Original subtitles

Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote.

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, 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 is 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.

Goodbye, 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.

George, this new piece on Robin,

it’s a good start but...

it needs a whole new take, it’s anal,

doesn’t begin to show the-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 me worry about that, okay?

Go, go.

And I want it in my hand by 6 o’clock tonight.

Those low rate schlock masters have done it again. Damn it, Frances.

You told me we had an absolutely 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 want to burn two million copies.

She’s in a meeting right now,

but if you’ll kindly have a seat, Mrs. Fletcher,

- she will 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’m not laying out top dollar for Mert Mandela

and his sleaze machine to make us look foolish.

Jessica, how are you?

Oh, 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 to wait

while I got my bills paid.

Mrs. Fletcher, Gabriel Caceras, Beverly Hills PD,

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 do? - Oh, nice to meet you.

Listen, I saw your new book on the stands.

Still knocking ’em dead, huh?

Like you, lieutenant,

corpses just seem to be part of my job description.

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

Well, I tied the knot two years ago.

She’s a dream.

Oh, how nice.

I’m delighted to meet you.

Her? No, she’s business.

Look, we 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?

Oh, 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 know I’m not in Cabot Cove.

It was 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 sorry, I got kind of confused.

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

Thank you.

Wait a second. Where is the wine?

Wine? Oh, no, these are pages for A-List.

I’m one of miss Hunt’s writers.

You?

Oh, my God, I’m so embarrassed.

Don’t be. I just started.

I can believe that.

Who is 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 is doing very well, don’t you, Mr. Henry?

Oh, Stan, -Mrs. Fletcher.

Malibu, right?

You’re the young man

that Wolfgang hired to do all those great things

with the shitake mushrooms.

No, miss Cobb, I work for miss Hunt.

I’m at the magazine.

God, I met someone

who doesn’t call you by their first name

ten seconds after they meet you.

You should bottle him.

Canopies, anyone?

Yes, thank you.

Betty darling,

you always seem to know about everything.

Who’s 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 got to pay top dollar for your information.

Exactly.

Now, I mean, that’s the only way you can compete

with Starscene and those super market 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 are in a position to outbid us.

Oh, hey, thank you so much

for referring Carrol to me.

Couple of tucks and a nip or two near her hairline,

she will 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. Mandela’s Starscene crashes and burns.

And I hate to talk business, Mrs. Fletcher,

but what happened to our elusive football player?

Davie Wells?

We have two corroborations,

but our lawyer says we need a third.

Listen to them, J.J.

I’ll take my chances.

Pardon me, Junie, but whose chances?

It seems to me you have more problems

with gambling than Roger.

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?

Oh!

Frances darling,

to you and your guest,

my profound apologies.

Oh, Billy, you’ve outdone yourself.

Oh, they are lovely.

They are 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 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.

Ah, in that case, I may forgive you.

Sunday 10 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--

Nobody does flowers like Billy Kyle.

George, give Jessica a break.

She’s got to be--

Whose changes?

It sounds to me like

you have a bigger gambling problem than Roger.

And I told you that.

Where do you get all these stories?

I mean, you can’t make all of them up.

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.

Oh, good night, Jess.

Can you get in touch with Sorentini, sergeant?

Just tell your husband.

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.

There you go, lieutenant.

Yeah, thanks.

Stabbed with these shears,

they’re probably his own, the 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 p.m.

And what do we got here?

Oh, you don’t see many of these around.

Five thousand.

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 $1,000 bills, for flowers?

Well, this is Beverly Hills, Mrs. Fletcher.

I mean, it could have been for a function

or married man, cash, standing order.

I mean, the price of long stem 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, we checked with Rexford.

The alarm works.

Oh, and one of their guards drove past

and saw the victim working here,

it was around... around midnight.

Do you get the feeling

that he must have 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.

Oh, hey. Maybe the man returns later,

Billy lets him in, 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 is your memory for names?

Billy Kyle.

Outstanding!

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

My party on Sunday is gonna be an absolute disaster.

Okay, besides his broken delivery vans,

his non-functional 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.

Uh-huh.

Okay.

And you were at home

with your husband midnight and 3 a.m.,

is that right?

Arnett and I went directly home after Frances’ party.

About 11.30-- 11.15, wasn’t it?

Yes. About then.

Okay.

Miss 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 around 11.30?

Yes. But I doubt she heard me.

She was really out of it.

So she said. Okay.

Mr. Erwin, your turn.

Till about five past 12 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 airtight alibi in the whole lot of you.

Well, except for that realtor Stan Hendricks

who was showing a fixer upper in Benedict Canyon.

From midnight to 3.00?

Not only that, he made the sale.

So how is 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 is the killer.

No, no, he walked out at 6.00

and was on a flight to Seattle by 9.00.

He has an airtight airborne alibi.

Oh, excuse me.

Hello?

Oh, yes, Kate, read me the copy.

So, the senator was seen having dinner with Marlow. Well...

you’re sure they went up to the suite after dinner?

And champagne up to the room at 3 a.m.

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

Ah, 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 is leering.

Right.

Oh, you’d think there was some law on the books

requiring legislators to cheat on their wives.

You’re thinking, where is the law that says

that I have to expose the senator?

Frances, you’re the last person

I ever expected to find driving 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 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' home, 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,

I mean, they make 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.

Yeah, for instance?

Well, she mentioned that

D.W. might be a Davey Wells.

What, the whiz kid quarterback?

Oh, she-- 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.

Oh, who knows.

But you know, now these seem

to be street names or locations.

You see, Davey Wells, Fairgate Clinic? These dollar amounts. It's...

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 or a paid informant.

Okay, but I mean $5, $7?

Oh, lieutenant, you know how big time gamblers

sometimes refer to say $5,000 as $5.

Hey, you know, why not?

I mean, it would sure explain away those $1,000 bills,

not to mention giving us a dandy motive of murder.

Billy Kyle digs into dirt

somebody doesn’t want uncovered,

somebody like Mr. Wells or--

Can you believe I got one of these things?

Caceras.

Yeah.

Got it.

All right, well, let the captain know.

Right. Thanks, Tori.

That was the lab.

They just IDd the only unsmudged prints

on that envelope we found,

the one with the big bills in it.

It belonged to George Erwin.

That nice young man?

The one without an alibi.

You know, as a teenager,

he spent some time in juvenile hall.

Lieutenant, I never even met Mr. Kyle

before miss Hunt’s party.

I mean, I’m pretty new around here.

He’s telling the truth, lieutenant.

Now can we go to dinner?

Oh, when you got a whiff of the kind of

clientele Mr. Kyle handled,

you figured he kept big bucks in his drawer.

Lieutenant Caceras--

So you stab him, rifle his cash drawer--

Lieutenant, why would he pick up an envelope

with all that 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.

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?

Well, I’m beginning to think

Mrs. Fletcher is even smarter than I thought she was.

Want to tell me about it, Mr. Erwin?

Would you rather I take you downtown and book you?

I just go to accounting and 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.

Go.

Miss 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, miss 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, miss Hunt?

Oh, my God.

I didn’t kill anybody. Really, I didn’t.

So to review your sworn statement, miss Hunt,

and there is nothing

you wish to change, is that correct?

No, nothing.

You misspelled Windhurst, there’s a D in it.

May I go now?

Just bear with me.

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

and your housekeeper Betty O'Hara,

they all left your dinner party by 11.30?

Yes, except for Jessica Fletcher,

who was asleep.

And I turned in about 12.00.

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

Yes.

Okay.

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 printout shows you gassed up at 1.35 a.m.

that morning, which puts you there

at the time he was murdered.

Now people have gone to the gas chamber

for far less than that, miss Hunt.

Oh, good Lord.

Very well.

That part is true, I did see Billy,

but I didn’t murder him.

What, it’s a habit of yours?

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

Well, 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, miss Hunt.

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

George, this is not your fault.

Betty is right.

I mean, the truth about Billy Kyle and the payments

and Frances’ visit to his shop,

it all would have come up

whether or not you said a word.

She’s just been such a good friend to me.

Do you think she did it, miss 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 better get over to the office.

Well, you sure you’re okay?

Yeah, yeah.

Miss Fletcher, Betty, thanks a lot.

I really appreciate this--

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

Of course, come on, miss 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?

I’m sorry, honey,

Davey’s not receiving visitors this morning.

Oh.

Well, he must have forgotten to tell you.

Oh, yes.

You mean about you and him

talking on the phone this morning

and his promising to leave your name at the desk.

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, he--

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 tried every trick in the book

to try to get to see golden arm Davey.

I got to say yours isn’t the most original.

Excuse me, hon.

Fairgate Clinic, nurse Tickle.

Okay.

Hi, there.

Some autographs for the floor nurses,

a couple for yourself and the other volunteers.

Oh, how lovely.

All 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 and 300 pound

linemen eyeing you like dinner,

throw in two torn rotator cuffs

and three knee operations,

yeah, 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 other?

He was murdered the other night.

As I’m quite sure you’re 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?

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

but no, I am not with the 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 grillers blind sides me, could be my last.

Six years now I’ve been 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 found it here at Fairgate.

I take it the clinic goes along with your charade.

They 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. - Oh.

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.

Oh, sorry.

Playing my song. Excuse me.

For legal services, please contact O-B-G-Y-N...

Hmm, 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 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 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 referral, or rather your initials.

I remember that your husband called you

J.J. at Frances’ party.

Oh, why would I recommend a doctor I barely heard off?

Everyone 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 Dr. Windhurst on his discretion that night.

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

You’re looking in the wrong place.

I’m beginning to realize that.

Now 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 LA?

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 LA 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.

Uh-huh. 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.

But hey, in the circles you travel, the inside stuff

you’ve got must bring in thousands.

Well, now, wait a minute, Betty.

I mean, I don’t sell gossip.

Well, 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 killed Billy to end it,

if that’s what you’re thinking.

And if you’re wondering if I had an extra 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 will pay for the gas, hop in.

And if I did that,

I’d break your arm.

Oh, hi, miss 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.

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 Brody in a workshop

this weekend and I play the lead.

See? The spinstery 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 would 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, miss Fletcher?

I can do sexy, hottie, 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 is 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 considerably

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 line up.

And you have her name and address?

Mm-hmm.

- 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, 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 just disappear.

There’s a flight to Rio at 10 ’o clock

we can just get you on it.

My, my word. You certainly know how to pull a girl’s chain.

That-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.

Oh!

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 woke up around 1.30 and--

- 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 new story.

If I had to guess I-- I’d credit the idea

to Mrs. Fletcher’s fertile imagination.

Arnett is here

because he believes I may have killed Billy Kyle.

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.

The 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

and a little too close to home, wasn’t it?

So if you folks will excuse us

I think Arnett and I will wind 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.

Rewriting 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 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 and then 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.

Miss 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 could 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 from 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.

Once 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’ve been able to raise ten for now.

What is this?

One call to Mandela over at Starscene

and I’ll get double what I’m asking from you.

Billy, give me some time.

Oh, shame, a classy operation

like A-List has to go under 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 out of here.

Shops closed, Mrs. Cobb and I got to make a phone call.

Hello.

Yeah, I know you’re closed.

Patch me through to Mert Mandela at home.

Yeah, I know how late it is.

So that’s the way it was.

Darling, nothing would have spoiled my love for you.

I would have understood, forgiven.

Do me a favor, Arnett,

don’t always be such an old fool.

Junie Cobb, I’m arresting you

for the murder for 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 jetlag 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.

Oh, there it is.

My receipt book.

Sorry to bother you again.

Now tell us, Mrs. Fletcher,

where do your characters comes from?

J.J., if you’d listen, Mrs. Fletcher says

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.