Original subtitles

♪ 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 ♪