Original subtitles

Previously on "Pushing Daisies"...

Young Ned had a special gift.

He could touch dead things and bring them back to life.

But he could only bring the dead back to life for one minute.

Any longer and someone else had to die.

And there was one more thing he had to learn --

First touch, life.

Second touch, dead again forever.

But as young Ned grew into the pie maker,

this gift proved to be most useful

in the untimely death of his childhood sweetheart,

- Charlotte Charles. - Are you in love with her?

- You only got a minute. - I know.

- 60 seconds. - I know.

What if you didn't have to be dead?

You can't touch me.

So a kiss is out of the question?

You touch murder victims, you ask who killed them.

You touch them again, they go back to being dead,

and then you collect the reward?

That's it in a nutshell.

You saved me!

It was a friendly expression of innocent gratitude.

- What's gotten into you? - What's gotten into you?

Season 1, Episode 7 - Smell of Success For www.forom.com

At this very moment, at the Longborough School for boys,

young Ned was 9 years, 41 weeks,

14 hours, and 3 minutes old and exhausted...

For despite the endless waking hours

spent assuring himself that his heart was on the mend,

Ned discovered the truth in his sleep.

Sadly, not a single night had passed

since the death of his mother

that he didn't dream of her coming back to him.

Realizing he couldn't rush his heart into healing,

he concocted a plan...

To reconnect with his mother

in a way that only he could.

For young Ned wasn't like the other children

or the other adults, for that matter,

which, in this case, delighted him...

briefly.

Although young Ned knew he couldn't taste the pie,

lest the fruit rot again,

he didn't care.

The mere smell of it made him feel,

if only for an hour, exactly like he wanted to feel --

safe and warm and loved --

Which is why he became...

the pie maker...

who, at this very moment,

was planting flowers to make Chuck feel

as safe and warm and loved as he once did.

- Sue bee. - Who bee?

I'm referring to the honey --

The store-bought kind,

the kind I will purchase by the gallon for you.

Honey you don't work for is never as sweet.

Oh, look. There's a fantastic rooftop

for the honey-harvesting expansion.

Let's not plant flowers way over there.

- You don't even know which building. - I know it's not this one.

And in the interest of operation urban honey pioneer,

I think we should keep the operation contained.

- Comfortably contained. - Comfortable in a good way,

like it's usually used. I'm concerned for the bees.

We should keep the flowers close so they will feel safe.

Actually, bees have an incredible sense of smell.

So if we keep doing our job and planting the flowers,

the bees will do theirs and find them.

Why do we need so much honey, anyway?

It's a surprise.

"Surprise" has never been a very good word for me.

Well, you'll like this one.

And just so you know,

the honeybee has to visit hundreds of blossoms

before it has enough nectar to take back to the hive,

so the more flowers, the merrier the bees.

A brokenhearted Olive Snook

found herself navigating a minefield of her own making.

This is what it is, isn't it?

Unless that's not a rolling pin under your apron.

Sorry.

Isn't it great we can joke?

Now that we know there's nothing going on

between us and never was, it can be funny.

I bet this sort of thing happens all the time

between adults. Mixed romantic messages.

In no time, we'll be looking back

and laughing till we wet the rug...

Which we'll then want to shampoo.

A couple times, possibly three,

depending on what we've been drinking.

Maybe I should wear a bell.

- Actually -- - I'm not wearing a bell.

Chuck continued to keep the secret ingredient

of her pies secret.

Not even Olive Snook knew the baked goods she delivered

contained homeopathic mood enhancers

meant to pry Chuck's aunts out of their funk.

So, have they been in a good mood? My aunts?

No, that's plural, and not all of them good.

Okay. Maybe it's time to go to phase two.

Have we been in phase one this whole time?

How many phases are there?

Four that I know of, but maybe five.

Right now, we're at phase two,

which means we need to get them back in the water.

It's like oxygen for them.

Because they're former mermaids.

Only professionally, not mythologically speaking.

Oh, I know all about their mermaidness.

What are these? Cupcake pans?

Surprise.

It's the pie hole, not the cupcake hole.

But it's not a cupcake. It's a cup-pie.

A single-serve pie with honey --

my honey -- baked into the crust.

And since it's still a pie,

it could be served in the pie hole, by definition.

I'm a purist. I like that we only serve

traditional pies in the pie hole, not these hybrids.

You know, you could do with loosening up a bit.

I don't do loose. I prefer tightly wound.

Not shapeless with extra room for surprises.

I was a surprise.

- You made room for me. Some. - Yeah, I made room.

A whole rooftop full of room for you and your bees.

I know, and I love it.

I'm not Quasimodo in the bell tower.

Quasimodo would have been a lot better off

if he stayed in his bell tower where it was safe

and comfortable, and he had his bell.

I'm not sure Quasimodo would agree with that.

Quasi wanted adventure.

Quasi wanted to see the world.

Quasi wanted cup-pies.

Private investigator Emerson Cod

was enjoying the latest issue of Knit Wit magazine,

his literary outlet for knitting humor,

when he received a phone call from the mother

of one Anita Gray.

The facts were these --

Anita Gray -- 22 years, 11 weeks, 2 days,

9 hours, and 33 minutes old --

was taking a private tutorial in olfactory science

when she experienced an epiphany.

And the epiphany was that her instructor,

Napoleon Lenez, was a genius.

It was an epiphany Napoleon Lenez

had himself experienced many, many years earlier.

He showed her how olfactory cues could trigger memories,

release floods of endorphins and pheromones,

and cause biological and psychological reactions

that deeply impacted the way people behave and feel.

Using the smell of unfiltered cigarettes

to evoke fond memories of her grandmother,

he opened her eyes and heart through her nose.

So she devoted her life to his work.

With his new apprentice, Anita, by his side,

Lenez created a self-help guide for those

who wished to not only harness their past

but to inspire and mold their future

via the power of smell.

Anita didn't live to see the book published.

While working alone,

she was killed by a mysterious explosion in Lenez's lab.

Exactly what caused that explosion

seemed to be a question only Anita Gray could answer.

That is pungent.

Pungent like fried chicken grilled on a bed of hair.

What you waiting on?

- Who's smoking? - You.

Oh, how rude of me.

I'm dreadfully sorry.

This can't be good for your lungs.

Anita, you have less than a minute to impart any last words.

On the subject of what caused that explosion.

"Explosion"? That's what that flash was.

Do you remember anything before the flash?

The smell of my grandma's unfiltered cigarettes.

Unfortunately,

Anita's desire to experience another olfactory-induced memory

of her beloved grandmother, long dead from cancer,

led her to sneak a look

at the one and only advanced copy of Lenez's book,

a book that was meant for his nose only.

- This was clearly a case of... - Death by scratch-and-sniff?

So Lenez didn't want you looking at that book?

Didn't want anyone looking at it yet.

Oh, no. Was I being punished for peeking? Is god mad at me?

No. No, god is not mad at you.

- Somebody's mad at somebody. - Somebody's mad at Napoleon Lenez.

That damn book was booby-trapped.

- Oh, 5 seconds. - Am I gonna see my grandma now?

- You know. - That's a yes.

Death by scratch-and-sniff --

What the hell happened to people shooting each other with guns?

Anxious to sniff out more information,

our heroes sought out Napoleon Lenez,

scratch-and-sniff author,

in his suite above the city

and immediately found themselves in an alarming situation.

Do not be alarmed by this situation.

You better open up this door!

Please excuse my decontamination procedure.

My nasal glands are extremely delicate.

- Napoleon Lenez? - Felicitations.

Felici-what?

Um, we're here about your assistant --

Don't speak.

A smell tells so much more.

Cigars, aftershave, antacids, cash...

and yarn.

You're a knitting detective.

And you.

Flour, fruit,

and a subtle waft of musky pheromones triggered by --

You...

The girl smelling of honey and...

death.

Which doesn't surprise me,

as the animalic-charged molecules used in your perfume

are also found in decomposing bodies and feces.

Oh, I'm not wearing any perfume.

I'm not wearing just any perfume.

Precisely my point. Why settle for less?

In all aspects of life, we strive for perfection.

Why not apply those principles to what we smell?

Lenez, look, we're here about that scratch-and-sniff.

Your book was a bomb.

Who are you to criticize my life's work?

Your book was a bomb. It exploded.

The killer had used a unique explosive

on Lenez's advanced copy of the book,

a chemical mixed with an oxidizing agent

to create a fiery chain reaction.

Are they still gonna publish your book?

Anita would have wanted it that way,

although I'm sure she would have

preferred a version where she lived.

Still, she was thrilled when my publisher

bumped up the release date of "Smell of success."

- When did they bump up your "smell"? - Two weeks ago.

Follow your nose, Mr. Cod,

and it will lead you to this deviant's doorstep.

When we harness the power of smell,

we become bloodhounds of our own desires.

Smell it, crave it, own it.

I can wear them? You mean it? On my feet?

Unless you're cursed with a sixth toe.

You're not, are you?

No, no. Five fingers, five toes.

Us snooks are boring that way.

I had a cousin with a third nipple.

He'd let you see it for a dollar.

- How fascinating. - And a bargain, too.

This is a dream come true.

I hope this doesn't freak you out,

but I used to be a big Darling Mermaid Darlings enthusiast.

I had the tail and the clamshell bra.

Just like this one.

Did you show that off for a dollar?

Oh, I bet you miss your fans.

I know I would --

All the adoration, all the love.

Doesn't all this paraphernalia

make you want to get back in the pool?

Have no reason to.

- Um, we cancelled our comeback tour. - But look at all this stuff.

Imagine the money you'll make from merchandising alone.

What's this?

- That belonged to Charlotte. - It was her mother's.

Whatever happened to Charlotte's mother?

She died.

And with that, Lily went to her dark place.

You want it? Take it.

I don't care if I ever get in the water again.

For the love of Kukla, Fran, and Ollie,

rent the girl a hand truck and get this crap out of here.

I need a piece of pie.

Do you really think people can change their lives

by smelling the right smell?

If so, I'm gonna get me some cash potpourri.

I talked to that publisher.

Lenez's book was bumped up

the release schedule prior to Anita Gray's murder.

So...

So if Lenez's book got moved up the schedule,

somebody else's book got moved off.

Find the book that was formerly on this schedule

that is no longer on this schedule,

and you'll find an angry author with a motive to kill.

Look. A slice of pie is too much for some customers.

A cup-pie would be perfect.

See that? See what you just did just now?

You interrupted our conversation with your cup-pie chatter

when I don't even know what a cup-pie is,

which means I don't give a damn what a cup-pie is.

Oh, I'm sorry. A cup-pie

is a single-serve pie with a honey-baked crust.

Doesn't that sound good?

Sounds delicious, but we don't serve them here.

Am I seriously the first person to question

your aversion to change?

What about your ex-girlfriends?

Emerson doesn't want to hear about any of this.

I must admit, I am curious.

Hell, before dead girl came along,

I didn't know what you liked,

or if you liked, or if you had anything to like with.

For all I know, you could have been one of those people

who was born with both but didn't use either.

I've had girlfriends,

but there were always extraneous factors.

What kind of extraneous factors?

You know,

we, um... grew apart and... lost interest,

had intimate relations on a bearskin rug.

- Oh, no, did it... - It did enough to be upsetting.

- Come on. - W-what's all this?

Girl business. Bonding.

Phase two has experienced a hiccup.

The kind of hiccup that goes away

if you have a glass of water or hold your breath?

No, the kind of hiccup that keeps you up for days

on end till you go crazy

and you give away all your cherished mermaid mementos

and refuse to get back in the pool again.

Oh, no. Have they been eating their pie?

Chuck, a slice of pie can't solve all their problems.

We just need to give them stronger pie

and give them a little push... into the water.

- But I have been pushing. - You need to push harder.

The pie maker feared Chuck and Olive bonding

was like a chemical accelerant bonding with an oxidizing agent.

An explosion was bound to pop up.

Ooh, pop-ups!

- What? - Pop-up books!

I love pop-up books.

And if the sacred cash cow that I worship

is mooing down on us...

Our killer likes pop-ups, too.

Emerson and Ned pursued pinning down the pop-up author.

Are you, uh, Chas Spielman, author of "Pop-up pin-up"?

That's me. Are you here for a sneak peek,

or should I say peep, of my latest book?

I heard this book was canceled.

Only temporarily. I'm still working on that.

This don't look like no pop-up book I had as a child.

Pop-ups aren't just for children.

My pop-ups are designed for their original audience.

Perverts?

Mature connoisseurs of art.

Or homicidal maniacs with rudimentary reading skills.

"The new patriot's pop-up book --

a three-dimensional instructional

telling you everything you wanted to know

about building bombs of all shapes and sizes."

Pop-up palace appeals to an unusual demographic.

Any instructions in here on how

to build a scratch-and-sniff bomb?

Is this about the attempt on Napoleon Lenez?

Word travels fast in literary circles.

Well, his book did bump "Pop-up pin-up" off the schedule.

Seems like a good-enough motive to blow somebody up.

And clearly, you have the means.

Who would publish a book on how to kill somebody,

then kill somebody they knew

using a method they published in the book?

I'm keeping this book as evidence.

And these, too.

So, you didn't want Lenez dead?

I may be petty, but I'm not that petty.

Besides, the publisher moved Lenez's book

from a prime holiday spot to no-man's-land.

If you ask me, his book wasn't bumped, it was dumped.

It smells like family hour at the public pool.

Oh, no. That's not the pie.

It's chlorine tablets.

Aunt Lily used to say it smells like bottled sunshine.

Well, if it came in a bottle, aunt Lily would like it.

See, I've been reading this really good self-help book.

It's about the power of smell.

I thought we'd try it --

see what happens when you combine pie happiness

with the happiness of chlorine.

You know, I read a self-help book once --

"Samsonized --

how to grow your hair to become a more powerful you."

Two weeks later, and I was bald as a baby's behind.

Looks like I'm not the only one who read it.

What's the haps, paps?

Any luck on the case?

First of all, I ain't your paps.

"Paps" has a lady connotation.

And second of all, this ain't none of your business.

Oh, yuck.

There's something --

something stuck in there.

Oh, no, they didn't.

The intent of the warning was obvious.

"U can't save Lenez"?

Someone wanted to make a stink.

Decay...

a tinge of rusted iron --

harsh but spiky, with a sulfuric edge.

This loathsome omen came up from the sewer,

which means it could have only come from one man --

Oscar Vibenius.

Oscar Vibenius and Napoleon Lenez

were lab partners and the best of friends,

until their divergent olfaction theories tore them apart.

Oscar favored the wild, unfettered

smells of the natural world,

believing that people couldn't appreciate

the good smells in life without smelling the bad.

Lenez believed that because smell

has a powerful effect on human behavior,

humans should surround themselves with only good,

carefully controlled odors.

Over time, their rivalry grew

until neither man could stand the other.

Each retreated to the worlds they found most comfortable --

one aboveground...

And one below.

There was really nothing I could do.

It's sad, but Oscar would do anything

to prevent my theories from being published.

Do you have any idea where he could be?

There were rumors.

Some claim that he committed suicide.

Others were convinced that he ended up in a mental institution,

only to be put back on the street by the Reagan administration.

I heard tales of Oscar roaming the sewers,

haunting them,

a soured husk of who he once was.

But then someone recently told me he worked for the DWP,

so that might explain where some of those rumors came from.

Look carefully, ladies.

This... is your future.

Is it vodka?

Water.

As in Russian for vodka?

As in English for H2O.

Lily doesn't believe in water anymore.

She thinks it's a waste of a perfectly good tumbler.

- How about now? - Chlorine.

Lily used to say it reminded her of bottled sunshine.

Now it reminds me of children without bladder control.

Why, Lily...

Is that a smile?

Just gas.

So, she swallowed her happiness

and retreated to the safety of her usual despondency.

As Lily's gas passed,

our determined heroes followed

the tube sock to its own foul origin.

Oscar Vibenius!

We're really walking around down here.

This is where he roams... and haunts.

See, y'all gonna make me get my shoes wet.

There's his toolbox.

Looks like he's working on this thick, yellow hose.

Well, let's follow the yellow, thick hose.

Follow the yellow, thick hose.

I sure hope there's methane down here,

'cause the skinny ones are first to go.

Hello?

He ain't down here. Ain't nobody down here.

We been looking around here for hours following dead girl,

- and now we're lost. - We're not lost.

We're following the yellow, thick hose.

What about all those rumors --

The ones about Oscar ending up in a mental institution

worse yet, becoming a modern-day monster?

There are no such thing as monsters.

- What about CHUD? - "CHUD"?

Cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers.

They feed on the homeless and hapless passersby.

I hear they're pack hunters.

In that case, I sure hope he likes *** meat.

Oh, thanks.

Where are we, exactly?

We should be in Lenez's neighborhood.

In fact...

we're right underneath his apartment building.

What is that?

What the hell is that?

Osc--

Oscar Vibenius?

You better run!

Department of water and power employee Oscar Vibenius

is wanted for questioning in the attempted murder

of Napoleon Lenez, author of upcoming self-help opus

"Smell of success."

Presales of the book have skyrocketed

since the first explosion which caused the death

of Anita Gray, a former associate of Mr. Lenez.

I may be clean, but my mind is in the gutter.

What? Dirty thoughts? Lascivious pinings?

In the sewer gutter with Oscar Vibenius.

Oh, that gutter.

He's not a very good killer.

He keeps blowing things up, but never who he wants to blow up.

Yeah, he's certainly no sharpshooter.

Maybe he just likes the attention.

I bet he's real pissy that Napoleon Lenez

is getting all the attention.

Oscar's about to get all the attention he wants.

Sorry. I didn't know that you were here.

How'd you get cleaned up so quick?

I got cleaned up in exactly the amount of time

it takes to get cleaned up. You're just slow.

So, why's Oscar getting all the attention?

Lenez's about to make a statement,

and as witnesses to the most recent attempt on his life,

we also have to make a statement,

and that "we" don't include you.

Why not? I witnessed the latest attempt.

That don't change the fact that there's a grave out there

that you supposed to be in.

What you gonna tell people when they ask who you are?

I'll say that I'm somebody I'm not.

"Hey, somebody, can I see some I.D.?"

Well, I'll smile, and I'll be polite,

and I'll say, "Oh, I'm sorry.

I forgot my purse, and I've got no pockets."

"Well, hey, somebody,

see, now I'm gonna need to see some I.D.

On account of you look just like that dead girl

that got herself killed on that tropical cruise."

Okay, if that happens, I'll saying something like,

"What is this, a police state?"

If I ever say that, it means I'm having a panic attack.

No need to panic 'cause she ain't going.

You ain't going.

Just wanted to... try it on before I gave it back.

While I have you here, would you take my photo?

Yeah, sure.

You should know that operation fin follies

is up and flapping.

- The mermaids are singing. - But are they swimming?

Well, they're thinking about swimming,

but their hearts are singing.

At least one of their hearts. The other one's stalling.

Psychologically, not cardiologically.

- Lily. - That's the one.

Man, her nut don't crack.

Let's do one for 4th of July.

Her nut does crack. I know it does.

I cracked it before.

I've seen that crack.

Thought maybe you'd want this.

My aunts gave it to you?

Practically forced it on me.

I think it's a big first step for them, emotionally.

What are the stages of death?

Something, something, something, something, acceptance.

- Those are the stages. - No, no.

We're not at that stage of our friendship yet.

Please don't cry in front of me.

Don't do it. Don't you do it!

- I'm not going to. - You better not.

I won't.

You did it.

Would you like a piece of pie?

What can smell do for you?

If you're Napoleon Lenez, author of "Smell of success,"

the controversial new guide

to satisfaction through olfaction,

smell can get you killed.

Napoleon, how many attempts have there been on your life?

Right now, there's only been two, Carol.

And you're anticipating more?

I don't know.

Seems like somebody out there

doesn't want my book touching the world.

Simply purging your life of the bad smells

and focusing on the good.

It's all there in my book, "Smell of success."

But it's not just somebody.

You know the man who made two attempts on your life.

Yes, I do.

His name is Oscar Vibenius.

Here with us now is an eyewitness

to Oscar Vibenius' attempt on your life earlier today.

- Sir, tell us what you saw. - Good evening, Carol.

Let me preface my statement by saying that

my name is Emerson Cod. I'm a private investigator.

If you need to reach me,

my telephone number is klondike 5-0155. That's klondike 5-0155.

I've been investigating the Anita Gray murder.

- She was taken much too soon. - Get a load of Muggy McHambone.

Hawking his wares.

He just gave out his phone number on national television.

Look. There's the killer.

What makes somebody like Oscar Vibenius do it?

Look. There's the killer.

Oh, Lord.

Don't make me cut a bitch.

Hey, I'm just here for pie and conversation,

neither of which are cause to call a man a bitch.

You're trying to kill Napoleon Lenez.

If I am, I'm not a very good killer.

I keep blowing things up,

but never who I want to blow up?

I said that. Have you been spying on me?

You'd be surprised what you can hear

when you press your ear to the right pipe.

If it wasn't you, then who was trying to kill Lenez?

I have theories.

You've been conducting your investigation.

I've been conducting mine.

We should talk, compare notes, come to conclusions.

Now, how's about you put that knife to use

and cut me off a piece of persimmon pie?

All right, let's compare notes.

Why were you in the sewer with your hands on a booby trap?

Why Oscar Vibenius had his hands on a booby trap was this.

After learning of the attempt on Lenez's life,

Mr. Vibenius trailed his former colleague to a sewer main,

where he lost track of him.

But what he found in his stead

was a mysterious yellow, thick hose,

which he quickly realized was part of a plot

to blow up Napoleon Lenez's car.

He worked quickly to disable the threat,

but couldn't dismantle the bomb

before he was startled in the dark.

Fearing said bomb was about to blow,

he chose to run for cover

rather than explain his actions.

How do we know you're telling the truth?

Lenez practically said that you were a CHUD --

- A cannibalistic -- - I know what a CHUD is,

and I know Napoleon Lenez.

Did he tell you what you smelled like when you met him?

He thinks people like that.

He said I smelled like honey.

Like you've been dipped in it.

There's something else you smell like.

I know. Death. It's my perfume.

You're not wearing perfume.

No, this isn't death.

This is something else altogether.

I've never smelled anything like it.

Do me. Do me. What do I smell like?

Dog.

Never mind dog. We need proof.

We're not gonna believe you just because you say so.

Would you believe your noses?

Smells like rotten eggs.

Well, it was incinerated in an exploding ball

of methane gas. What else would it smell like?

Nothing.

- Methane gas is odorless. - I cook with gas.

It smells like rotten eggs.

The utility companies add a synthetic chemical smell to it

before it's pumped into our houses.

But a methane explosion in the sewer wouldn't have a smell,

unless someone thought an ignorant public expected it to.

Someone elitist, someone like Lenez.

And with a book about to be published,

he has the most to gain by an attempt on his life.

Nothing sells books like a little murder and mayhem.

I already preordered my copy.

As Napoleon Lenez's star appeared to rise,

Lily and Vivian's star continued to fall

as they made their way through a box of slides

documenting happier times.

Oh, look, Lily!

It's when we went to the Hebrew Feta Sect.

- I miss my eye. - Peculiar.

What?

You said you miss your eye before you said you miss Charlotte.

When I looked at that picture,

the first thing I thought of was, "I miss Charlotte."

Good god, Vivian.

It was the first thing I thought of, too.

It just so happens,

I don't always say everything I think.

Fancy that.

It wasn't your eye -- why we stopped swimming.

We told people it was, but it wasn't.

We've been stopped swimming long enough

for it not to matter why we stopped swimming.

It used to make you so happy, the water.

I think it's brave to try to be happy.

You've gotten so comfortable being unhappy.

Wouldn't it be wonderful

to wake up in the morning and choose to be happy,

to let the water wash everything away?

You forgot your chlorine tablets.

Her olfactory glands stimulated

with the smells of synchronized swimming,

Lily experienced a flood of endorphins

from the scent of bottled sunshine

as Napoleon Lenez experienced a flood of endorphins

from his media blitz,

which left the pie maker to carry out

a blind-side blitz of his own.

- Emerson! - Where did you go?

I was bored and snooping.

Okay, maybe ipso facto snooping,

but it wasn't my goal to snoop, just entertain myself.

You know how when you're a guest

and you're bored and you go into the bathroom

and read through the magazines and rummage through the medicine cabinet,

look in the closets and under the bed,

and you find something you were never meant to see?

Get to the point. Damn.

Well...

that couldn't have gone better if I'd planned it.

Smell it, crave it, own it. That's the spirit.

So, once you smell it, then you crave it.

How far are you willing to go before you own it?

You can't just scratch and sniff and make a wish.

You got to have a plan, and according to you,

this thing couldn't have gone better if you'd planned it yourself,

- which leads me to believe -- - You planned it yourself.

You set Oscar up

after you figured out the correct spacing.

This is ridic--

How dare --

You planted that sock.

I am not going to stand here and be accused.

I think it's best if you both leave.

I concur.

When I suggested you leave, I didn't mean the penthouse.

I meant this mortal coil.

Congratulations, gentlemen.

You're about to fall victim

to attempt number three on my life.

But don't worry.

I'll mention you in the acknowledgements

of the second printing of my book.

Oh, hell, no!

You got exactly 3 seconds to open this damn door!

Wait. What's that smell?

It's the chamber filling up

with an amalgamation of explosive gases,

which will erupt on my mark. So, please,

if you're in a hurry to die,

fire your gun and set the chamber ablaze.

But killing us isn't gonna change anything!

Says you.

Imagine the public outcry when the press releases photos

of my charred decontamination chamber,

the crispy corpses of two private detectives

unfortunate enough to trigger

my nemesis's third attempt on my life.

How tragic, but how perfectly titillating.

Boy, Anita sure made a big mistake hitching her horse to your wagon.

Don't say that. I never meant to hurt her.

- You killed her! - But I didn't mean to.

Her death was an accident.

When it became clear

his publisher was going to bury his life's work,

Lenez concocted an explosive marketing strategy

of his very own.

He would boost interest in his book

by pretending to be the target of a murderous rival's attack.

His discovery of the booby-trapped tome

would create a publicity whirlwind

his publisher could not ignore.

But there were variables he couldn't control,

including the utter devotion of his most dedicated student,

Anita Gray,

who couldn't resist a quick sniff.

Still, Anita's death only fueled the fire,

increasing his book's presales exponentially.

So, without further ado,

Lenez set the rest of his plot in motion.

He pinned the crime on Oscar, as planned,

and further capitalized on the growing publicity

by staging a second, more spectacular attempt on his life,

an attempt that Oscar himself mistakenly helped legitimize

by appearing on the scene to stop it.

Goodbye, gentlemen.

Please give Anita my felicitations.

And, again, tell her I'm sorry.

- Ned! - Chuck!

- Oscar! - Napoleon!

- Hi, Emerson. - Hey, Olive.

- Wait, no, no! - It's okay!

Oscar reversed the pumps!

He what?

Using his expert knowledge

of the city's underground electrical grid,

Oscar had reprogrammed Lenez's

entire decontamination system

just prior to entering the building.

Repurposed and rejiggered,

it no longer protected him from the outside world.

Instead, it did just the opposite.

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

No. No!

No!!

As the system purged itself,

the man who demanded purity

was branded a filthy murderer.

And the man who embraced filth

rejoiced that his solid reputation had been cleansed.

I'm canceling my preorder.

Satisfied that another case had been closed,

our heroes returned home.

Elsewhere,

a tentative breeze of hope signaled a new beginning.

*Morning has broken*

*Like the first morning*

*Blackbird has spoken*

*Like the first bird...*

What are you doing?

*Praise for the singing*

*Praise for the morning*

*Praise for them springing*

*Fresh from the word*

*Sweet the rain's new fall*

*Sunlit from heaven*

*Like the first dewfall*

*On the first grass*

*Praise for the sweetness*

*Of the wet garden*

*Sprung in completeness*

*Where his feet passed*

*Mine is the sunlight*

*Mine is the morning*

*Born of the one light*

*Eden saw play*

*Praise with elation*

*Praise every morning*

*God's re-creation*

*Of the new day...*

Another case closed,

Emerson temporarily set aside his knitting needles

to pursue a new hobby...

One that magnified his happiness tenfold.

I love pop-up books.

You haven't seen my old sweater, have you?

No. Have you seen my new menus?

No.

For me?

For you.

Cup-pies.

The mere sight of each other

left the pie maker and the girl named Chuck

feeling exactly like they wanted to feel --

safe and warm and loved.

Thanks to Raceman for the transcript

Meanwhile,

Oscar Vibenius embraced an obsession of his own.

Chuck and her secret were in danger.

And this time,

it wasn't so much about the telling

as it was the smelling.

Subtitles made by the Bloc Team For www.forom.com