All language subtitles for 2MrSWr210

This has got accident written all over it.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

It was no accident. Rough way to start out.

It's hard to feel confident knowing a real estate salesman

is your new sheriff.

What has she got that I don't?

Stay away from my husband! God knows Charlie's not much,

but he's all I've got!

I've got the killer behind bars.

Just have to figure out which one it is.

I'm beginning to feel awfully squeamish.

No, cara mia.

If I cannot have you, no man will ever possess you.

Raoul, please. You know he means nothing to me.

But you married him, bellissima, nine years ago.

You have four children.

I didn't know what I was doing.

Please, Raoul, I want to live.

I want to be with you.

I want to run away to the farthest reaches of the world.

Yes.

Now you submit, mi amore! Now, when it is too late!

He will always be there haunting our lives.

It doesn't have to be that way.

No. What do you know of life?

You are such a child.

Why do you reject me, my little angel of God?

Fifty bucks, and Larry can't even fix the damn TV.

Rough way to start out as new sheriff, Harry.

Well, I'm not sheriff yet, Amos.

Not till tomorrow.

Guess it's too late to change my mind?

You do what you want.

Tonight I take this uniform off for good.

Got places to go, things to do.

Frayed.

You'd think Beverly would know better, and all wet like that.

I noticed that frayed cord a month ago when I came round to appraise the place.

Told her to get it fixed.

Yeah. Too bad she didn't get around to it.

Was she planning on selling the place?

She was always selling it. Never did.

Wasted a lot of my time, I can tell you.

I guess I shouldn't speak ill of the dead.

Well, one thing's for sure.

This has got accident written all over it.

Frayed cord, bathroom door locked from the inside.

Even Mrs. Fletcher couldn't make a murder out of this one.

You'd think she'd have more sense,

watching TV in the tub,

but that was Beverly for you.

I'm surprised she didn't--

How's it going, Seth?

Can't you throttle back that damn busybody, Jess?

I can hear her all the way over here.

Did you hear what I said, Jessica?

Say, is there somebody in there with you?

Yeah, it's Doc Hazlitt, Edna.

He's just fixing my toaster, or trying to.

I probably should've taken it down to Larry Burns.

Didn't know I was restoring an antique.

Oops! Doorbell. Sorry.

I'll have to call you back, Edna, bye.

Ought to talk to that woman about donating her vocal cords to science.

Mrs. Fletcher. This is a distinct pleasure.

I'm so pleased to meet you at last.

Michael Digby. Magnificent.

It's just the way I imagined it. Where do I put this?

Excuse me. Mr. Digby, is it? Do I know you?

Michael Digby.

Great Little Places To Live?

Well, surely our mutual publisher called you.

Good Lord, he didn't?

I am so sorry, but I haven't got the vaguest idea

what you're talking about.

I should've known. The man's a total incompetent.

But of course you'd know that.

Yes! Yes.

This humble abode reeks of yesteryear.

It's like a set from wilderness, right down to the village repairman.

Who the hell is this?

Dear. The travel writer.

A mundane appellation, Mrs. Fletcher, but accurate.

Then Mr. Wintergreen did notify you I'd be coming.

Well, he casually mentioned

the possibility several months ago. Well, good, good.

I wouldn't want to burst in uninvited.

I must say I fell in love with this town

the moment I drove through.

It has real potential.

Well, Jessica,

you've obviously got your hands full.

I suppose you're from the big city, young fellow?

- Why, yes. - Kind of thought so.

Now, that's what I call a crusty New Englander.

Michael, about this series of books that you're writing--

All dealing with undiscovered pockets of Americana,

rich in heritage.

- Yes, well-- - I hope this won't sound vain,

but I'm gonna put Cabot Cove on the map.

If I'm not mistaken, it already is.

Well, I-I mean everybody's map.

The last place I covered just really boomed...

a new golf course, artist condos, a marina.

But what happened to the heart of the town?

Well, they turned it into a shopping mall.

Don't tell me.

It's your grandmother's pickle crock, right?

Actually, I bought it yesterday.

- Howdy, Mrs. Fletcher. - Amos, you've got a new car.

New for me.

Bought it from Fred Tompkins over at Rockwater.

You know, it's gonna take me a while

to get used to seeing you in civilian clothes.

Man can only take so much pressure, Mrs. Fletcher.

I worry about Harry Pierce.

It's hard to feel confident knowing

a real estate salesman is your new sheriff.

Matter of time and experience.

You recall, I didn't know much when I took over.

Well, I'm goin' fishin'. Be seein' ya.

There's our historical society over there.

Cabot Cove goes back a long way, as you know.

Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher. Warming up today?

Looks like it.

Yes, I know. First settled in 1684.

Most of the town was wiped out by the storm of '36, 1836.

And a minor skirmish with the British--

The battle of Cabot Cove, 1778.

It's a dynamite town you've got here, Mrs. Fletcher.

It's so peaceful! It's quintessential New England.

Mabel Bemish?

Mabel Bemish, you've got one hell of a nerve!

Don't you ever come trying to borrow sugar from us again!

You think I'd set foot on your property after reading this?

That dog of yours starts barkin' tonight again,

I'm gonna call the sheriff!

My dog'll bark any damn time he feels like it!

- We'll just see about that! - A-yah.

Henrietta!

Winthrop! Winthrop, get out here!

Wake up. Winthrop, come on out. Wake up.

- Henrietta, look it here. - Doggone it.

It's idyllic.

What is this open area?

It was old coast guard property.

You know, it had a really fine wooden lighthouse here

until it burned down last year.

It's a magnificent place to build.

They think so, too, our planning commissioners.

They voted to allow the new owners to put up 400 condominiums.

"The condo three," we call them.

You mean, this isn't coast guard land anymore?

It never was. Before world war II,

Wendell Gareth gave it to the coast guard with a perpetual lease.

He died a few years back,

and then after the fire last year,

the property reverted to his daughter, Beverly.

Beverly Gareth?

The woman that had that terrible accident I heard about.

Yes.

Well, I guess you weren't too pleased about her selling.

It was her land and her business.

Last year, we managed to thwart a high-rise hotel,

but I shudder to think what they have wrought this time.

Good morning, Edna.

I'll warn you once, Jessica Fletcher. Stay away from my husband!

God knows Charlie's not much, but he's all I've got!

Edna!

For heaven's sake, what are you talking about?

How's it going, Mel?

Fair to middlin', Amos. How 'bout you?

Never better. This is the life.

Pure heaven.

- Try not to strain yourself. -

What we got here?

"Sheriff Tupper, something you should know."

Well, I'll be damned.

Harry.

Harry, take a look at this.

"To Sheriff Amos Tupper."

Don't they know you're retired?

Probably some kind of crank letter?

Crank letter. You can say that again.

Just toss it on the pile.

What the devil is going on here?

This letter leaves me no choice

but to audit your books, Mr. Andersen.

You IRS snoops ought to spend more time

on those crooks in Washington

and leave hardworking, honest folks alone.

Give me that.

This pack of lies ain't even signed!

Most of our informants are anonymous.

You mean you're gonna take the word

of a lousy anonymous letter instead of mine?

Mr. Andersen, brutality is not the answer.

You are threatening the United States government.

I'm gonna bust the butt of the United States government

if it isn't off this wharf in the next ten seconds!

- Morning, Larry. - Morning, Mrs. Fletcher.

Hey, did you ever see Nils so het up?

I swear this whole town's going crazy.

Well, something's crazy. All those letters.

What was yours about?

I'm afraid I didn't get one.

Me either.

We may be the only ones in town that didn't.

It's some crackpot's idea of fun.

Not again, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, Doc Hazlitt had a crack

at putting it all back together, and--

It sure is old, Mrs. Fletcher.

Yeah, but it's got a lot of sentimental value, Larry.

Larry Burns! - No. He's drunk.

- I'm gonna kill you, Burns. - Adam!

You killed my Beverly, and now I'm gonna kill you.

Adam, stop that!

Just stay out of this, Mrs. Fletcher.

She's dead because of him! Get up!

I don't know what you're talkin' about.

You don't?

You were supposed to fix her TV set.

She'd be alive today if you'd replaced that cord.

- I did fix it, last week. - What the hell you say?

Lookit, I fixed the picture tube.

There wasn't anything wrong with the cord.

Get up.

Hey! Take it easy.

Fighting won't bring her back.

Come on, Nils. I'm gonna kill him!

- You're not killin' anybody. - Yes, I am.

I think you need a cooling-off.

No! No, no, no, no, no!

You know, Nils, he might have gotten one of those letters.

Letters.

Whole town's goin' crazy, Jessie.

Come on. Come on.

Let's get you down to the sheriff's and sober you up

before you hurt yourself.

Come on!

Madam, you have been spying on me!

Outrageous!

How dare you accuse me. I have done no such thing!

Just my luck. A gestapo spy for a landlady!

I do not have to submit to your insults.

I will have you off my property, Mr. Hoffman.

You forget my lease!

And you, Sir, forget your manners.

I'm taking this up with the sheriff.

You know, Bev and me would've been happy together.

Even paid off my boat.

At least she said she was going to.

There, that ought to take care of that.

- It's not serious, anyway. - Thanks.

Here's a beauty. "To Drnestine Baddeley."

Ernestine, thought you ought to know

your husband Orville's been meetin' the librarian

behind the stacks for the past six months,

and he hasn't been punchin' just her library card.

"Signed, a friend."

Some friend?

Yeah.

Adam, this isn't any hotel.

Get yourself back there in a cell and sleep it off.

Come on, sheriff. I feel much better.

- Don't put me back there. - Get back there, Adam!

He threatened me, sheriff.

I thought I was about to be murdered.

Hold on now, Elvira. Who threatened ya?

That hairy foreigner I rent my downstairs to.

He accused me of--

Got some more letters here, sheriff.

Jethro Simpson got three of 'em.

Thanks. Thanks.

- Letters? - Yeah. Anonymous letters.

The whole town's been flooded with 'em the past couple of days.

Well, Ellie, what's the matter?

So many. But that's not right. I only sent one.

Wait a minute. Let me get this straight.

You sent an anonymous letter? Who to?

I can't say. I promised a friend.

What'd the letter say?

I don't know.

Please, I-I think I've said enough.

I don't want my name dragged all over town.

There's something wrong here, something terribly wrong.

And Amos Tupper told me

nothing ever happens in this town.

- Afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher. - Amos, come on in.

Hey, isn't that a new jacket you're wearing?

Yes, ma'am.

Bought it at Fenway Park on Tuesday.

Sure was a fun game. You should be there.

Well. I've had so many things to do.

Was I interrupting something?

I mean, what you're doing there with the TV and all?

No, no, no, no, I was just trying to figure out

how you'd murder someone in a locked bathroom

with a frayed cord.

Beverly Gareth!

Now just a minute. That was an accident.

I mean, it had to be, Mrs. Fletcher.

Like you said, the bathroom door was locked from the inside.

I know.

Except Larry Burns fixed her set,

and he swears that the cord was all right.

Ma'am, I saw that cord. It was pretty beat-up.

I mean, the copper wiring was showing through.

No, Amos.

Somebody must've tampered with that cord.

But why?

Well, possibly to commit a murder

that looked like an accident.

You know, a locked door, a bathroom mishap.

Here I am, carrying on as if you were still the sheriff.

Hello? Yes, Harry?

I'll be right over.

Right.

Sounds to me as if Harry's having second thoughts

- about being the sheriff. -

I don't suppose you'd like to have your old badge back, Amos.

No, sirree.

No, my peacekeepin' days are behind me.

Of course, there's nothing to say I couldn't help out,

especially for an old friend like Harry?

This is the damnedest thing I ever saw.

It's as if the town were suddenly hit

by a plague of locusts.

Well, I certainly hope it doesn't happen

every seven years, Harry.

Amos, I've got a good mind to hand back this badge.

Harry, I'm retired, and that's it.

I'm just helpin' out. That's all.

Hey, here's one says

Larry Burns was having an affair with Beverly Gareth.

No way we're gonna know for sure about that.

And they are all different. Some printed,

some using cutout letters from newspapers,

white pages, yellow, blue.

Harry, what about the envelopes and the postmarks?

Darn! I'm afraid I blew it there, Mrs. Fletcher.

I threw 'em away without thinkin'.

But it doesn't matter.

They were all postmarked Cabot Cove.

Hey, listen to this one.

"Dear Mayor, thought you ought to know

Willis Carmody trashed your new station wagon

at last year's labor day picnic."

But that can't be.

Now, Amos, you remember this time last year,

Willis was right here.

That's right, locked up in that cell,

waitin' for a US Marshal to cart him off to Portland

for missing some alimony payments.

Well, that clenches it. There's a crackpot loose!

These letters are out-and-out lies.

Yeah, and here's the one I got.

"Dear Sheriff Tupper, the old coast guard house

was deliberately torched.

Ask yourself who had the most to gain."

Beverly Gareth got a very handsome price for the land.

Yeah, but she had an ironclad alibi for the time of that fire.

I remember checkin' it out.

Yeah, but what about those developers who bought the land?

Or maybe those three vultures on the zoning commission.

I mean, if there were some kind of payoff...

You sure you don't want this badge back, Amos?

This is a great dinner, Mrs. Fletcher.

I bet this recipe came over on the Mayflower.

Mrs. Fletcher?

I'm so sorry, Michael. I'm a terrible hostess.

Well, what's bothering you? Maybe I can help.

I'm just thinking about what's happening to this town.

You mean my book.

I know you don't think much of it.

No. No.

I was referring to certain unpleasant undercurrents,

not to mention electrical currents.

How about taking a walk after dinner?

There's someone I need to talk to.

Doc Hazlitt told me that Elvira said something very odd

in the sheriff's office today

about these letters that we've been getting.

Of course, Elvira was Beverly's father's personal secretary.

This is it. She lives upstairs.

Well, I don't care about those letters.

I'd call this a peaceful place.

In New York, we'd be looking down every alley

and behind every sign for muggers.

Elvira.

Dear.

Michael, the sheriff's on his way.

Marvelous.

I'm beginning to feel awfully squeamish.

"I wrote the letters because you all turned against me.

Good-bye.

You can gossip all you like now."

My God. She's dead.

I'm afraid so.

Mrs. Fletcher, what happened?

Is it my imagination,

or have you changed nationalities, Mr. Hoffman?

You've misplaced your German accent.

It sells pictures.

That crazy old lady.

What did she have to do that for?

That's a good question, if, in fact, she did kill herself.

I have a question of my own, though.

What are you doing here?

Well, I came here to have it out with her.

No, no, no. I don't mean that.

Look, she was driving me crazy.

She was always hanging around up here.

She never did anything. She never went anywhere.

She even had her groceries delivered

like she was an invalid or something.

She used to be so active.

Volunteer at the hospital and library.

Look, I think I'll just buzz out the back.

But the sheriff may have some questions.

What for? I didn't have anything to do with this.

Cut her down.

Can't leave her swinging in the wind like that.

Harry, wait!

Maybe you should let Doc Hazlitt take a look at the body first.

Yeah, yeah.

Get Doc Hazlitt here right away, Willard.

I'm beginning to hate this job.

Yeah?

All right, Henry. Thank you.

See ya soon.

Well, Jess, you were right.

Elvira's pills were butazolidin,

and Doc Baxendale said she had arthritis real bad.

I guessed as much.

The cheap, lightweight cookware she obviously used for everyday.

Why, when she had nearly new cast-iron pans?

I think it was because she couldn't lift them.

And why did she have her groceries delivered

instead of going out herself?

And why wasn't there one piece of handwritten material

in the apartment?

- Makes you wonder, Seth. - About what?

Whether Elvira was capable of tying a hangman's knot.

There's another thing that's been bothering me.

Why go all the way to Newberry to see Henry Baxendale

when you've got a perfectly good doctor

right here in Cabot Cove?

- Mrs. Fletcher. - Mr. Knapp.

Good morning, Mr. Nelson, Mrs. Norris.

Good morning.

Shame about those letters

circulating town, causing trouble,

settin' neighbor against neighbor.

Yes.

Speaking of causing trouble,

I understand you've been asking some sharp questions

about those condos being planned

for the old coast guard property.

I am curious, yes.

Beverly Gareth's death seems to have triggered off

some strange incidents in this town.

And what has one got to do with the other?

I'm not sure yet.

You're not implying Mrs. Gareth's death

was other than accidental?

I'm not implying anything, Mr. Nelson,

but I think there is a possibility.

Most distressing, Mrs. Fletcher.

What is also distressing, Mr. Knapp,

is the thought of 400 condominiums

popping up like toadstools

on that beautiful headland south of town.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

I'm sure sorry, Jessica.

I didn't have any cause to fly off like that.

Once I got to thinking about it, I figured that letter was a lie.

Well, I am glad to hear that.

My Charlie's made it clear too many times.

He doesn't care about anything except fishin' or bowlin'.

Just as well.

When we were first married, that man was like an animal.

But then, about ten years ago...

his battery went dead.

Been pretty peaceful ever since.

Edna, I wanted to ask you about Elvira.

Now, Jessica, you know I'm not much for talkin' about others.

Well, at least she's out of pain, her arthritis and all.

It was fierce.

But, you know, I'm surprised you know about that, Jessica.

Elvira kept that pretty much to herself.

Why was that? - Her daughter in Portland.

Afraid she'd send her to a nursing home.

That's why she didn't go to Doc Hazlitt,

why she took the bus to Newberry

for her treatments and her prescription.

Well, of course, that is a logical explanation.

Edna, how long did Elvira work for Beverly Gareth?

Never did.

Worked for her father, old Wendell.

But Elvira and Beverly were very close.

I mean, they were like mother and daughter.

Beverly must've trusted Elvira implicitly.

My, yes, with her life!

Yeah, or with a letter.

Afternoon, Harry-- I mean, sheriff.

Larry Burns, I'm placing you under arrest

on suspicion of murder.

- What? - You're crazy, Pierce.

Whose murder?

Jessica Fletcher seems to think

that Elvira Tree was killed,

and there's plenty of solid evidence too.

You're lettin' this job go to your head.

You were seen leaving her place yesterday,

and you were yelling at one another.

Harry, she yells at everybody.

She didn't like the way I fixed her lamp.

Harry, for Pete's sake.

Larry, come along with me. Don't give me any trouble.

Seth, that's absurd, arresting Larry Burns.

He never hurt anyone.

Well, look, I'm gonna have to call you back.

I want to think about this.

Here. Say, take a look at these great shots

I got of the harbor.

A trawler outlined by the setting sun.

Look here, lusty men of the sea tending their nets.

They're very nice, Michael.

Michael, how would you like to help me with a little detective work?

Me, a detective? Yeah.

It's nearly dark,

and the condo three usually gather about now

at Bart Nelson's restaurant.

Well, what can I do? Name it.

Well, a couple of things.

Since the fire last year,

a lot of people have been getting rich,

and after what's happened to Beverly and Elvira,

I'm convinced that it was no accident.

Now, I want you to go over to the restaurant

and engage them in conversation and see what you can pick up.

Mrs. Fletcher, I'm a professional reporter.

I'm a real bulldog.

If there's something to learn, I'll learn it.

Well, whatever you do,

don't let those people leave the restaurant

for at least two hours.

You're on to something.

Michael, my boy, I hope you're right.

Once this deal is tidied up, the capital gains'll kill us,

unless we can get a piece of that Portland shopping mall.

Count me out. I'm having cash flow trouble.

You mean nerve trouble.

Buck up, Bart.

You're lettin' this mess get to you.

Mr. Knapp. Mr. Nelson. I'm Michael Digby.

I'm a writer from New York,

and I'm interested in the future of Cabot Cove.

May I join you?

This is a private conversation, kid.

You're that writer staying with Jessica Fletcher.

- He sure is. Hello. - Hi.

We were about to show Michael the scenic route to the front door.

What's the matter, George? Where's your Yankee hospitality?

I hear that writers are such stimulating people.

Mr. Digby, what can you do for me?

- Amos! - Who's there? Who said that?

It's me, Jessica. I'm down in the basement.

Is that you, Mrs. Fletcher?

Yes, I'm here. Come on down.

What you doin' here?

Well, I could ask you the same question.

Well, I didn't have too much to do,

so I just thought I'd look around, unofficially, of course.

Well, good. Look at this.

Well, that's just some wood shavings.

The kind made by a hand drill.

And look up there.

See that perfect little hole drilled in the floorboards

with a perfect view of the bathtub and the wall plug?

That so?

Amos, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind

that Beverly was murdered, and I'll prove it.

I don't get it.

Well, look here.

Now, look. Here's the fuse box.

Now, the cord was frayed,

and I think it was done deliberately.

The killer waited until Beverly was in the bathtub,

and then he turned off the power.

Now, Beverly got out of the tub dripping wet

and went to try the on-and-off button on the TV set.

But when that didn't work, she did what any of us would do.

She checked the plug to be sure that the connection was secure.

Now, the killer could see her,

and he waited until she had the plug in her hand, and then...

Well, I'll be. That's nice thinkin', ma'am.

Shh.

Amos, did you bring your gun? Turned it in.

Sounds like he's coming to the basement door.

Who is it? Come out here.

Adam Frobisher.

He'll live.

I didn't kill her, Harry. I told you.

I was just tryin' to find the ownership papers

for the trawler.

There's laws about breaking and entering, Adam!

And stealing, even from dead people.

Now, that boat is mine! Beverly gave it to me.

Even if you never find papers in writing!

- Let me tell ya-- - Well, here ya are, sheriff.

Caught this guy tryin' to get out of town.

Well, well. Frederich Hoffman.

We wondered where you disappeared to.

I have done nothing wrong. Then what did you run for?

He had that van stuffed with all his belongings.

I don't think he was comin' back, sheriff.

There's a law says I have to live in this lousy town?

There's laws about fleeing the scene of a crime!

Willard, lock these two up in the back there with Larry

till I get to the bottom of this thing.

- I want a lawyer. - Come on.

I want a lawyer too.

Well, you'll both get lawyers in the morning.

Tonight, you sleep here.

Well, one thing is sure.

I've got the killer behind bars.

Now, just have to figure out which one it is.

Harry, maybe you ought to call the state police.

Meaning I can't do the job?

- No. I didn't say that. - Zip it up, Harry.

Mrs. Fletcher's just trying to be helpful.

Yeah, well, Jessica, if-if-if-if you think

you can do a better job, then you're welcome to it!

You too, Amos. I've had it with this lousy job.

Willard, you're in charge!

You call in whoever you like!

I'm goin' home.

Harry's gonna be okay in the morning.

I'll tell you one thing. He's not much of a lawman.

Need any more butter on that, do you, Amos?

Brain food, Doc,

and I got some serious thinkin' to do.

Larry, Frederich, Adam.

- I don't know. - You don't know... which one?

Well, I'm afraid it may not be any of them.

Yeah, that's what I'm thinking.

You know, I'm beginning to think

that this insanity may all tie in.

Beverly's death, which we now know is murder,

Elvira's death, also murder.

These letters flooding the town.

I mean, suppose - and this is just a theory -

suppose that Beverly felt that she might be in danger,

warned the killer that a letter would be mailed by a friend

in the event that something happened to her.

Elvira Tree.

Except the killer didn't know that Elvira was the friend.

But he knew that a letter would be mailed, so what does he do?

He floods the town with crazy, accusatory letters.

Hiding the real letter in a batch of phonies.

And all the letters are different

because the killer doesn't know

what the real letter looked like.

- Yeah, that makes sense. -

But the killer has a problem.

He's in danger from the friend who mailed Beverly's letter.

That person knows why the letter was mailed.

And in time, she will put two and two together

and go to the authorities.

Now, suppose the letter had been written and addressed

sometime back while you were still sheriff, Amos.

Well, I did get one letter. Come to think of it,

it was addressed to Sheriff Amos Tupper.

You know, there was something--

Spit it out, man. Spit it out!

And this kind of fits in, Mrs. Fletcher.

I remember looking at that postmark

and wondering who would write me from Newberry.

Amos, I love you. That is it!

Elvira mailed the letter

while she was visiting her doctor in Newberry.

It was your letter that Beverly wanted mailed.

Yeah, but there is a problem, ma'am.

The letter I got didn't implicate any of those fellas in jail.

It had to do with the fire at the coast guard property

and points a finger at the condo three.

Good heavens. Michael!

My feeling about real estate... is that it's there.

Michael, you are so insightful.

Well, what I mean is, is that it's there.

What the hell is the kid talking about?

Who knows? You worry too much, Bart.

He doesn't know zilch, and neither does Mrs. Fletcher.

Excuse me, Mr. Digby. A call for you.

Yeah?

- Excuse me. -.

One more time around? - Sweetie.

It's my pleasure.

- Yeah? - Michael, are you all right?

Yeah, I'm fine, although in the last three hours,

I've consumed a fifth of scotch

and a pound of butter to stay sober.

It's a trick my dad taught me.

- But have you learned anything? - Not a whole lot,

although these foreign investors paid a fortune for that land,

and they made their offer several years ago before the fire.

So I think your theory about arson may be right.

But Beverly didn't set it.

And neither did the condo three.

They were out of town when it happened.

- Unless they hired someone. - Yeah, maybe.

There are kickbacks and payoffs all over the place,

including a huge finder's fee to a real estate broker.

It may be someone here in town.

You know, Lila hints around a lot, but she doesn't say much.

Can I come home now?

Mrs. Fletcher, you there? - Yes.

Yes, yes. I'm still here, Michael.

No, you can't come home yet.

I want you to go back to Mrs. Norris

and let her try to pry something out of you.

Don't make it too difficult.

Whoopsy-doo.

It was Mrs. Fletcher.

How nice.

Honey, what motel are you staying at?

Mrs. Fletcher's been nice enough to put me up.

Has she?

And what has she got that I don't have?

Nothing. Really, that is, she's one very clever lady.

She's got a policeman's perspective on anything.

Shh, don't tell anybody, but she's figured out

that somebody torched the coast guard house.

Bilgewater.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

She told me she's going to Beverly Gareth's house.

She's got a way to prove it, she said.

Excuse me.

Powder room.

It's me, and have I got bad news for you, buster.

That you, Mrs. Fletcher?

Yes, I'm down here, Harry.

Just passin' by.

Saw the light comin' from the basement window.

Thought I ought to take a look.

Funny, I thought you quit tonight.

That.

Well, I just lost my temper, that's all.

Ya lookin' for anything special?

Well, I have this theory about the coast guard fire

and who started it.

I was waiting for someone to show up.

I thought it might be you.

Well, as I said, I was just passing by.

Yeah, I know. That's what you told me, Harry.

And you were right about one thing.

You weren't much of a lawman.

You also weren't much of a killer, either.

Killer?

That's crazy.

I wish it were, Harry.

Jessica!

Come on. We--

We've known each other for years!

I sold you your house.

Frank and I were lodge brothers.

Yeah.

That's what... makes this so hard.

I mean, that hole in the floorboard, the frayed cord,

the electrocution that had to be an accident

because the door was locked. That was clever, Harry.

But leaving the wood shavings on the floor

where anyone could find them, that was sloppy.

And then you flooded the town with letters

to protect yourself, but--

Jessica! You cannot be serious!

You tried to place the blame for the letters

on a woman with arthritis,

a woman who could barely write her own name.

What was it, Harry?

Did you get a large finder's fee for putting the sale together?

Jessica, there's nothing illegal about a commission.

There is if you commit arson to make it happen

and kill two women to cover it up.

You gonna take that into court?

No.

Amos Tupper will be the one in court.

You slipped, Harry, badly.

Larry Burns repaired Beverly's TV set last week.

He'll swear there was nothing wrong with the cord

when he returned it.

Okay, so the killer frayed the cord to make it look accidental.

That doesn't prove it was me!

No, but if the cord was all right, why did you say you'd seen it frayed?

What?

Amos told me you'd made a point of it.

I noticed that frayed cord a month ago

when I came to appraise the place.

- Told her to get it fixed. - Yeah.

You never saw the cord frayed, Harry,

because there was never anything wrong with it,

not until you doctored it.

Let me tell ya somethin' about Beverly.

She was stupid and greedy.

I did all the work.

I torched the building. I found the buyers!

I even greased the way for the zoning variance!

She, she paid me all right, but...

What she didn't tell me was

that she'd recorded our conversations.

She tried to bleed me out of my cut.

A lot wasn't enough for her.

She wanted it all.

Sorry about Elvira.

I always liked her...

just as I've always liked you, Jessica, but, I'm kind of out of control now.

Sorry, Harry.

Speaking of tape recorders.

Just lay it down... Real careful.

You don't know how much I... wanted to be wrong.

Well, Mrs. Fletcher,

I don't think I'll ever be able to look

at a small town the same way again.

That means you'll be going back to the city then?

No, actually I'm headed to Fall River to visit my aunt.

- I can use the rest. - Fall River.

Isn't that where Lizzie Borden lived?

"Took an ax and gave her mother 40 whacks."

"And when she saw what she had done, she gave her father"--

You know, on second thought, I think I will head back to New York.

Seems a bit safer.

Good-bye, Michael, and thanks for all your help.

It's been a distinct pleasure.

- Michael. - Doctor.

By the way, you'll find my notes

on the Cabot Cove book out back in the trash.

This is one little town I'd like to remember the way it was

when I first got here.