All language subtitles for Moonlighting.S01E05 - Next Stop Murder

♪ Hey hey yeah ♪

♪ Some walk by night ♪

♪ Some fly by day ♪

♪ Something is sweeter ♪

♪ 'Cause we met on the way ♪

♪ 'Cause we met
on the way ♪

Hey, kid, glum up.
How bad can it be?

Pretty bad, Addison.
We need a case.

Of what? Relax,
it's almost the weekend.

Besides, great cases
aren't born, they're made.

Right now, some bank teller
is thinking about the big grab.

Some frustrated housewife is
staring at a steak knife,

contemplating
her husband Harvey's clavicle.

Some poor relation is thinking
about Uncle Stanford's millions

and how the doctor said he'd be dead
within three months... four years ago.

Our case is out there.

- It's just fermenting.
- You sound so certain.

I am so certain.
Even as we speak

the spurned lover of some
lustful lad is picking up a revolver,

pointing it at
her former beloved's brain.

He turns, sees his mistress,
sees the gun, there's a scream!

- Addison!
- Not bad.

She was just sitting there, asking people
for words that rhyme with "detective. "

When the mail came, she started
to open it, and then she screamed.

- Did anyone suggest "effective"?
- Addison.

- Ms. DiPesto?
- Agnes?

- It's from him!
- Him?

Doesn't he usually do
the burning bush thing?

- Not Him.
- Him, J.B. Harland.

Oh, that him.
Who's that?

The only J.B. Harland I know
is a mystery writer.

- That's the one!
- Well, what does it say?

- I don't know.
- Just a shot in the dark here,

but I bet opening that envelope
would tell you tons.

Of course.
You're right.

"J.B. Harland invites you
to a murder."

- I don't believe it, I won!
- You won?

- I won!
- That's wonderful.

- What did you win?
- A contest!

Oh, there's so much to do!

I gotta pack.
I gotta get my hair done!

J.B. Harland, the greatest
mystery writer of all time,

and I'm gonna spend
the weekend with him.

Ms. DiPesto,
in mixed company?

No, no, it's not like that.
It's better than that.

Better than that?

- Better than that!
- J.B. Harland. I know who he is.

- He writes those Inspector Doughnut books.
- That's "Inspector Dumais."

Yes! Yes!

Me, Ms. Agnes DiPesto,

and J.B. Harland.

You'll explain this
to me later?

Only if she explains it
to me now.

I've been invited
aboard the Murder Train.

J.B. Harland's Murder Train.

He does it every year.

He and four
of his closest friends

and the winner of the Murder Mystery
magazine's essay contest

spend exactly 24 hours aboard
a train bound for nowhere.

Sometime during the trip,
a murder will occur.

Beats the hell out of what I
had planned for this weekend.

The invitation must have
got lost in the mail.

The trip is tomorrow and--

Don't hang around if
you have things to do.

Yes, this is certainly is a hubbub
of activity here,

but we'll find a way
to survive without you.

Thanks.

You guys...

are great.

In fact, you're better than great.
You're great-great.

Well, we think
you're great-great too.

- Great-great?
- Bye-bye.

- Ta-ta.
- Ta-ta. Ho ho.

I feel funny asking, but since I
don't know where the train is going

and since I would hate to leave
my car sitting at the station--

Say no more.
Maddie'll be glad to drive you down there.

Addison, it's Saturday night.
I have plans.

Haven't you ever heard
of midnight Mass?

Trust me, we'll be back in time.
We'll both take you down there.

My luck is on the rise.
I listen as fate cries.

The time is here,
so give a cheer.

DiPesto won a prize!

- Great-great.
- So-so.

Wow.

Boy, this is really exciting.
Union Station.

You know, the last time
I was in a train station,

I was taking a train.
Life's crazy like that.

You really are excited,
aren't you?

I'm really proud of you, getting your
essay picked out by J.B. Harland himself.

- What'd you write about?
- "Why I think J.B. Harland

is the greatest mystery writer
of all time."

- Gutty choice.
- A five-page essay and my picture.

- A picture?
- Yeah.

I sent him a picture of me
at the office.

I thought maybe if he saw that
I work in a detective agency--

- Obviously, you thought right.
- I can't believe it.

It's like Cinderella.

I think that makes
you and me mice.

- What track we looking for?
- Uh, let's see.

It just says,
"The J.B. Harland Murder Train."

I'll go check the schedule.

- Who are the glad rags for?
- You speaking to me?

No, I'm speaking
to this bum over here.

- Hot date?
- I don't know.

It depends on what
you consider a hot date.

Can this guy eat without you
cutting his food up first?

I didn't come here
to talk about my private life.

I came here to see a friend off
and get a lift to the theatre.

The theatre!
Let me guess,

this guy got you fifth row
center tickets for Cats.

He's got an in backstage.
After the show, you can go back,

scratch the cats between their ears
while they cough up fur balls-- ack!

Why couldn't you just say,
"I hope you have a nice time"?

- I hope you have a nice time.
- Thank you.

Whatever curdles your cream.

It's a private train,
track 29.

- Terrific.
- Terrific.

Terrific!

Wow!

Carpeting on the walls.

Must be tough to vacuum.

"Dear Ms. DiPesto, welcome
to J.B. Harland's Murder Train.

I am quite pleased to have you
as my special guest

and look forward to making
your lovely acquaintance.

Here's to a good mystery.

Your humble servant,
J.B. Harland."

It's almost more than
I can stand.

- How exactly does this game work?
- I'm not really sure.

I just know that this group
gets together once a year

and they race to solve a mystery
designed by J.B. Harland.

- If you can solve it, you win.
- But where's the rest of the group?

Maybe that's part
of the mystery.

That's kind of what
the whole thing is about.

You never really know
what's going on.

Maybe I should get a head start
and scout out the place.

Thank you for helping me
with my stuff, you guys.

I never could have
done it by myself.

We wouldn't dream
of leaving you stuffless.

- Have a terrific time.
- I think I will.

Gotta admit, pretty plush.

Bet you the whole damn train
goes condo within a year.

- Addison?
- All right, all right, all right.

I'm just gonna look around
a little bit.

Pretty classy.
Personal head.

- Elegant button.
- What are you doing?

I wanna see how these work.

- Why?
- Because it's there.

Isn't that a line from
Mountains and Three-Minute Miles?

- I'm gonna tell you something.
- Miracle of miracles.

You remember the big blackout of 1965,
whole East Coast blacked out for a night?

Well, I never told anybody this,
but I caused that.

- Why aren't I surprised?
- All the time,

the whole time I was growing up,
my mom kept telling me,

"David, turn the lights out
in your room.

There are children
in China who are in the dark."

And all the time, the whole time,
I never turned them out.

There's a rebel in me,
I admit it.

So one day, I'm over at my friend
Jeffrey's house, and I remember thinking,

"Oh, no. I gotta get home before
my mom gets home from work."

Because, dangerous guy that
I am, I left the lights on.

For no reason, they're just on.
Wasting energy, wasting money.

So I get on my bike, and I'm
riding home as fast as I can, right?

'Cause I gotta beat
my mom home, right?

And I get home, slam on the
coaster brakes, throw the bike down,

I look up, and I see
the lights are still on.

I also see that my mom's still home,
so I figure maybe she hasn't noticed yet.

So I go into my pocket
for the key.

I figure I'll go in,
sneak in,

turn the lights off,
and I'll be safe.

I go in my pocket,
and there is no key.

Which means I gotta ring
the doorbell,

which means my mom
has to come answer it,

which means she's gonna go by
my room, see my lights are on

and realize once again that
I cannot possibly be her son.

There must have been
some mix-up at the hospital.

This is a riveting story.

Anyway, I press the doorbell,
and it goes "ding."

Is that it?
That's the story?

Don't you get it?
Normally, our doorbell goes "ding-dong."

This time, it just went "ding."

I heard it go "ding,"
and I turn around and look...

and all the lights
on my block go out.

I did it.

Overloaded the whole system just
'cause I left the lights in my room on.

I never told that story
to anybody.

I wonder why.

So now, whenever
I see a button--

Press it!
Put me out of my misery and press it.

- My kind of button. All right.
- Can we leave now?

Nice. Firm. Takes me back
to my days at San Quentin.

It's a joke.

- Come here, give it a test ride.
- I'll take your word for it.

- Maddie...
- David.

- Know what your problem is?
- I'm sure you'll tell me.

- You're just not "spontooneous."
- You're right, let's go.

Come here. Come sit by me.

- Why?
- Because we're here...

on a private train,
with a nice bed

and carpeting on the walls.

And besides, I asked nice.
I'd do it for you.

- And then we can go?
- Then we can leave.

There now, see?

- That didn't hurt a bit, did it?
- No.

It must have been
really something back then,

traveling across the country
by train...

listening to the clickety-clack as the
train rumbled through the Heartland.

Every passenger's face
a mystery.

Every car, filled with
the possibility of intrigue.

- Danger, romance.
- Do tell.

Incredible meals
served on fine linen.

Drinks sipped as the train
cut through the twilight.

- Twilight?
- Twilight.

Do you feel something?

That's my nail file pressed up
against your ribs.

Good golly, it's almost sunrise
here on the old Addison Flyer.

- Addison?
- Wrong button.

- Addison, do something.
- What?

- Do something!
- What?

You did this on purpose!
No, I didn't.

- Yes, you did.
- No, I didn't.

Yes, you did.
Yes, you did.

Miss.

Are you talking to me?

You must be J.B.'s guest.

His murder train's
the best.

Rodney's the name,
solving mystery is my game.

Even if they're only in jest.

My name is Agnes.

But my friends call me
Ms. DiPesto.

Hello... Ms. DiPesto.

The train is moving.

I better get back
to my room.

Why?

I don't know.

Excuse me.

Marone.

- Yes, you did.
- No, I didn't.

- Yes, you did.
- No, I didn't.

- Yes, you did!
- No, I didn't.

- Yes, you did!
- No, I didn't!

- You did! Did!
- I didn't. Didn't!

- Hello?
- Did! Ms. DiPesto!

Grandma?

- No, it's Maddie.
- And David.

- We're in the bed in the wall.
- Oh.

Do you want me to leave?

No, press the button
and get us out!

Button?

- Oh, the button!
- The button!

Was it good for you too?
She made me do it.

I didn't want to do it.
I didn't feel we were ready.

- We're moving.
- Do we have to?

All my friends
go to this school.

- This train is moving!
- Land of Goshen, she's right!

Addison, you better figure out
a way to get me off this train.

Whoa, lady, I will gladly
get you off the train.

I will throw you off this train
if necessary, but kindly refrain

from any physical act
that is not of an erotic nature.

- This is not my fault.
- Ha! Ha ha ha!

I was not born yesterday!

It's true,
I had lunch with her yesterday.

If she'd have been born,
I'd have noticed.

Well, maybe if we all
just sat down--

Ha!

Maddie...

Does anyone here know who I
can talk to about stopping the train?

Stop this...

train?

The J.B. Harland Murder Train?

The engineer is padlocked
in the engine room.

This train isn't going to stop
for 24 hours.

- Twenty-four hours?
- Oh, no need to panic.

We've been waiting for you.

My name is J.B. Harland.

Now, as you all know,

each year,
I select one reader

from Murder Mystery magazine
to join us on our little trip.

This year, the special guest
is Ms. Agnes--

Maddie Hayes.
You're Maddie Hayes, aren't you?

Janet, I'm afraid you made a mistake.
This lovely lady's name is--

Maddie Hayes.

- You're not Agnes DiPesto?
- No, I am.

- But you're the one in the picture.
- What picture?

See, that's me.

David, this is cute
of all of us.

Not too shabby.

I could use
a copy of this myself.

You're not Ms. DiPesto?

- Then who are you?
- They're detectives.

Partners at the agency
where I work.

They were seeing me off and
got stuck on the train by accident.

You mean you're both
authentic private eyes?

I don't believe it.
I--

Excuse me.

Are you just
going to glare at them,

or are you going
to invite them to stay?

Well, that wouldn't
work at all.

J.B. has written this mystery
with six players in mind.

Besides, there are only
six sleeping compartments.

Please don't take this
the wrong way,

- but if it's all the same to you...
- - Maddie...

...I'd just as soon
get off the train.

- Off the train?
- I didn't pack.

Tell her.
It's a come-as-you-are murder, right?

You wouldn't even have to stop,
just slow down a little.

Oh, as I explained,
that isn't possible.

- Uh, Rodney...
- Yes?

Let's get some accommodations
for our guests.

- Right, J.B.
- Ah, then it's settled.

This is going to be
a fascinating 24 hours.

I'll leave you all
to go about your business.

Tonight, somewhere on this
train, a murder will occur.

Until then...

cherish your peace of mind.

- Not bad for a Saturday night.
- I'm not speaking to you.

Maddie, I did not get us
shanghaied on this train on purpose.

- As long as we're here--
- There is no "we're."

- There is me and there is you.
- As long as you're here,

we might as well
make the best of it.

Why don't you make
the best of it for both of us.

I'd rather be alone.

- Fine.
- Fine!

- Okay.
- Okay, fine.

Mystery train, mystery meat.
My favorite.

- You're really a detective?
- Real as they get.

David Addison.

David. That's a good name.
It's easy to put on cakes.

Sebastian Rhodes here.

Uh, I'm a--
I'm a baker.

Well, I'm a chef, too,
but, um...

I specialize in cakes
and breads and...

mysteries, heh.

I sure am glad J.B. decided
to let you stay. Ah.

It's gonna be a lot of fun...

having real private eyes
to play against.

Yeah, I know, I can hardly
stand the excitement.

- I hope you understand.
- Excuse me?

I hope you don't think I was campaigning
to have you removed from the train.

It's just that J.B. labors a month
or more on these mysteries,

and an extra body or two--
live body, that is--

could throw the whole thing
out of whack.

There's no place I'd rather be
less than on this train.

You won't believe it, but you
and I almost worked together.

- I own Magic Night, the perfume company.
- Really?

- I was up for the... Magic Night Girl.
- The Magic Night Girl.

At one point, our house--

J.B. and I used to own
a home together, heh.

We used to live together
is what I'm trying to say.

One point, I had pictures of you all
over my house, trying to make up my mind.

But I contemplated too long and
Blue Moon Shampoo got you first.

- So you and J.B. Harland aren't---
- No, not anymore. Not really.

We now own
two homes together,

and he makes a point
to be in the one that I'm not.

- I'm sorry.
- Don't be. I'm happy.

Besides, I had my chance.

One night, about seven years ago,
on one of these mysteries, in fact,

J.B. was whacked out of
his mind on Courvoisier.

He asked me to marry him...

but I was greedy and stupid.

I wanted a sober proposal.

I've finally stopped waiting.

Well, enjoy the murder,
Maddie.

Oh...

- Hello.
- Come in.

Wow.

All this is yours?

Oh, this is nothing.
You should see my apartment.

I should?

Uh, no, I didn't mean "should"
like you had to.

- I meant "should" like you could.
- Of course.

- I mean, if you wanted to.
- Of course.

Oh, that-- that was a wonderful
essay you wrote on J.B.

It meant a lot
to him, really.

Oh, it was all true.
I think he's a genius.

I've been reading his books
for years.

Really?
Which one's your favorite?

Mm... that's not easy.

I guess it would be
Death Extension.

I couldn't put it down.

That stuff with the
light switch was brilliant.

That was a little idea that came
to me during the blackout.

Uh, the city, not me.

That was your idea?

Yes. I work as a technical
adviser for J.B.

I'm a forensic specialist.

That's kind of like
a murder-and-clue man.

J.B. will call me up
at two in the morning

and ask if you can trace
fingerprints on Jell-O,

- stuff like that.
- Wow.

Actually, I'm working on a
little story of my own right now.

J.B. has been very encouraging.
A mentor, really.

A wonderful man.

What's that?

It's called a Bunsen burner.

Very lively, very lethal.

Ms. DiPesto.

Here's to a beautiful woman,

a good murder,

and the man
who brought us all together...

J.B. Harland.

I know you're not speaking to me,
but you gotta admit...

this train, this night...

pretty romantic.

Haven't you ever had
a fantasy like this?

About a night like this,
on a train like this?

Yep. Only none of these people
were in it, including you.

I love it when you
talk mean to me.

So when is this stupid murder
supposed to happen, anyway?

Now, I've heard
that scream before.

Oh!

I think he's dead.

You don't want to sleep here
tonight.

Perhaps it was
something he ate.

Maybe it's part of the mystery.
Maybe he's just faking.

Don't touch that man.
You don't know where he's been.

Pretty dead.

This has got to be some
incredible, amazing, sick joke.

Talk about life imitating art.

Art?
Don't make me laugh.

What we've got here is life
imitating trash.

You wanna bet this guy
catches flies with his tongue?

How about a little respect
for the dead?

I respect you, Rodney.

I don't believe you people.
J.B. is lying here dead,

and you're...
trading quips!

What would you like us
to do, Janet?

Well, for one thing,
we could stop this train!

No. Not possible.
It can't be done.

I remember in '77, when I was
passing that kidney stone--

Sebastian, please spare us.

What are we going to do?

J.B. is dead.

And it would seem
one of us killed him.

I have an idea.

For 15 years...

we've been gathering together
to solve a mystery,

a mystery served up by J.B.

This train is not stopping
for another 22 hours, folks.

Mm...

I like it, I like it.

Are you suggesting we turn
J.B.'s death into a game?

Somebody's already
done that, lady.

I agree with Sebastian.

We owe it to J.B. to solve
this murder among ourselves.

Besides, which would we rather
hand over to the police--

a dead body or a live murderer?

- This is sick!
- And stupid.

Aren't we giving the murderer
a break here?

I mean, how are we possibly
gonna be able to find the murderer

if he or she is free

to tamper with the evidence
or change the clues?

She's right.
You're all mystery experts.

Whoever did it is going to have
a dandy time watching the rest

of you race down blind alleys.

What you're saying is that we need
someone to lead the investigation.

Someone without
a connection to J.B.

Someone without a motive.

- Someone without luggage.
- David, I just don't think--

That's okay, you look good.

So, gang... all we have to do
is figure out where to start.

What we have here
is a dead body.

Amazing observation.

Apparently without
a murder weapon.

Wouldn't the killer
have taken the weapon

and thrown it
off the train?

Good question, Agnes.
No talking, Rodney.

David.

Ah, gee, already?

Is there a freezer
on this train?

No, no, it's not that.
It's--

Magic Night.

- He's covered with it.
- Covered with it?

How do you suppose he came to
have your perfume all over him, Janet?

How do you think?

The mind reels.

Sell it somewhere else,
Ms. McCall.

The prom ended for you
and J.B. years ago.

What are you saying,
that I killed him?

I wonder if she didn't hide
the murder weapon in her room.

- In her room.
- In my room?

In your room.

Let me at it.

- It's gotta be somewhere in her room.
- Leave no stone unturned.

- Why is everybody running?
- What are you people doing?

Oh, partner, why don't you and I
search down here a minute.

Certainly.

Addison, this isn't
an investigation,

- it's an inquisition.
- Say that in English.

Left to their own devices, these
people are gonna kill each other.

- So?
- "So"?

Don't you have any feeling of
responsibility for these people?

I didn't even wanna be on this dumb train,
and I have a feeling

of responsibility
for these people.

We can't let them just run around
willy-nilly, making accusations.

- Willy whatty?
- One of us has to keep them occupied

until this dumb train stops.

- Why?
- Why?!

For goodness sakes, if don't you
care about anyone else on this train,

- don't you care about DiPesto?
- What about her?

She's an innocent.

Didn't you notice whose bed
the killer left the body in?

She could get hurt in the middle of this.
Accusations, innuendoes.

Addison, I know you.

You would never forgive yourself
if something happened to her.

Never?
Never is a long time, Maddie.

Hm!

Just how cold and unfeeling
do you think I am?

Don't answer that.
It's an essay question.

Think about it for a minute.

Now, let's go back down here
to episode 88 of Dynasty

and see if things have
calmed down a little bit.

What are you doing?

It doesn't make sense.
Everybody knows that I love J.B.

"Loved." Past tense!

Give me that!

Now, Skyler, Sebastian,
Rodney, all of you...

for the last time,
I did not kill J.B.

I admit that
there were reasons.

I'll even admit there were times
I would have liked to.

It's easy to hate someone who
swears undying love and then...

ignores you when you get
your first laugh line.

The sad part is...

that J.B. really loved me.

And he would have realized
that if only...

If only...

one of you fools
hadn't killed him.

What a convincing performance.
I know I'm moved.

Shut up!

Shut up! I hate you!

- I hate all men! Men are pigs!
- Janet...

You're pigs, 'cause you don't
know what it's like to be left.

Men don't get left.

Women get left,
like a toy that you're tired of

or like a car
that doesn't go fast enough.

Mr. Harland
didn't leave you.

I mean, here you are
aboard his murder train.

I bullied him
to get this invitation again.

The only woman

that he was at all interested in
on this train was you.

Or, actually, you.

I hated you, Mr. J.B. Jackass.

Sounds like
a confession to me.

It is.

I confess.

I could have killed him.

I even thought about it.

But I didn't do it.

Well, I can't remember
when I've had this much fun.

Listen, you don't have to be
Sherlock Holmes to figure out

that nerves are getting pretty raw.
Everybody is a little tired.

What if we call a temporary
truce and get a little rest.

We can meet again
the first thing in the morning.

I think Ms. Hayes
is right.

Rested minds
are happy minds.

I suppose.

Perhaps.

- Well...
- I guess so.

Count me in.

Everybody okay?

Sebastian,
your foot is in my face.

My foot
is not in your face.

I know it's impossible for you
to see over that mound of flesh

between your neck and your knees,
but trust me, your foot is in my face.

- Good night, Ms. DiPesto.
- Good night, Rodney.

- Good night, Ms. Hayes.
- Good night, Skyler.

- Good night, Sebastian.
- Good night, Skyler.

- Good night, David.
- Good night, John Boy.

I found it.
I found the murder weapon.

You found it?
Where did you find it?

In Skyler Cantrell's room,
of course.

David, there's still almost eight
hours left of this stupid train trip.

How ya gonna keep these
people from killing each other?

Pardon me.

I gotta tell you something.
I think you underestimate the sensitivity

and maturity of this group.
They're not hysterical. They're not angry.

Trust me,
this is gonna work out.

- You sure?
- Positive!

I suspected Skyler all along,

so I snuck in here this morning,
and I found it.

Here.

- In this shaving kit.
- Tough beard?

She's--
she's trying to frame him.

It's obvious.
Skyler has no motive.

No motive?
He hated J.B.

But I hate everyone.

You had to get rid of him,
didn't you?

Talk about a mystery.
I'm baffled.

Aren't any of you
curious as to how

Sky's back-breaking gambling
debts suddenly disappeared?

Do go on. I so enjoy seeing you
make a fool of yourself.

You were over your head, weren't you?
Admit it, you were terrified.

- I've slept better.
- And what did you do?

You went to J.B. for a loan,
didn't you?

- J.B. was my friend.
- And what did your friend say?

He laughed.
He said no.

He said he was going to enjoy
seeing me squirm for a while.

- And what happened then?
- Why don't you tell them, Janet?

You're such a gifted
storyteller.

Next thing I heard,

your much beloved
and much moneyed father died...

of a coronary.

In a slightly too-hot hot tub.

But that's the way the victim
died in J.B.'s last book.

- How did you know that?
- Rodney was J.B.'s technical adviser.

He reviewed everything
that J.B. wrote.

Is that true, Skyler?

Oh, yes.

Except the once-lovely Ms. McCall
has her facts slightly bollixed up.

My father passed away in May.

Mr. Harland did not begin work
on the book in question until July.

I did not steal a method of death from him.
He stole it from me.

Are those dates correct,
Rodney?

Well, I-I don't know.

But it's easily enough checked in
the office after the train has stopped.

Right, after the
train has stopped

and Skyler's had a chance to
flee the country with his inheritance.

Isn't there some way
to do something now?

I mean, couldn't we fingerprint
this thing or something?

I have a dusting kit with me.

Say, you're really
very good at this.

You know, most people tense up
when you take the print, and it smears.

Practice.

How long you been
into all this stuff, Rodney?

You really sound like you know
your way around a petri dish.

Gee, ever since
I was a kid.

You know, I got my first
microscope when I was only this big.

- Huh.
- Index finger, please.

And you work exclusively
for J.B. Harland?

Mm, hired me
right out of school.

The truth is,
I owe the world to J.B.

He gave me a creative outlet,
a purpose.

I didn't even know I could write
before I started to work for him.

We were researching death by
injection for one of the short stories.

I gave him a fact sheet:
the various drugs, the various deaths.

He threw it in my face.

He said, "I don't want facts.
I want a scene. I want drama!"

That really hurt, you know.

But I went back to my lab

and I found the drug,

the poison that I thought
would work the best.

And I wrote out for him exactly
how I thought the killer would use it:

What it would look like,
what he would say to his victim.

Well, the next day,
I gave it to him.

He didn't say a word.

But he used it, verbatim,
in the book.

Ever since then, he's been
something of a mentor to me.

- That gave you the bug, huh?
- Yeah.

Actually...

actually, I'm, uh, writing a
novel of my own right now.

Mystery?

What else is there?

You too, huh?

Rodney strikes again.

- What do you think of him, anyway?
- Who? Rodney?

- Do you think he's strange?
- I've met stranger. I think.

Why?
Is something going on?

Oh, no.
Nothing is going on.

- Maybe something should be going on.
- Oh, gosh, I don't know.

You know, Ms. Hayes,
it may not show,

but I've been
around the block.

You go around the block enough
times, and you get scared.

Everyone is scared, Agnes.

Oh, come on, not you.

Not me? Why not?
Because I was a model?

You think I never cried myself to
sleep because the phone didn't ring?

You think I never fell in love
with a man at night and discovered

that I hated him
during the day?

You think I was never hurt?
This smile, this is my scar tissue.

Wow.

I've seen my fair share of blocks too.
We're all scared, Agnes.

But you can't let it stop you from
getting to where you have to go.

Don't touch me, I'm sterile.

- Not that kind of sterile.
- Oh.

You do good work, Rodney.
I'm telling my friends about you.

You're a funny man,
Mr. Addison.

It shows, huh?
I used to worry about it.

Then I read an article,
said it was genetic.

Later.

- Mr. Addison?
- Someone call my name?

- Agnes DiPesto.
- One of my favorite people.

- Tell me about her.
- What do you want to know?

I don't know.
Anything you want to tell me.

I can't remember a woman ever
having this effect on me before.

Usually, it's
love-'em-and-leave-'em Rodney.

You know how women are.

They find out you have a PhD
in chemical engineering,

and they're all over you.

But this...
this is different.

Is she everything
I think she is?

My opinion?

The night before DiPesto was born,
God went to a great party.

Let me ask you
one more question.

And please, be honest.

I like you, Addison.

I'm not going after something
I have no right to, am I?

I don't follow.

You were there first.

I'm not gonna lie to you,
Rodney.

It hasn't been easy watching
the sparks fly across the room.

But... can't argue
with kismet, huh?

That's big of you,
Addison. Thanks.

You just be on your
best behavior, young man.

- She's a very special lady.
- I will.

- Talk to me.
- Little over three hours to go.

- Ta-da!
- Ta-da what?

3 1/2 hours.
What could happen in 3 1/2 hours?

Old Rodney works fast.

Oh. Oh, my.
Oh, Mr. Addison, Ms. Hayes!

- Agnes!
- I found this.

It was buried under some
paper towels in the trash.

All right, it's my shirt.
But it's-- it's a phony clue.

Somebody planted it
to make me look guilty.

It's working.

Well, I'm certainly glad
Ms. DiPesto found this.

You were all
so convinced I did it,

I even started to believe
I did it.

But this is more plausible.

Truth be told, I suspected
Sebastian from the beginning.

You did, huh?

Absolutely. Sebastian never
really was part of our group.

He was a... charity case.

Everybody knows that J.B.
liked to surround himself

with fawning admirers.

And Sebastian fawns
better than Bambi.

Come on, Skyler.

Why don't you say
what you mean?

You're jealous.

You've always been jealous.

Jealous of the-- of the deep
friendship I had with J.B.

My goodness.

The fat has seeped
into his brain

and is causing him
to hallucinate.

Aw, come on, you know
what I'm talking about.

J.B. and I had something...

very special.

Please, I'm getting cavities
just listening to this.

I...

I was J.B.'s friend.

He-- He--
He loved me.

Wh-Why...

He even...

invited me, one time, to spend--
to spend a weekend at his estate.

And what happened
when you got there?

Well, I-- I don't know
what you mean.

- I had a terrific time.
- Cooking.

That's the only reason you were there.
The only reason he invited you.

The only reason he gave you
the time of day, Sebastian.

- That's not true.
- He was cheap.

He wanted you up there
to cook for the real guests...

the ones he did care about.

He pretended
that you were the hired help.

Pretended he didn't even
know you.

Admit it.

He humiliated you.

He used you the way
he used everybody in his life.

And that's why he invited you
up to his estate

and that's why he kept inviting
you on this train trip.

To cook.

I'm so hungry.

How can you think of food
at a time like this?

He concentrates.

I could go for
a nice glazed ham,

some baby yams,

and peas.

You know,
when I was little,

I used to feel like I had to eat
every single pea on my plate...

because I hated the idea
of one little pea

being separated from
the rest of his family.

You know
what I used to do?

I used to slice them in half
and see if they'd scream.

Fifteen minutes more.
Just 15 minutes more!

Well...

the fingerprints came up
clear as a bell.

There were even
traces of blood.

Thank God for fingerprints.

Well, come on, Rodney,
out with it.

Who's the culprit?

- Who?
- Who?

- Who?
- You.

- Me?
- You.

Ew...

My goose is really cooked.

My nerves are really shook.
J.B. is dead, it's on my head.

- Life is such a rook.
- Agnes.

My prints are on the knife.
It's going to cost my life.

I'm gonna fry,
I wanna cry.

- Oh, why, oh, why, oh, why?
- Agnes...

Let's think a second!

I'm sorry...

I don't mean
to disturb everyone,

but what are we supposed
to be thinking about?

The murder, the clues,
the details.

The number of a good lawyer.

It's okay, you guys,
you've done everything you can.

Will you come and see me
in the big house?

- The big house?
- I got it. By jove, I've got it!

- I know who our murderer is!
- You do?

I do, I now pronounce us man and wife.
Get those knuckleheads in the club car.

Yes, sir, Mr. Addison!
And I don't mind saying

that I was sure you'd
come up with the answer.

- Well?
- Well what?

- Well, who is it?
- Well, it isn't you.

- Addison...
- And it isn't me.

- It certainly isn't Ms. DiPesto.
- Do you know who did it?

And it can't be the butler,
'cause J.B. didn't have one.

I guess you're wondering
why I called you all here.

I always wanted to say that.

I'm here to tell you

that our killer is in this room,
and it is not Ms. DiPesto.

Isn't all this just so much smoke
to hide the guilt of your secretary?

All the evidence
points to her.

The body in her bed,
the prints on the knife.

The prints that
so conveniently turned up

just as we were all tired
and confused.

Just as we were all
ready to be convinced.

What are you trying
to imply?

Don't get nervous, Rodney.

Why shouldn't you be put through
the wringer? Everyone else has?

Fine. Fine.

But I want it made clear
that I care as much

about Ms. DiPesto
as you do.

You know...

eight years is a long time
to work for someone.

Surprising that a man
of Harland's influence

didn't help you
publish your books earlier.

Or did he publish your books?
I mean, after all,

you supplied the crimes,
the clues, the solutions.

If you had murdered him,

you would have freed yourself
from J.B. Harland...

in a way that would prove once and
for all that you were the clever one.

It's pretty good.

But you don't have
a shred of evidence.

But I do...
and you gave it to me.

I suspected the truth as soon
as I saw the body in the berth.

But I couldn't catch
a smart guy like you, Rodney.

So I had to let you
catch yourself.

You identified the prints
on this knife as Ms. DiPesto's.

But they weren't there because I
wiped them clean before you got it.

The only prints
on this knife were mine.

But you didn't
bother to check that,

did you, Rodney,
because you didn't have to.

You knew no one in this room was
in a position to challenge you!

Bet you're wondering
how I did that.

No, I'm wondering
why you did that.

I'm sorry it had to end
this way, Ms. DiPesto.

I really liked you.

Love is hard.

Obviously, it would be
in Ms. DiPesto's best interests

if none of you
tried to stop me.

Wipe this clean.
DiPesto's prints are all over it.

Addison!

- David!
- The guy disappeared. Check in here.

David.

- What are you doing?
- Stay inside!

Don't do that!
Addison!

Uhh!

I told you to stay inside!

Enough to worry about
out here without--

Addison, come back here!

Get inside!
Wait a minute!

What are you doing?

- I have to tell you, he's got a--
- Gun!

You don't know when to quit,
do you, Addison?

Yes, I do!
Let's go back down, come on.

Just stay
right where you are.

I don't want to have
to kill anyone else!

Rodney, there's
a tunnel coming!

Sure there is.

Rodney, if you turn into graffiti,
you'll break Ms. DiPesto's heart.

Rodney, just turn around
and look!

Rodney!
I'm telling you, man,

if you don't duck down right now,
they're gonna find you

between "Bob loves Mary"
and "Jesus saves."

Look out!
Rodney!

No!

It's okay, Maddie,
you can open your eyes now.

- Tell her she can open her eyes.
- You can open your eyes.

Pretty great-great, huh-huh?

Pretty great-great,
uh-huh.

Yee-haw!

Yah-hoo!

- Yee-haw!
- Yee-haw!

- Sorry to bother you.
- No bother.

It's awfully late for you
to still be here, Agnes.

I know, but something's
on my mind.

I need to talk to someone,
woman to woman.

- Woman to woman?
- Woman to woman.

You may not
have noticed,

but during the J.B. Harland
Murder Train trip,

I began to develop a deep
and meaningful relationship

- with Rodney--
- Rodney Dillon.

It showed!

- Well, I guess there's no hiding passion.
- Guess not.

Well, as I'm sure
you're aware,

his schedule is rather cluttered
for the next 30 years.

Twenty-two,
with good behavior.

I recall hearing
something to that effect.

And, uh,
what I was wondering was...

- Well...
- Yes?

Twenty-two years
is a long time.

It certainly is.

And, according to Donahue,

I'm at my physical
and sexual peak right...

...now.

Well, Donahue ought to know.

Anyway, you know the man who comes
by to sell sandwiches in the morning?

- Mr. Sandwich?
- His name is Neil.

He asked me to have dinner with him.
Not just sandwiches, either.

- Hot food.
- Hot food?

Am I being fair to Rodney?

- Well, he did try to frame you.
- Yeah, I know.

Besides, one meal
does not a romance make.

- Yeah, I know.
- I'd go.

- You would?
- Yeah.

It's not easy being a single
woman in the 1980s, is it?

Well...

thanks for the advice.
It was great-great.

I guess I better go home
and call Mr. Sandwich.

- Good night, Agnes.
- Don't you stay too late.

I won't.

♪ That's the sound of the man
working on the chain....gang ♪