exhumed.

And when they open them up,
they're gonna find hers empty

and Dwight's dead ass
in the other one

and enough forensic evidence
to lead them right back here to us.

Stunned by what they heard,

the pie maker and the girl named
Chuck prepared for the worst.

While in a graveyard
in Coeur d'Coeurs,

the Norwegians found themselves
unprepared for the shocking discovery

that Emerson Cod's prediction
was only half right.

Both coffins were empty.

Empty? Why are they empty?

I understand why one of them is empty.
Why is the other one empty? You're sure?

I made friendly with the ground's keeper
by way of a few benjamins.

The Norwegians popped
the tops on them coffins,

saw they were nobody, loaded 'em
up in the mama-mobile and took off.

But how could
my dad's coffin be empty?

It's supposed to be full of Dixon.

Oh, god. We buried him alive.

Should I feel worse about you
burying him alive or him getting out?

Ain't nobody buried alive.

Dwight Dixon
is deader than a doornail.

Somebody moved the body.

Who else knew he was in that coffin?

My dad. Who else could it be?

"Button-Button". Don't you see?
He moved the body to protect us.

What a good dad.

You don't suppose he wiped down both the
caskets with industrial bleach, do you?

'cause that's the only way there isn't
gonna be some trace of some forensic

tiddly-bit that's gonna lead everybody
back to every somebody at this table.

They're gonna find my DNA, aren't they?
I should have worn a hairnet.

You can say that your DNA got
there at my dad's funeral, but, Emerson,

your DNA is all over the grave.

And with no real reason for it
to be there, you're gonna look guilty.

I am guilty. It wasn't my hand

that touched Charles Charles
and put Dwight Dixon in the grave.

And it definitely wasn't my hand

that forced the magic finger
to wake dear dead dad.

But none of your hands would be dirty
if it wasn't for me.

Hell, you were just a pie maker,
and she was grass fertilizer.

I brought you
into my PI organization.

It was my job to keep you in line,
and I didn't.

So if anybody deserves to face
the Norwegian firing squad...

It's me.

Don't put on your blindfold or smoke
your last stogie yet. I got a plan.

You're gonna tell the Norwegians
everything you know.

- Let me tell you everything I know.
- There's nothing you can tell us

that Mother can't once
she finishes her analysis.

Although we don't wish to look
a gift whore in the mouth, Mr. Cod,

why would you tell us
everything you know?

Well,
confession is good for the soul.

When you look at a case
through a lens of a microscope,

you tend to really miss on
what matters.

It's the people, people...

people you work with,
clients you work for.

Clients like Vivian Charles?

You certainly didn't
people-people-person her.

True.

When you make a mess,

clean it up!

It's your responsibility.

Detective work is a lot like money.

It don't really come
with instructions.

I learned that from
the greatest detective in the world.

Of course, I'm talking about Shaft.
You can dig it.

Meanwhile, as Emerson Cod
served as decoy, on the street,

the pie maker and Chuck prepared
to enter Mother's empty nest.

I love "I have a plan" Ned.
Who says spontaneous is sexy?

"Sexy" is a man with a to-do list,
some schematics,

and the right tools to hot-wire
a Norwegian RV.

- Shall we?
- We shan't. At least, you shan't.

I shall steal Mother alone,
and you shall stay here as a lookout.

I shan't do any such thing.

We're in this jam
because I brought my dad back.

I don't blame you
for bringing him back.

I couldn't stop myself from bringing
back the person I loved either.

And Emerson never forced me
or my finger to join his PI team.

I poked of my own free will.

And so if there's anyone to blame,
it's me.

My finger...

my fallout.

I'm driving solo this time.

- You!
- You! This isn't what it looks like.

You're not trying to hot-wire Mother
so you can drive away

with the evidence they have on you?

Okay. It is what it looks like.

I'm sorry we shut you out, Olive.

The last thing I ever wanted to do
was shut you out of my life

and open you up to the Norwegians.

Is that
what you think this is all about?

You gave them my swab!

- Pig spit.
- Don't deny it. Emerson saw you.

No, dummy... pig spit.

The swab I gave them
came from Pigby, not you.

- So, you're not a turncoat?
- A reversible jacket.

I wouldn't turncoat on you.

I was working deep cover to dismantle
this operation from the inside out.

I know they have dirt on you, but

I don't know what they did
to make you look so dirty.

I got myself dirty.

Well, allow me to soap up
those hard-to-reach places.

By helping me destroy the evidence?

- A simple "thank you" would suffice.
- Oh, thank you.

This itty-bitty's always on your side,
no questions asked.

- What if I guessed?
- Olive!

Are we talking about Dwight
and those empty coffins?

I'm not supposed to tell you.

Can you answer "yes" or "no"
if I ask the right questions?

Can you ask the questions
while we steal the RV?

That's a yes-or-no question,
and the answer is yes.

Go, go, go!

Poor, heartbroken Vivian Charles.

Well, I admit I was insensitive

about the sensitivities of Ms. Vivian
and her missing Mr. Goodbar.

But I intend to right
that wrong coming right up.

Would this be your confession?

There ain't gonna be any confession.

We don't need your confession
to solve this case...

Not when we have Mother.

Where's Mother going?

Looks like you about
to become orphans.

Stop!

Stop!

- Stop!
- Stop!

- Mother!
- Mother!

- Mother.
- Stop.

Mother.

Do you know why
Charles Charles' grave is empty?

- Yes.
- Was his grave robbed?

- No one took the body?
- No.

Then what'd he do,
just get up and walk away?

Yes.

- Chuck's father's alive?
- Yes. Hold on.

When Chuck faked her death
and her father faked his death,

- was Dwight onto them?
- Yes.

Okay. Then he disappeared. You have
anything to do with his disappearance?

I didn't mean to but I did.

And when you inadvertently,
unintentionally and without malice

or forethought disappeared Dwight, did
you disappear him in a permanent sense?

- I don't understand.
- You kill him?

- Dead end!
- Is that an admission?

No. Dead end!

Thank God for my naturally
clingy nature.

Olive,
I'm sorry I got you into this.

I'm sorry you felt you had
to prove yourself. I'm sorry about...

- so many things.
- I'm not.

Well, maybe one thing.

I'm sorry you never looked at me
the same way you look at Chuck.

I wouldn't say never.

Of all the secrets untold,

this was the one Olive Snook
wanted to hear most.

Hold on, Ned.

Hold on.
I got you.

If you've got me, who's got you?

The mysterious masked man
who rescued the pie maker and Olive

would remain
a mysterious loose string.

Regretting
his previous bad behavior,

Emerson Cod sought to tie up
another loose string.

I'm here against my better judgment,
considering the callous braggadocio

with which you previously
gave me the... heave-ho.

Well, if I did do any ho-heaving,
it was for your own good.

There's a time for callous braggadocio
and a time for sensitivity.

To the Norwegians,
that time is never.

I suppose it's a holdover
from their viking ancestry.

It would be difficult to rape and
pillage with the subtlety of a humanist.

Well,
that's why I called you up here.

I didn't want the vikings to give you
the news that'll break your heart.

That sort of thing ought
to come from a friend.

When the Norwegians exhumed
the body of your niece and her father,

their coffins were empty.

What?

Our Charlotte?

Dwight... stole her?

I wish there was something
I could say

to explain why or make you feel better,
but I do know this.

You can't steal someone's soul
by robbing their coffin.

The Charlotte that you knew
wasn't in that box.

She's right here with you.

And although you can't see her
or talk to her anymore,

you have to believe that whatever
was taken from that grave,

that wasn't your niece.

Thank you... Mr. Cod.

It seems my... sister was right.

Dwight was indeed... a bad man.

Only now it appears he was more

of a monster
than she or I ever knew.

Oh, my sweet, sweet Charlotte.

Knowing this will surely
shatter Lily's heart.

As Vivian contemplated
the emotional damage yet to come,

in Olive's apartment,

a girl named Chuck tended
to the physical damage already done.

He knew your name?

We think our masked man
was your pops.

I told Olive all about
your dad and how he...

faked his own death.

It must have been your father. Although,
I say that having never met him

and not getting a good look at
who pulled us up from that cliff.

- He was covered from head to toe.
- He has a very delicate skin condition.

- Like your allergy to Ned!
- Yes! Exactly like that.

A hereditary link.

So our masked man is your father.

Yes, it certainly seems that way.

I'm sorry I thought you were being
unrealistic before.

My reality is that dads don't come back,
they move on.

- But your dad didn't move on, he...
- hovered...

- like a guardian angel.
- What's he guarding you from?

Oh, Jiminy Jehosaphat!
I went out on a limb for you people...

A tree limb jutting from a cliff with
my limbs dangling over certain death!

So don't leave me dangling
with Dwight's disappearance unless...

He's permanently disappeared, aka...

dead, aka murdered.

Olive, murder is a very big word.

- Did he die of natural causes?
- Yes.

Are either of you referring
to "murder" as a natural cause?

We are officially
non-referential starting now.

What's stopping now
are the questions.

So that's how it is.
You want to roll army style...

"don't ask, don't tell."

Guess what works in the foxhole
works in the Pie Hole.

Unfortunately for Olive Snook,

what worked in the Pie Hole
did not work for the Norwegians,

who adhered to a strict
"do ask, do tell" policy.

I see you're back to playing
for the other team.

Hello, Hedda.
You're looking lovely tonight.

You killed our Mother!

I am the victim here.

I was Mother-jacked.

Can you identify the perpetrators?

Just their fists as they pummeled
my eyes. And the bottom of their...

boots as they kicked me out
of your mobile crime lab...

our mobile crime lab.

Okay, your mobile crime lab.

Then they beat me
with a blue-and-yellow sock

as they got high on ABBA
and tiny little meatballs.

- Swedes.
- Swedes.

That's them.

Should I believe you?

Your pulse races.

Only because
you're standing so close.

She's lying.

- Who are you protecting?
- I'm not protecting anybody.

That would imply that I'm protecting
the people who killed Dwight Dixon.

And why would I protect killers?

I'm not protecting killers!

She's telling the truth.

There's activity
on Dixon's credit card.

He just checked back in
to the Come and Sleep hotel.

Yes! He's alive!

That's good, huh?

Right?

Yeah, that's something.

Racing to the site of
Dwight Dixon's credit-card hit,

the PI and pie maker
found themselves in a jam.

Listen,
we're all professionals, people.

This doesn't have to get ugly.

Your shirt suggests otherwise.

Once we find Dwight,
all will be illuminated.

Or not.

We will soon get
to the bottom of this.

The bottom of this keeps dropping.

Well, when they get to the bottom,
what exactly are they gonna be scraping?

'cause dead men don't run up
their credit cards

checking back into motels
they never checked out of.

You don't think Chuck's dad
could have done all this?

Whatever ridiculous speculations
you have are moot.

The details speak loud and clear.

Come, details.

Speak to us.

The details in the case
did speak loud and clear.

But the story they told was a lie,
for the facts were not these...

Every item scrutinized
in the room told a story

precisely crafted. For,

despite the fact that Dwight Dixon's
life had simply gotten up and left him,

the lack of visible signs of trauma

told a far more logical tale
of a man

who had simply died
of natural causes.

For hidden booty of heirlooms and
gold crowns stashed under the mattress

implied a seasoned grave robber

and the can of fuel accelerant

indicated the two bodies robbed
had gone up in flames.

In the end, all the evidence pointed
to Dwight acting and dying alone

with nobody else responsible

because that's
what they were supposed to find.

And Vivian Charles found herself
buoying her sister Lily's spirits

after learning that their beloved
Charlotte's body was gone.

Meanwhile, the pie maker meditated
on his own responsibilities.

- Any sign of your dad?
- Nope.

No hide nor hair nor button.

But he's out there somewhere.

I don't know if I like the idea
of Charles Charles as my guardian angel.

He hasn't told anyone that
there's a pie maker who has a knack

for baking and waking the dead.

You're... you're using fresh fruit.

I am now.
I mean from now on.

Touching dead things has only
gotten me into trouble, so... no more.

Besides, I've already got
the best thing I'm gonna get from it.

You.

No more dead fruit,
no more dead people?

Yeah, I'm going cold turkey.

From now on, investigating crime
is Emerson's business,

and baking pie is mine.

- This is all my fault.
- I'm not looking to blame anyone.

Waking the dead creates
too many unfortunate variables,

and I'm just taking myself
out of the equation.

But my dad,
he already fixed everything.

I don't want your dad
or anyone else's to fight my battles

or clean up my messes.

So that's it?

That's it.

While the pie maker
took responsibility for his actions,

he was wrong about the dad
who fought his battles.

It wasn't Chuck's father
who cleaned up this particular mess.

Synchro: Salomon & Gaillots
Rereading: Bruno & Toupack

It was the pie maker's father.