All language subtitles for MSW - S09E15 - The Petrified Florist

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.