All language subtitles for 2MrSWr222

My Lord.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

You killed my daughter!

Donald Granger stands to collect one million dollars.

No finger prints, no clues, no nothing.

And none of the paintings have been recovered.

Four huge major art claims this year,

and I insured them all.

I find it hard to work up much sympathy for a man

who tries to frame someone for murder.

He had something goin'

didn't want his wife knowing nothing about.

I've destroyed the evidence.

We'll never find out who really killed her.

And do you remember The Horror of Harrow house,

with the lurid bloodstains on the doormat?

Don't knock it.

It sold half a million copies in paperback.

Schlock, pure and simple, but very effective.

Glad you didn't blame me for the artwork.

I never thought I'd say this, Lloyd,

but retirement actually agrees with you.

Does it? -

When I worked those long hours,

slaving over ad campaigns,

I couldn't wait to get home at night,

but now that Lillian's gone--

Well, you certainly seemed anxious to get home tonight,

not that I mind leaving a dull party early.

I wanted us to get at the manuscript.

Yes. The, the mystery novel you sent me,

written by, a friend.

After all the trash I've had to push,

it was thrilling to come up--

Well, to, to find something so original.

Forbes!

Forbes?

Forbes!

I forgot it was Forbes' night off.

Suppose I throw together a pot of tea?

Jessica?

That's a Desmond Devries, isn't it?

Wouldn't know. Lillian was the collector.

One of those splatter paintings is the same as the next to me.

I know. I feel the same way

about Frank's old model car collection,

but I just don't have the heart to get rid of it.

You know, Jessica, you've made something of your life

since Frank passed away.

- I wish I could say the same. - You have your daughters.

- Grown and gone. - Gone?

With Julia and her husband living practically next door?

Well, that's lovely.

Someday, Jessica,

you and I will have a long talk about the joys of parenthood.

In terms of gratification,

it ranks right up there with molar extraction.

Come on. Forget the tea. Let's get to work.

The Terror of Tarrytown awaits.

Could you persuade it to tarry

while I go get my copy from the library?

Lloyd? Maybe I ought to discuss this in person

with the author.

No, no! I mean, that's impossible.

He lives in Tibet.

But I will send him your suggestions,

provided the postage doesn't break me.

- What was that? - It came from the library.

- My God. The Henry Beergen. - But that's impossible.

It was here a minute ago.

You weren't in any real danger, ma'am.

This guy never hurt anybody.

Nobody ever caught him in the act either.

I'll get the tea.

Still safer than New York. They kill you for cab fare.

You worked for the New York Police Department,

Chief Cooper?

Seventeen years, till the pressure on my arches got to me.

Must be much quieter here.

Not enough for the wife. She hates late night calls,

wants me to go into plumbing with her brother.

Plumbers get late night calls too.

At 24 bucks an hour, so the wife keeps remindin' me.

Painting cut out of frame. Probably valuable.

- Do you know a lot about art? - Me? Not a thing.

But our thief sure does.

There you go, Jess.

Lillian's valerian root tea.

Calm you right down.

- Chief? - Please.

I take it that all the thefts have the same MO?

Perpetrated every three months or so.

No fingerprints, no clues, no nothin'.

And none of the paintings have been recovered?

Thanks. Disappeared, just like our thief.

And our Police chief,

if he doesn't do something about this.

Hey, another pattern:

the perp always finds an easy way to break in.

You shoulda locked that window out there, Sir.

We've been locking up everything

since all this started 18 months ago.

Chief Cooper.

Sir. What on earth has happened here, Sir?

The art thief, Forbes.

Here? Good gracious me.

There's no sign of forced entry.

I do assure you, Sir. I locked up tight before I left.

And just where were you tonight?

Are you accusing my houseman?

It's unlikely that Mr. Forbes would have forced his way in,

chief Cooper. He had a key.

To the library window?

Through the kitchen door.

You see? The lock is sticky,

as if this tape had just been placed there.

That's to prevent the lock from engaging.

Locked up tight?

You know, if I were you,

I'd keep an eye on that valet of yours, Mr. Marcus.

The man smells like a gin mill.

Ma'am.

Thanks very much for your help. Appreciate it.

I can take it from here.

He'll take it, all right.

Right to the dead case file.

I can kiss that painting good-bye.

Well, surely it's insured.

Yes. Insured.

Another robbery?

The company's gonna have my head.

Take it easy, Frank.

Say hello to Jessica Fletcher, the mystery writer.

Four huge major art claims this year,

and I insured them all.

How do you do, ma'am?

Jessica, Mayor and Mildred Tilley.

Mayor? I'm sorry.

I thought you were in insurance, Mr. Tilley.

Heh. Well, maybe not for long, the way things are going.

Home office is holding the bag,

and when they're holding the bag, I'm holding the bag.

- Somebody's out to get me. - Be quiet, Frank.

- You're the mystery writer. - Guilty, I'm afraid.

Jessica figured out how the thief broke in.

More than I can say for Chief Cooper.

Daddy, Jessica. Sorry I'm late.

Isn't Donald here yet?

Lose him again, dear?

I always know where my husband is.

Of course you do, Mildred.

If you ever let dear Frank out of your sight,

no telling what he'd be up to.

Frank, we're late for lunch.

Betty and Jay Jones, next tee-off--

Julia, your manners.

I'm sorry, Jessica. You must think I'm awful,

but ever since those two people came here

two years ago from New York,

Cedar Heights has not been the same.

Well, sometimes it takes people a while to adapt.

The dinosaurs never learned.

You know, Julia, you've turned

into something of a snob.

Maybe marriage doesn't agree with you.

Maybe because you don't agree with my marriage.

Come on, Jessica. Let's take a walk.

I'll show you how the leisure class lives.

All right.

My, Lloyd. This is lovely.

Lovely? Now that I've time to play,

my game's deserted me.

I give new meaning to the word "duffer."

Whoa. Whoa.

Lloyd. Hello. Hello, Lloyd.

- Well, hello. - Not--

I've just been tested on the field of combat,

and I've been found wanting.

What I need now is a tall, cold gin fizz.

Jessica Fletcher, Binky Holborn, Ellen Davis.

- How do you do? Great pleasure. - How nice to meet you.

I-I'm the member here.

Ellen's our resident glamour puss.

It's the reason we hired her actually.

She adds a little sparkle to the front office.

Happy to meet you, Mrs. Fletcher,

- and ignore him if you can. - How do you do?

Binky was so anxious to meet you,

he came by my house yesterday before I'd even left

to meet your plane.

So how was the game? - Lloyd, my dear friend.

I amazed this young thing with my flawless form

and my superb follow-through.

Unfortunately,

for 18 holes the club head and the balls

never did get properly introduced to one another.

Jessica. I understand you nearly had a tete-a-tete

with our Cedar Heights art connoisseur.

I wish I could, claim credit for bravery,

but I didn't know that he was in the room.

Well, you know, one of mine was the very first stolen,

and I have a theory about it.

- Drugs. - Drugs?

Addicts, I mean.

The thief can't have been a professional.

He leaves all the real masterpieces.

Say, I've got a notion coming on.

Here it is. I shall throw a dinner party

especially for you tonight.

- I'd be so honored. - Jessica.

When will we have time to go over the manuscript?

Of course, Lloyd. The one that was written by your friend.

Well, why don't you bring it along?

As an amateur mystery buff,

I'd be fascinated to hear

what J.B. Fletcher is gonna say about it.

So, everybody's got to come.

I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to beg off.

Too much paperwork to catch up with.

And I've planned a very quiet evening at home.

Donald has been so busy with his work.

We almost never get a chance to be alone together. Sorry.

Well, it's just gonna be the three of us then.

The servants are going to be crushed.

They so rarely get the exercise.

Take care of the car, and pamper it, please. Pamper it.

Another martini, Henry.

Make it a double.

Third party up, 1:15.

You know, Daddy,

I can stand anything but those knowing looks.

No doubt Donald got hung up in some...

- Important business meeting. - No doubt.

Well, at least he works,

which is more than I can say for most of the... Parasites

that infect Cedar Heights.

Binky Holborn, for example.

You see, Jessica,

Daddy is convinced that,

my husband is a fortune-hunting ne'er-do-well.

Speaking of the ne'er-do-well.

There he is now.

It looks like he gave your sister a lift in from the city.

Hello, darling.

Sorry I'm late.

I gave Sabrina a ride in from town.

Really? -.

You know how I hate driving in Friday afternoon traffic.

Hi, Daddy.

Hello, dear.

Say hello to Mrs. Fletcher.

You may not remember.

Of course I do. Hello. It's nice to see you again.

Thank you.

My son-in-law, Donald Granger.

- How do you do? - How do you do?

What's on the menu? I'm starved.

Your martini, madam.

Thank you.

Ann and Mike Clark, next tee-off at two o'clock.

Ann and Mike Clark.

So the waiter said,

"You're sitting in Hemingway's chair, '"

and I said, "Well, I had no idea Hemingway made chairs."

So you can see why

it's absolutely my most favorite cafe in Paris.

Well, it's mine too.

But I haven't been there in years.

I wish we could have made more of an evening here tonight.

I mean, what with Donald having to have that business meeting

with that McKendrick fellow,

and Sabrina in bed with that dreadful headache.

We were going to discuss the book, weren't we?

Excellent idea.

I-I'm afraid I left my copy

with my notes over at the other house.

Well, why don't you go and fetch it, Lloyd?

And if you're quick enough,

you'll be back just in time for the crème caramel.

I won't be ten minutes.

You do know that we're in for a long evening.

Well, call me selfish,

but I just had to have some time alone with you,

even though the price is steep.

Now, don't misunderstand me.

Lloyd's been like a father to me ever since my parents died.

But he has this desire to be an author.

Yes. I wish he would write

with just a little more... Panache.

- And a little shorter. - Yes, that too.

I am sorry, Lloyd,

but really I think that your friend would be far better off

writing about something closer to his... personal experience.

It's quite all right, Jessica.

Your comments were very helpful.

That's odd.

Julia's front door is open.

Julia. Good Lord.

Julia? Julia.

I'm very sorry about this, Mr. Marcus,

but the situation is under control.

I don't want platitudes, chief. I want action.

Lloyd. Perhaps you should go home.

No. There may be things I can tell you.

Yes. Well, actually,

do you remember if that clock

on the mantel was broken before tonight?

The time is wrong.

It was fine yesterday. Julia adored it.

She bought it in France.

But it is broken know. I wonder why?

Obvious.

Broke in the struggle. Provides time of death too.

But there's no sign of a struggle here,

or anywhere, for that matter.

Chief Cooper,

I'm sure you want to take that clock in for lab analysis?

Including fingerprints.

Of course.

This is curious.

- There are cuts on her neck. - She was strangled, ma'am.

Look, there's a... button there.

Initials. "DG"

Donald Granger. Chief, I recognize that button.

My son-in-law had a blazer

made in Savile Row on their honeymoon.

Jessica, it all fits.

There's no sign of any struggle,

as if Julia had nothing to fear from her murderer.

Lloyd.

Mrs. Fletcher.

What's happening here?

- You killed her. - My Lord, Julia.

You killed my daughter. You killed my daughter!

Stop it.

Everything is all wrong. This is insane.

I-I didn't kill her.

Where were you tonight, Donald?

You mentioned a business dinner with a Mr. McKendrick.

That's right. I,

No business dinner lasts till one.

You were probably with some tramp.

Lloyd, no.

- Dad? How about some breakfast? - No. No, thank you, dear.

You can't give up food and sleep.

Later.

Hello? Yes. Yes, chief.

I understand. Thank you for calling.

Cooper just charged Donald formally with Julia's murder.

- Dear. - That's impossible.

He couldn't have done it.

And could you supply him with an alibi?

Of course not, but--

Sabrina, the evidence is clear.

Don't let your personal feelings

interfere with your judgment.

It would be more seemly if you grieve for your sister,

rather than worry about

this double-dealing fortune hunter.

Excuse me.

- That's not fair. - Sabrina, he's very upset.

Donald is not a fortune hunter.

He signed a prenuptial agreement

at Daddy's insistence, by the way.

He made sure Donald would never get a penny of her estate, ever.

I've gotta get him a lawyer. Excuse me.

Granger's story doesn't hold water, Mrs. Fletcher,

just like these pipes here.

His so-called dinner engagement with McKendrick

was canceled earlier in the day.

Well, that doesn't prove that he committed the murder.

Where was he at the time of the killing?

At the seafood shanty, he says. Just dropped in, he says.

Met a friend. Had a late supper. Hah.

Nobody drops in at the shanty, Mrs. Fletcher.

It's way up by the beach somewheres.

Kind of place folks go when they don't wanna be seen.

And the friend?

Wouldn't tell me her name.

You ask me, he had somethin' goin'. Didn't want his wife

knowin' nothing about.

- But you are gonna check on it. - Sure.

Meantime, Granger stays where he is,

least until he gets his lawyer to bail him out.

I'll tell you somethin'.

For a guy that's supposed to be bright,

he committed one hell of a stupid murder.

Yes.

Did I say somethin' about a lawyer?

Mrs. Tilley.

Good morning, Ellen.

- Hi. - My, what a lovely outfit.

Well, thank you.

I suppose if you're going fishing,

it pays to have attractive-looking bait.

I wanted to give you your bill in person.

The mail has been dreadful lately,

and since we haven't received a check

from you in several months...

I'm sure there's been some kind of a mix-up.

Well, I'll see that my husband gets this.

Thank you.

Bob Smith,

please report to starter's desk.

Mrs. Fletcher.

- Hello, Mrs. Tilley. - Mildred, please.

I feel so neglectful.

I have been meaning for the past two days

to invite you to the house.

I'm planning a little dinner party.

Just a dozen people.

And naturally, you would be the guest of honor.

Well, that's very flattering,

but I can't make any plans right now.

Yes.

You're hot on the trail of Julia Granger's killer.

But I thought they had arrested Donald?

They have, but, -But you don't believe it.

Fascinating.

I agree.

Jessica, I have three words for you: cherchez la femme.

What do you mean?

- Sabrina, of course. - Sabrina?

I'm amazed you didn't know.

Donald was, shall we say,

involved with Sabrina before he met Julia.

They met at a ski resort, and you know what that means.

And then Sabrina introduced Donald to Julia,

and it seemed that their relationship was over.

But with the late night business meetings in Manhattan--

Well, need I say more?

I think you've said quite enough already.

On the other hand, if it were Donald,

then Frank's company wouldn't have to pay off.

Pay off?

The insurance, of course. Surely you knew?

The day after they were married, Frank sold them a huge policy.

Donald Granger stands to collect one million dollars.

Unless he did bump her off.

Then in that case, Frank wouldn't have to pay a soul.

Please, God.

Well, I really must go.

If you change your mind about the party,

please let me know.

Great, just when you dig up the motive,

Granger's got an alibi.

Then he was at the seafood shanty, with his, friend?

- Young woman. - Sabrina Marcus.

No. Brunette, real looker. Nobody there knew her name.

None of this makes any sense.

Chief, isn't this whole thing beginning to feel a little--

As if it had been staged?

What do you mean, staged?

Well, that blazer button was theoretically

- torn from a custom-made jacket. - Yeah?

Julia's carefully manicured nails not even broken.

Yeah?

And those cuts on the neck.

I mean, it seems unlikely

that they would have been caused by a velvet drapery cord.

Are you suggestin' somebody else

killed Julia and framed Donald?

What is it, Mrs. Fletcher? Somethin' about that painting?

They all look alike to me.

But of course. They all look alike, Chief.

Mr. Forbes, wasn't there a Desmond Devries hanging here?

Yes, I believe there was.

- Where is it now? - I wouldn't know.

Mr. Marcus re-hung all the paintings after the robbery,

to balance the walls.

Was the Devries the only painting that was replaced?

I wouldn't know, Mrs. Fletcher.

Perhaps you should question Mr. Marcus directly?

I couldn't help but remember that you seemed preoccupied

last night on the way back from Binky's.

At the time, I thought it was because of my comments

about your friend's script.

But I am afraid that you're no better at planting clues

than your friend is.

Planting clues?

Jessica, what are you talking about?

Lloyd, as much as you may believe

that all splatter paintings look alike, they don't.

The Devries was in your living room yesterday.

It is now hanging in Julia's.

And I have to wonder about you being gone from Binky's

for almost 40 minutes,

when you said that it would take no more than ten.

I can't believe this.

You're accusing me of what? Killing my own daughter?

No, Lloyd. You loved her too much for that.

But I'm afraid I suspect that

you hated your son-in-law Donald

enough to frame him for a murder that he didn't commit.

I was driving home to get the book

when I saw the drapes in Julia's living room.

They were torn.

I went in, and she was there.

She was dead.

The Devries painting I'd given her was gone,

and the room was in a horrible mess.

Obviously, she'd caught the thief in the act,

and he'd-he'd-

So you rearranged the evidence to implicate your son-in-law.

He never loved her.

He was using her.

He dropped Sabrina...

When he found out that Julia had most of the money.

She didn't used to be so hard.

You remember those days, don't you, Jess?

He made her miserable.

But she wasn't gonna divorce him.

She was too... proud.

Too stubborn.

She was too-too-

Too much in love?

Guess you knew about

that million dollar insurance policy?

Yes.

I couldn't bear the thought of Donald Granger getting away.

Profiting from my little girl's death.

I was... so sick,

shaking all over.

But all I could think of was him walking away free

with all that money.

Do you think it was easy for me?

I had to press that silver button into her fingers--

Her poor, stiff fingers.

God, Jess.

I've destroyed the evidence.

We'll never find out who really killed her.

The painting was cut out of the frame.

The frame was lying on the floor, smashed.

And the wire was...

Wrapped... Tightly around her neck.

Well, that explains the cuts.

Then you replaced the wire with the drapery cord.

I found a pizza cutter on the floor over there.

Pizza cutter?

A tool of the trade, I suppose.

It had flecks of paint on it. I'm no expert.

I hurried home.

I took my own painting-- this one--

Off the wall and put it there,

assuming no one would know the difference.

So the Cedar Heights art thief kills your daughter.

You cover up the theft to throw blame

on your son-in-law.

I found the lock on the rear door taped over,

just like the previous night at my house,

and a small penlight outside.

- And the clock? - I told you.

I found it on the floor next to the mantelpiece.

The thief must have knocked it off

when he took the picture down.

I just replaced it. That's all.

And what did you do with the frame and the wire?

- I threw them away. - Great.

Our garbage is incinerated every day-

Another one of Mayor Tilley's good works.

So every shred of evidence you say was here,

has been totally destroyed.

I did not kill my daughter.

Chief, think.

Why would Lloyd incriminate himself

if he weren't telling the truth?

Only reason for framing somebody

is if you committed the crime yourself.

Chief Cooper's an idiot.

He's had it out for Dad for years.

I wish I could understand any of this.

I know that Lloyd has not liked me, but to frame me for murder?

Donald, I'm so sorry.

I'm so confused by all this.

Mrs. Fletcher, what can we do?

Well, I think the first order of business

is to try to discover the identity of our Art Thief.

I'm afraid that's the only way

we're going to get your father released.

Well there must be some evidence,

fingerprints or footprints outside of the door.

Maybe they could trace the... pizza cutter.

No, I'm afraid Lloyd got rid of all the physical evidence.

By now, it's all destroyed.

Donald, could you give me a lift to the country club?

Sure.

I think that we have to start at the beginning

of this thing.

Meanwhile, Sabrina, your dad's gonna need a good lawyer.

Let me take care of it.

Thanks.

Mrs. Fletcher, hi.

Ellen. My goodness, you get a lot of exercise.

Have you seen Binky Holborn?

Yeah. I just left him out on the putting green.

He's working out his frustrations.

Thank you. By the way, you'll be relieved to know

that Donald Granger is no longer under suspicion

for the murder of his wife.

What? I-I mean, yes. That-that is good news.

Yes, since it relieves you of the obligation

of providing him with a public, alibi.

What are you talking about?

The night she died,

Donald was having a late night supper

with a very attractive young brunette.

What is the expression? "A real looker",

at the seaside shanty, right close to the beach.

It doesn't mean it was me.

The employees didn't know her name,

but I think they'll recognize your photograph.

Being new in Cedar Heights,

I just wanted to check out a new restaurant.

Donald and I, we happened to run into one another.

I wouldn't try to read any more into that if I were you,

Mrs. Fletcher.

- It might prove embarrassing. - Embarrassing to whom?

Actually, I was out for a walk the night

they stole my painting.

I always take an after-Dinner constitutional.

You can practically set the town clock by me.

Well, you're a man after my own heart.

Well, my doctor says I need all the exercise I can get.

Those three-martini lunches do tend to creep up on you.

Well, golf is certainly good exercise.

My dear Lady, this is not exercise.

This is a test of one's capacity for total humiliation.

Yes, well. That's enough of that.

Binky, about that painting of yours,

was it insured?

Yes. Mayor Tilley had the policy.

But the money didn't matter.

I mean, the painting was irreplaceable.

Yes, but not impossible to fence.

The thief seemed to know a good deal about art.

Who was the next person to be robbed?

- The Tilleys. - Really?

Yes, and they should thank the dear fellow.

He took the most maudlin little piece off their hands.

Type of painting only an interior decorator could love,

don't you know?

I miss that gorgeous picture.

The little dog was so cute. He wore a clown hat.

And it was insured?

You don't think I wouldn't insure myself?

Let me tell you something about insurance, Jessica.

It's not money. It's... peace of mind.

Where are our drinks? - There you go.

Two high pro, low sodium, low cals.

- And, one coffee. - Thank you.

Lloyd must feel so ashamed.

Well, surely you don't think

that Lloyd killed his own daughter?

Heavens, no.

But the disgrace of being arrested.

I don't know how he's ever going to live it down.

Mayor Tilley, Chief Cooper has made it very... difficult

to see the police files.

Might I look at your insurance reports?

That's impossible.

They're strictly confidential. It's a company policy.

Well, perhaps you could tell me

what you remember about your theft?

We were at the opera in New York.

It was a big benefit opening.

I mean, everybody who was anybody was there.

I remember that I-I wore an off-the-shoulder formal

that was designed for me by a man who used to work

for Nancy's designer.

And then my dear husband here fell asleep.

Believe me, that wasn't easy

with all that screaming up onstage.

Where were your servants that night?

It was the maid's night off.

But Elise was questioned and cleared,

if that's what you're thinking.

Elise and Forbes, Lloyd's manservant?

They've been keeping company.

They're so adorable, Jessica.

They see each other once a week on their night off.

Though, this week,

Elise had the flu.

And she just better not have given it to me.

I suppose other people in town

knew that you were going to the opera?

Who didn't?

Art coverage, a town like this? Basement risk in it, right?

Tell you, the home office is gonna take my head,

nail it right up there like an elk.

Well, surely they don't hold you responsible?

Tell you something else.

I-if this Cooper doesn't get off his duff,

he's gonna be out on the street, sweeping it.

Marcus posted bail an hour ago.

You're the Chief of Police, Cooper, not a plumber.

Not yet. The way the wife's been bustin' chops,

you may have my badge back by suppertime.

All right.

So, you were sayin' about them stolen paintings?

They've recovered one. It was pure luck.

Friend of Carpenter's spotted one in an Edinburgh gallery.

And now, what about the servants?

Every time the thief hit, it was maid's night out.

Not only that, all of the owners were out of their houses.

Binky was taking his after-dinner stroll,

which he says is common knowledge.

The Tilleys were at the opera benefit.

The Carpenters at their daughter's Sweet 16 party,

Abbey Hayes at her ceramics class.

- So what? - So what?

That indicates that the thief is somebody

with an intimate knowledge of these people's lives.

Like, maybe the Chief of Police?

Hey. Hold on now, Mayor.

It's your job to know who's where, Cooper.

I've wondered why you haven't gotten

to the bottom of these thefts.

My wife assumes it's because you're dimwitted.

Yeah? Well, your wife's no tower of intellect either,

you know.

- Gentlemen, please. - Watch yourself, Chief.

You'd know just as much as I would about the goings-on

in this village, Mr. Mayor.

- Hell, who doesn't? - Gentlemen.

If you would just be quiet long enough to listen,

I think that you're both right.

Now, your art thief is no outsider.

He knows much too much about the inner workings

of this community.

I'm very much afraid it could be anybody.

Mr. Forbes.

Mr. Forbes?

Mr. Forbes.

Good afternoon, ma'am.

Just the person I wanted to talk to.

I hadn't realized that you were a member here.

Member? What? Me, a member?

Good heavens, no, ma'am.

I was just visiting a friend.

Yes, I understand that you've been spending your nights off

in the company of a Miss Elise, the Tilleys' maid?

Yes. She's a lovely woman, yes.

And very substantial and fine cook.

Yes.

But this past Thursday,

that's the night that Mr. Marcus was robbed,

Elise was in bed with the flu.

Yet you led everyone to believe you were out with Elise

as usual.

Did I?

Well, actually,

ma'am, I trust I can rely on your discretion.

Now, the fact is,

I was in the company of a Miss Katrina Schnell,

who works here in the kitchen.

She's a lovely, charming girl,

and even better cook than and more--how shall I say--

More, femininely attractive.

Yes, yes.

So you were with her?

All evening.

Until I returned home to find that Mr. Marcus

had been robbed.

I'd appreciate it if you said nothing about this.

I mean, the truth is that I think Elise will no longer be

within the community.

I mean, with all the financial problems

that the Tilleys are having.

Financial problems?

Well, if you'll excuse me, ma'am,

I'm expected home, late as it is.

Come in.

I hope I'm not interrupting.

No. Not at all.

please... Sit down.

Thank you. I'm sure you've heard, Miss Davis,

Lloyd Marcus has been released on bail.

Am I supposed to be pleased by that?

I'm sorry.

I know he's had a difficult few days.

It's just that--

Well, I find it hard to work up much sympathy

for a man who tries to frame someone for murder.

Especially someone like Donald Granger?

If you have something to say,

Mrs. Fletcher, why don't you just say it?

I'd rather hear it from you.

You mean, were Donald and I having an affair?

This is the '80s, Mrs. Fletcher.

Promiscuity is not exactly page one news.

I worked at Donald's club in New York.

He was... very unhappy with her.

H-he was going to ask her for a divorce.

So you took this job to be closer to him?

That's right.

And your friendship with Binky is a ruse.

Binky is a bore.

All of that stupid endless talk about his art,

the house, this cafe, that bistro,

trips to England and Scotland

every three months or so to play those grand old courses.

I once asked him why he didn't just move to St. Andrews

if he liked it so much.

Every three months? -

What is it, Mrs. Fletcher?

I really came to ask you

if any of the members seem to be having financial difficulties.

- Lots. - Binky Holborn?

The idle rich are notoriously slow payers,

but not Binky.

I just wish I knew where he got it from.

Thank you, Ellen.

You've been very helpful. Really.

- Jessica. How delightful. - Good afternoon, Binky.

And Chief Cooper.

Well, what a surprise. Please, do come in.

To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?

I got a warrant here, Mr. Holborn, signed by Judge Daley.

A warrant? What, did I forget to pay a water bill?

Certainly not intentional.

Ha, ha, ha.

I'd like to see your passport, Sir.

My passport?

Well, now that does sound strange.

This has all the earmarks of international intrigue.

Jessica, what is this man talking about?

I think you know, Binky.

Periodic visits to, Great Britain,

say, every three months?

All coming within a week or so of an art theft

here in Cedar Heights.

Jessica. You can't be serious.

We've checked the dates of the six robberies,

and the Chief wants to compare them

with the visa entries into Great Britain.

That won't be necessary.

I suppose I knew this couldn't keep up forever.

Well, I'm delighted.

I've been finally undone by someone of your caliber.

And you're admittin' you stole the paintings,

Mr. Holborn?

Yes, I think that's the gist of it, Chief.

I had them in the golf bag.

No one ever looked. It was quite simple, really.

Binky, why?

I blush to say it, but it was money, really.

My aged mama and papa spent far too much of it

before they passed on.

And it's not as if they educated me to make a living,

just to enjoy the finer things, I'm afraid.

Well, here it is, Chief.

Not bad for abstract glop.

Not that I would dream of buying it myself.

Give it to Lloyd, will you? Rightful owner and all that.

Now Jessica, you must tell me. How did you know?

Guesswork, really.

You were the first person to have a painting stolen.

Then of course

there was the coincidence of your overseas trips.

And then, Lloyd mentioned that you'd been at his house

earlier the day that he was robbed.

That must have been to tape the rear door,

as you did with your other victims.

Very clever of you.

Well, you know, I planned it all very carefully.

And it was very exciting,

and of course nobody suffered financially.

I mean, the insurance always settled,

and no one got hurt either.

Yeah. Not until Julia Granger caught you in the act.

Really, chief.

When Julia Granger was killed,

I was having crème caramel with Jessica in my dining room.

Yes, that's right.

So what do we got here? Another art thief?

Not exactly.

Binky, the so-called thief who murdered Julia Granger

and tried to blame it on you left behind several clues.

The electrician's tape for the door,

a penlight with smudged prints.

Don't forget the pizza cutter.

- The what? - Pizza cutter.

One of them sharp little wheelies,

used to cut the painting out of frame.

Well, that's ridiculous.

I always use a single-edge razor.

Pizza cutter indeed. You'd ruin the painting.

Yes, of course. Now things are beginning to make sense.

Well, I don't think I've ever even had a pizza.

You've got to believe me, Jessica.

I do, Binky's. Indeed I do.

Pizza cutter.

Donald? Look, we--

We're both really torn up inside, but I--

I just want you to know that if there's anything I can do--

Thank you, sis.

Is that what I'm gonna be for you from now on? "Sis"?

Look, Donald. She's dead.

I-I'd do anything to bring her back, but I can't.

We-you and I have got to get on with our lives.

That's what I intend to do, Sabrina,

only not here in Cedar Heights.

I may move out to the West Coast.

I've got some things going on out there.

West coast? But I thought--

Well, you thought wrong, I'm afraid.

Sorry, kid.

Sabrina?

I thought you'd like to know that we've discovered

the identity of your sister's killer.

- Not father? - No.

The art thief. I knew it.

No. Not him either, Mr. Granger.

Though we had been working under that assumption.

Her killer did steal a painting to misdirect suspicion,

but the fact is, your only motive was to kill your wife.

- What? - That's absurd.

Why would I kill my wife?

I signed a prenuptial agreement. I get nothing.

Not exactly. You'd get nothing if you divorced Julia

or she predeceased you.

But you would collect a million dollars in insurance.

You're insane.

With all the recent thefts, it would be simple enough

to make it seem like Julia had caught the thief in the act.

And it might have worked,

if Lloyd hadn't reframed the frame you left behind.

No wonder you seemed genuinely shocked

by the scene of the crime when you returned that night.

Things weren't the way you left them, were they?

It must have been frightening and confusing for you.

You knew somebody had rearranged the evidence,

but you couldn't say anything.

Killing Julia was the only way you could maintain

your lifestyle and have Ellen Davis.

And I was with Ellen Davis at the seafood shanty

between 9:30 and midnight. Check it out.

We did, but the medical examiner couldn't be

that specific about the time of death.

Well, it had to be 9:45,

because the clock was broken during the struggle.

- Is that right, Mr. Granger? - What is this?

The clock was broken at 9:45, all right,

but I bagged it for evidence

before you came in the house that night.

How could you have known about the time on the clock

unless you broke it yourself,

which is, I'm afraid, exactly what you did.

The medical examiner couldn't pinpoint the time of death

that precisely,

but Lloyd had told me that Julia's fingers had been stiff

when he planted your button in her hand,

which meant that the murder had to have taken place

quite a bit earlier than 9:45.

You strangled her with some painting wire and the clock,

which you set ahead to 9:45 and then broke,

and then manufactured a struggle leading to the fireplace,

allowing you enough time to establish your alibi.

This must be one of the most elaborate crimes ever committed

in the imagination of J.B. Fletcher.

Earlier today, you asked why Chief Cooper

didn't trace the pizza cutter?

But Lloyd told only the chief and me about the tools

the killer left behind,

or should I say planted?

It wasn't reported anywheres else.

So how could you have known about it,

unless you were the thief?

No. I don't believe it.

Believe it, Sabrina.

It was a million-dollar crapshoot, and I lost.

Count your blessings, kid.

It could have been you in that box.

No. No!

Sabrina.

Let's go.