All language subtitles for Murder, She Wrote S01E00 The Murder of Sherlock Holmes.DVDRip.NonHI.en.UNIV

Roger, is that you?

Roger?

Roger, please!

For God's sake!

If this is some
kind of a sick joke...

House lights!

It's still too long.

We've gotta pep it up, people.
All right, second act in 10 minutes.

We open tomorrow night. I don't
intend to close the night after.

Ladies, this is a private
rehearsal. No outsiders.

Mr. Cellini, you did
ask us to meet you here.

Why would I do a thing like
that? I don't even know you.

We're the refreshment
committee. From the P.T.A.

Oh, yes, yes. The cookie ladies.

George. George, will you
sharpen up that last cue.

Please, see me
after the rehearsal.

Mr. Cellini, I just love the
show. It's so... mystifying.

It gave me the goose
bumps. Oh, yes.

And I'm sure no one will ever
guess the uncle is the killer.

Uh, wait a minute.
Wait a minute.

Hold it, lady! Hold it! Hold it!

Uh, whatever made you think the
uncle is the killer? Well, isn't he?

How delightful. I
was totally fooled.

Yeah, as a matter
of fact, he is the killer.

Miss, uh... Mrs. Fletcher. This
is Mrs. Hoey, in charge of punch.

And this is Mrs. Thompson. She's
brownies and, uh, macaroons? Macaroons.

Charmed. Charmed. Somebody
slipped you a copy of the script, right?

Oh, no. No, but when the uncle showed
up after the party wearing a different tie,

obviously he
changed it for a reason.

Then there was the phone call from the
coroner. He couldn't have known about that,

not unless he'd overheard the conversation
between the doctor and the priest.

Oh, how silly of me. Here I
am explaining your play to you.

I'm so sorry. Come on, girls.

We'll catch the second act
tomorrow with everyone else.

Jessica, could
you tell us about...

George! Get me that idiot of a
writer! I wanna talk to him now!

Hello! It's Grady, Aunt Jess.

Grady? Well, what's the matter?

Nothin's the matter, Aunt
Jess. Everything's terrific.

Oh! Nothing's terrific.
It's 6:23 in the morning.

You didn't lose your job
with that fish person, did you?

- Nope. The job's fine.
- Oh, what a relief.

You really should tell that Captain
Caleb to do something about his food.

The girls and I tried it last Friday,
and, honestly, it isn't very good.

Aunt Jess, I'm only an
accountant, not the cook.

Anyway, that's not why I called. You
remember the last time I came to visit?

I found your manuscript, and I
read it. I hope you don't mind.

My book? Oh, of
course I don't mind.

But I certainly wouldn't
want anybody else to read it.

Oh. Uh, well...

You see, not only did I read it,

I gave it to a friend of mine who
showed it to Coventry House, and...

Well, you see, Aunt Jess,
they want to publish it.

What!

- Oh, dear, no.
- I thought you'd be pleased.

Well, I am not pleased,
Grady. I'm not a writer.

Look, I... I was just filling
time after your uncle died.

- I didn't dream for a minute...
- That's the trouble, Aunt Jess.

You've never dreamed,
and it's about time you did.

Oh, be sensible. Look, just because
somebody wants to publish my book...

doesn't mean anyone
will bother to read it.

But it's all been arranged.
They booked you on

the Today show, David
Letterman, Phil Donahue.

Phil Donahue?
Donahue? I may die.

These publicity junkets,
they come with the territory.

Yes, but what would I say?
I'd just make a fool of myself.

Aw, come on. They'll
love you, just like I do.

Well, maybe just
for a day or so.

That's terrific. Look, I gotta go.
The captain's called a meeting.

I'll see you in the morning
at the station, okay?

Oh, yes. Uh, good-bye.

Jessica, are you really going
to be on television? I'm afraid so.

Not like that, you're
not. What's the matter?

Jessica, millions of
people will be watching.

You have to look "now,"
"with it." Au courant.

And those tweeds have got to go.

Are you sure she
caught the train? Positive.

A very organized lady, my Aunt
Jess. She's precise and punctual.

There. What'd I
tell you? Aunt Jess!

- Oh. There's my nephew now.
- Aunt Jess.

Thank you so much,
Daniel, for all your help.

Oh, no, ma'am. My pleasure.

I certainly hope that your boy gets
that scholarship. Thank you, ma'am.

You have a nice
stay, all right? I will.

- Grady!
- Aunt Jess!

Ah!

I hope I look all
right, but, you know,

the good Lord never intended
for me to look like a barber pole.

What are you talking
about? You look great.

Oh, thank heavens.
What a relief.

Oh, Aunt Jess,
this is Kit Donovan.

She works for the publishing
company in public relations.

You must be the friend who's
responsible for getting me into this.

Guilty. Nevertheless,
I'm delighted to meet you.

Oh, it's a pleasure, Mrs. Fletcher.
Grady's told me so much about you.

Isn't that a coincidence? Grady's
told me absolutely nothing about you.

Now, when do I get to meet this
publisher I've heard so much about?

Um, in about 20 minutes.

Oh, and believe me, Mr. Giles
can't wait to meet you. Oh.

Oh.

Jane, I have to talk
to the accountants.

If Mr. Templeton calls,
ask him to meet me here

at 3:00. Oh! Ex-Excuse
me. Mr. Giles, um...

Oh, good Lord! Mrs.
Fletcher, can you forgive me?

I had a dozen crises
already this morning.

I certainly wouldn't
want to be your 13th.

We must have dinner
and get acquainted.

I'm sure you're just as
delightful as your book.

Kit, coordinate with
Jane, will you? Um...

It is so good to meet you, and I do
hope you enjoy your stay in the city.

Do you eat apples? What?

You really should, you know.

Pectin, it's very good for the
complexion. You look very gray.

Well, actually, I've... I've
not been sleeping well.

Apples. Yes. Um, thank you.

Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.

If he wasn't so busy,
I... Oh, no matter, Kit.

I didn't come here to
be wined and dined.

Well, shall we have a
go at the inquisitors?

Well, actually, I never suspected
that my book would be published.

I really wrote it, well, for
my own enjoyment, I guess...

You know, like some
people needlepoint or paint.

Then you have no pretensions
to having created literature?

How refreshing in
an era dedicated to...

the beatification
of the trivial...

and the canonization
of the mundane.

Well, on the other hand,
people do seem to enjoy it.

The people, yes.

Well, of course we
both know, dear lady,

that it takes very little to
please the folks from Dubuque.

How else do you
explain television?

Oh, I couldn't.

Uh, television is your
business, not mine.

Oh, my goodness. Eight copies.

You must be a real book lover.
To whom shall I inscribe them?

Just sign your name and the date,
honey. This is just an investment.

If you ever become somebody,
they might be worth somethin'.

The fact is that I never intended
to have the book published.

It was all my nephew's idea.
Hey, isn't that something?

She got the idea to write the book from
her nephew. No, that isn't what I meant.

Let's see. It's 23 past the
hour, and we're sitting here...

with that famous writer...
Miss Jennifer Fletcher.

And back with more of your
calls right after this word...

from Henry's Fur Storage.

I'm sorry, honey, but
we're just dying in here.

Oh, yes.

Look, m-maybe you're
living with somebody.

How about a prison
record? Anything?

I, for one, Mrs. Fletcher, was
delighted by the feminist thrust...

you were able to weave
into your story line.

That really wasn't my
intention. Oh, nonsense.

I suppose what I like best
of all was your courage...

in choosing the pregnant
ballerina as your killer.

I really don't think
you should reveal that.

In too many of these books,
women are merely ornaments...

superfluous decoration. I really
do think we should stop the tape.

A lot of people haven't
read the book yet.

I don't think it's fair
to reveal the identity

of the murderer.
What's the difference?

Mrs. Fletcher, I'm on your side.

J. B. Fletcher? Hey, hey!

You J... You-You J.B. Fletcher?

Yes, I am. Here.

No, don't write on it. Read it.

I guess, next time, you'll think twice
about stealin' ideas from Agnes Peabody.

I'll see you in court, honey.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, please.
I wish you'd reconsider.

There's nothing
to reconsider, dear.

Four days in the Big Apple is
quite enough for me, thank you.

Ah! Mrs. Fletcher.

Mrs. Fletcher? Jessica?

I'm mortified by my behavior.
I've come to beg your forgiveness.

Oh, I... I smell a conspiracy.

Please don't blame Kit.
She was just doing her job.

Mr. Giles, I'm sure you're
a very charming man,

but, these last few days, I've been
insulted, browbeaten and patronized.

And I say no, thank you.

Back in Cabot Cove, the only thing we have
with claws are lobsters, and we eat them.

I know what you mean. Believe me. It
took me years to get used to this town.

Look, I'm having a little party at my
place in the country over the weekend.

I'd like you to be
my guest... All of you.

I want you to meet
some real people...

Not critics or columnists,
but my friends.

And then on Monday, if you
still want to go back home,

I'll put you on this
train personally.

Fair enough?

Well, we'd better put these
in water before they wilt.

Dear old Agnes Peabody...

Totally convinced she's written half
the novels in the Library of Congress.

She has those subpoenas
printed up herself.

In other words, just
another dotty old lady.

The people of your city
make me feel the same way.

Oh, you mean those
self-important media types.

Well, we live with them
because we have to.

Why? Why? Well, because...

You know, I'm
damned if I know why.

You know, Mrs. J.B. Fletcher, you could
be a very disruptive influence in my life.

Well, only my students call
me Mrs. Fletcher, Mr. Giles.

Oh, and Mr. Giles is that stuffed
shirt in the three-piece suit...

I left back in New York.

I don't know about you,

but I'm glad we let your nephew and
Kit find their own way out here today.

Pull!

Pull!

Good shot, darling.
Thank you, Louise.

You're really
shooting well today.

You wanna try it? It just takes
a clear eye and a steady hand.

No, thank you.

If I'm gonna make a fool of myself,
let me choose my own pratfall.

Pull!

Louise.

How delightful to see you.
How nice of you to invite us.

Louise McCallum, Jessica
Fletcher. You, I am delighted to meet.

I loved your book.
Why, thank you.

Really, really. I
couldn't put it down.

Where's the captain? Oh, he's
terminating skeets with extreme prejudice.

Do you know, Pres, he
invited that what's her name?

That assistant
with the slinky walk?

I want you to know, Louise, that inviting
Ashley Vickers was not my idea. Ah.

But, like a good host, you
offered to put her up anyway.

Oh. What was that?

Sonic boom. We've got an
airport a few miles down the road.

You get used to it. Jessica,
who are you coming as tonight?

- What?
- She hasn't decided.

Well, when you do, let me
know. I don't want to duplicate.

Uh, come as what?

Wh-What is she talking about?
I'm so sorry. I should have told you.

The party tonight... we're all coming
as our favorite fictional character.

I know, I know. You
haven't got a thing to wear.

Well, I could always
come as Lady Godiva.

♪ Hello, Davis! I see
we're not the first to arrive.

Oh, I love that outfit. Who are you
supposed to be tonight... Rhett Butler?

Good evening, Mrs. March.

I'm flabbergasted.

Is this what you improvised
out of odds and ends?

Well, with a little help
from Louise McCallum.

And before you ask, I'm
Cinderella's godmother.

Care to make a wish? I could use a
dozen more novels by J.B. Fletcher.

Oh, that's not magic.
That's just hard work.

Suppose I just settle for
the pleasure of her company.

Darn it all, Pres. I've been
waitin' all day to meet this lady.

Dumpty is the
name, Miss Fletcher.

Humpty Dumpty. Bet you
can't guess what this is.

Jess, I warn you. Arnold
is a notorious punster.

Well, in that case, I'd
probably call it a wallflower.

"Eggs-zactly."

♪ Bah, humbug ♪

♪ Bah, humbug ♪

♪ Bring on the sleet
and ice up the street ♪

Aren't you just a little out of season,
Ebenezer? After all, this is April.

Wrong, Ashley. You're
wrong. You're so terribly wrong.

It is never inappropriate to
wish the world a little ill will.

♪

Well, any requests?
How about you, Doctor?

A medley of my
hit from yesteryear.

Whatever you like to
play, dear, dear Peter.

Your stuff is always
wonderful, glorious, terrific!

Well, well, Doctor. You
have impeccable taste.

I may get deathly ill just
to develop a relationship.

What's this I hear about you
putting together a Broadway show?

No, no, no, no. Doctor,
off-Broadway. Off-Broadway, my friend.

The fringes of civilization.

To be specific... 17th Street.

'Ey, look here. If it ain't
Sherlock Holmes himself.

♪

♪

♪

Why don't we cut outta here?

Grady, it's only
8:15. I hate parties.

Look, my boss is giving a
party. Your boss is a guest.

At least act like you
enjoy their company. I do.

I enjoy yours better.

Huh?

Does it tickle? Just a little.

- Grady, what's the matter?
- Am I nuts, or is that my room?

Wait here. Grady?

All right, young man.
That's quite enough.

There is no need to be boorish.

You're what? A
private investigator.

My name is Dexter
Baxendale. You're kidding.

Not everyone in my profession sports
a broken nose and dirty fingernails,

my pubescent friend.

When society seeks
confidential assistance,

they do not necessarily
hire Mike Hammer.

Once more... What
are you doing here?

I have been retained by a
very influential individual...

to conduct a
discreet investigation.

With Dexter Baxendale,
discretion is a way of life.

My card.

You still haven't answered my
question. What are you doing here?

I'm not at liberty to say.

Very well.

Oh, you may turn me over to
the local constable, Mr. Giles,

but no amount of coercion
will force me to betray a trust.

On the other hand, when the local
newspapers get hold of this story,

the finger of suspicion will point
equally at each of your guests.

Which one is
under investigation?

And need I remind you? The
Enquirer will have a field day.

Grady, do me a favor, will you?

- Escort this gentleman to his car.
- Sure thing, Mr. Giles.

And out the back way, please.
I'd rather not disturb our guests.

It was a great pleasure
meeting you, Mrs. Fletcher.

You have a rare gift for murder.

Continued success.

Why, thank you, I think.

Uh, forgive me.

Ever since I entered this room,

I've been trying to deduce
who you're dressed as.

And I think I have it. It's
Edmond Dantes, isn't it?

The Count of Monte Cristo.

Very good, Mr. Baxendale. I'm
almost sorry I'm throwing you out.

You might have made
a charming guest.

What did I promise you?
A quiet little weekend?

♪

Listen, Doc, if there's one thing I
know about, it's the public taste buds.

I'm telling you. They want their
food fast, and they want it cheap.

You're from Maine.
You know about fish.

Ever eat at Cap'n
Caleb's? Oh, yes, Captain.

And it is an experience
I'll never forget.

There you are. I rest my case.

Caleb? Hmm?

Caleb. The party's beginning
to pall. Let's go home,

Get yourself some
coffee, Louise.

I don't want coffee.
I wanna go home.

Well, I don't. Oh.

Well, fine.

Fine, darling. I'll-I'll just trot
along like a civilized wife...

and let you and Ashley...

do whatever it is you do.

'Scuse me.

Uh, Louise, dear. Louise.

Oh, please don't... Please
don't go. Not just yet.

Excuse me. Oh,
Grady, there you are.

Please, help Mrs. McCallum home.
She's in no condition to drive. Oh, sure.

Mrs. McCallum, why don't you let
me drive you home? I can manage.

That's okay. It's my pleasure.
Just give me your key.

Let me drive you
home. No! I can manage!

You're in no condition. Leave me
alone! For God's sake, leave me alone!

Don't get... Geez!

Grady! Are you all right?

Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay.

It's her I'm worried
about. She's crazy.

Thirty dollars a ticket?

I'm sorry, Peter, but at those
prices, off-Broadway is off my budget.

Do you have any idea what it costs
to get a new production mounted?

$250,000 will barely
get you started.

No, no, no. I suppose if
this new production fails,

I could always
write for Nashville.

♪ She was the queen
of office sweethearts ♪

♪ He was the king that
brought her to ruin ♪

♪ He gave her dictation
and a place to stay ♪

♪ Then he gave her a royal... ♪

Oops. Sorry, Ashley.

No offense intended.
Oh, none taken.

For the past several
months, my relationship

with the captain has
been strictly business.

Speaking of which, the old rooster
seems to have flown the coop.

That's right. I... I haven't
seen him in almost an hour.

And you haven't seen
Little Red Riding Hood either.

Maybe the both of them have
run off to Grandmother's house.

- Oh, damn!
- Oh, dear.

We must get that out
before it leaves a stain.

Forget it. Oh, no. Come with me.

We can't let that
beautiful dress be ruined.

Yes, I understand.

I'll see what I can work out.

What happened? Accident?
Oh, nothing serious.

We need milk, soda, lemons.

Oh, and eggs.
What was that about?

Surely not business
on a Saturday night?

A very persistent reporter
from the New York Times.

He insists on interviewing you
first thing Monday morning. Oh.

I told him you left for
Pago Pago and weren't

expected back till
the turn of the century.

Good for you. I don't know
what that is, but I'm not eating it.

Well, it's an old
Fletcher recipe...

Guaranteed to take the
spots off of a leopard.

Now, you come along with me. We'll
go to one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Really, Jessica.
It's not worth it.

I'm a frugal Yankee. Humor me.

Pres! Pres, will you
please tell this old grump...

to sit his little fanny at the
piano and play something for us?

Sounds like a reasonable
request to me. Alas, Preston,

Madame wishes to hear a
potpourri of Rodgers and Hart.

Hammerstein. Even worse.

Oh, well.

What better way to repay your kind
invitation than to amuse your guests.

What would you all like to hear,
the complete score to Pipe Dream?

Ha ha! That should clear
the room nicely. Bah! Humbug!

All right. I can
only stay till 4:00,

so, please, get your
requests in early, all right?

♪

♪

- Good morning, Louise.
- Don't tell me. I look like hell.

I feel worse, and I'm
in no mood for a lecture.

How about a nice cup of coffee?
No, thanks. I was looking for Caleb.

I thought he might
have slept over.

Well, I, uh... I wouldn't
know about that.

It's all right. I can guess
where he went last night.

Usually he has the
decency to come home.

My God!

Jessica! God!

What's the matter, Kit?
In the pool! In the pool!

Oh! Oh, God! Oh,
Go... What's the matter?

Oh! Jessica?

Jessica?

What is it? What's the matter?
What's wrong? No, Louise.

Caleb!

Yo, Jim, this is Central.

You find out who
that fella in the pool is?

Uh, yeah, Madge. The
name's Caleb McCallum.

You know, that seafood
guy. Course, that's unofficial.

The-The chief won't let the
wife identify. It's just as well.

The guy got his face
blown off with a 12-gauge.

How's the chief holding up?

Uh, he's better, Madge,
now that he's had his coffee.

You know how he feels
about trouble on Sundays.

Now, I wanna keep this
short and to the point.

Fact is, what we're dealing
with here is, uh, murder.

No amount of tip-toein'
around's gonna change that.

So, you'll forgive me...
Especially you, Mrs. McCallum...

If my questions seem
blunt. We understand, Chief.

The body was discovered about
6:00 a.m. this morning by, uh...

- Miss Donovan. Is that right?
- She's upstairs lying down.

Yes. As a matter of fact,
I gave her a sedative.

Doc, I know you're not the coroner,
but you got a look at that body.

Now just off the top of your head,
how long would you say he'd been dead?

Well, at least several hours.

In other words, somebody
killed him last night,

maybe while your
party was goin' on.

And no-nobody heard a shot.
From a 12-gauge shotgun?

Chief, the party was noisy.

It was chilly, so the
windows were closed.

And the pool's some
distance from the house.

Suppose you tell me what
happened here last night, Mr. Giles.

Folks don't go around gettin' half
their heads blown off for no reason.

I'm lookin' for motive.

For killing Caleb
McCallum? Surely you jest.

Half the country had reason to kill
him. The other half didn't know him.

- Not funny, friend.
- But accurate.

The captain wasn't
particularly well loved.

Though I doubt that any of us
despised him enough to kill him.

Except for me.

That's what you're
all thinking, isn't it?

I didn't kill my husband.

A least, I don't think I did.

I vaguely remember
driving away last evening.

And then I-I... I woke up
behind the wheel of my car...

at sunup, next to the lake.

Everything else in
between is a blank.

All right. Uh, I'll be taking
statements from everybody.

So, uh, you know, just keep yourselves
available. That's all for right now.

Chief. I've got auditions for a new show.
I've gotta be in town by this evening.

You'll leave here when
I say so and not before.

Oh, I beg your pardon,
Chief Gunderson.

I was, uh, just
checking something out.

I probably should
have asked you first.

But I didn't disturb any
evidence. Believe me.

I read your book. Oh,
you did? How nice.

Didn't say I liked
it. Said I read it.

So...

What do you think?
I beg your pardon?

You know people,
ma'am. I can tell that.

You see the little things,
the inconsistencies.

So, what do you think
about Mrs. McCallum?

Well, surely she's
not a suspect, is she?

At the moment,
she is the suspect.

She is?

Oh, my goodness.

Chief, did Mr. Giles tell you
about last night's intruder?

Oh, you mean the private
eye from New York?

You think he killed the
captain? Oh, no. No, not at all.

But I'm sure you noticed the shoes on
the body floating in the swimming pool.

"Shoes." Now, last
night at the party,

Captain Caleb was wearing black
patent leather... highly polished.

Is that so? Now, that private detective
was discovered on the second floor.

I'm almost sure that he got in
through that window. Now, look here.

You see this broken plant?
And there, that footprint.

Now, in order to climb
up to that window,

that detective would have had to
be wearing soft rubber-soled shoes.

What are you tellin' me? The
guy in the pool wasn't McCallum?

Sure as hell wasn't.

Well, I'll be a son of a...

Yeah, you are, Chief.
You always have been.

- And stupid to boot.
- That so?

Well, Mr. McCallum, suppose you
tell us who the corpse was in the pool...

and how come he was
wearin' your costume.

Well, I haven't got the
faintest idea. Caleb!

I'm all right. I'm just fine.

Oh! Thank God. Hey.

Oh, Caleb! Oh, Caleb! No, no.

Oh, thank God! I'm just fine.

Well, I'm not.

Oh. That's for last night.

And all the other "last
nights" you've put me through.

Baxendale?

Hmm. I hired the man.
He was workin' for me.

He's not the man
in the pool, is he?

Mrs. Fletcher seems to think so.

We're checkin' the fingerprints.

Now, Mr. McCallum, suppose
you tell us what he was doin' here.

Well.

All right. I'm having some trouble
in my, uh... in my business...

Some little problems... and somebody
is leaking out confidential information.

So I hired Baxendale
to find out who it was.

And he told me Friday...
Friday, he told me...

that he was onto somethin', and he
was gonna tie it all up this weekend.

Maybe he came
here to report early.

What, with snoopin' around
in the upstairs bedrooms?

Well, I'm sure he
didn't want to be seen.

He was more than
likely waitin' for a chance

to come down here
and talk to me privately.

Yeah. maybe.

But, Caleb, that still
doesn't explain what

he was doing in your
Sherlock Holmes costume.

Well, I don't know about
that. I left the party early.

I went out. I went to
get some... fresh air.

A young lady from the party...
One of the guests... was with me.

I hardly knew her.

All right. We spent the
night at the local inn. Okay?

That still doesn't
explain the costume.

I put it in the front
closet. I wasn't gonna

go prancing through
the lobby of that motel...

looking like a refugee
from a costume ball.

Gunderson. We don't have to...

Not gonna drag that
girl into this, are we?

Don't see as how
we have much choice,

considerin' she's
your only alibi.

See you back in New
York, Aunt Jess. Bye-bye.

Have a good trip. Okay.

Bye-bye. I hope you don't
mind my not going back with you.

I've got a lot to clear up
around here. I understand.

But really, Preston, this
limousine is totally unnecessary.

Just put me on
the train. I'll be fine.

Nonsense. You arrived in style.
You'll go back the same way.

Something wrong?

Oh. Hmm?

You seem, I don't
know, a little distracted.

I realize this weekend didn't
turn out quite the way we planned.

Oh, no, no. It's
nothing like that.

It's just that, well, it's so
easy to write about murder.

But confronting the reality,
hmm, that's quite a different thing.

And then... Yes?

Oh, nothing. I'll be fine.

Safe trip. Yes.

Afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher. Uh, Davis, do
you mind dropping me off at headquarters?

I'd be delighted
to. Thank you, sir.

What's the matter, Chief?
Your car break down?

No, ma'am. I just, uh,
wanna have a chat.

A private chat. So,
what's the problem?

Problem? I don't know what
you mean. Just now, back there,

you had a look on your face same
as you had outside by the bushes.

So, let's hear it. Chief, really,
this is none of my business.

I'm makin' it your business.

Well, the point is, someone
killed Sherlock Holmes.

That New York gumshoe was no
Sherlock Holmes. Ah, but he was, Chief.

At least he was the
moment that he was killed.

The question is, did the
killer know that he was? What?

You're investigating the
murder of a private detective.

Now, suppose the killer didn't
know that it was Mr. Baxendale.

Suppose the killer thought
it was Captain Caleb.

After all, the captain was the one wearing
the Sherlock Holmes outfit all night.

Wait a minute. You're telling me
we've got two possible victims...

and two sets of suspects,

dependin' on who the
killer thought he was killing.

I'm afraid so.

Between church and football...

and the fact the town
council never calls me,

this is my favorite
day of the week.

Mrs. Fletcher, you've just made this
the worst Sunday I've spent in 10 years.

"McCallum had registered
at the inn shortly after 10:30.

"The internationally known fast food
king was accompanied by a young woman...

whose identity had not
been divulged by authorities."

I wonder who that
detective was spying on.

Bet you whoever it
was is the killer. Maybe.

You know, I bet you
could solve this case.

Me? I'm not a detective. I'm
a substitute English teacher.

You mean a writer. I
don't know what I mean.

But I do know that
Ethel Jenks is leaving

Wednesday to visit her
daughter in Montpelier,

and I promised I'd
take her class for her.

They can get somebody else.
No. The truth is, I want to go back.

Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I
don't have much use for city life.

And, you know, frankly,
except for you and Kit Donovan,

I don't much care for the people
either. Even Preston Giles?

A t least you could've called
him, told him you were leaving.

Oh, Grady, don't pout. I'll
call him from Cabot Cove.

And, you know,
it's a tad unseemly...

for you to be fixing up
your old auntie with a suitor,

no matter how pleasant or
distinguished he might be.

Hey, I wasn't. Honest.

You were. Honest.

Well, I'm sorry you
guys didn't hit it off.

Oh, but don't you
see? That's the trouble.

We were beginning to
hit it off much too well.

Well, Mrs. Fletcher, good
morning. Daniel, how nice to see you.

Here, let me help you with that.
No, no, no. That's not your job.

Now, don't be silly. Well.

How was your stay? Well,
I can't wait to get home.

Jessica! Oh, Mrs. Fletcher!

Oh! Oh, thank God I've caught
you. What's the matter, child?

- It's Grady. He's been arrested.
- Arrested? For what?

For suspicion of murder.

Chief, my nephew did not
kill that private detective.

I hope you're right,
Mrs. Fletcher. He

seems to be a nice
young man... for a thief.

A thief? What are
you talking about?

He's been stealing confidential
information from his company.

Oh, but that's ridiculous.

Maybe so. Maybe
so, Mrs. Fletcher.

But there's some county detectives in there
questioning him, and they're not so sure.

Well, I should think that
you'd be doing the questioning.

It's a matter of jurisdiction.

When it's murder, the county
cops have a way of takin' over.

I suppose they think
that a chief of police

from a small town like
me is in over his head.

Well, if you believe that Grady
is a thief, maybe they're right.

Look, Mrs. Fletcher,
I know he's kin,

but facts are facts.

At 6:00 a.m. this morning,
we found that detective's car...

parked about half a
mile from Giles's place.

In the glove compartment, we
found a confidential real estate report...

that McCallum tells us is worth
$300,000 or $400,000 in the wrong hands.

And it was stolen from his
office early Friday morning.

And you assume
that Grady is the thief?

He had access, ma'am. And
so, I'm sure, did Miss Vickers.

Well, she's being questioned
just right at this very moment.

But Baxendale was discovered
in your nephew's room.

And that automatically
makes Grady the killer.

Makes him a suspect...
and a pretty good one.

Baxendale could have been in
my nephew's room by accident.

The first-floor bathroom
was out of order. People

were traipsing up and
down the staircase all night.

That detective could have ducked
into Grady's room to avoid being seen.

That's weak, Mrs.
Fletcher. That's very weak.

Now, second, if Grady
were the thief, his

fingerprints would have
been all over that report.

We checked the fingerprints.
They're all kinda smudged.

And third, have you also
checked the bank accounts?

Now, Grady's account,
I know it's... it's anemic.

But what about Miss
Vickers? We're looking into it.

Jess, are you all right? Oh,
better now that you're here.

Grady is fine. Karl Teretsky
is having him released.

We'll meet him in 15 minutes at
the restaurant across the street.

Karl Teretsky? That's pretty
high-priced legal talent, Mr. Giles.

And what do you suggest, Chief, that I
retain some boy right out of law school?

No, thanks. I know
how you people operate.

You find yourself a scapegoat, and
then you mold your facts to fit the case.

Well, not this time.

I'm gonna ignore
that, Mr. Giles.

I may be a small town cop, but I
know my job. Do you, Chief? I wonder.

I suppose you're part of that
crowd that's tryin' to get rid of me.

No, but don't tempt me.

Just so you understand...

I'm gonna catch this killer.

That's a promise.

I never saw that report
before or that detective.

Oh, I'm sure you didn't, Grady.

I just got off the phone with Karl
Teretsky. Things aren't looking any better.

Seems that Baxendale
had a reputation as a cheap

blackmailer. What's
that got to do with Grady?

The way the police figure it,
Baxendale got the goods on Grady,

then came back to the party to confront
him... probably to extort a payoff.

Baxendale took the
Sherlock Holmes costume

out of the front closet
so he could mingle,

then lured Grady
out to the pool area.

They think that Grady lost his
temper and shot him with the skeet gun.

Oh, fiddle-faddle! Mr. Baxendale
was a detective, not a mind-reader.

I mean, how could he possibly have known
that that costume was in the hall closet?

They're not thinking
clearly. Even so, there

must be a reason he
was dressed that way.

Oh, of course. And once we can
figure out why, I suspect we'll know who.

Which brings me to the
subject of Miss Vickers.

Would she have taken
that report, do you think?

Are you kidding? Two years ago,
she was low gal in the steno pool.

Then, all of a sudden, she and the
captain were practicing indoor Olympics...

in hotel rooms
all over town. Kit.

Well, it's the truth, isn't it?

Then, for the last few
months, she gets frozen out.

Oh, not her job. She's
too smart for that.

But the captain's got
himself another bunkmate.

Now, if you ask me, that gives
her a hell of a good reason.

Ashley. Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.
What are you doing here?

I think it's called a war council.
Would you like to join us?

Oh, thanks, but, no. I just spent
several hours across the street...

being hounded by a couple
of Homicide detectives.

All I want now is a hot
bath and a cold drink.

You know, Ashley, there
could be strength in numbers.

You know, the police
are absolutely convinced...

that either you or my nephew
murdered that private detective.

But that's not true.
Don't you know? What?

The police have just
pinpointed the time of death.

Preston's neighbors
heard a loud noise at 11:15.

They didn't bother to investigate it
because they thought it was a sonic boom.

But the police investigated. There
were no jets overhead Saturday night.

So that sonic boom was the
sound of the shotgun. Ah. 11:15.

Uh-huh. Time for which I gratefully
could provide them with an ironclad alibi.

You mean when you
and I... That's right.

At 11:15, I was sitting half-naked
in an upstairs bedroom...

while you were
washing out my dress.

Now, you really must excuse me.

Please don't worry.

Karl Teretsky is one of the
best trial lawyers in the state.

Do you really think it'll
come to that... a trial?

No, of course not.
Jess, you have my word.

Grady will be exonerated
one way or the other.

I'm sorry. I think the police
have already made up their minds.

- Kit tells me she caught up with you
at the railway station.
- I was going to call you.

From Maine.

I feel a little foolish.

This weekend,
before the trouble,

was one of the happiest
times I've spent in years.

Did I misread you so
badly? Of course not.

But back home, we have a saying.

Flowers that bloom too quickly
are fair game for a late frost.

Do you really say that?

Well, actually, no.

You'll be going back then.

Well, not until I know
that Grady's all right.

Driver, take the lady to
her hotel. Sure thing, Mac.

How about dinner tonight?
Well, there's a lot to do.

And you do have
to eat. I'd love to.

I'll call you later.

Uh, driver, do you
know a place called, uh...

Now, where was it? I
had it here someplace.

Uh, Bayview? Baytown?

We got a Bay Ridge,
lady. That's in Brooklyn.

Over in Jersey, you
got your Bayonne.

Now, out on the Island, you got your
Bayshore, your Bayville, your Bayside.

Bayside. That's it. Bayside.

Bayside Yacht Club. Would
you mind driving me there?

For 20 bucks? Oh, I'm prepared
to make up the difference.

Look, lady, to tell you the truth, I
wanna get home. My feet are killin' me.

What's your hurry?

Yeah, yeah, I know. Guys at my job are
supposed to have a problem someplace else.

But with me, it's my
feet. What can I tell ya?

It's some joke, huh? Oh, no, no.

They can be terribly painful.

My friend Lena Miller...
She had the most awful time.

For years, she had
these little calluses.

They were like corns,
only they weren't corns.

That's what I got. Oh, then you
must try some of our ointment.

Nah. Listen, I
tried all that stuff.

Oh, not ours, you haven't. Back
home, we make it ourselves. Get away.

You know, my old man's got the
same problem. I think it's "heretical."

Oh, dear. I was sure I
brought more cash with me.

Two, three, four. I don't
suppose you'd take a credit card.

No, I didn't think you would.

Look, Mrs. Fletcher, you
gonna be in there long?

Well, not if I can help it.
Okay. Then I'll tell you what.

I'll wait for you here, and I'll drive
you back to the city off the meter.

Oh, Bernie, I couldn't
ask you to do that.

What are you gonna do, take a
subway? Forget about it, Mrs. Fletcher.

You go do what you gotta do, and
I'll be here readin' the paper. All right?

You're very kind. I
know. I'm a real prince.

Hello! Captain Caleb?

Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, well, well.

What a delight. I called your
office. They told me I'd find you here.

I hope you don't mind. Oh,
not a bit. Come right aboard.

To what do I owe
this great pleasure?

I assume you know that
they've arrested my nephew.

Yes. Well, the evidence
is conclusive. "Evidence"?

You've been talking
to Chief Gunderson.

Gunderson is an
incompetent fool!

I've been trying to get
him fired for six months.

Strange. I found
him very diligent.

Well, he's a political
hack, Mrs. Fletcher.

He's putting in his time
till he gets his pension.

However, in this case, I think
he does have his facts correct.

- What facts are those?
- Well, I told you.

Someone in my organization
has been stealing information.

This information is about proposed
sites for my chowder houses.

These leaks have cost
me a great deal of money.

Baxendale narrowed the
list of suspects down to six.

And at his suggestion, I made
those six people... and only those six...

Aware of a confidential
report that I'd received.

The report was a
phony, of course.

I also let it be known that I'd be
acting on that information on Monday.

Oh, I see. You were forcing
your traitor to act quickly.

Precisely. Those six people were
very carefully watched, as you know...

Baxendale's surveillance took
him to that party on Saturday.

You don't suppose he could have
found that report in Ashley's room?

No, I don't.

He wasn't caught in Ashley's
room, and, as you also know,

Ashley had an alibi that night, which
is more than I can say for your nephew.

Grady was with Kit Donovan.

That's like Bonnie Parker
alibiing Clyde Barrow.

Captain, we may be
forgetting something.

I mean, how do we know for sure
that anyone intended to kill Baxendale?

I mean, in that costume, the
killer may have been after you.

Not a chance.
According to the police,

the shot was fired from
25 feet away, no more.

I just can't help but think... It was
such a dark night, you know, so cloudy.

And you know that if
a mistake was made...

Oh, you're probably right.

Mrs. Fletcher, you're a very shrewd cookie,
but you're barking up the wrong tree.

All my employees know that I am
Cap'n Caleb's Chowder Houses, okay?

Without me, the
whole thing falls apart.

And as for my wife, Louise,
we have a prenuptial agreement.

As long as I'm alive,
she lives like a queen.

If I die, she gets
next to nothin'.

There goes your theory
of mistaken identity.

♪

Now, you wait here, Bernie, and
I'll go upstairs and get some money.

Aw, forget it, Mrs. F.
If this ointment works,

it's worth a lot more than
a few bucks on a meter.

Oh, Bernie, you're
really very kind.

Now, be sure to put it on for a
half hour every night for a week.

And don't forget to write to me
and let me know how it worked.

You bet. Take it easy, Mrs. F.

Bye.

Thank you very much.

Hello?

Aunt Jess, where have you
been? We've been worried sick.

Grady, what time
does your office close?

- What time what? I don't know.
- What's the difference?

What time, Grady?

Uh, 6:30, 7:00. Aunt
Jess, what's going on?

Listen. Only two people could
have stolen that real estate report...

You and Ashley Vickers.

Now, I've pretty much eliminated
you as a suspect. Thanks.

Which means that we have to
prove that Ashley is the culprit.

Now, I want to look
around her office.

- Aunt Jess, that's police business.
- At the moment, the police business
seems to be convicting you of murder.

Meet me outside
the hotel at 7:00.

Swell, they can tack on breaking and
entering onto my murder one sentence.

Are you sure you
want to do this?

I'm only sure that someone
has to do something.

Even if Ashley did take those papers,
she couldn't have killed that detective.

No, but her accomplice
could. What accomplice?

Grady, at great risk of exposure,
Miss Vickers not only stole that report,

she brought it back
to New Holvang.

Why? Obviously, to pass
it on to someone else.

Someone at the
party. Well, probably.

And remember, whoever
she was dealing with...

was just as
vulnerable as she was.

Well, it doesn't figure she'd keep
anything incriminating in her office.

Well, we'll never
know unless we look.

Come on.

Good evening,
Mr. Fletcher. Evening, Tom.

Workin' late tonight, huh?
No. I mean, I'm not working.

I'm showing my
aunt where I work.

This is my aunt
visiting from Maine.

How do, ma'am? I hope
you're enjoying your stay.

Oh, it's been a rare
experience. Believe me.

Uh, we shouldn't be very
long. Oh, that's all right.

Of course, we could
be quite a while.

Uh, there's a lot to see.

Don't worry if we're
up there a long time.

No problem. You folks can
take all the time you want.

Right. Well, thanks a lot.

You're welcome,
sir. Grady, let's go.

All right. Ashley's
office is at the end

of the corridor on the left.
Why are you whispering?

Shh! Oh, for heaven's sakes,
Grady. There's no one here.

I'll search the office, and
you check the records. What?

We need to know the
names of the people

from whom the company
bought the properties.

Now, can you get them? Yeah.
They're in the computer, but I don't...

Grady, whoever bought and then
resold those overpriced properties...

has to have some connection, directly
or indirectly, with Ashley and her contact.

Now scoot. I'll be fine.

This may take a while.

Yes? Why are you
calling me here?

I told you I don't want you calling
me anywhere, especially now.

Talk about what? I
thought I made it clear.

It's over. I want
no part of murder.

All right, all right.
Stop getting hysterical.

Where are you?

All right. I'll be there
as soon as possible.

Because they may be
following me. I can't be sure.

I will do the best I can.

Grady!

Grady!

That was a fast
trip, Miss Vickers.

Sign me out, will
you, Tom? Sure thing.

Good night now.

So nice to meet you, Tom. Ma'am.
Ma'am? Excuse me, ma'am. Ma'am?

Uh, taxi!

Taxi!

Oh! Taxi!

Uh! Oh! Taxi!

Can you follow that bus?

Are you kiddin' me, lady? You
know where that thing's goin'?

But that's the trouble. I
don't know where it's going.

Thank you so much.

Does this bus go to the same
place as that bus up ahead?

That's the way it works, lady.
Up the street. Down the street.

Seventy-five cents.
Oh, y-yes, of course.

I've got my wallet here
someplace. Oh, here we are.

Exact change, lady. Oh,
but I don't have exact change.

Then off you get at the next stop.
Oh, no. I'm sorry. I can't do that.

Then the bus will
sit there till you do.

Excuse me. Do you have
four quarters for a dollar?

Nope. I've got three
quarters for a dollar.

Oh, yes. Uh, three quarters.

Ah.

You must do quite well. Beats
hell out of welfare, sweetie.

For seventy-five cents,
you're entitled to a seat, lady.

Oh, I'm fine just like this.
Well, I'm not. Sit down.

You know, "George,"
rudeness does not become you.

Yeah, I know, but it's a job
requirement. Please, lady, take a seat.

- George, I want to get off.
- You just got on.

I know. I want...
I want to get off.

Immediately. Please.

Lady, I'm not supposed to open the doors
anyplace but a special stop, but for you...

Hey, mama, you lookin'
for somethin'? Excuse me.

Hello. Oh, excuse her. The
lady wants to be excused.

Please, would you mind
letting me pass? Uh-huh.

You give me a pass,
and I'll let you by. Don't be

ridiculous. Step aside
before I call the police.

You gonna call the police?
What, you got the phone in there?

Ah, well, ah, yes. As
a matter of fact, I do.

Come here! Oh!

Get back here, mama.

You see, I'm not only
gonna take your purse,

I'm gonna give ya
a free blood test.

Are you all right?

Yes.

I think so.

Oh, thank you. Thank you.

You want some advice? I'd stay out
of this neighborhood, Mrs. Fletcher.

You know me? Yes, ma'am.

I recognized you as soon
as I saw you back on the bus.

- I read your book. It's terrific.
- Oh, thank you.

But I-I still don't...

Hey, don't you know, Mrs.
Fletcher? You're a celebrity.

What time is it? About the
same as it was a minute ago.

11:30. I'm sure she'll
be all right, Mr. Giles.

Chasing around New York City
alone, at night, maybe following a killer?

What happens if Ashley
discovers she's being followed?

Sir!

Jess! In God's name, where have
you been? We've been worried sick.

For heaven's sakes,
Preston. I'm fine.

Don't tell me you've
been waiting here for me?

You weren't actually following
Ashley Vickers? I was, but I lost her.

Oh, I must hurry. I've got
a phone call to make. Kit.

Grady, did you get what
we need? Well, not exactly.

Roy Gunderson.

He's the chief of police.

Grady, what were you
saying about that computer?

I think I hit a wrong button.
Instead of real estate transactions,

it started spitting out last
year's wholesale fish prices.

Well, we may not need
that list of names anyway.

Hello, operator?

Well, would you be good enough
to connect me? Well, that's very kind.

What do you mean
you won't need them?

You could have been
arrested for trespassing.

Yes, but I think I've
got the connection.

Hello? Hello. Chief Gunderson?

This is Jessica Fletcher.

Jessica Fletcher.

Uh, well, I believe it's about
a quarter past midnight.

Oh, I'm sorry. Yes. Yes, but
we do have a murder to solve.

And I think you'll sleep much better
once you've arrested Ashley Vickers.

Chief, this evening, I was
privy to a conversation...

in which she practically
admitted having stolen that report.

Chief.

Would you please stop complaining
about your insomnia and listen!

Now, I believe that your private detective
was the intended victim all along,

and I suggest that you scour his
records to find some connection...

between Ashley Vickers
and that Broadway composer.

- You remember him... Peter Brill.
- Peter?

Now, I may be wrong,
but, frankly, I doubt it.

Anyway, Mr. Baxendale's
files need a good going-over.

Well... I... It...

Yes, I suppose tomorrow
would be soon enough to start.

But...

Oh, you're quite welcome, Chief.

Good night. Oh!

Oh, you can't be
serious about Peter Brill.

What do you mean? Don't
you remember, at the party,

him telling us about
how he was holding

auditions for a new
musical in a small theater?

Off 17th Street... That's
where I lost Ashley Vickers.

That could just be a coincidence.
Oh, I don't think so, Kit.

Mr. Brill has been very
unsuccessful for several years,

yet now he has the funds
to mount a new show.

Even off-Broadway
doesn't come that cheap.

There is nothing in these
papers about the show.

Oh, but there must be an item...

or an ad or something that
would identify the theater.

Now, first thing tomorrow morning,
that gentleman and I are going to have a...

A little chat.

♪

♪

Listen. Sounds of life.

No, Grady. I want
you to wait out here.

I'm not lettin' you go in there
alone. Of course you will.

Aunt Jess, it could
be dangerous.

If Mr. Brill believes we're
ganging up on him, it could

be very unproductive. I
think I'll get further on my own.

All right, but if
you're not back in 20

minutes, I'm comin' in
there. I'll count on you.

♪

♪ You played a trick
on my heart, honey ♪ ♪

♪ You made my love disappear ♪

♪ I was the rabbit in your hat ♪

♪ I was your lucky boutonniere ♪

♪ You played a trick
on my heart, honey ♪

♪ It became so very clear ♪

♪ When you tucked
me up your sleeve ♪

♪ And you didn't
even shed a tear ♪

Whoa!

Well, Petey, sweetheart,
ain't she great, huh?

Yes. Marvin, your client's
talent is exceeded only...

by her monumental capacity
for flagellation of the treble clef.

Ah! You got it. Are-Are
we through here?

I gotta be on the
switchboard by 8:30.

Yes. I've heard all I need to hear.
Thank you so much, Miss Devine.

That means I stink, right?

Hey, well, listen, buddy, you
know, you don't play so hot either.

Yes, well, you see, I've
had only two hours sleep.

Whereas with you, sweet
thing, the oblivion of Morpheus...

seems to be a
perpetual state of mind.

- Oh, yeah?
- Listen, honey.

Honey, sweetheart.
Sweetheart, come on.

Come on. Let's get outta here.

Petey. Petey, I'll be seein' ya.

Uh, listen.

You got the dough
for this thing, right?

Yes, Marvin. I got the dough.

Dynamite.

Come on, honey. Let's go.

Just where did you
get the dough, Mr. Brill?

If you're here to audition,
honey, come back tonight.

I was hoping we could
have a nice little private chat.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, nothing would delight
me more, but not this morning.

Perhaps, uh, lunch
sometime later in the week.

Mr. Brill, tell me about
the stolen information...

that you've been receiving
from Ashley Vickers.

My dear lady, I have no
idea what you're talking about.

But of course you do. I
followed her here last night.

If Ashley chose to
sit in on my auditions,

that is no reason to assume that we
are in league in some clandestine scheme.

Oh, now stop this fiddle-faddle. A
young man's future is in dire jeopardy...

because of your shenanigans,
and I won't allow it.

At the risk of repeating myself, I do
not know what you are talking about.

Peter.

- Give it up.
- Don't be a fool.

It's going to come out
now anyway, all of it.

Are you out of your mind?
Do you wanna go to jail?

Do you want to be
arrested for murder?

Yes, Mrs. Fletcher.

Peter and I have enjoyed
a perfect partnership.

He made enough money to
stage a modest comeback,

and I had my revenge
on Captain Caleb.

But murder?

You, of all people,
should realize I

couldn't possibly have
killed that detective.

Yes, of course.

What a pity Mr. Brill couldn't
have been in the room with us.

Then I could have
been your alibi too.

What a generous thought,

but you needn't
concern yourself with me.

At the time of that
detective's untimely demise,

I was seated at the parlor piano
delighting my fellow guests...

with dozens of melodic gems
from my incomparable repertoire.

Aunt Jess? You all right?

Just fine.

Hold it, mister!
Stay right there.

Now very slowly, I want
your hands over your head,

flat against the wood.

I know the drill, son.

My name is Roy Gunderson.

I'm chief of police
up in New Holvang.

My... My identification's
in my inside coat pocket.

Sorry, Chief.

Can't be too careful, you know?

What are you fellas doin'
here? Got an anonymous tip.

Said we'd find something
very interesting on this boat.

Hmm. Funny.

I got the same message.

You boys know anything
about sailin'? Sure, a little bit.

Well, lay on that winch,
and let's hoist this mainsail.

Turn the crank.

The victim's wife, Louise McCallum, arrived
at the Hudson Street Police Station...

shortly after 1:00 p.m. today,
accompanied by her attorney.

When asked if she was
under suspicion in her

husband's death, authorities
had no official comment.

Mrs. McCallum, could I ask you, why
would they ask you to come down here today?

Could I just get one
answer from you, ma'am?

Well, to recap, fast food mogul
Caleb McCallum is dead at 58,

fatally shot several
times in the chest.

I can't believe it. Why not?

The murderer was just
rectifying his earlier mistake.

It's so hard to imagine
Louise a murderer.

Oh. Chief. Mr. Giles.

Hope I'm not disturbin'...
Afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher.

Chief, why did they
arrest Louise McCallum?

Oh, they just brought her in for
questioning, ma'am. That's all.

To tell you the truth, we're kinda
back to the start line on this thing.

Except for the fact that
your nephew is off the hook.

Miss Vickers and
Mr. Brill have made full

statements about the
theft of the documents.

- But not about the murder.
- Jess, that detective was just
in the wrong place at the wrong time...

and wearing the wrong costume.

- Caleb's murder proves that.
- Sure does.

Anyway, the two of them
have alibis for both killings.

Seems that last night, Brill dragged the
lady over to some New Jersey nightclub...

to catch this singer's act.

Accordin' to the witnesses, they didn't
leave there till past 2:30 in the mornin'.

Coroner says McCallum
was dead by that time.

Well, the... New York City
Homicide has taken over this case.

So I'm headin' back home.

I just want to say, Mrs.
Fletcher, that I'm proud I met ya.

You can horn in on one
of my cases anytime.

Thanks, Chief. And
anytime you're in Maine,

you let me cook you
up some lobster stew.

I'll do that.

Jess.

That "anytime" business sounds
like you've decided something.

Yes, Preston. I-I'm going back.

I've got a... I've got a 4:30
reservation on the train.

Funny.

Despite the insanity that has
surrounded our brief acquaintance,

these days have been
very special to me.

You know, over the
past several years,

I've acquired every
luxury a man could want.

But I've been operating
on automatic pilot...

Automatic banking,
automatic security systems,

automatic lights, appliances.

I'm a pampered rich man
who does nothing for himself,

and I'm miserable.

Or, at least, I have been.

Preston, wait.

I do like you... a great deal.

But, uh... Oh, I'm sorry.

This is all moving just...

too fast for a widow
woman from Maine.

I can respect that.

Are you sure? Absolutely.

Look, Jess,

you and I are going to be joined at the
hip professionally for a long, long time.

If something else is destined to
come out of this relationship, so be it.

If not,

at least I'll have made
a very good friend.

They're talking about a movie
deal, but don't get your hopes up.

They usually fall through.
Oh, I certainly hope so.

After New York, I know
I'm not ready for Hollywood.

Well, the tape with Barbara
Walters is going to air on Friday.

Oh, and finally the New York Times book
reporter that's been assigned to you...

Um, a Chris Landon...
Will be calling you by phone.

Fine. Is that it?
Well, not quite.

There's a reporter from
the Yale newspaper...

that wants to get on with you in
New London and ride to Providence.

Oh! Be nice to him, Jessica.

Those Yalies are big fans
of yours. Oh, I adore them.

And I adore you too.
You're a dear, Kit.

Now, see that this nephew of
mine keeps out of trouble. Promise.

Are you sure you
have to go? Positive.

And I was so sure
you'd solve the mystery.

Well, I couldn't and
I didn't, and that's it.

It will have to remain unsolved,
at least by me. All aboard!

Well, Mrs. Fletcher, nice to
see you again. Hello, Daniel.

Are you sure you're
leaving this time? Absolutely.

Oh, and one other
thing, young man.

I want no surprise telegram
mentioning the word "elopement."

I expect the deed to
be done in my parlor.

Well, I guess you must
have had a fine visit.

Well, I could hardly
drag myself away.

Did your boy hear from the
university? Oh, yes, ma'am.

He starts next September 4. Oh.

You and your wife must be
so proud. Mm, that we are.

Excuse me, ma'am. Uh,
are you feeling all right?

- Yes. Why, don't I look well?
- Oh, yeah, you look just fine.

It's just that, uh... Well,
you seem a little out of sorts.

Well, it's funny, you
know. This past week or so,

I-I couldn't wait to get out of
this city, go back where I belong.

And now I'm... I'm not
exactly sure where that is.

Yes, ma'am.

Well, if, uh, you need
anything, you just let me know.

Thank you.

Daniel! Daniel.

Daniel! What happened?
What's the matter?

How do I get a train to
New Holvang? You have to

take the ramp to the north
end of the station. But...

Mrs. Fletcher, what
about your luggage?

Check it through to
Boston. I'll pick it up there.

Good night, Jane. Have a
pleasant evening. You, too, Mr. Giles.

Mr. Giles's office.

Yes. One moment, please.

It's some reporter from Yale
University. I think you better take it.

This is Preston Giles.
What can I do for you?

She wasn't? Well,
where'd she go?

New Holvang? Are you sure?

Well, thank you for calling.

Jane, this is what I need.

I want a charter plane waiting for me
at Teterboro ready to go when I arrive.

Yes, sir.

Excuse me. Do you
know 33 Amber Lane?

Big house... red brick,
iron gates. Sure, I know it.

Are you sure you
wanna go there? Oh, yes.

Oh, good evening, Deputy.
Nice to see you again.

Oh, yes, ma'am.

Hey, lady, you sure
you want this house?

Maybe nobody told ya, but we
had a murder here a few days ago.

Yes. I was here.

Oh, yeah?

You know, uh, I don't think
there's anybody here right now.

Well, I didn't expect
there would be.

I'm not sure how long I'll be
here. Would you please wait?

Aw, gee, lady, I don't know. It was the
end of the shift, and I was on my way home.

Well, naturally, I'll
make it worth your while.

Well... Aw, sure. I guess so.

For a few minutes
anyway. Thanks so much.

I can unlock that for you.

That is you, isn't it, Jess?

Yes, it's me. A
little hard to see.

I thought you were in New York.

You're supposed to be on your way
to Maine. What are you doing here?

Trying to tie up a loose end.

I didn't think you'd
go away happy.

- What is it? What have you figured out?
- I'm not sure.

It's almost 8:00.
What happens at 8:00?

Maybe nothing.

The house is dark.
Where's Davis?

I gave him a couple of days off.

Look, this is silly. I've paid
your cab driver and let him go.

Come on. Let's go
inside and have a drink.

Uh, not yet. What is it?
What are you trying to prove?

You know, Preston, you and I
are standing about 25 feet apart.

That's the same distance the killer was
from Sherlock Holmes when he was shot.

- I guess.
- The police believe that Mr. Baxendale
was shot by mistake,

that, in the darkness, the killer
thought he was firing at Captain Caleb.

But, at this distance, I
can see you perfectly.

That's because we're
standing in bright moonlight.

Jess, the night of the
party, it was overcast.

There was no moon. It
was pitch-dark out here.

The killer saw the costume and assumed
that McCallum was in that costume.

Automatic lights.

I'd hoped I was wrong.

They went on at 8:00.
When do they shut off?

Midnight, but what's the point?

The point is, the murder
occurred at 11:15.

The point is, the killer knew
exactly who his victim was.

Or, more specifically, Preston,

you knew you were
shooting that detective.

Jess, for God's sake,
you're not serious?

With this much light, there
couldn't have been a mistake.

Someone had reason
to kill Baxendale.

We know it wasn't Ashley
Vickers or Peter Brill.

No one at the party
knew he was around,

no one but you and
me and Kit and Grady.

Why, I can't believe
you're saying this.

Do you think I'm taking
any pleasure in it?

But why would I kill the
man? I didn't even know him.

Oh, I think you did. At least he
knew you. Don't you remember?

As he was leaving the bedroom, he
saw that brass figure of Blind Justice.

And he turned and he
said something very strange.

He knew that you were
the Count of Monte Cristo.

It was as if something
suddenly clicked into place.

Is that it? No,
of course it isn't.

There were lots of little things... things
that didn't mean anything at the time,

but now I understand.

In the cab, after you'd
retained the lawyer,

you promised that Grady would
be exonerated one way or the other.

- I was trying to comfort you.
- Oh, no.

I think you would have confessed if you
thought that Grady was in any real danger.

Jess, honestly.

No, you're not being
honest, Preston, not at all.

- The telephone call proved that.
- What telephone call?

A t the party, when you were on
the telephone when Ashley and

I walked into the kitchen and
I asked you who was calling.

Do you remember what you said?

A very persistent reporter
from the New York Times.

He insists on interviewing you
first thing Monday morning. Oh.

I told him you left for
Pago Pago and weren't

expected back till
the turn of the century.

The Times reporter
assigned to interview me...

was a young woman,
not a man, Preston.

It was Mr. Baxendale
on the phone, wasn't it?

Yes.

He insisted I meet him
by the pool at 11:00.

The subject was blackmail.

I couldn't go through that,
not after all these years.

I was in a blind rage. I
took a gun and shot him.

When I realized how easily
I could have been seen...

If anyone had been outside,
they could have heard the shot.

Many years ago, I was betrayed by
three partners in a business venture.

An apartment house
we built collapsed.

Several people were killed.

Although I had nothing to do with the
construction end, I was made the scapegoat.

They got off free, and I was
sentenced to 15 years in prison.

After two years, I
managed to escape.

Don't ask the details, but the
police assumed I died in the attempt.

Like the Count of Monte Cristo.

As you well know, my
favorite fictional character.

Well, not everyone was
convinced that I was dead.

A hotshot detective, third grade,
had a hunch that I was still alive.

He became even more positive
when, over the next couple of years...

Like the Count
of Monte Cristo...

I financially destroyed my three
ex-partners from a safe distance.

Saturday was the first time I'd seen him
in 22 years, and I didn't recognize him.

But, obviously,
he recognized me.

He'd changed his name, as I had,

but I knew that, if the police ever
started poking around his files,

sooner or later they'd
come across me.

Yes, the files.

That's why you dressed Baxendale
up in the Sherlock Holmes outfit...

To make the police think that
the killer had intended to kill Caleb.

You had to divert attention
away from Baxendale.

Yes.

He was a slimy blackmailer, Jess.
He threatened to destroy my life.

Morally, it was a
case of self-defense.

Preston, even if I could
bring myself to believe that,

there's no way that you can justify
the murdering of Caleb McCallum.

And you did kill him,
for the same reason...

To divert suspicion
from yourself.

- Caleb wasn't much
of a human being either.
- Oh, but he didn't deserve killing.

No one deserves killing.

Oh, Preston! I'm so angry! I don't
know whether to scream or cry.

All the way to the railway
station, I was thinking about you.

Twice, I nearly turned
around and came back.

Then when I realized...
When I read that newspaper...

I'm sorry, Jess. I truly am.

Another time, a different place,
we might have had something.

I'm going to talk to Gunderson.

Would you go with me?

Yes.

I'd like to very much.

Grady, I'm not coming back to this
city. Not next month. Not next year.

Hey, I know you're a
little upset. "Upset"?

These last seven days have been the
most miserable week of my entire life.

You really liked him, didn't
you? Yes, I really liked him.

Oh, Grady, if only I hadn't
been such a terrible busybody.

If only I could
have just let it be.

Great. Then I'd be on trial, not
Preston Giles. Well, I've had enough.

I've had enough murders,
enough puzzles, enough suspects.

You know, I don't even think
I'm gonna write another book.

Sure, you will, and I'll
be the first one to read it.

We'll see. Jessica! Wait!

Oh, thank God I caught
you. Kit, what's the matter?

Oh, the police, they've been
trying to find you all morning.

They won't say, but I think they
need your help. Help from me?

The bodies of two dead wrestlers were found
this morning at Madison Square Garden.

They were lying in
the middle of the ring.

One had been stabbed, and
the other drowned. Absolutely not.

They say there's a logical explanation,
but they really need your help.

Grady, tell her, dear.

Good-bye, children,
and don't forget to write.

It's been wonderful
being with you both.

Take care.

"Drowned"?