All language subtitles for Riverdale s07e10 American Graffiti.eng

How can I help, Sheriff?

We're trying to get ahold
of Rayberry's family, if he had one.

Was there any next of kin
that you know of?

Shucks. I don't...

Actually,
he might've had a wife.

Do you know her name?
Or where she lived?

No, no.
He was pretty tight-lipped about his marriage.

He only mentioned it
in passing.

-Mm...
-But maybe he filled out some forms at Pep Comics.

I could check with them.

Well, I'd appreciate it.
And let me know if anything turns up.

It's important that we put
this sorry mess behind us as soon as possible.

You're dreamin', Reg.

Uncle Frank,
will you tell Reggie

that Marilyn Monroe
is much sexier than Elizabeth Taylor?

That no one on the planet
is sexier than Marilyn Monroe.

Sophia Loren. Brigitte Bardot.
Eartha Kitt.

And yes, in my humble opinion,
Elizabeth Taylor.

Told you so.

What the frig?

You guys are itchin'
for a switchin'.

I got a call from
Principal Featherhead last night, Archie.

Tells me
your grade point average is back up. B-plus.

Like we agreed.

Yeah? So does that mean
I get back--

She's waiting for you
in the garage.

It's all right. I'll clean up.

Wowza. That is the most
beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I didn't know you had
a hot rod.

I didn't know you liked cars.

I've always wanted one
of my own. Just could never afford it.

Well, neither could I.

You shoulda seen this baby
when we found her at the dump.

She was a real junker.

My dad and I
rebuilt her together.

-Must have taken months.
-Try years.

We finished it
before he went off to the war.

Sounds like you
and your old man were real tight.

We were best friends.

Taught me everything I know
about cars.

And girls, I bet.

Is this a straight six?

V8 with headers.
Louder and faster.

What's the transmission?

-Three-speed automatic.
-Okay.

Most important question.

Can she lay rubber?

Now that I got my grades up,
why don't we play hooky and I'll show you?

Dead, huh?

Ain't that a kick in the teeth.

You writers. You all have
your secret demons, don't you?

It's a shame. Talented guy.

Say, you wouldn't

happen to know anything
about Mr. Rayberry having a wife, would you?

No. Just that he wanted us
to send half his salary

to a small town
in South Carolina.

Maybe she lives down there.

Do you have a name
or an address?

No, just a post office box.

I'll have Bernie get it
for you.

Thank you, Mr. Fieldstone.

You bet.

Dead.

The thing I love so much
about what Ralph Ellison did with Invisible Man

is that he took the broad idea
of existentialism

and applied it specifically
to the Black American experience.

Well, what struck me most
was the novel's style.

It was almost like jazz.
Very improvisational.

No shock there.
Ellison was a jazz drummer before he became a writer.

Clearly it influenced his work.

That said,
some of his literary criticisms rub me the wrong way.

For instance,
I love Zora Neale Hurston's

Their Eyes
Were Watching God,

but he called it a "blight
of calculated burlesque."

I mean, I can't help
but think that's partly

because it was written
about a woman and by a woman.

See, I liked Hurston's book,

but I do see
Ellison's concern, though.

She's writing us as caricatures
for a white audience.

Parts of Invisible Man
really spoke to me,

but he was just so angry
and tortured all the time.

Ellison's speaking
to the larger truth of our existence.

It's not a book about
day-to-day life.

It's about what it feels like,

in the scope
of our human experience,

to walk around in our skin.

Well, I, for one, am really
digging this conversation.

So, to touch
on what Tabitha said,

what were our thoughts on
Their Eyes Were Watching God?

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Hey.

How's my baby and our baby?

Better now that Riverdale's
heppest budding rock star is here.

I actually got some news.

I booked a gig in Centerville.

I'm not headlining.
Ritchie Valens is.

But I did find out
that there's going to be some music producers there

that are gonna be
scouting for talent.

Fangs, that's fantabulous!

Where and when,
so I can put it in my book?

Oh, actually, Midge,
you can't come.

Huh?

The show's in the rough part
of Centerville.

Heaven forbid something bad
were to happen.

-Like a rumble breaks out
and you get hurt. -Oh...

Plus, what if
your parents find out that you're road tripping out

to the boonies to see
your deadbeat boyfriend play rock 'n' roll?

I gotta be a rich
and famous musician by the next time I see 'em,

or they'll never jive
with us getting circled.

But they will, okay?

Go get to class.

Okay, so get this.

According to Mr. Fieldstone,
Mr. Rayberry had half of his paycheck

sent to a PO box
in South Carolina.

That's not something a man
who's planning to kill himself does.

Exactly.
Despite what Sheriff Keller seems to believe.

Honest to gosh, Tabitha,

I'm half-tempted to just
sneak into Mr. Rayberry's apartment.

Just to try and figure out
who that PO box belongs to.

His wife, hopefully,
but also to see if I can find some evidence.

What kind of evidence?

That he didn't kill himself.

That he was the victim
of foul play.

Would you maybe want
some company for that?

With all due respect
to James Dean,

what if you had to choose
between, say, Marlon Brando or Paul Newman?

To marry? Paul Newman.

But if we're talking about
just spending one wild, reckless night together?

Marlon Brando.

Betty Cooper, you naughty girl!

By the way,
I've been meaning to ask you.

Are you using a new cold cream?

Because you're
positively glowing.

No. Just plain ol' soap
and water.

But my mom is making good
on her threat to stay out of my life,

and, honestly, it's like
a weight's been lifted.

Well, good for you.

Look at us, a couple of
independent young women,

unconstrained
by the expectations of society, our parents, and boys.

Upon further reflection, Betty,

why deal in hypotheticals

when we have our very own
Marlon and Paul to play with here at school?

Reginald?

Oh. Hey.

I wanted to offer you
a mea culpa.

For not making our date
after things got busy at the Babylonium.

So I was hoping
you'd give me another chance.

-What's changed?
-Circumstances.

To paraphrase my friend
Lauren Bacall,

a girl can't be all work
and no play.

Here's the skinny.
I'm not scared of the chase.

But in my experience,
some people don't really want to be caught.

Is that you?

Only one way to find out.

Andrews, uh, you doing
anything tonight?

Nah. No plans.

Right on. In that case,
can I borrow your car?

I've got a date with Veronica.

I thought you were done
with her antics, Reg.

-Eh.
-Geez, do you even have a driver's license?

'Course. I drove my dad's truck
to the farmer's market every weekend.

Don't gringle.

I'll be real careful with her,
I promise.

Ah, what the heck.

Sure, why not?

Like we learned
in Spanish class...

Mi casa es tu casa.

No foolin'?

I got nothing better to do.

Just look after her, okay?

Black Athena is everything
I hoped it would be, Cheryl.

I finally feel like I'm doing
something worthwhile and worthy, you know?

Yeah.

I happened to be walking by
your last meeting.

It sounded tremendous.

It was.

Although Clay tends
to monopolize the whole conversation.

It's very clear he has the hots
for James Baldwin.

Who's that?

He's this real hep writer
from Harlem.

One of my favorites.

Anyway, what's your tale,
nightingale?

To be honest,
I'm really missing you.

Between me and the Vixens
and you and your new club,

we barely get to see
each other.

And when we do,
it's three feet apart.

What do you say
we catch a flick tonight?

I wish I could,
but I really need to finish reading Native Son.

It's the next book
that we're gonna be discussing at Black Athena.

Okay.

Well, what if I came with you
to your next meeting?

I wouldn't say anything,
of course.

I would just listen.

Tell you what,
it's the first few days and we're just getting started.

I just wanna make sure
that everybody feels comfortable.

Maybe towards the end
of the semester

when Black Athena
is more established, all right?

Whatever you think is best.

Hi, Archie. How are you?

Betty. I'm terrific.

My uncle let me have
my car back!

I saw. The whole school did.

Assuming that means your uncle
is finally easing up on you?

He is. Yeah.
I'm out of the doghouse.

Well, in that case,
I was wondering

if it might finally be time
to go on our date?

Wow. I'd love to go out
with you, Betty.

Swell!

Do you want to pick me up
tonight at, say, 7:00?

Oh, crap. I...

I lent my car to Reggie,
so he could take Veronica out tonight.

That's okay.
We can take the bus.

Oh.

The bus?

Or walk?

Walk?

Yeah. Yeah, sure.

Let's walk.
That sounds romantic.

Okay.

Jughead, take a look at this.

Well, whoever is in the photo,

this was taken in June 1948.

No, I think the woman's name
is June.

And I think
these are love letters

written to Mr. Rayberry
from a woman named June Simpson.

Writing to him
from South Carolina.

That's the same as the PO box.

Wait. So this is...

Brad Rayberry's wife.

Secret or otherwise.

Hold on.

June Simpson. She's in here.

With an address
and a phone number.

We have to call her, Jughead.

And let her know what happened.

She probably hasn't heard.

Hello?

Hi. Mrs. Simpson?

Who's calling, please?

Um, you don't know me.
My name is Jughead Jones.

I'm terribly sorry to be
the bearer of bad news, ma'am.

Brad Rayberry has passed away.

Who... Who is this, exactly?

Uh, I worked with Mr. Rayberry.
I'm one of his friends.

How did Bradley die?

We're not sure.

He was found in his apartment
in Seaside.

Did he suffer, do you know?

I hope not.

I'll come as quick as I can.

This is the apartment
on Magnolia Street?

Yes. Um, I can...
I can be there when you arrive.

In the meantime, I'll just be
tidying up his things.

Thank you.
I appreciate that. Goodbye.

Kevin, what happened?
Are you okay?

Oh, yeah, I'm just floating
on a cloud, to be honest.

And what, pray tell,
brought on this state of bliss?

I just heard Clay perform
his latest poem, "Ode to Sidney."

He's like a magician,
but with his words.

He is, indeed.

And where did this performance
take place, if I may ask?

At a meeting of Black Athena.

You went?
You were allowed to go?

Mm-hmm.
Yeah, Clay invited me.

I mean, it's freedom, Archie,
plain and simple.

The freedom of not feeling
my mother's breath on my neck, watching my every move.

It's like my life is suddenly
this open road before me,

and I've got both hands
on the wheel.

Wheel? What wheel?
Who's got the wheel?

Me.

Oh. Right.

Is everything okay?

I'm peachy. Yeah. I'm just...

Archie, if you want
to call it a night--

No, I don't. I don't.
Not at all.

But I'm just wondering
where Reggie and Veronica are on their date.

I mean, where else is there
to go in Riverdale other than Pop's?

So, I heard
through the grapevine

that Kevin attended
a Black Athena meeting.

Yeah. Well,
Clay was presenting a poem

and he wanted to have
his boyfriend there.

Mm.

Yeah, Kevin says it was
an amazing experience.

Life-changing, even.

Okay, Cheryl,
if you really wanna come.

I do. I would love to.

Okay. Well, we're gonna be
discussing Native Son, as I mentioned.

So, you can borrow my copy,
I finished it.

Thank you.

I do not take this lightly.

I can't wait.

You had me worried sick.

Do you have any idea
what time it is?

I thought you'd got into
a wreck.

I kept imagining you
in a ditch somewhere,

all mangled
and bleeding.

Archie, cool your jets.

Where did you and Veronica
even go tonight?

Look, after I dropped her off,
I didn't wanna come straight home,

so I hit the freeway.

You did what?

I hit the freeway.

I wanted to open her up
a little.

See what she can do.

You... You took my car?

Out onto the highway?

Reggie, that car is my
favorite thing in the entire world.

Anything could've happened
out there.

-Am I grounded?
-No.

But I sure hope you dug
your little joyride, Mantle,

because that is your last time
in my car.

Keys?

I heard you two fellas
going at it last night.

What kind of guy does that
to a supposed friend?

I built that car,
spark-plug by spark-plug, with my dad, Uncle Frank.

Listen, your pops and I,

we shared a car growing up

and we fought more
about that damn jalopy

than Cain and Abel
did about sheep.

But come on, Archie.

The kid's far from home.

He's far from his family,
everything he knows.

He grew up scraping by.

Working his ass off for things
that guys like us take for granted.

Can't you give him a break?

Well, how was the date?
Worth the wait?

It was not stellar.

Archie was distracted
the whole time.

How was it with you and Reggie?

Mixed. Usually, boys want to go
parking with me,

not cruising around town.

But, straight from the fridge,
he too seemed preoccupied.

Kept glancing at his watch
like he had somewhere to go.

Maybe we should switch
dance partners and try again?

Or maybe we try a double date?

I know just the event.

Have you heard about
this big concert in Centerville?

Mm-mm.

All the hipsters and hep cats
will be there.

What say we give our beaus
a chance to redeem themselves

for being such unlicked cubs?

Their words are so beautiful,
Jughead.

Describing how
their love endured

despite everything
they went through.

What happened to them?

Well, from what I could
piece together, they got married in New York

and then they moved
to June's hometown

in South Carolina
to start a family.

But there was an incident.

Their lives were threatened.

Oh, geez.

White thugs threw a brick
through their window.

Burned a cross in their yard.

They went to the police,
who threatened to arrest them.

Not the thugs. Them.

That's horrible.

I saw things like that
every single day I was on tour with Mrs. Till.

In any case,
the Rayberrys were terrified.

Not just for themselves,
but for the safety of June's family.

That's why Mr. Rayberry left.

And settled in Seaside, yes.

I think the plan was
that they were gonna save up enough money

to get June's family
somewhere safe.

And then they were gonna go
live in Paris as expats.

But if they had such
a clear plan,

why would Mr. Rayberry
take his own life?

Unless, as you keep saying,
he didn't.

Reg, wait up.

What, did you find a dent
in your fender or something?

Look, I'm sorry
about last night.

I lost my cool.

In that case,
I'm sorry for miscounting the trumps.

What can I say? I'm car-crazy.
It's a disease.

Oh, fellas.

Better clear your dance cards.

Fangs is playing a concert
in Centerville and we wanna go,

so you're taking us
on a double-date.

First to dinner,
then to the show.

Any questions?

For some of you, this was
perhaps your first time reading Wright's

harrowing
and thought-provoking novel.

Of course, it was my third.

Now, I obviously have
a lot of thoughts,

but I wanna hear
from all of y'all first.

The book asks, "Where does
responsibility lie?"

While Bigger does kill Mary,
the young white daughter of the rich Dalton family,

the story, in my mind,
remains a cautionary tale about, well--

The dangers of white ignorance.

Exactly. Wright doesn't give us
any easy answers.

That's what's so great
about it, though.

He looks at society as a whole
and how it works to keep us oppressed.

Bigger commits murder,

but his true crime is stepping
outside the box

that white society built
around him.

I'll say it. I thought Bigger
was a stereotype.

Wright doesn't give him
enough agency to break the mold.

James Baldwin would agree
with you.

And all roads lead to Baldwin,
right, Clay?

They do, Kev.

Cheryl, do you have
anything to add?

Oh, no.

Um...

Only that this was the most
powerful novel I've ever read.

And that the family
in the book, the Daltons,

reminded me a lot
of my own family

in some unpleasant ways.

But I'm very glad
to have read it,

and to be learning more
about it.

Just out of curiosity,
is Native Son the only novel

by a Black author
that you've ever read?

Yes.

But I can't wait to read more.

You won't be shocked
to hear, Cheryl,

that I maintain
an ever-evolving syllabus of Black authors

I believe everyone,
regardless of who they are or where they're from,

should be reading.

I gave it to Kevin.
I'd be jazzed to share it with you.

Thank you, Clay.

Of course.

Now. Moving on
to Baldwin's essay.

Let me get this straight.

In your expert opinion,
Brad Rayberry didn't kill himself?

No.

Well, what happened
to him, then?

Well, to put
a fine point on it,

disguising murder as suicide

has been a gimmick
in detective fiction

since the days
of Arthur Conan Doyle.

Let me ask you this.

How well did you really know
your so-called hero, Jughead?

Well enough to know
that he wouldn't take his own life.

Uh-huh.

Did you also know that he was
a card-carrying member of the Communist Party?

How about the fact
that he was a draft dodger

who protested the Korean War?

That he was a dope fiend.

He spent a month
as a mental patient

at St. Vincent's
in New York City.

This... This is impossible.

Now, I'm no head-shrinker,
but if you ask me,

someone who's got
that many secrets?

Well, it's a miracle he didn't
take his own life sooner.

I'm curious to hear
how you thought the meeting went.

Better than I thought
it would, actually.

I'm relieved.

I was worried people would feel
uncomfortable around you.

Or that you would feel
uncomfortable around my friends.

They were, and I was.

Not so much uncomfortable
as I was worried

that I wasn't going to say
the right thing at first.

But then--

But then,
everyone settled in nicely.

It was really nice
to have you here.

It was.

But I think you were right
to be so protective of Black Athena.

It's your club, your space.

I am so grateful
that I got to experience it,

and that I got to see
first-hand what you're so passionate about.

But I think in the future
I will just attend the more public events.

Well, we are hosting
an open mic night at the Dark Room next month.

I will be there front row.

And maybe you can read
some more books off Clay's list.

Absolutely.

And maybe afterward
we could discuss them together?

Well, I can dig that plan.

Also, what are you
doing tonight?

Midge mentioned that there was
a concert in Centerville.

Would you wanna go?

I am certain
I could make myself available.

This is the last letter
I received from Bradley.

Given the date, he must have
mailed it right before...

his passing.

In it, he wrote about
finally wanting to have his novel published.

He did? Really?

"If a publisher takes it,
we'll at last have the money we need

to buy your parents a place
in the city and move to Paris.

After everything
we've been through,

I'm filled with such optimism
about our future."

Now, I'm not a detective
like Miss Marple,

but that doesn't sound
like a man planning to take his life.

No. It sure doesn't.

Mrs. Simpson, Sheriff Keller
told me some things about your husband.

That he was a war protester
and a communist.

And that he'd been to
an asylum.

Mm-hmm.

And that's true.

But did he also tell you
that Bradley served in World War II?

And that he became addicted
to opium because of a war injury?

And that he checked himself
into St. Vincent's voluntarily?

And yes, he attended a couple
of communist meetings

when he was young
and curious and suffering

during the Great Depression.

That makes sense.

I'll tell you this.

My husband was an optimist.

Despite everything life
threw at him.

Even when he was working
as a janitor at the maple factory,

stuck on the graveyard shift,

he never lost his
sense of humor.

He always believed
something better was around the corner.

If Mr. Rayberry didn't take
his own life,

means that someone else
is responsible.

Do you have any idea who?

Or why?

The world can be
a brutal place.

God knows who Bradley
might have angered or upset.

I've seen a lot of people do
horrific things in my day.

If you want to look into
Brad's death, young man, I won't stop you.

Take a gander.
You won't believe the bitchin' rigs on this one.

Serves us right for stopping
at the newsstand.

Classy chassis.

Check out the flip-top box
on page 13.

Whoa. Fat city.

You know, Steve McQueen used to
drive us around Hollywood in his '53 Hudson Hornet.

And believe me,
you've never heard anything purr quite like that.

I've fixed up more than
a few V8s in my day.

My dad says I've never met
an engine I couldn't repair.

Damn! The plating
on these rims...

Cherry.

I'd agitate the gravel
with those chromes.

Boys!
Aren't we going to be late?

For the show?
We're still going to the show, I hope?

If we don't leave now,
we'll never make it to Centerville on time.

Yeah, you're right.
We should boogie.

What are you doing?

Oh, I just thought,
since we're late, it'd be better if I--

Well, you drove
on the way here.

It's my car, I'll drive.

Okay, yeah, just make sure
you don't flood the engine

when you start 'er up,
'cause sometimes--

I got it, Reg.

So what's next for you,
Mrs. Simpson?

I'm going to bury my husband
where we first met.

And then I suppose
I'm going to see about getting his novel published.

Let us know if we can help
in any way.

I will, dear.

You know, Bradley always loved
comic books.

Since I knew him.

I'm sure he'd be happy
for you to continue adapting his stories.

I'd be honored.

And I'll talk to Mr. Fieldstone
about doing a tribute issue.

With all the proceeds going
to you and your family, of course.

That would be much appreciated.

Tell me,
are you two going steady?

- Who? Us?
- Oh, no. No.

-I mean...
-We're classmates.

-And friends, I would say.
-Good friends.

-Yeah.
-Pals.

Well, you two take care
of each other. That's important.

Arch, do you need a hand?

Unfortunately, Betty,

it seems as though
someone goofed it and forgot to fill up the gas tank.

Okay. So the problem is
we need to get gas and we need to beat feet, fast.

Well, considering the fact
that I'm in stilettos

and Pop's is five miles back
that way,

might I suggest you two cool it
and start walking

while we stay here
and huddle for warmth?

-Hey.
-Hey.

-Hey!
-Hey! Hey!

So I've been thinking--

Why don't you see
if Clifford Blossom can get you a car?

Get bent.

Why not? Clifford Blossom
will do anything to keep you happy.

Star players get perks
all the time.

No way.
I don't want to be any deeper

in that creep's pocket
than I already am.

It's bad enough
he's paying someone to work on my dad's farm in my place.

Is that how you see me?

As a germ
who's looking for handouts?

Ah, jeez, you don't have to be
so touchy about it.

What's the matter, Andrews?
Am I too uppity for you?

Hmm? Borrowing your car
instead of waxing it?

Eating off of your mom's
nice dinner plates?

You're ringing up
the wrong area code, Reg.

Then what?

Am I forgetting my place?

You better knock
that giant chip off your shoulder.

Oh, yeah?
Or maybe I oughta knock the one off yours.

Wait. Wait.

Submit.

Submit.

Hello.

Cheryl?

And Toni Topaz and Midge Klump.

Are you ladies having
car trouble?

We were on our way
to see Fangs perform, but we ran out of gas.

Right on!
That's where we're going.

Well, hop on in.
The more, the merrier.

It'll be a blast and a half.

What about the boys?

With all due respect
to those wet rags,

who cares about the boys?

What an incredible lady.

Really makes you think.

Yes. About a lot of things.

Like?

Like that I should go back
on the road with my folks.

As hard as the tour was... Is.

Yeah, I was wondering.

I was planning
to take some time off.

To rest. Reevaluate.

But meeting June,
reading her letters to Mr. Rayberry.

Not that I needed a reminder,
but it was one.

You're fighting for people
to be free and live their lives.

And to love
who they wanna love.

There's nothing more meaningful
than that.

Well, maybe this time
you'll actually send me my homework?

Yeah. Yes, yes, I will.

Maybe I'll send you
some letters too.

So, you boys wanna tell me
what happened?

I was stupid enough
to think that I was lending my car

to someone that I could trust.

Yep. And I was
stupid enough

to believe someone
when they said we were Bulldog brothers.

I don't know
about all that,

but if this is over some car,

I've got an abandoned
jalopy in my garage.

Why don't you
take it off my hands, Reggie?

You'd actually
be doing me a favor.

That'd be incredible, Pop.

Bet they'd let you keep it
in the shop class at the high school too.

How's that sound
to you boys?

-Great.
-Swell. Well, thank you, Pop.

-Thanks, Pop.
-Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Great. Great. Go.

I wanna come clean
about something.

The night I took Veronica out,

I didn't go joyriding
afterwards.

That's not why I got back late.

Hold the line.
Well, where were you, then?

I drove home to Duck Creek
to see my folks.

How come?

I was feeling homesick.

Why didn't you just
tell me that?

I can't go around
telling people I miss my morn and dad.

Well, I've never really thought
about it like this.

But I've always felt
a little homesick ever since my dad left for Korea.

That's the best way
to describe it.

Homesick.

Like I said,
he was my best friend.

I've never really
had one since.

What about Betty?

Or what's-his-name,
Beef Soup? Soup Can?

You mean Jughead?

Yeah. Jughead.

I guess you can't really talk
V8s with him.

No, not really.

He's a good egg, though.

And Betty. She's...

Anyway, how's things back home
with your folks?

The same as always.

They're working hard,
missing me.

But they're happy I ended up
in a good home.

With good people.

You're good people, Archie.

Yeah, you too, Reg.

My dad would've got
a kick out of you.

-Yeah?
-Oh, yeah.

Hey, you think the girls
are gonna go ape on us?

Uh...

Where are the girls?

I can't believe you came
to my gig.

If you thought I was gonna miss
the biggest show of your career,

you've got a screw loose.

Thank God
you're so stubborn, Midge.

'Cause it turns out,
you were my lucky charm.

What's this, hon?

It's the business card
of a music producer from Phantom Rock Records.

Mm.

Holy heck.

That's in worse shape than mine
when we found it.

Careful. Watch what you say
about Bella.

Bella?

Yeah. I always dreamed about
having a car named Bella.

Oh, Bella it is.

I thought you could use a hand
souping her up a little.

I could.
That's why I asked Betty.

Betty?

Hey, Arch.
Are you helping out too?

Uh, yeah, I suppose.

By the way,
I was telling Reggie,

you two missed
an incredible show last night.

Fangs for sure
is the next big thing.

He blew the roof off
the Armory!

-Um...
-Yeah.

-Can I have that one?
Thanks. -Yep.

What?

What? Oh. Nothing.

Thanks.

Oh, hello.

You must be a friend
of Mr. Rayberry's.

Such a shame
what happened to him, may he rest in peace.

Thank you.

Well, I hate to impose,
I'm Mrs. Martin.

I just live down the hall
and I've run out of milk for my kitty.

I was wondering
if there might be any in Mr. Rayberry's refrigerator.

How strange.

I wonder what happened
to the milk bottles.

Milk bottles?

A few nights ago,
I heard the milkman making

an unusually late delivery
to this apartment.

The milkman? You saw him?

No. I was inside my apartment.

But I heard him.

How do you hear
a milkman?

The distinct
rattle of the glass bottles, of course.

My kitty heard it right away.

Because it is just about
her favorite sound in the whole world.

Isn't that right, Miss Kitty?

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