All language subtitles for MrSWr702

You know, sometimes I wish that he was dead.

Tonight on Murder She, Wrote.

Hank, you better watch your mouth,

or you'll be spitting your teeth

out of the hash browns.

Did you say stabbed?

With a scissors.

Wouldn't you like some herb tea, sheriff?

Hey, Mrs. F, I'm trying to investigate a murder here.

What kind of girl did he think I was?

My embarrassing bicycle accident

is nobody's business.

- Jeff... - Melissa, what's the matter?

Please help me.

Maybe we should have gone

for the bigger lettering, Mr. Devlin.

No, I think it's adequate for the purpose, Jeff.

Hi, Melissa.

Hi, Jeff.

If you're finished there, Mr. Ogden,

we have a newspaper to get out.

Sir?

Oh, right.

Yes, I'll have it for you Friday at the latest.

Well, I'm polishing the last two chapters now.

With a pencil.

Thank goodness it was my left arm.

Oh, yes, I've got somebody typing for me.

No, no, no, it's fine, really.

No, it was just a silly fall off my bicycle.

Look, I will phone you

as soon as I've mailed it off, all right?

Bye.

This is such a wonderful old typewriter, Mrs. Fletcher.

Where did you ever find it?

In an antique shop?

Well, I've had it for a number of years.

But I don't want to interrupt your work, Melissa.

Oh, well, I'm ready for a break.

I have to be careful about not overworking.

My mother says that I have a frail constitution.

I think it just comes from being

sensitive and creative.

Yes, well, I suppose that could account for it.

Did I tell you that I'm taking a writing class?

Oh, yes, I believe you mentioned it several times.

Well, I don't want to keep you from your work.

Well, this is a short story that I wrote for the class.

Oh, isn't that exciting.

I know it's kind of an imposition,

but since we're almost collaborators,

maybe you could read it and...

and tell me if it's any good?

Melissa, I would love to read it.

But I'm afraid it's going to have to wait

until after the book is shipped.

Oh, well, there's no hurry.

I mean, I can't show it to Ralph.

He thinks all my creative ideas are stupid.

Like his aren't.

You have any idea what it's like being married to a man

whose lips move when he reads traffic signs?

Ah, yes, well, I'm going to take my coffee,

and I'm going to continue...

I don't know what his problem is, actually.

He's always at the lumberyard doing his billing

when I'm at class.

Uh-oh. I better go.

He's gonna be really bent out of shape if I don't get dinner

on the table by the time he gets home.

Melissa...

I'll see you in the morning, Mrs. Fletcher.

Yes, and please make it early.

The manuscript's promised for Friday.

Yeah, Friday. No problem.

Hi, darling. How was your day?

It was just wonderful, honey.

What's for dinner?

I didn't see anything in the fridge.

There's a quiche Florentine on the top shelf.

Oh, is that what that is?

What the hell kind of food is that?

I'm only thinking of your cholesterol, Ralph.

Well, I'm gonna starve to death

before my cholesterol gets to me.

Don't get grumpy, Ralph.

It's better to light a candle

than to stumble in the darkness.

Yeah? Who says?

Emily Dickinson.

One of those broads at the beauty parlor

been filling your head with baloney again?

Or is it somebody in your writing class?

Just forget it!

"Scott had to get there before her plane left."

She had to know that it was he who had saved her reputation,

that he had done it for her,

because of all the women in the world,

Clarissa was the only one he could ever love.

But the gate was closed.

The great silver bird slipping away

into the ocean of night.

Scott caught a glimpse of himself in a glass wall,

a man lost,

perdu.

And he knew

"he would never see Clarissa again."

As you know,

it is my custom to read assignments anonymously.

This story certainly is filled with emotion.

I thought the emotion was all phony.

I didn't understand the hero's motivation.

I liked the part where the young man

saved her from suicide.

Get serious, Grandma.

It's undernourished Fannie Hurst.

Strictly comic book material.

Mr. Garrison...

I was wondering if you maybe have read my story?

Not yet, Melissa.

Perhaps we'll get to it next time.

Good night.

Good night.

How's everything going

over at Mrs. Fletcher's, Melissa?

How's her broken arm?

Oh, I don't think it's bothering her very much.

Good, good.

So what did you think of that story

tonight in class?

I thought it was wonderful.

I knew exactly how Scott felt.

So lost and unhappy...

that was my story.

Really?

Melissa, could...

could we maybe go for a cup of coffee or something?

I thought maybe we could talk a little.

You know, about writing.

Well, I guess if it doesn't take too long,

that would be okay.

How about the diner?

I'll follow you.

Okay.

- Jessica. - Oh, good morning, Rita, Drew.

How's your arm?

What a terrible thing to have happened.

We just read about it in the paper.

Yes, so did I.

Well, it's really nothing.

It's more of an inconvenience than anything.

Yes, I understand one of my students

is helping you with your typing.

Bless you.

I think he's coming down with another cold.

They're forecasting rain.

My sinuses confirm it.

Well, nice to see both of you.

- Bye. - Bye.

Jeff, you don't bury

the school board's major decision

in the fifth paragraph, you lead with it.

Right. Oh, you're absolutely right, Mr. Devlin.

I'll rework that.

Oh, hi, Mrs. Fletcher.

Hello, Jeff.

JB Fletcher,

our community's most distinguished citizen.

Oh, I should think that Bennett Devlin,

lately of the Washington Globe, winner of the Pulitzer Prize,

would have that honor now.

No, that's all behind me.

It's just plain Ben Devlin now.

Country editor, citizen, neighbor and friend.

Please, be seated. Thank you.

I'm sorry to greet

my new neighbor, citizen, and friend

with a problem, but I really must protest

about this item on page two.

And what is it you find distasteful?

Two columns about my fall from a bicycle?

Including the fact that I took the knee

out of my favorite pair of slacks?

I'm surprised that you didn't publish the X-ray of my arm.

Are the facts in error?

Oh, no. No, no.

The problem is that there are more facts

than are anybody's business, considering the fact

that I don't remember giving an interview to the press.

We have a duty to publish what we consider news

about a prominent citizen.

And I have a right to my privacy.

The fact is, Mr. Devlin,

my embarrassing bicycle accident

is nobody's business.

Mrs. Fletcher, you have put your finger on it.

The right to privacy versus the public's right to know.

Now, that's something we could have a lively discussion about

over dinner.

How about this evening?

Thanks, but I'm busy.

Well, is that a temporary "no",

or have I loused things up permanently?

Well, what I mean to say is that

I'm not making any plans until I finish my book.

Good. I came back to Cabot Cove

for peace and quiet, not to rust.

We'll make it some other time, then.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a pea-green reporter

I have to continue chewing out.

Thanks for stopping by.

Mr. Ogden, can I see you in here, please.

Trudy, if you ever decide to deliver,

put me down for a regular order.

That's funny, Ralph, that's what I'm looking for.

A sweet-talking man who delivers.

You better count his money twice, Trudy.

Make sure he's not cheating you.

You know, a man who don't pay his bills

shouldn't cry when they come and repossess the goods.

You overcharged me for those lousy building materials,

then you sneak around my back, filing liens.

Come on, Hank, that's enough.

He waited until I lost my job at the bakery,

and then he forecloses on my house!

Only a crook would do something like that.

Hank, you better watch your mouth,

or you'll be spitting your teeth

out of the hash browns.

Hey! Now, why don't you two chill out,

before I have to book somebody for disturbing my piece of pie?

This guy's pathetic!

This isn't over yet, Maddox.

You haven't heard the end of this yet!

Hank, go on back in the kitchen,

and put an ice pack on your mouth.

- Where is everybody? - Hi, Melissa.

Oh, class is canceled.

I guess Mr. Garrison is sick or something.

Oh, I hope it's nothing serious.

Yeah, yeah, me, too.

Oh, well, this is sure a wasted evening.

My husband's working late again at the lumberyard.

Well, it doesn't have to be a wasted evening.

Maybe we could study together.

I mean, I've written another story.

I'd really like to get your opinion on it.

Well, I sure hate to go back

to that big, empty house on a stormy night.

Then we'll go to my place.

"Mark drove through the inky night, thinking of her,

how beautiful she was, how noble.

She would never leave her invalid husband.

She had made that painfully plain

at their last and final rendezvous.

He would have to be content knowing that she loved him.

"He would wait if it took forever."

That's beautiful.

Really sad.

You liked it?

It's like real life.

I'm sorry my story made you sad, Melissa.

It's not your story.

It just reminds me of my own lousy, miserable life.

My husband, Ralph, a really sweet guy.

Look, this is really none of my business,

but if you're so unhappy, why don't you leave him?

And do what?

Support myself by typing part-time?

Oh, I feel so trapped.

You know, sometimes I wish that he was dead.

Oh!

Look at the time.

I have to go.

He's gonna be home soon.

I'm sorry, Melissa.

For what?

You're very sweet, Jeff.

If things were different...

Hello.

Jessica, Ben Devlin.

I hope I'm not disturbing you, calling at this ungodly hour.

At ten o'clock, believe it or not,

some people in Cabot Cove actually stay up

until after midnight.

Did I catch you reading?

- Working. - Yeah, so am I.

Not that much to do around here after dark, is there?

Well, if we have a disco, I haven't heard about it.

How 'bout a good restaurant?

By Washington standards, doubtful.

Immaterial. It's the company that counts.

Look, Jessica, I'm bored out of my mind.

What about that dinner we're going to have?

Look, I told you, I'm busy.

Well, nonsense, you have to eat.

Now look, we'll discuss anything you like.

If we get into an argument, I'll let you win.

I can't be fairer than that.

Please.

My brain is turning to gruel.

Well, I do have some errands

to do in the village tomorrow morning.

How 'bout breakfast?

Great, eight o'clock. I'm an early riser.

And as I said, if we get into an argument,

I'm a man of my word, I'll let you win

no matter how flimsy your points may be.

Good night.

Well, good night.

"Your lips burn my soul."

Hello.

Jeff...

Melissa!

Melissa, what's the matter?

Please help me...

Jeff, can you come over here?

Of course.

I'll be there in five minutes. What happened?

There has been an accident.

What happened?

Did he hit you?

No.

I found him like this when I came home.

It must have been a burglar or something.

We better call the sheriff.

We can't!

They'll think that I killed him, just like you did.

No, no, no. I...

I don't even know why I said that.

Everybody knows how he treated me,

how miserable he made me.

Look, I thought it all out,

and it's better if they find him at the lumberyard.

- You mean, move him? - Well, why not?

Sheriff Metzger will just think

that it was a robber at the lumberyard.

Oh, Melissa, that's crazy.

Why don't we just tell the truth?

Oh, the truth.

That I was over at your house an hour ago,

kissing you on the bed?

They're gonna think that you and I did it together!

Jeff, you have to help me.

You are the only one I can count on.

No, no, not in your car, in his car!

Oh, right, right. His car should be there, too.

We got to get rid of these.

What is it?

It's the dirty towels-- I cleaned up.

All right. Okay.

We can come back for my car later.

Well, what if somebody sees us together?

Oh, right.

Yeah, it's better if you stay here.

- I'll deal with it. - Okay.

I don't know what I'd do without you.

Be careful. Don't get caught.

Okay.

Nobody cheats Hank Crenshaw and gets away with it.

I was skimming one of your books last night.

You have the makings of a first-rate reporter, Jessica.

Great eye for detail.

Well, I'd rather be a first-rate mystery writer.

But thank you.

Well, the plot was interesting

and sort of fun, but in journalism

we have to guard against being too creative.

Who, what, where and when?

Just the facts, ma'am?

No, actually that's a gross simplification.

We have to find the story behind the story.

Well, there's a certain amount of that

in mystery writing, too, you know.

You managing all right with that arm?

Oh, yeah.

Jeff tells me you have someone typing for you.

Melissa Maddox.

Oh, that'd be Melissa of the sad and soulful eyes

in the creative writing class?

The very same.

I think my young reporter lusts after her.

In fact, she's probably the reason

he's taking that class.

Oh, well, now that is one mystery solved.

Your article, "The Great Bicycle Accident."

Jeff must have got all his details from Melissa.

We always protect our source, ma'am.

Yes, and the source is sitting typing in my house right now,

which is where I should be going.

Thank you for a charming breakfast.

Next time, it's on me.

Wouldn't have it any other way.

What do you think, sheriff?

Ralph Maddox was using this gasoline

to clean that dirty grease off his hands.

Floyd, that gasoline was splashed all over the place.

More likely Maddox caught somebody

trying to torch the lumberyard.

You better be careful with that can.

Who'd want to burn down Ralph's business?

Somebody with a grudge.

Right at the top of that list is Hank Crenshaw.

He's been real sore at Ralph

ever since Ralph foreclosed on him.

Better get that gas can over to the lab

and have them check it out for prints.

I've got to break the news to Maddox's wife.

Trudy, did you hear what happened?

Ralph Maddox is dead.

He was murdered at the lumberyard.

You're kidding! When?

Last night.

Roscoe found him when he came to work this morning.

Melissa, are you all right?

Yeah--Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.

I guess I'm just a little bit worried about Ralph.

He didn't come home last night.

Oh, does he do that often?

Well, my writing class was canceled, and...

I just went straight home and took a couple of sleeping pills,

and went to bed early.

Oh, well, maybe he came home after you went to sleep,

and then left before you woke up.

Oh, coming.

- Oh, sheriff. - Hi, Mrs. Fletcher.

It's Mrs. Maddox I came to see.

I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you, ma'am.

Well, what is it, sheriff? Has there been an accident?

I'm sorry to have to tell you this, ma'am,

but your husband's dead.

I'm afraid he was murdered.

Oh, no!

No...

Oh, poor Ralph.

Oh, Melissa.

I'm so sorry.

He was stabbed to death sometime last night...

at the lumberyard.

I told him not to work so late.

He always worked too hard. Poor Ralph.

Mrs. Maddox, did you ever hear anybody

make any threats against your husband?

Threats?

Yeah, yeah.

Hank Crenshaw phoned several times,

and he said that--

Well, he owed Ralph a lot of money,

and Ralph foreclosed on him.

Think carefully, ma'am.

Did you ever hear Crenshaw say anything

about burning down the lumberyard?

- Arson? - Attempted, anyway.

Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, he did.

He said he was gonna burn down Ralph's business.

But did Ralph ever report these threats to the sheriff?

Nope, but it fits.

I had to break up a fight between them

yesterday at the cafe.

Drew, I just heard on the radio.

Ralph Maddox has been murdered.

How awful.

Ralph who?

You know, the man who owns the building supply place.

Someone stabbed him.

Can't say I know him.

Sure you do.

His wife's in your class.

Oh, Melissa Maddox.

I suppose we should send flowers or something.

Did you say stabbed?

With a scissors. That's what the radio said.

You know, Cabot Cove is getting to be

as bad as New York City.

Well, I'm off to the market. Bye, darling.

I asked you a question, Hank. Where were you last night?

I was home, watching television.

Ralph Maddox is dead. Maybe you heard.

Yeah, I heard.

If you're collecting for flowers, you can count me out.

You made a lot of threats against him yesterday.

Hell, sheriff, come on.

You can't arrest people for talking.

Hank...

we found a gasoline can at the lumberyard last night.

Prints all over it.

If you were home watching TV last night,

you won't mind coming in

to have us check your fingerprints.

You got a problem with that, I can get a warrant.

Hank?

Okay.

So I hated the scumbag, but I didn't kill him.

No, sir, not me.

But I know who did.

When I was finished watching television,

the rain had stopped, I went out for a little walk.

I happened to go by the lumberyard.

With a gas can under your arm.

Somebody pulled up in Ralph's car

and dumped his body out of the trunk.

Uh-huh.

This somebody who dumped Ralph's body beside the car

and you just walked on by, whistling, right?

Why didn't you report it, Hank?

I couldn't!

You had it figured right.

I was down there to burn the place down.

So this somebody you saw dumping the body,

was it Bigfoot?

Or maybe the ghost of Christmas past?

No. I saw him real clear.

It was that young fellow

from down at the newspaper office,

Jeff Ogden.

That's right, I'm afraid it won't be mailed off Friday.

Well, you see, I lost my typist.

Well, just temporarily, due to a death in the family.

I'm sorry, but there's someone at the door.

I'll try to line up another typist.

Yes--Yes, I'll let you know.

I'm coming!

Jessica, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?

- Well, as a matter of fact... - Oh, good.

Now, I'm doing some background on the Maddox murder,

and I figured you're the person to talk to.

Well, I can't imagine why.

Did you hear about Hank Crenshaw?

Oh, yes, Eve Simpson just called.

I'm afraid the local grapevine has the Gazette beat every time.

Yeah? Sometimes they even get it right.

Now, about Melissa Maddox.

From what I've been able to sniff out already,

she had a marriage made in hell.

Information central down at Loretta's beauty parlor

has had that for quite some time.

Since Melissa's worked for you,

did she say anything about her husband?

Anything that might indicate she was at the breaking point?

Now, look here, Ben,

anything that Melissa might have told me

was certainly in confidence, and I am not in the habit

of babbling domestic gossip to the newspapers.

Hello?

It's for you.

Devlin.

When?

Why?

Where?

You forgot "who".

Well, how do you like that?

While I've been wasting my time here,

the sheriff came to the newspaper

and arrested Jeff Ogden.

You're wrong!

I don't know anything about any murder!

No?

So how come somebody saw you

dumping Ralph's body in the lumberyard last night?

Now, why don't you make it easy on yourself, son...

- Hold it! Hold it! - Tell me what happened?

Don't say a word, Jeff, not until you talk to a lawyer.

Hold on there, Mr. Devlin.

I already told him he could call a lawyer,

but he wanted you instead.

Good. Now, what evidence do you have

against this young man, sheriff?

I don't know that's any of your business.

Wrong, I'm representing Mr. Ogden in loco parentis.

Loco what?

Ben, in loco parentis means in place of a parent.

Same thing.

I'm his acting attorney, so let's hear it, Metzger

what have you got on him?

Well, how about his fingerprints

all over the trunk of the victim's car,

from which the victim's body was removed,

according to an eyewitness?

- Circumstantial and hearsay. - Oh, yeah?

Then there's a certain plastic bag we found

in the suspect's trunk.

I certainly hope you had a search warrant.

Look, Ben, would you please stop interrupting the sheriff

and let him finish?

Thanks, Mrs. F.

Now then, where was I?

You found a plastic bag?

Right.

Inside the garbage bag were some bloody towels

and a pair of scissors.

Probably the murder weapon.

Sheriff, I'd like to confer privately

for a moment with my client, if you don't mind.

All right, son, now here's the deal.

You give me exclusive rights to your story,

the Gazette will hire you the best lawyer in the county.

I'm sorry, Mr. Devlin, but I have nothing to say.

Even to you.

I don't care if that guy's got a dozen Nobel prizes,

he's screwing up my investigation.

- Pulitzers. - Whatever.

Am I missing something or was the murder committed

somewhere else and the body moved to the lumberyard?

Well, that's how I read it.

Sure wish Doc wasn't on vacation.

This county guy has got a head like a watermelon.

Okay, Mr. Devlin, time's up.

Floyd, do you want to put that guy in a cell?

I got a deadline to make anyway.

I don't want you questioning my client

unless I'm present, and no reporters.

So much for freedom of the press.

Sheriff, I know this is really

none of my business, but...

Yeah? When did that start?

I really do think that you should question Melissa again.

Why, do you know something I don't know?

Well, not really; it's just a hunch.

Okay. We'll both take a whack at her.

When it comes to questioning hysterical widows,

I need backup.

Oh, you'll do just fine.

Just keep it gentle and low-key.

Low-key.

Right.

Don't you understand, sheriff?

I just lost my husband.

Why are you badgering me?

Ma'am, all I asked is if you and Ralph

were happy together?

Happy?

What do you mean, happy?

Happy.

You know, like when married people

like each other.

Oh, are you talking about appearances

or are you talking about genuine feelings?

Ma'am, if you don't mind,

I'd like to ask the questions.

What was your relationship with Jeff Ogden?

Mr. Ogden? Why do you ask?

Because we just arrested him

for your husband's murder, that's why.

Did he confess?

No, he denies everything.

But if you ask me, lady...

Melissa, I think I will have that cup of herb tea.

- Sorry? - Well, when we got here,

you offered us a cup of tea.

Wouldn't you like some herb tea, sheriff?

Mrs. F, I'm trying to investigate a murder here.

Huh?

Oh, gee, uh, yeah.

I guess I would like some.

Lemon or milk?

Oh, just plain for the two of us.

Thanks.

Every time I ask that broad a question,

she answers with a question.

Sheriff,

have you noticed anything interesting

about this desk set?

That's the same design as on the handle

of the scissors we found in Jeff Ogden's trunk.

And from the looks of the carpet,

this desk has been moved.

Damp.

Like it's been washed recently.

You know, I have a feeling

that Ralph Maddox was killed right here.

I should have figured this from the get-go.

They were in this together.

So your husband came home

and found the two of you together?

No.

Now, look, Maddox was the kind of guy

who could get violent, so maybe it was self-defense.

Don't admit anything, Melissa.

Look, there must be some explanation.

I mean, the evidence is overwhelming.

All right, all right. We did move the body.

No, Melissa!

But that's all we did.

Ralph was dead when I got home,

and I panicked, because I was afraid of this.

I was afraid of what you were all going to think.

So Jeff and I decided

that we would move Ralph's body over to the lumberyard.

Jeff?

Why was Jeff there?

He wasn't there.

I phoned him, and he said

that he would help me.

So you two just decided to move the body

after you found him dead?

Yes.

I cleaned up the mess,

Jeff took Ralph's body to the lumberyard,

and he was supposed to get rid of the scissors and the towels,

but I guess he forgot.

Jeff, what do you have to say about all this?

That's the way it happened, Mrs. Fletcher.

Okay, I can see I'm wasting my time here.

Floyd, put him back in the lockup.

You know, sheriff,

their story is just bizarre enough to be true.

Okay. Okay, Mrs. Maddox.

Let's just say I believe your story.

Your husband was already dead when you came home

- from writing class? - That's right.

Now, wait a minute, Melissa,

you told me that your writing class had been canceled.

It was, because Mr. Garrison was sick.

So Jeff and I read a story together.

Let me guess.

In his bedroom?

Well, yes.

But I left there because I knew

my husband was coming home from the lumberyard.

He always works late on my class night.

Take your time and think about this.

Was there time after you left Ogden's place

for him to get to your house ahead of you

and maybe kill your husband?

Well, I did drive around before I went home,

and I parked a little while to clear my head.

Melissa, didn't you say that you phoned Jeff

after you got home and found Ralph's body?

Mrs. F, do you mind? I'm trying to make a point.

So you and Ogden were sneaking around

behind your husband's back.

No.

Okay, Jeff is in love with me

and I never encouraged him at all.

But he begged me to leave Ralph,

and he said that he was desperate to have me.

All right, well, what about it?

Was there time for Ogden to get there ahead of you,

maybe have a fight with your husband, and stab him?

Well, I guess he could have.

So what do you think about the story, Jessica?

Wonderful, if you believe in trial by the fourth estate.

That is a totally unbiased story, and you know it.

Oh, for heaven sakes, Ben, you've crucified them both,

especially Melissa.

And I was certainly right about her.

Oh, Jessica, don't you see?

Jeff is a lovesick puppy dog.

The woman is using him.

Melissa Maddox killed her husband.

Now, who knows, maybe in self-defense,

then duped Jeff into helping her cover up.

Yes, he does seem more interested in protecting Melissa

than he does himself.

Cabot Cove Gazette. Devlin here.

Who is this?

When?

You're sure of that?

Hold on, I have to have your name...

You're slipping.

You forgot "what" and "where."

A good old anonymous phone tip.

Deep throat is alive and well and living in Cabot Cove.

Is it something you'd care to share with me

before your readers get it?

Some lady says she saw Ralph Maddox

coming out of a bar over in River Bend about 9:30

the night he was murdered, with a lady.

Oh, so he lied to Melissa. He wasn't at the lumberyard.

While Melissa was leading young Jeff

down the garden path in writing class,

Ralph was sneaking around with Trudy Ludwig.

Trudy?

That's who the anonymous caller said

Maddox came out of the bar with,

and they had one hell of a fight in the parking lot.

All right, so Ralph and I had a little argument.

It doesn't mean I killed him.

What was going on between you and Maddox?

Oh, for Pete's sake, Metzger, they were having an affair,

and Maddox probably told her he wouldn't leave his wife.

Affair?

It was more like a one-night stand.

At least, that was Ralph's game plan.

Two drinks, and he wanted to go to a motel on our first date.

What kind of a girl did he think I was?

But, Trudy, you knew that Ralph was married.

Yeah, sure, but I also knew

he'd been seeing somebody for months.

He gave me this sad story

about just breaking up with his girlfriend.

Men.

Do you have any idea who that woman was?

He didn't say, and I wasn't interested.

Well, if that's all there was to it,

how'd you get that bruise?

Well, like I said, Ralph had romantic plans,

and I wasn't buying.

So I told him to take me home,

and on the way we got a flat tire.

It didn't help sweeten up his disposition,

I can tell you that.

Well, that tracks.

We found a flat in Ralph's trunk,

which accounts for the dirt and grease on his hands

when we found the body.

Anyway, in front of my house

he makes another pass, so I slapped him.

He slapped me right back.

He took off. End of story.

So you're saying he was still alive

the last time you saw him.

Oh, he was alive, all right.

Maybe alive enough to go home and hit on his wife.

I guess that's when she got him

with those scissors, right?

Well, this changes everything, Mrs. F.

Well, that's why I thought you'd better read it.

A badly-written story about a sensitive young wife

with a goon for a husband,

who's having a steamy love affair

with her English teacher?

A suave, cultured, sophisticated, older man.

Yeah, and in the end, the cultured professor

fights it out with the mean husband with daggers.

The lover kills the husband,

and carries the wife off into the silk sheets.

We've got the wrong boyfriend here, Mrs. F.

And as soon as Floyd gets her in here,

that lady's got a lot of explaining to do.

Of course, the story doesn't really prove anything,

but in my experience,

beginners usually write about things

that tend to be autobiographical.

So in this scenario,

Melissa's lover is her teacher, Drew Garrison.

Wait a minute, wait a minute.

The writing class was canceled that night.

So Melissa sets herself up

with an alibi with Jeff, the schnook,

while Drew Garrison sneaks over there

and stabs her husband.

Well, that's not a very clever alibi,

under the circumstances.

Sheriff, this is ridiculous.

I have already told you everything I know.

Oh, yeah?

Well, why don't you tell me about this story you wrote,

Mrs. Maddox?

Floyd, where did you get that umbrella?

Well, it was raining real hard,

and Mrs. Maddox got it out of her closet.

Of course, it was raining the night of the murder.

And it rained on the fourth of July picnic; so what?

Sheriff, the last time I saw that umbrella,

or one exactly like it, was the day before the murder,

and Drew Garrison was carrying it.

Mrs. Maddox, I think you better tell us the truth.

Well, can I have a cup of coffee?

Drew did it for me.

I mean, he couldn't stand to see me unhappy,

married to a man who could never appreciate me.

So you planned it together.

No, not exactly.

I mean, isn't it obvious?

He didn't want me to be involved.

That's the way Drew is.

He's so thoughtful and so considerate.

Melissa,

it's hard to believe that this was all his idea.

Well, it's true. I mean, I didn't...

I didn't know he was gonna do it.

I wasn't there.

Well, then, how can you be sure

that Drew killed him?

Well, I wouldn't have known

if I hadn't seen his car pulling away

when I came home, and I found his umbrella

next to Ralph's body.

See, Drew's in love with me,

and I know how he feels,

even though he never exactly expressed it.

I mean, all we have to do is look at each other.

But how could you let everyone think that Jeff did it?

Well, I never said that Jeff killed Ralph.

He said that Jeff killed Ralph.

I'm gonna need a statement.

That woman's story is totally ridiculous, sergeant.

I was at home with a bad cold

the night that man was murdered.

I can verify that, and I'd be willing

to swear to it in court,

if the charges weren't so laughable.

Nobody's laughing, Mrs. Garrison.

As for me being Melissa's lover...

well, that's even more ridiculous.

Oh, yeah?

Well, that's not how it reads in that story she wrote.

I mean, you did read it?

Yes.

I was absolutely embarrassed by it.

I mean, not only was it dreadfully written,

she modeled her two-dimensional character

hero on me.

The poor child fantasized the whole thing.

Oh, Jessica, many of Drew's students form crushes on him.

Something about my husband

that appeals to the immature female.

Melissa wasn't the first. Surely you understand?

Oh, yes, I suppose, but--

Lost in a dream world,

married to a man who terrified her.

No doubt she was sexually repressed.

And when her husband came home after drinking,

and he put his greasy, filthy hands on her, well...

she must have felt total revulsion.

And she lashed out at him with the nearest thing at hand,

the scissors.

I never left the house that night.

I was too sick.

Rita gave me one of those nighttime cold preparations,

and I dozed right off.

She was even nice enough to go out in the rain

and get me some aspirin.

Oh, how very thoughtful of her.

And did she take her own car?

Yes, of course I did.

No, your car was in for repairs, darling, remember?

You must have taken mine.

And it was raining.

So you did take an umbrella, didn't you, Rita?

You fool!

It was you...

in Drew's car that Melissa saw driving away,

just before she discovered the body.

You were the one who left the umbrella.

What are they talking about, darling?

Well, what am I missing here?

Why would you kill Ralph Maddox?

Remember what Trudy said, sheriff,

about Ralph just breaking up with a woman

that he'd been seeing?

Possibly a woman who had free evenings

while her husband was teaching night class.

And Ralph had a pass while Melissa was in class, too.

- That's disgusting. - I'm sorry, Rita,

but you've given yourself away.

There's no way that you could have known

about Ralph having soiled hands,

unless you'd been there when he got back home.

That wasn't in the newspaper.

You and Ralph Maddox?

Were you out of your mind?

At least he didn't drop Latin phrases at the dinner table,

or whistle Mozart in the shower.

At least he was a real man.

And he made me feel like a woman.

Ralph phoned me that night.

He wanted to get back together.

Drew was in bed with one of his silly colds.

Ralph was wet, dirty.

He'd been drinking.

He thought he could just snap his fingers

and everything would be the same as it was.

Then he told me he'd been with Trudy,

and she'd turned him down.

Suddenly I saw him for what he was.

I felt unclean.

And then he put those filthy hands on me and...

I don't even remember when I grabbed the scissors!

Really? When?

Oh, my goodness.

Well, Seth, is everything all right?

You're sure?

All right. Well, give Margie my love.

And I'll see you when you get back, okay?

Right, bye.

That was Seth Hazlitt.

His daughter was expecting a baby three or four days ago,

but now it looks as if it'll be another week.

Ah, the joys of parenthood.

Well, I can't wait to meet this guy.

I hear he's even more pigheaded and opinionated than you are.

Oh, thanks.

You know, Jessica, I really should be

annoyed with you for not phoning me

for the big finish-- When Rita Garrison confessed.

Well, I hadn't planned it that way, believe me.

And Melissa fantasized

the whole affair with Drew Garrison?

Compared to her husband,

Drew Garrison was a dream lover.

Drew apparently hardly even thought about her,

until he turned up in her story.

Well, I should have figured it out.

I knew the killer was a woman; I had that right.

All those years on the big city newspaper beat,

you have an instinct.

Which reminds me...

I couldn't interest you in a job, could I?

Just for a few days,

till I can find myself a new reporter.

Well, what happened to Jeff Ogden?

Gone off to the big city to lick his wounds.

Melissa totally disillusioned him.

It's good for him. Toughen him up.

Might even make a good newspaperman someday.

Well, thanks for the offer,

but journalism is your beat, not mine.

Writing is writing.

Why, some of our best authors

have been newspapermen at one time.

Hemingway, Forsyth, Ben Hecht.

Is this the one argument

that you're going to let me win, I hope?