Original subtitles

One thousand dollar bills? For flowers?

Well, this is Beverly Hills, Mrs. Fletcher.

There is...

Schlock gossip and quality gossip.

Damn it, Frances. You told me we had an absolute lock on this thing.

We've got a leak.

Your prints were on that envelope

because you were playing bagman for someone.

Well, now wait a minute, Betty.

I mean, I don't sell gossip.

Which puts you there at the time he was murdered.

My crime is one of vanity, not murder, Mrs. Fletcher.

There's a certain night nurse who can vouch for my whereabouts

and I can certainly vouch for hers.

Gossip, it seems that no one around here is immune to it.

Good-bye, J.B. Fletcher.

Kate, I told you,

if we don't have an exclusive on that Kevin and Whitney story,

I am not interested.

And, Phil, I want you to bury Marla and play up Frank.

And, George, this new piece on Robin, it's a good start, but

it needs a whole new take.

It's anal, it doesn't begin to show the pain,

the torment behind the comic mask.

I want you to pull out all the stops, the sex, the booze,

the compulsiveness, the whole deal.

Okay, I'm sorry.

Listen, I don't usually let my rookies do their own rewrites.

Thanks, but what about corroborations?

Our sources are really shaky.

Let my worry about that, okay?

Go, go.

And want it in my hand by 6:00 tonight.

Those low-rent schlockmeisters have done it again.

Damn it, Frances. You told me we had an absolute lock on this thing.

We did.

Well, what is this, the fourth time this month?

I want you to kill our story.

It's too late, unless you wanna burn two million copies.

She's in a meeting right now,

but if you'll kindly have a seat, Mrs. Fletcher, she'll be with you.

Thank you.

When I pay for an exclusive, I want it to stay that way.

And I want you to call a full staff meeting by noon tomorrow,

and I mean everybody.

Junie, I've told you, either our informants are playing both sides

or we've got a leak.

Well, either way, darling, I am not laying out top dollar

for Mert Mondello and his sleaze-machine

to make us look foolish.

Jessica. How are you?

Frances, it's lovely to see you.

And you. I'm sorry I didn't meet your plane,

but, as you can see, things are pretty hectic here.

How was your flight?

Uneventful. The best kind,

and your driver met me with the most beautiful flowers.

I felt just like a movie star.

Oh, you are a sight for sore eyes,

and I do mean sore. The smog today is horrendous.

Come with me while I pop my lenses.

The price one pays for vanity.

So, when Junie Cobb offered me this job,

it took me ten seconds to decide that my novel

would have wait while I got my bills paid.

Mrs. Fletcher? Gabriel Caceras, Beverly Hills P.D.

You helped me out on a murder case, remember?

Oh, yes, of course, that was about three years ago.

Lieutenant Caceras, this is my friend, Frances Hunt.

How do you... Nice to meet you.

Now let me see, you were about to get married.

I tied the knot two years ago. She's a dream.

Oh, how nice. I'm delighted to meet you.

Oh, her?

No, she's business. Look, we've got to run. Give me a call, huh?

I have a pretty full schedule this trip. Maybe next time.

Okay. Don't forget.

I won't.

Excuse me.

Hello? Ah, yes, Betty.

Call Rodeo Caterers and have them send over four more servings

just to play it safe. Right. Thanks, Betty.

Okay. Let's go.

Thanks.

Two weeks ago, I invited my boss and her husband

to a quiet little dinner for your first night in town.

It's now up to ten, more or less, and still counting.

Well, at least I'll know I'm not in Cabot Cove.

It's so sweet of you to have me stay with you.

Are you kidding? After all the times I've camped at your place!

Where have you been?

You're supposed to use the side door.

Oh, I'm... I'm sorry, I got kind of confused.

Well, as long as you're here, bring it in.

Thank you.

Wait a second, where's the wine?

Wine? Oh, no, these are pages

for, uh, "A" List. I'm one of Ms. Hunt's writers.

You?

Oh, my God, I am so embarrassed.

Don't be. I just started.

I can believe that.

Who was at the door?

George, you're a dear.

George,

what are you doing for dinner tonight?

I... Nothing.

Gosh, my mom will flip out

when I tell her that I'm a last minute dinner party replacement

for her favorite soap opera star.

After only three weeks in Hollywood,

I think he's doing very well, don't you, Mr. Hendricks?

Mmm.

Hello, Stan, Mrs. Fletcher.

Malibu, right?

You're the young man that Wolfgang hired to do

all those great things with a shitake mushroom.

No, Mrs. Cobb. I work for Ms. Hunt at the magazine.

Oh, God, Arnett, someone who doesn't call you by their first name

ten seconds after they meet you. We should bottle him.

Canapes anyone? Yes, thank you.

Betty, darling.

You always seem to know about everything.

Who is that gorgeous man over there?

Talking to the woman in the unfortunate dress.

Gee, Mrs. Cobb, I thought everyone knew him.

That's Dr. Johnny Windhurst, plastic surgeon to the stars.

And I mean stars. He does them all.

Barbara, Sally, Richard.

Isn't she a treasure, Mrs. Fletcher?

And I told her when she started "A" List.

I said, Junie, there is...

Schlock gossip and quality gossip.

And if you don't want Arnett's money to go straight down the tubes,

you've gotta pay top dollar for your information.

Exactly.

I mean, that's the only way you can compete with Starscene

and those supermarket tabloids,

and avoid the lawsuits.

I mean, you have got to spend it to make it. That's what I told her.

Aggie, she's been doing just that,

but lately it's like Starscene knows what we're covering before we do.

I can't believe they're in a position to outbid us.

Ah!

Oh, Aggie, thank you so much for referring Carol to me.

A couple of tucks, a nip or two near the hairline,

she'll be even more irresistible than she is now.

As if that were possible.

Unless of course you could make her look like Michelle.

Well, I hope Mr. Mondello's Starscene crashes and burns,

and I hate to talk business, Mrs. Fletcher,

but what happened to our elusive football player?

Davey Wells? We have two corroborations,

but our lawyer says we need a third.

Listen to them, J.J.

Print it. I'll take my chances.

Your work absolutely fascinates me.

Well, thank you, Doctor. Yours fascinates me.

Oh, so, as this guy is climbing into his Rolls-Royce,

I tell him the house is his for 4.8 million,

and he says all he can come up with is $3,000 down.

Mrs. Fletcher, tell me the truth.

Where do you get all those stories?

Well, it's a bit complicated, Mr. Cobb.

I mean those suspects and plots,

surely you can't make all of them up.

Oh, of course not.

I mean, sometimes they're variations on real crimes.

For instance, I'm in town to research a murder

that took place 65 years ago.

It's always fascinated me.

I'll give it to her myself, all right?

Frances, darling, to you and your guest,

my profound apologies.

Oh, Billy, you've outdone yourself.

Oh, they are lovely. They're just simply gorgeous.

Nobody but nobody does flowers like Billy Kyle.

And he's only three hours late.

Don't ask me about today.

Both delivery trucks broke down, my refrigerator died,

and just as soon as I finished your piece, my assistant quit.

Just walked off into the sunset,

and I still have hours of work to do back at the store.

Oh, and there's no charge, of course.

In that case, I may forgive you.

Sunday 10:00 a.m., Billy.

Count on it, Mrs. Cobb.

Have you been to his new shop?

No, I haven't, but I hear it's wonderful.

Okay, Mrs. Fletcher. Now suppose...

Nobody does flowers like Billy Kyle.

George, give Jessica a break.

She's got to be terminally jet lagged.

Three thousand dollars down.

Now, tell me the truth.

Where do you get all those stories?

Surely you can't make all of them up.

Plastic surgeon to the stars.

Oh, forgive me.

I guess it is getting to me after all.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, you have my sympathy.

It's after midnight, Cabot Cove time.

Good night, everyone.

Good night, Jess...

Mrs. Fletcher? On behalf of my beat, welcome.

Lieutenant, what's wrong?

What else? Homicide. The proprietor.

Billy Kyle?

You knew him?

Well, no, not really,

but, Lieutenant, I may have been

one of the last people to see him alive.

When the delivery kid opened this morning,

he found Billy Kyle's body.

Here you go. Yeah, thanks.

Stabbed with these shears. They are probably his own.

Blood traces.

It's likely they were lying out there on the counter, you know.

Weapon of opportunity.

Yeah. You know, it looks as if the victim

surprised the perp in the middle of a burglary.

I mean, the kid found the cash drawer open, empty.

What time did you see the victim?

About 10:00 p.m.

What do we got here?

Boy, you don't see many of these around.

5,000.

See, professional thieves know to look under

the drawer for the larger denominations.

What am I saying? Most shoppers know

the big bucks go below.

But one thousand dollar bills? For flowers?

Well, this is Beverly Hills, Mrs. Fletcher.

I mean, it could've been for a function or married man,

cash, a standing order.

I mean, the price of long-stemmed roses these days,

those bucks wouldn't go all that far.

If someone had broken in here

and was surprised by Mr. Kyle,

I wonder why his burglar alarm didn't go off?

Oh, no, we checked with Rexford.

The alarm works.

Oh, and one of their guards drove past

and saw the victim working here.

It was around midnight.

Do you get the feeling that he must've known his assailant?

His assistant?

Well, Mr. Kyle said that he'd quit.

That he "walked off into the sunset" was the way he put it.

Hey, maybe the man returns later,

Billy lets him in and they quarrel.

Or the guy still has his key,

and comes back to collect some midnight severance pay.

Billy catches him...

I'll get his name from the clerk.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, the other guests at the dinner party,

how's your memory for names?

Billy Kyle? Ah, I can't stand it!

I don't know what I'll do without him.

My party on Sunday,

it's going to be an absolute disaster.

Okay, besides his broken delivery vans

and his non-functioning refrigerator

and his assistant taking a hike,

did Mr. Kyle indicate any other problems?

I mean, you know, something more serious?

To Billy, everything was serious.

Would you mind expanding on that?

You had to know Billy, Lieutenant, he lived from crisis to crisis.

If it wasn't brown spots on his orchids,

he was being horrified by some new facial wrinkle

or having the worst hair day of his life.

Ah-ha. Okay.

And you were at home with your husband

between midnight and 3:00 a.m.? Is that right?

Arnett and I went directly home after Frances' party.

Around 11:30, 11:15, wasn't it?

Yes, about then.

Okay, Ms. Hunt,

according to Mrs. Fletcher, she was occupying the bedroom next to yours.

Yes.

She was asleep when I went to bed,

about ten minutes after the guests left.

Which would put it around 11:30?

Yes.

But I doubt she heard me, she was really out of it.

So she said. Okay.

Mr. Erwin, your turn.

Uh, till about, oh, 12:05, I was in my car,

driving. I live down in Venice.

And then, after that I was in bed, asleep.

By yourself?

Yes, sir.

Well, so far there isn't an air-tight alibi in the whole lot of you.

Except for that realtor, Stan Hendricks,

he was showing a fixer-upper in Benedict Canyon.

From midnight to 3:00?

Not only that, he made the sale.

So, how's the research going?

Oh, it's fascinating.

This silent movie director was murdered

almost 65 years ago,

and suddenly all sorts of secrets are coming to light,

blackmail, cultism.

I may have enough material for two books.

Jessica, Lieutenant Caceras seems to confide in you.

Well, I worked with him on a case once,

and he's a very capable individual.

Has he told you anything more about Billy's death?

Only that his department finally caught up with Mr. Kyle's assistant,

the one who quit so abruptly last evening.

Then he's the killer?

No, no, he walked out at 6:00,

and was on a flight to Seattle by 9:00.

He has an air-tight, airborne alibi.

Oh, excuse me.

Hello?

Oh, yes, Kate, read me the copy.

So, the Senator was seen having dinner with Marla, well...

You're sure they went up to his suite afterwards?

They ordered champagne up to the room at 3:00 a.m.

She was seen leaving in his limo around 6:00 a.m.

The waiter, housekeeping and the valet all support the story?

Good, I like it, it's perfect.

Run it with a big picture of the Senator.

The one where he's leering. Right.

You'd think there was some law on the books

requiring legislators to cheat on their wives.

You're thinking, where's the law that says

that I have to expose the Senator.

Frances, you're the last person I ever expected

to find riding around in a stretch limo

equipped with a telephone and a fax.

It's called success.

The fast lane, fast money.

I don't mind the long hours and the deadlines,

and sometimes shedding light on some superstar

or media type isn't the worst thing in the world.

I've promised myself that after I've put aside enough money,

I will go back to writing my novels.

I hope you do, Frances.

You have a great deal of talent.

Star maps!

Maps to the stars' homes, right here.

It appears that Mr. Kyle inadvertently left it

at Frances Hunt's house the night of the murder.

Yeah, but these initials and notations,

they make any sense to you?

Well, I asked Frances, and she suggested that

they could be the initials of some of the celebrities

reported on the "A" List Magazine.

For instance?

Well, she mentioned that DW might be a Davey Wells.

What, the whiz kid quarterback?

Geez! You know, L.A. would be in contention

for the playoffs if he was healthy.

For months now, they've been claiming

he's got this mild aggravation of an old injury. Ah, who knows?

But you know, now these seem to be street names or locations.

"Davey Wells, Fairgate Clinic."

But these dollar amounts.

I know, they're far too small

to buy even a bunch of baby's breath in Mr. Kyle's shop.

So, where do we go with this?

Well, it occurred to me that with all of Mr. Kyle's access to the people

covered by the gossip magazines,

he may have been one of their suppliers,

a paid informant.

Okay, but, I mean, $5, $7?

Lieutenant, you know how big-time gamblers sometimes refer to, say,

$5,000 as $5.

Hey, you know, why not?

I mean, it'd sure explain away those thousand dollar bills,

not to mention giving us a dandy motive for murder.

Billy Kyle digs into dirt somebody doesn't want uncovered,

somebody like, uh, Mr. Wells, or...

Can you believe I've got one of these things?

Caceras.

Yeah.

Got it.

Right. Let the captain know. Bye.

Thanks, Doyle.

That was the lab.

They just ID'd the only unsmudged prints on that envelope we found,

the one with the big bills in it.

They belong to George Erwin.

That nice young man?

The one without an alibi.

Do you know as a teenager he spent some time in Juvenile Hall.

Lieutenant, I never even met Mr. Kyle before Ms. Hunt's party.

I mean, I'm pretty new around here.

He's telling the truth, Lieutenant.

Now can we go to dinner?

When you got a whiff of the kind of clientele Mr. Kyle handled,

you figured he kept big bucks in his store...

Lieutenant Caceras, I swear... so you stab him,

rifle his cash drawer...

Lieutenant, why would he pick up an envelope with

all the money in it, and then leave it behind?

Any number of reasons, Miss O'Hara.

I mean, somebody walks past the store, he panics,

it's not like he's the most competent thief in town.

The last time he tried it, that we know of,

he got caught before he got out of the store.

George?

There is one other possibility, Mr. Erwin,

one that your friend, Mrs. Fletcher, suggested.

Your prints were on that envelope

because you were playing bagman for someone.

He was delivering payoffs?

I'm beginning to think Mrs. Fletcher is even smarter

than I thought she was.

Wanna tell me about it, Mr. Erwin?

Or would you rather I take you downtown and book you?

I just go to Accounting and, um, pick up those envelopes

after the payments have already been authorized.

By whom?

Do I have to?

With that juvenile record, I was having a pretty tough time getting hired

until one of the executives spoke up on my behalf.

Who is it, George?

Oh, Johnny, it's Betty's night off and I didn't do anything about dinner.

Let's keep it that way.

Ms. Hunt, I'd like to talk to you.

Oh, come on, Lieutenant, can't this wait till morning?

I'm afraid not.

New evidence has come up, Ms. Hunt,

and inconvenient as it may be,

I'd like you to accompany me downtown to make a formal statement.

But I've told you everything I know, little as it is.

I'm sure you'd rather come voluntarily.

The alternative being arrest, I suppose?

Shall we go then, Ms. Hunt?

Oh, my God.

I didn't kill anybody, really, I didn't.

So, you reviewed your sworn statement, Ms. Hunt?

And there's nothing you wish to change. Is that correct?

No, nothing.

You misspelled Windhurst. There's a "D" in it.

Oh, well... May I go now?

Just bear with me a minute.

Let's see, the last of your guests, the caterers,

and your housekeeper, Betty O'Hara,

they all left your dinner party by 11:30?

Yes, except for Jessica Fletcher, who was asleep.

I turned in about 12:00.

You remained in the house for the rest of the night?

Yes.

Okay, um, there is...

Oh, thanks, Brandon.

So you're saying, under oath, that I can't place you

at Billy Kyle's shop between midnight and 3:00 a.m.?

No, Lieutenant, you can't.

Please don't look at me like that.

You're lying.

We found this self-service gas station receipt

on the floor of your car,

a station one block from Billy Kyle's place.

The print-out shows you gassed up

at 1:35 a.m. that morning,

which puts you there at the time he was murdered.

People have gone to the gas chamber for far less than that, Ms. Hunt.

Oh, good Lord.

Very well.

That part is true. I did see Billy.

But I didn't murder him.

What, is this a habit of yours?

Rendezvousing with your florist at 1:35 in the morning?

Oh, now you're making it sound sordid.

Certain payments went to Billy on a regular basis,

tips that were developed into features for the magazine.

I was behind $5,000, and he was getting nasty about it,

so when he said he was working late and alone,

I thought this would be a good opportunity.

Before George Erwin left the party,

I got the envelope back from him.

So, why didn't you tell me all this in the first place?

Lieutenant, my job is a lot like being a spy.

People reveal things,

secrets to my informants.

Things they would never say if they knew that I were the final recipient.

I paid Billy.

I left him alive.

On my oath, that is the truth.

Your oath has proved unserviceable, Ms. Hunt.

I'm gonna have to hold you on investigation of murder.

George, it's just not your fault.

Betty's right.

I mean, the truth about Billy Kyle and the payments,

and Frances' visit to his shop.

It all would've come out whether or not you said a word.

She has just been such a good friend to me.

Do you think she did it, Mrs. Fletcher?

Of course, she doesn't.

Well, I'm tempted to say that Frances isn't the type,

but I've seen too many exceptions.

And when it's a friend, it's sometimes difficult

to separate what you want to believe

from the reality of the situation.

But what this really is all about is motive.

And I'm just not convinced that Lieutenant Caceras' theory is valid.

A crime of passion towards a jerk like Billy?

Mild aggravation, maybe.

Yeah, well, I'd better get over to the office.

Well, are you sure you're okay?

Yeah, I am. Mrs. Fletcher, Betty...

Thanks a lot, I really appreciate your...

George, I wonder if I could ask you to give me a lift?

Of course, come on, Mrs. Fletcher.

Thank you, Betty.

See you tonight?

Absolutely.

Excuse me, I wonder if you could help me.

Would you be kind enough to tell me where Davey Wells' room is?

Aren't you a little mature for this kind of thing, hon?

I beg your pardon?

All the locker room groupies in town have been in here.

They've tried every trick in the book

to try to get to see "Golden Arm" Davey.

Excuse me, hon.

Fairgate Clinic, Nurse Tickel.

Okay.

Hi there.

Some autographs for the floor nurses,

a couple for yourself and the other volunteers.

Oh, how lovely! The ladies will be thrilled.

I read about you this morning in the newspaper.

Are you really "hanging them up," like it said?

Well, after nine years of three hundred pound linemen eyeing

you like dinner, throwing two torn rotator cuffs

and three knee operations, yep,

I'm ready. It's my last year.

Oh, those must have been lovely.

From Billy Kyle's shop, I see.

What makes a week old Billy Kyle basket

more important than the others?

He was murdered the other night.

As I'm quite sure you are aware.

Look, lady, I don't know who the hell you are, but you're no volunteer.

Actually, no, I'm a writer. My name is J.B. Fletcher.

Oh, you're with "A" List, aren't you?

Didn't anybody tell you I'm...

suing that rag for what they wrote about me?

Oh, yes, I did read it in the paper,

but, no, I am not with "A" List.

And thirdly, a very dear friend of mine

is being held for the murder of Billy Kyle.

Unjustly, I suggest.

Your leg. No cast, no crutch, Mr. Wells?

I told you, I'm through.

Next time one of those gorillas blindsides me, it could be my last.

Six years now I've playing in pain,

and lots of it. Do they care?

Under my contract, team says if it ain't broke,

shoot it full of novocaine and play ball.

Well, there's a middle ground,

a place where they can't get me,

and I've found it here at Fairgate.

I take it the clinic goes along with your charade?

Ain't cheap.

But not unaffordable.

A young friend of mine explained to me

that as long as you're merely on the injured list,

you're paid for the balance of the year.

I also read about you

and a possible $7 million TV announcer contract?

Look, lady, what is this you want?

You think I murdered Kyle because he sold me out to "A" List?

It might have crossed your mind to get even with him.

Maybe it did. But let me ask you,

if I'm found running around at night bumping off florists,

wouldn't I lose both contracts?

Besides, there's a certain night nurse who can vouch for my whereabouts.

And I can certainly vouch for hers.

Dr. Windhurst?

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher. I'll visit the patient in the recovery room.

Do you have patients here, Dr. Windhurst?

I operate here.

See, I feel that high-profile clients

should be allowed to have their profiles

retooled in private.

Of course, you've heard about Frances?

Oh, yes.

I happen to know she's a very passionate woman,

but I never believed her capable of murder.

Ah, sorry, playing my song. Excuse me.

A regular Doctor Pygmalion.

He works his way through all the new nurses in the building

and most of his lady patients, too, if they qualify.

Which means if they've got a pulse.

Excuse me, hon.

Third floor.

Yes, I'll get the message to Dr. Windhurst.

Yes, hon.

Oh, you'd like an appointment?

May I ask if this is a referral?

J.J.? Just say J.J.?

Very well.

Frances is one of my oldest and closest friends, Mrs. Fletcher.

I'd do anything to help her.

I'm glad to hear you say that, Mrs. Cobb.

You see, Frances has trapped herself in needless lies,

and to help her out of her trouble,

I think that we all need to pay scrupulous attention to the truth.

I'm not sure I see your point.

Well, at Frances' dinner party,

I recall your greeting Dr. Windhurst as if you'd never met.

But at the Fairgate Clinic just a little while ago,

I happened to hear a prospective patient of his

give your name as a referral,

or rather your initials.

I remembered that your husband called you J.J.

at Frances' party.

Well, why would I recommend a doctor I barely heard of?

Everybody seems to be avoiding the truth about something,

Frances, George, now you and Dr. Windhurst.

I mean, none of this is helpful to Frances.

Mrs. Fletcher, I'm a product of where, and how I live.

Dr. Windhurst's magic touch has made me look younger.

That, and my workouts with Eduardo.

I don't choose to look my age, whatever the damn number,

and it's my business that I don't share

with every stranger and subordinate at a dinner party

my familiarity with the best cosmetic surgeon in Beverly Hills

And I compliment Doctor Windhurst on his discretion that night.

My crime is one of vanity, not murder, Mrs. Fletcher.

You're looking in the wrong place.

I'm beginning to realize that.

Tell me, the other day, you and Frances seemed quite upset

because you'd been scooped by a competing magazine.

We have a leak.

Starscene has turned me into a harridan

and Frances into a nervous wreck.

I think the poor darling chewed through her glasses the other night.

Does Starscene publish in L.A.?

You'll find them in the Yellow Pages, under "R" for "rock."

Just look under the nearest one.

You're Betty O'Hara!

What are you doing here, Mrs. Fletcher?

So you were behind "A" List being scooped by Starscene?

The Irish Mata Hari, that's me.

Listen, Mrs. Fletcher, making ends meet in L.A. is no day at the beach.

Starscene found out from my employment agency that I'm Frances' housekeeper

and that I moonlight for Mrs. Cobb.

They pay me to brief them on "A" List's stories.

Ah-ha. So, picking up phone messages,

listening to idle chit-chat at the dinner table...

You got it.

My little five bills a week saves Starscene a major bundle.

And it really isn't costing "A" List,

I mean, since I started, their circulation's gone up.

Hey, in the circles you travel,

the inside stuff you've got must bring in thousands.

Oh, now, wait a minute, Betty.

I mean, I don't sell gossip.

Hey, come on. You were at their offices, weren't you?

Really, your secret is safe with me, don't worry.

Betty, is it possible that Starscene

had the same arrangement with Billy Kyle?

Similar to the one he had with the "A" List?

Sort of like a double agent?

Maybe.

I don't believe that they'd kill Billy to end it,

if that's what you're thinking.

And if you are wondering if I had an axe to grind,

Billy and I were kindred souls, not mortal enemies.

I'm going to pick up George at "A" List.

We're going to dinner. Can I give you a lift?

Well, would the Beverly Hills Police Department be out of your way?

Hey, if I happen to see them book some

big movie star on a DUI, it'll pay for the gas.

Hop in.

Oh, hi, Mrs. Fletcher.

The Lieutenant has told me about you, Mrs. Caceras.

Oh, no, no. Wrong again, Mrs. Fletcher.

This here is Sergeant Daisy Kenny, undercover squad.

Yeah, she's just teaching me a move

she's found very effective with muggers.

Oh, that's very impressive.

You know, you look very familiar to me, have we ever met before?

Maybe on Moments of Our Years? I did a walk-on.

She's also an aspiring actress.

Yes, and I'm gonna be doing The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie

in a workshop this weekend, and I play the lead.

See? The spinsterish school teacher.

The glasses.

Acting is really what undercover work is all about,

isn't it, Sergeant?

I think I have another part for you.

Uh-oh. This is deja vu, Mrs. Fletcher.

You're pushing all the old buttons now.

You're onto something, right?

Are you willing to try a long shot, Lieutenant?

That depends.

There are apartments across the street from Billy Kyle's flower shop.

Now, suppose an occupant of one of them

was at her window on the night that Billy was murdered.

She'd have seen the killer come and go.

We checked those apartments. Nobody saw anything.

Wait a minute, you mean...

How do you want me to play it, Mrs. Fletcher?

I can do sexy, haughty, virginal, nervous...

Hold it, hold it, hold it, hold it.

How do we get the word out?

Gossip, Lieutenant.

It seems no one around here is immune to it,

and there's a certain young lady that I know who's definitely contagious.

May I use your phone?

Hunt residence.

Betty, this is Jessica Fletcher.

Listen, you were kind enough to give me a lift this afternoon,

so this is my way of returning the favor.

I've run across an item that I think you'll be interested in.

Only this one will be worth considerable more to "A" List than to Starscene.

Go on, Mrs. Fletcher.

What is it, Betty?

Junie, I have a great piece of gossip for "A" List Magazine.

I'm all ears.

I got it from a spy that I have in the Beverly Hills Police Department.

They've located an eyewitness

who read about Billy Kyle's murder in the paper

and has come forward.

It was a maid working late

in an apartment across the street from the florist.

She's ready to look at a lineup.

And you have her name and address?

Uh-huh.

Yes.

Miss Kenny? Yes?

I understand you witnessed something that occurred

across the street three nights ago, and...

The police swore they would keep my name out of this.

No, no, no. Now, Miss Kenny, I'm not here to harm you.

We have precious little time. Now, look.

That's $250,000, and it's all yours

if you'll just disappear.

There's a flight to Rio at 10:00.

We can just get you on it.

My word, you certainly know how to pull a girl's chain.

That's ten years' salary.

Okay, you won't even have to pack.

We'll get whatever you need at the airport.

It has to be now, Miss Kenny.

Just let me get my bag.

Oh, here, let me give you a hand.

Maybe you better do some explaining, Miss Kenny.

Let me do it for her, Mr. Cobb. Put the gun down, please.

Sergeant.

All right.

I killed Billy Kyle.

Mr. Cobb, bribing this policewoman is one thing,

but killing Mr. Kyle?

Why don't you tell the Lieutenant

what you do know about the events that night?

Junie and I went to bed at midnight. I...

I woke up around 1:30 and I...

Stop right there, Arnett... Junie.

And stop picking up on other people's phone calls.

And for heaven's sake, zip your lip before you get us both

indicted for a murder neither of us committed.

A clever ruse, Lieutenant, luring me here on the pretext of a news story.

If I had to guess, I'd credit the idea

to Mrs. Fletcher's fertile imagination.

Arnett is here

because he believes I may have killed Billy Kyle.

A natural assumption, since we went to bed at midnight, as he said,

and when he woke up around 1:30,

I wasn't in the bed or in the house.

Naturally he worried, until I returned safely at 2:00.

I was restless, I went for a walk.

Then next morning, the radio said that Mr. Kyle was murdered, so...

Before we knew it, Lieutenant Caceras was asking questions.

It was all a little unsettling,

a little too close to home, wasn't it?

So, if you folks will excuse us,

I think Arnett and I will wend our way home.

And, darling, if you're committed to

throwing that quarter of a million dollars around,

I would love to redecorate the house.

Just a minute, Mrs. Cobb. I'm not sure I have all the pieces,

but I do think that you killed Billy Kyle.

Re-writing the last act, are we, Mrs. Fletcher?

When you told me that Frances was so upset she chewed her glasses,

it made sense because I'd seen her do it, too.

Then I remembered she told me she only wore her glasses in private,

never at the office, nor, as I recalled, at her dinner party.

The only other time that you could have seen her wear them was

after you'd left the party,

later that night, across the street in Billy Kyle's shop.

Look, I've heard enough of this.

As much as it pains me to say so,

Frances went to Billy's shop, he buzzed her in, and she killed him.

Let's go, Arnett.

No, Junie.

Go on, Mrs. Fletcher.

At Frances' dinner party, you indicated that

you'd never been in Billy Kyle's shop,

and yet you just said that Billy must have buzzed Frances in.

Now that wasn't the case, was it, Lieutenant Caceras?

No way.

Ms. Hunt said that when she got to the shop the door was unlocked.

But when the delivery boy arrived the next morning, the doors were locked.

It had to have been after Frances left,

and Billy locked his doors, that anybody had to be buzzed in.

And that anybody was you, Mrs. Cobb.

That's how you knew about the buzzer system.

Lieutenant?

Where'd you find it?

In a trash bin behind their house.

Is that your raincoat, Mrs. Cobb?

If these blood stains match Billy's...

Why, Junie?

You were in Africa for three months last year,

just enough time for me to go see the fabled John Windhurst

for a few adjustments.

How can I expect you to understand, Arnett?

John was so handsome, so available.

He made the years vanish, from my face and from my heart.

I sent him flowers through Billy Kyle.

Billy put two and two together,

had some paparazzi chums take pictures of John and me

in the doctor's bedroom.

And you were afraid those pictures would destroy your marriage,

and Mr. Cobb would withdraw his support for "A" List.

I saw my life in ruins.

Billy wanted $50,000 for the negatives.

The night of Frances' party was the night I'd agreed to pay him for them,

unaware that Frances would also be in the shop.

And that's where you saw Frances chewing her glasses.

I saw Frances give him one of our envelopes.

I assumed she was paying for a story.

When she left, I rang the bell and he let me in.

Mrs. Cobb, what a pleasant surprise.

I can't get you $50,000 in cash without my husband's signature.

I was able to raise ten, for now.

What is this?

One call to Mondello over at Starscene,

and I can get double what I'm asking from you.

Billy, give me some time.

Oh, shame a classy operation like "A" List

has to go into the toilet,

and a fortune hunter like you has to lose a rich husband.

But it is tough all over.

I can get you some small amounts from petty cash

for tips on stories. Even if you don't have the stories, you understand?

Get outta here. Shop's closed, Mrs. Cobb,

and I've gotta make a phone call.

Hello. Yeah, I know you're closed.

Patch me through to Mert Mondello at home...

Yeah, I know how late it is.

So, that's the way it was.

Darling, nothing would've spoiled my love for you.

I... I would have understood, forgiven.

Do me a favor, Arnett. Don't always be such a old fool.

Junie Cobb, I'm arresting you for the murder of William Kyle.

You have the right to remain silent...

You're not arresting anyone, Lieutenant.

It would have worked if you hadn't stuck your nose in it.

Good-bye, J.B. Fletcher.

I'm sorry, Frances, that was very clumsy of me.

Don't worry about it, Betty.

Oh, Jessica, you look like you were a million miles away.

I guess the jet lag is getting to me after all.

And to answer your question, George,

I'd have to say that most of my mysteries are built around

people and events that I encounter every day.

I mean, events like this dinner, for instance.

Ah, there it is. My receipt book.

Sorry to bother you again.

Now tell us, Mrs. Fletcher, where do your characters come from?

J.J., if you'd listen, Mrs. Fletcher said

she draws them from people she meets every day.

Come on now, Jessica, in your next book, make my wife a killer.

I think I just did.

Good.