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Edward.

Edward.

Edward, you've been in there forever.

I want my robe!

Or at least the gummy
bears in the pocket?

Edward. Come on, come on.

You always say that.

Ah! Forget it, I'll grab my sweater.

Whoa, that was fast.

Thank you.

Hmm.

You should really watch
your sugar intake.

It's addictive as cocaine.

Some studies say ten times as much.

- Oh, come on. Seriously?
- Yep.

It stimulates the nucleus
accumbens in the brain.

No, this cashew chicken was
supposed to be my breakfast.

I question your definition
of breakfast, then.

I question why you
would eat my leftovers

and just leave three cashews at
the bottom with a dirty fork.

Firstly, I would never do
something that unhygienic.

- Mm.
- And secondly, I have a major problem

with the cashew industry's
farming policies,

so I would never take cashews
so lightly as to discard them.

Well, someone took my cashews
lightly, and it wasn't me.

Did your secret lover eat my food?

No, we don't have time to eat,

- if you catch my drift.
- Eww.

- Maybe you ate it.
- Me?

You know, sleep eating is more
common than you would think,

and you are susceptible to it.

Do you remember the time you woke up

and you had knitted part of a scarf?

I do.

I don't even know how to knit.

But you do know how to eat.

Oh, God.

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It's upsetting, and it's misleading.

Come on. Are you guys looking
at my Tinder profile again?

No, no, no, no, no.
Lexi's dad has instituted

a new "if it bleeds, it leads" policy

to try to get more
eyeballs on the paper.

Tina has been tasked with
making our headlines "spicier."

Hey, Tina, tell them
what you titled my piece

about the panda being born at the zoo.

"Eight-year-old gives birth in public."

Oh, God, I gotta go talk to her

before she turns my Easter edition
into a zombie apocalypse.

- Mnh.
- Tina!

Let's see if you can spice up
your next obituary assignment.

- Uh-huh?
- Andrew Michaels,

an accountant who died
after falling down the stairs

- in his home.
- Oh.

Yeah, not even Tina could
make that turd sing.

Oh.

- Hurtful.
- Mm.

You know, I wasn't merely an accountant.

I was an IRS special agent.

Yeah, that doesn't bleed or lead.

It was more exciting than you'd think.

I had a gun and everything.

I never used it, but, yeah, I had it.

- Mm.
- I carried a badge...

Never showed it,

- but I carried it.
- Oh, so you're like 007.

Oh.

Just, like, without the cars
or the gadgets or the skill

or the muscles or the women. Yeah.

Hey, just because I did my work

from behind my desk as an agent

didn't make my job any less harrowing.

In point of fact,
my death was no accident...

I was murdered.

What?!

... are you doing at work today?

I thought you were sick. We sent soup.

You should go check.
It's probably at the front door.

What do you mean, murdered?

I didn't fall down my stairs.

I was pushed.

I caught a glimpse of a
shadowy figure above me

on the landing as I fell,

and then everything went black.

- Then I was talking to you.
- Ooh.

- Hi.
- Hi.

Who would want to kill you?

I don't know. You know,
I received a lot of threats.

Yeah. Turns out people
don't like being audited.

- Mm.
- Someone once told me

to shove my ass up my own ass.

- How would that even work?
- Oh, don't overthink it.

Oh, now I'm stuck on it.

I just can't even picture it,
so I'm lucky.

You know what? My editor is
obsessed with splashy headlines.

If you're right, this could
land me the front page.

Well, that's kind of
a self-centered take

on my potentially violent death,

but whatever gets the job done.

- ♪ Girls night tonight ♪
- Oh!

♪ I don't have the kids, and
I'm really gonna miss them ♪

♪ Also gonna drank ♪

Oh, yeah. I can't go
to girls night tonight.

♪ Those are not the words to the song ♪

Sam, my latest obit subject
might have been murdered.

And the more I investigate it,
the more I think it's true.

You are not gonna miss
girls night for some murder.

Murder, you say?

Yeah, Nell thinks that her obituary
subject may have been killed.

Oh! I love true crime.
Tell me everything.

Oh, it's just a thought, you know?

Probably not gonna do anything about it.

- No big deal, right? Bleh.
- Nell, here's the police report

- you needed ASAP...
- Oh. Mnh.

... for your big deal investigation.

Oh, thank you.

There's pictures of the
accident scene in there,

and ever since I became a dad,

I cannot handle anything scary.

I know what will toughen you up. Phone.

Dennis, I am assigning you to
listen to a true crime podcast,

in part to try and cure you

of this sudden, strange
aversion to violence,

and in part because I am dying

to have someone to discuss it with.

- Ah.
- Welcome to "Death

at the Dairy Farm"...

... a grisly tale of blood and milk.

- It's "udderly" terrifying.
- Uh, Lexi, I'm gonna just take

that police report and skedaddle.

Nell, I am officially
joining your investigation.

- What?
- Yeah,

it seems like you could
really use my help.

You do remember I'm an actual
investigative journalist?

Well, I've listened to over 4,000 hours

of true crime podcasts,
which are very educational.

Well, I went to journalism school.

Education is very educational.

Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.

So, I think we're all losing sight

of what's really important
here, which is...

- ♪ Girls night ♪
- Girls night?

A night of girls solving
a murder? I'm in.

No, like, less ski masks,
more face masks.

Uh, you know, on second
thought, he probably just fell.

Bummer we're not gonna be able to use

your murder-solving podcast skills.

- Fair enough.
- Thanks.

What is that?

You're too hard a worker to
give up that easily on a case.

You have your leads, but you keep
your cards close to your vest.

What is going on with
the lighting in here?

You're too impulsive
for careful planning,

so you jot down your notes
on whatever you can find...

an old receipt, parking
ticket, gum wrapper.

And judging by your...
irregular silhouette,

you're stuffing that information
in your pockets.

Oh, hey!

Found it... on the back
of a CVS receipt.

"Andrew may have had IBS." Interesting.

"Follow up on threatening
work emails." Good idea.

- "Google red flaky rash I have."
- Oh.

Oh, Nell.

"Meet Andrew's neighbor
at 7:00 at Cricket's

to see what he saw."

- Perfect.
- Mm.

- Solid work, Nell. I will see you there.
- Okay.

I don't care if you don't like her.

She's got Rizzoli's grit and
Isles's face. We need her.

Thanks for coming to meet us, Paul.

Yeah, well, I-I'm not sure
how much I can help contribute

to Andrew's obituary.

Um, he was always walking around

in thick socks with sandals?

You try living with dry skin.
My feet are like hooves.

That's okay, we're just getting
some background information.

Do you remember anything from
the night that Andrew died?

Lexi, I got this.

Do you remember anything from
the night that Andrew died?

I don't know. I-I didn't see anything.

Nell, when you called,
you mentioned there was gonna be

free wine and cheese.

Paul, now you're speaking my language.

Cheese and wine...
let's get this party started.

- Okay.
- What?!

- How well did you know Andrew?
- Intimately?

It's a question people ask.

Andrew was kind of a pain in the ass.

No one in the neighborhood
really liked him.

No one in the neighborhood really
liked the sailboat in your driveway

you've been "working
on" for seven years.

He was the self-appointed HOA...

even had a stupid blog about it.

My blog was the place to go
for appropriate fence heights

and holiday decoration limitations.

He was up my butt about this
really cute Dachshund mailbox

I installed that apparently
wasn't up to postal code.

He's angry because I audited him.

You audited him?

Uh, so he audited you.

How did you know about that?

I'm the one asking the
questions here, Paul.

Well, i-i-is any of this
important to the obituary?

- Yes, it is.
- Yes, it is.

Oh, my God. Is Paul a suspect?!

Oh, Nell, good cop/bad cop him.

So, Paul, you and Mr. Michaels had
a long-standing beef between you.

It wasn't exactly a beef.

"Wasn't exactly a beef."

Yeah, it was probably just
like a misunderstanding, right?

Just got a little angry.

Well, I-I wouldn't say I was angry.

Scoff!

Not angry when your neighbor audits you?

I tell you what... if it were
me, I'd want revenge.

Well, I didn't. I-I just wanted
my s-standard deductions.

Tell it to your boat.

You look a little flushed, Paul.
Could I get you some water?

Or are you flushed because
you're hiding the truth?

- I-I don't know.
- This is it! He's gonna break.

I have a flatbread.

- Ooh, yes! That's me.
- Oh!

Oh, I'm so hungry. Yum, yum, yum.

What? I'm supposed to stay
hungry this entire interrogation?

Interrogation?!

I-I thought this was supposed to
be a casual chat with light bites.

I don't know what you people
are up to, but I'm going home,

calling my lawyer, and I'm gonna
make myself a sandwich.

I'm really hungry.
I thought I was gonna eat.

- Sam!
- What?!

- We had him on the ropes.
- Yes.

You scared him away before
we could drop the hammer.

You know what we need to do?

Let the police handle this

- while we stay at home...
- Stake out!

... and watch Sandra Bullock movies?

Did you guys just say "stakeout"?

Okay. Yeah. No. This has
now gone in a direction

I can no longer support,

so I'm going to take my wine to go,

and when you are done
with this stupid murder,

you can come over and
we can all turn up.

Ah, finally!

This is why there's no
"Rizzoli & Isles & Sam."

So what do you think...
you and me, partners in crime?

I actually don't hate that idea.

Oh.

Sadly, the cows were the only witnesses

to the carnage at the dairy farm.

The killer left behind
a blood-soaked barn,

littered with a grisly
parade of severed torsos.

To this day, this quiet
suburb in California

is faced with two haunting questions...

who was this maniacal madman,

and will he ever be caught?

Thank you guys so much for listening!

- And please make sure to follow us.
- Wait, no.

- That's it?
- We have an Instagram.

- We have a Facebook.
- Lexi!

Lexi, I finished that podcast.

Turns out they didn't catch the guy.

He's still out there, huh?

Lexi?

Okay.

Oh, creepy van.

Please, I have children.

I... Oh, that feels so good to say.

Okay. Come on, Dennis. Come on, come on.

Dennis!

You forgot your phone and your wallet!

Mama's getting Quiznos tonight.

Look at us, on a real stakeout.

Yeah, I know.

Check out these crime scene photos.

His body landed in such
a strange position.

- Yeah. Looks like a Twizzler.
- Hmm.

Oh, you use Prix Elevé? Very expensive.

Oh, I didn't pay for it.

Yeah, the stupid woman
that's sleeping with Edward,

she left it at my place,

so mine now!

Sure is.

Yeah, the diamond powder is really
shimmering on your clavicle.

- Isn't it?
- Yeah.

- It feels so soft.
- Hmm.

You know, I don't even
know who this woman is.

She made him sign a
non-disclosure agreement.

What kind of lunatic

makes someone they're
hooking up with sign an NDA?

Oh, well, you know, perhaps as, uh...

as someone who is completely
an outside observer

and has no skin in the game, um,

she could just be judicious
with her dalliances.

Yeah, or perhaps she's a controlling,
narcissistic monster.

Oh, I don't think that that's...

- She's a freak.
- Right?

- She's a gross, gross lady.
- Thank you.

- Yeah.
- Great taste in skincare, though.

Yes, she is.

You know, I know we haven't
really gotten along too well

in the past, but, um...

I've been having a really
good time tonight.

So have I.

And I know this may shock you, Nell,

but typically, it's not that easy for me

to connect to other people,
so this has been nice.

And actually, Nell, there is, um,
something I need to tell you.

- Garbage!
- No!

Oh, trash is a true crime gold mine.

If he leaves that in the bin, you
know, legally, we can take it.

- California v. Greenwood, 1988.
- ... Greenwood, 1988.

- Stop it!
- Of course.

I listened to a four-part
special on that...

"One Man's Trash Is
Another Man's Murder."

I am not a threat.

Oh! I said I'm not a threat!

What do you keep in there, bricks?!

Dennis, what are you doing
lurking outside of my house?

I am not lurking. I'm being
followed by a maniac!

I didn't have my phone,
and I couldn't go home.

I'd be leading the psycho
straight to my kids.

Why would you bring the
psycho to my house?!

Get inside right now!

Come on.

- Clear?
- Clear.

- Clear?
- Clear.

- Okay.
- Okay.

No, you, you. You're the
one that has the gloves.

- These are $1,600 each!
- What?!

It's pure mulberry silk.
The worms that made these,

they live better lives than we do.

I don't even know what mulberry is!

- Sam?
- Well, congratulations.

You broke Dennis.

I tried to calm him down
with a cucumber face mask

and an espresso martini,
but it is no use.

I'm just more anxious.

Yeah, that stupid podcast
you made him listen to...

- well, it scared the crap out of him.
- Jeez, what a knot.

So please tell him that it is not real.

But it did happen. All of it. Recently.

He could be anywhere.

Yeah. I'm not gonna take
care of him all alone,

so get over here.

Okay, Sam. Bye.

God, Dennis was just not built for this.

- Not everyone has our grit.
- I got it!

Hey!

Are you stealing my garbage?

I peed a little!

- Oh, so did I.
- Ew. Gross.

White women.

I can't believe you brought
garbage to girls night.

I don't care what they brought.

The more of us are here, the harder
it is for us to be murdered.

Yeah. Okay. No more
espresso martini for you.

Thank you. I can hear colors.

So, what is it exactly
that you're looking for?

Something that connects Paul to Andrew.

I think I found something.
It's herbal supplements,

but this note is from Andrew to Paul.

"Paul, sorry for the
audit and the ulcer.

This should help. Best, Andrew."

That bastard just threw away my pills.

If he's capable of this,
he's capable of anything.

Oh, interesting. The receipt
says that he bought five,

but there's only one in
here, which means...

I kept four bottles for myself.

Our victim kept four
bottles for himself.

She gets me.

- I knew I recognized those.
- Hm?

Every entry in his blog has something

about picking up after your dog
and taking those supplements.

Dog poo is impossible to
get out of your Hokas,

and those supplements are
a miracle cure for IBS.

I've been taking them for years.

He's been taking them for years.

We're really clicking right now.

What's even in these?
Atropine, belladonna.

Belladonna? The FDA has been
warning parents for years

not to put it on anything
like teething rings

'cause it's, like, literal poison.

- Interesting.
- Interesting.

Interesting.

Did I do it? Did I solve it?

Can we watch "Hope Floats" now? Please?

The side effects of long-term
belladonna poisoning

are muscle spasms,

blurry vision, dry skin, and dry mouth.

Let's talk through a theory
about what happened.

- Roll with me, Nell.
- Yes.

It's the night of our victim's death.

He was found wearing pajamas,

so he had probably just gone to bed.

He got up. He was thirsty.

His trusty herbal supplements
give him dry mouth.

But he didn't want to drink
from the bathroom faucet.

Because that's for dogs.

He wanted cold water from
the fridge downstairs.

He carefully walks down the hall,

feet freshly greased for bed
because of his dry skin.

His vision is blurry,

so he carefully makes his way
to the top of the stairs...

Which is why that oily residue
was found up there.

His muscle spasms,
which cause him to slip.

Which explains why his body was
found in the Twizzler position.

He poisoned himself and
fell down the stairs.

Oh, it was an accident.
He wasn't murdered.

This is so disappointing.

Sure is.

I guess it's great that
he wasn't brutally killed.

- Yeah, I guess.
- No one cared enough to kill me.

But we did solve it.

That's the most important thing, right?

Yeah. Yeah, we sure did.

We make a shockingly good team.

We sure do, partner.

Eww, cashews.

Oh, come on. Seriously?

Did your secret lover eat my food?

Someone in your room, Robe Guy?

Oh, my God. Is your sex friend in there?

Belongs to my lady friend.

What kind of lunatic

makes somebody they're
hooking up with sign an NDA?

Eww, cashews.

You've been sleeping with Edward!

The fancy bra and the skin
cream and the cashews...

that's you!

Okay, yes. However...

This has been going on for weeks!

And we've been hanging out all day,
and you haven't said anything?

Oh! Oh, I feel so stupid!

I-I wanted to tell you.
I-I just didn't know what to say.

I-I'm sorry that you're
finding out this way,

but this is a good thing,

because now you know
it's me who's with Edward

and... and not some crazy woman.

Oh, sure, because that's the takeaway.

And now we're friends,

so you can say everything
you wanted to say

to Edward's mystery
woman right to my face.

Just let me have it, partner.

That's the thing, Lexi.

We're not partners or friends.

You're my boss, and I shouldn't
have forgotten that.

Lexi told me what happened.

Oh, how nice of her to share
that important information.

I'm sorry. I don't understand
why you're upset.

Because you're sleeping
with my boss, Edward.

That could get really
complicated for me.

And you lied to me about it.

I didn't lie to you. When I asked
if you wanted to hear more

about my sex life, you said no.

- I believe you said "barf."
- You knew what I meant.

That's the thing... no, I don't.
I take things literally.

It's a big part of what
works with Lexi and me.

She's very blunt and spells
out everything she wants.

I just want you to be able
to share stuff with me.

You know... the way that friends do.

They share secrets and
feelings and indoor shoes

so that you can run to the coffee shop.

I thought I saw gravel in the treads.

All I'm saying is...

I just want to know that you're happy

and that the person that
you're with makes you happy.

- I care about you.
- That's nice.

I care about you, too.

Maybe we could work on communicating

what we need from each other.

Like a friendship contract.

That's weird and clinical.

And I would love to.

Nice.

And what was the 2%
Killer planning to do

with a melon baller?

- Find out in episode nine.
- Oh, this is so good.

I bet you I know what he
does with the melon baller.

- Play the next one. Come on.
- No way.

We've been bingeing this for hours.

I got to send you off, dude.

Fine. I guess my obituary writes itself.

Andrew Michaels was a boring accountant

who worked behind a boring desk

and died a boring death.

Andrew, you weren't
just an accountant...

no, you were an IRS special agent.

You carried a gun and a badge.

You put away white collar criminals

and saved thousands of people

from being cheated of
their life savings.

You weren't boring, sir.
You were a hero.

- I did do that, didn't I?
- Mm-hmm.

Well, I guess I can live
without being murdered.

- Mm.
- Thanks, Nell.

Oh, uh, FYI,

you can't claim Milk Duds
as a work expenditure.

Oh. Okay, time to go. Yeah?

- Okay. Bye.
- Bye.

Phew! Hmm.

It's very sweet, but does
this mean that you're here?

If you're feeling less
angry now, then yes.

Ohh.

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