All language subtitles for MrSWr922

Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote.

Dead! Totally, absolutely dead.

If the second half of your new novel is as spellbinding,

you have another best seller on your hands.

Just because you bought my father,

does not mean you can buy me too.

I can guarantee you’ll never see another cent from us.

You look absolutely delicious.

Unless we move very fast, there could be more murders.

That whole bunch was looney.

You so much as breathe heavy, I’ll go straight to Valerie.

Hold it, Coile!

Seth! Look out!

Come on, before somebody sees us.

You said we’d have the run of the beach, Coile.

And you told me that old lighthouse was empty.

I did the best I could.

Anyway, at least it’s up in a couple of days.

Next time, we’ll have the beach all to ourselves.

We better. And if you can’t deliver,

there’s half a dozen other guys between here and Nova Scotia.

I told you, Larry--

Next Thursday, okay?

I know a guy in Quincy that can move this stuff in a big way.

Yeah, you’ll get rich here, Phil.

Unless you send us all to the joint first.

There was never any question in Rebecca’s mind

that Squire’s primary business was smuggling.

But could she reach Constable Trelanie in time?

Undaunted, she pressed on determined to arrive

before the storm broke.

She felt the cold blast of the north easter lay against her cheek,

while above, the scuttling clouds broke apart in a sudden fury.

She quickened her pace,

regretting the stubborn pride

that had forced her to refuse

Vance Pembrooke’s offer of a ride out to the estate.

Rounding a bend, she peered ahead,

relief flooding her face.

The lights of the house shone in the distance

luring her on with their illusion of safety.

Sacrificing all decorum, she dashed up the walk,

little knowing or caring what twisted fate

destiny might unleash.

Rebecca reached the door.

Dead! Totally, absolutely dead.

- What? - Ladies, please. Give her a chance.

All right, now. Take a deep breath.

Tell us what happened. Who? Who is dead?

Who? You mean what. My car.

Darn thing died on me all the way back on Elm street.

I hope I didn’t wreck everything.

Oh, of course not.

Oh, it seems that the weather is conspiring against us.

With the storm on the way, we probably ought to dispense

with the question and answer period.

So I suggest that we all thank Ms. Stone

for truly a memorable evening.

And wish her and her family a safe trip back to New York.

Oh, thank you. Thank you.

My stay in Cabot Cove has been an absolutely

marvelous experience.

Well, I have to say this, Sibella,

if the second half of your new novel

is as spellbinding as the first chapter you read to us tonight,

you have another best seller on you hands.

I absolutely agree.

Miss Stone, Sibella,

would it be presumptuous to ask,

do you ever miss the Count?

Your first husband.

Oh, I suppose my reaction says it all.

Actually, Boris, Count Risovsky,

was a darling man.

But after my first novel,

the men I wrote became far more forceful, vivid.

Aha. There you are.

- Hello, Derek. - Hi, Jessica.

Here she is.

- Oh, darling. - Sorry I’m late.

I’ve been on the phone all afternoon to the coast.

Oh, poor dear.

That manuscript?

Actually, I think I have it pre-sold as a mini-series.

Oh, Derek, that’s--

That’s really terrific.

It’s your classic Cinderella story.

Jessica, can you believe it?

This housewife from Enid, Oklahoma-- What’s her name?

- Bobbie Jo Pickinpaw. - Yeah.

She sends Derek the very first thing she’s ever written.

Straight over the transom and it’s fabulous.

Well, a little rough around the edges, but--

- But it means there’s hope for all of us. - Exactly.

Jessica, now please, you must come by

and see those journals I found.

One of them dates from 1843. They are amazing.

Well, I’d be most interested. Thank you.

- Good night. - Good night.

Oh, and drive carefully.

Um...

Marian, not now.

- Oh, sorry, Ms. Reed. - Dr. Hazlitt.

- How are you? - Fine, thanks.

Ugh! Look at my trousers.

What about-- Miss, are you all right?

I’ll survive,

which may be more than I can say for my mail.

How about we take a look before we leap to conclusions.

There.

Almost dry as a bone, wouldn’t you say, Ms. Hartman?

Pity about your dry cleaning.

Oh, drat.

Next time, perhaps you’ll look where you’re going.

Colin, enough.

Young man, you’ve got to be the rudest,

most inconsiderate person I’ve met in a long time.

Colin, it’s time to get going.

Look, mister, get your jacket cleaned

and put it on the Stone account.

She’s renting Bay House.

Stone? You mean, the novelist?

My stepmother.

And don’t worry. She’s good for it.

Monroe?

You better snap to it.

Mr. Turner’s grumbling again.

Oh, thanks.

Ms. Fletcher, wait!

- I-it’s Phil, isn’t it? - Yes, ma’am.

- Phil Coile. - Of course.

- How’s your mother? - Much better, thanks.

Back’s hardly bothering her at all.

Reason I yelled, Ms. Fletcher, that first step is broken.

Hit it wrong, you might break a leg or worse.

Well, thank you for warning me.

I tried warning her too. Ms. Stone, I mean.

Told her the place was falling apart,

and what does she do? She rents it anyway.

Now I hear they wanna stay another week.

You might wanna do her a favor, Ms. Fletcher.

Talk her into leaving before somebody gets hurt.

Here we are.

Oh, Jessica, you’re an absolute angel.

I couldn’t think where in the world I’d left it.

- Please, come and sit down. - Thank you.

You know, I couldn’t ask Derek.

Well, if he thought I lost the very first gift he ever gave me...

I understand from Phil Coile, that you’re planning to spend

a few more days here.

It has been so wonderful.

I’ll be able to finish my book.

Assuming, that is, that rocket scientist can keep the place

from totally crumbling for that long.

And then, my reward.

Three weeks in Montego Bay.

Just Derek and me.

Here are the journals.

But why don’t we take them outside and look at them?

What a good idea.

And, uh, Marian.

Be a dear and fax these copy changes back to New York.

I’ll take care of it.

Nice to see you again, Mrs. Fletcher.

Thank you, Marian.

"And as the snows of the hardest winter in memory

shed their melting tears outside my window,

I saw all nature wake as from a long and peaceful sleep.

The robins’ song this morning had all the sweetness of a nosegay of violets."

Oh, Sibella. These really are a find.

You know, I must check with the owner and see if he won’t donate these

to the local library.

This one dates from 1879.

Apparently written by the daughter when she was about ten.

Well, that would be-- Let me think, now.

That would be Catherine Moody. Now--

Sibella...

I can’t believe that they’re still trying to toss

Colin out of the country.

Excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher. Sibella, we have to talk.

Oh, I was just about to leave anyway.

Oh, stay where you are, Jessica. Please.

Now, Val, what is our problem today?

This from the INS.

They want Colin to come in for a deportation hearing.

You said that you had a friend in Washington

who could fix it so we could stay.

I do, but I never said I’d call him.

Val, he’s an opportunist.

No, he’s not. He cares about me.

Nonsense, girl. Colin cares about Colin.

Valerie, darling, if you’re contemplating anything more serious

than sleeping with that Piccadilly prima donna,

I can guarantee, you’ll never see another cent from us.

No so long as I live.

Just because you bought my father

does not mean you can buy me too.

Excellent, since your father can now afford you in his own right,

perhaps you’d prefer that he buy you on his terms.

And they say my books are gothic trash.

This family is like life imitating satire.

Listen, about dinner,

perhaps it would be better to make it--

Oh, nonsense, Jessica.

I won’t hear of it.

Seven o'clock Thursday, black tie.

Seven o'clock it is.

Oh, more journals. How lovely.

Sibella found them in the basement.

How about a cup of coffee?

Oh, no thank you. I have to be getting back.

I’ll see you tonight,

assuming our party preparations aren’t a complete disaster.

Mrs. Fletcher, may I ask you question?

Of course.

Do you find the writing to be satisfying?

Well, yes. Yes, I do.

Of course, that’s not to say that some days aren’t more fun than others.

Why do you ask?

I don’t know.

Except for you, Sibella’s the only professional novelist I’ve met.

I’ve been working pretty closely with her the last couple years.

And I guess it just seems to me

that it’s not making her very happy.

For her, it’s like she cares more about the success than the writing.

Well, of course, it’s very easy for that to happen.

Not the success, of course, but everything that goes with it.

All the publicists, the tours,

the TV appearances, the media hype.

Sometimes it seems like it’s taking over her whole life.

It can, if you let it.

Except, it doesn’t seem to bother her.

It obviously bothers you.

Marian, I can’t speak for Sibella,

but I’ve found that writing can get stale

if I’m not stretching myself.

I have to guard against slipping into patterns.

Doing it the same old way. Maybe everyone does.

Are you thinking of becoming a writer?

I--

Yes, I guess I’ve thought about it.

On the other hand,

it could be that Sibella’s unhappiness

is caused by something other than her career.

Yes, I-- I guess I never considered that. I--

I better get back now.

Marian, I’m not much of an advice giver.

But if you do decide to write,

you might give some thought to simply going out

on your own and just doing it.

I know from my own experience

nobody is going to do it for you.

Well, thanks, Mrs. Fletcher.

- I’ll see myself out. - Fine.

Oh, this darn tie.

Can you fix this tie for me?

Oh, I’ve gotta see to the caterers

and the table and the flowers.

Knock, knock.

Marian. You look lovely. Doesn’t she, Derek?

Yes, absolutely.

Thanks. I was wondering if you needed help with anything?

Oh, you’re a dear.

How are you with bow ties?

I think I can do it.

Just-- right there.

You look absolutely delicious.

Mmm-- Marian, not now. Now is not the time.

When, for heaven’s sakes?

You just have to be a little more patient, that’s all.

- I promise. - You said that before.

I know.

When she’s through with her new novel, then. All right?

The next batch, a little less dill.

Yes, ma’am.

Those candles over there,

please space them a little more evenly.

Mm-hmm.

Sibella. I must speak with you.

Where’s Valerie? Shining your shoes?

Preening. She’ll be along shortly.

Listen, uh, about my visa,

I desperately need your help, you know.

I know.

All right.

What is it you want?

A trade off. I fix it so you can take out US citizenship,

and you give up Valerie.

That’s out of the question.

Not that you two don’t deserve each other.

But without you, she might turn into a human being I can tolerate.

Forget it, love.

I wasn’t under the impression that you had a choice.

Phil. Working late, aren’t you?

Shape this place is in, the work never stops, Ms. Stone.

Like I said, whole thing is just an accident waiting to happen.

I do appreciate your concern, but fortunately,

the building inspector doesn’t agree with it.

I swear, I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.

Cheer up, Seth.

It’s a lovely night.

No clouds, lots of stars.

- Look at those lights. - Lights?

Fisherman, probably.

Hmm? It appears to be some sort of a signal.

SOS?

No, no. It’s too irregular. See?

I can't, and keep this thing on the road?

Well, it stopped.

Which is what I would like to do,

followed by turning around and going home.

Oh!

I hope we’re not too late, Seth.

It’s my fault. I couldn’t find my darn car keys.

Good evening, Mrs. Fletcher.

Just hang up your coats and join the others, won’t you?

I’m trying to find Sibella.

Ah. Well if this is what passes for hospitality,

we’re in for quite a long night.

By the way, did you notice that Ms. Hartman

and Mr. Wonderful are right over there?

Oh, come on, Seth. Give it a chance.

All right. Okay, but I’m warning you,

it’s got disaster written all over it.

Help! Please, help!

Somebody! Somebody help me!

Help me! Help! Help!

And then again at Le Mans in 1980.

The identical thing happened.

It was the 23rd hour, I had the race won.

Bloody car was running like a top,

and then cornering out of the Mulsanne straight,

the rear suspension broke and I spun out.

My former mechanic had neglected to install the proper shift.

Oh, it makes me very glad that I never learned how to drive.

Interesting, isn’t it?

How all his losses, seem to be someone else’s fault.

All the same, I am fascinated by people who live on the edge.

Well, I think Mr. Burnham has already fallen off his.

I heard a couple of the guests talking.

They said Colin had been dropped from his racing team.

Apparently, he lost his nerve.

Hmm.

Jessica, we have been here 40 minutes.

Do you realize our hostess hasn’t put in an appearance yet?

- Dr. Hazlitt. - Yes.

- Jessica, you look lovely. - Thank you, Derek.

So, how can I induce you to leave your publisher and sign with me?

Oh, I’m afraid that’s a very hard sale, Derek.

Oh, come on.

Are you telling me you’re actually happy

with your advertising and promotion?

Are you telling me you’ve ever met an author who was?

No.

Even my wife gives me grief about that.

Excuse me, can I speak to you please?

Yes, I wonder where Sibella has disappeared to.

Oh, do you really care?

You needed her ten years ago, not now.

Valerie, you shut up, all right?

What’s wrong, Marian?

I’m not sure. I found this on our dressing table.

"Boathouse, 7:00 pm."

That’s almost an hour ago.

Help!

Oh, God. Sibella!

Derek! My ankle! It’s caught!

Hold on, darling. We’ll get you out.

Oh, Derek.

You’re free now. She’s free. Pull her up.

You got it?

There.

Oh.

Blood pressure and temperature normal.

Except those bruises on your ankle,

I’d say you’re none the worse for wear.

Thank heaven for that.

Tide rising like that, another few minutes,

it would’ve been all over.

What were you doing down at the boathouse anyway?

It’s ridiculous, really.

Jessica was very excited by the moody family diaries.

I recalled seeing more volumes down there,

so I went to get them?

What’s that got to do with the note?

What note?

Oh, yes. Now I remember.

I wrote that memo to remind myself

to meet Phil Coile down there yesterday evening

to discuss some repairs.

Ironic, isn’t it?

I don’t know if it’s quite the word I’d use.

In any case, it’s very fortunate that Ms. King found the note.

I will certainly second that.

And now, darling, I think it’s essential

that you get some rest.

I feel terrible that I’ve ruined

what promised to be a very lovely evening.

Thank you. Thank all of you.

Good night.

- Thanks again. - You’re welcome.

Everything was very nice.

Have a nice night.

Colin. You startled me.

Valerie needed something warmer.

It’s perfectly awful what happened to Sibella.

You must be frightfully upset.

Forget it. You so much as breathe heavy,

I’ll go straight to Valerie.

I don’t think so, love.

Because if you did,

I’d have to inform Sibella of your

nightly rendezvous with Derek.

Be my guest.

Ta-ta, Colin.

And on top of that,

you disappear for 15 minutes

while I get treated to another round of family feud.

Where in the devil were you, anyway?

Well, if you’ll give me half a chance, I’ll tell you.

I went back to the boathouse.

Those broken board that Sibella thought were rotten?

Well, some of their edges were cleanly cut.

Are you saying someone tried to kill her?

Or frighten her.

I mean, either way, I’m almost certain it was deliberate. And that’s not all.

I couldn’t find any of those family journals that she said

- were down there. - Somebody could’ve removed them?

Remember those flashing lights

that we noticed on the water while we were driving up?

You think there’s some sort of connection

between those lights and what happened?

Well, I don’t know.

But I did think that Sibella

was being somewhat less than candid

about that note that Marian found.

My sentiments exactly.

As if she was frightened of something

but can’t quite bring herself to tell us what it is.

Who or what would poss--

Seth, look out!

- Oh. - You were right.

Well, yes. I think so.

Now where do you suppose Phil Coile is going

at such an all fired hurry?

I was asking myself the same question.

Okay, Mr. Shepard, where is she?

Right down there.

Andy? Did you touch anything?

No. No way. I just took one look and ran to a phone.

Your kin live around here?

No, Sir. I’m sort of new in town.

I rent a room over on Elm.

I was out walking, watching the sun rise.

Any idea who it is?

I’m not sure.

I’ve seen that writer wearing a coat with a hood like that.

Jessica Fletcher?

No, I think her name's Stone.

Sibella Stone?

Is she...?

Yeah. Okay if I move her, sheriff?

Yeah, but as little as possible till Doc gets here.

Wait a minute. That isn’t--

That’s not Mrs. Stone.

That’s Sibella Stone’s assistant, Marian King.

Doctor Hazlitt figures it happened last night

anywhere between ten and one am.

It’s-- it’s horrible.

Yes, ma’am. It is.

Blow to the head like that, the doctor said

death was instantaneous.

And we figured she fell from the bluff after she was struck.

What was she doing out there anyhow?

I was about to ask the same thing.

Perhaps she was headed to the boathouse to...

- meet someone. - Colin, that’s ridiculous.

Why is that, Ms. Hartman?

I’ll tell you why.

Because the girl didn’t have a devious bone in her body.

Or an enemy in the world so far as I know.

Oh, Sibella, I’m so sorry.

- Thank you, Jessica. - Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher.

Are you here to maybe shed some light on this?

It’s odd that you should mention light.

Um, I had no idea if there’s any connection,

but has anyone mentioned to you that someone

has been flashing signal lights out in the bay

at night not far from here?

Signal lights?

I saw it myself on the way up here last night.

And Marian told me that she’d seen them the past two nights.

Anyone else see them?

Actually, I think I may have.

I usually take a walk before going to bed, weather permitting.

- On the beach? - Heavens, no.

The bluff is as close as I care to get to the water.

Anyway, I just assumed that they were ships passing

or something of that sort.

On these walks, ma’am,

do you ever wear a long, gray coat with a hood?

I have a gray cloak, yes.

Does Ms. King have one like that?

No, not that I know of.

Then I’m afraid, ma’am, Ms. King was wearing your cloak

when she was killed.

Oh, my God.

So, you’re saying--

I believe what the sheriff is suggesting

is that the killer might’ve mistaken Marian for you.

Monroe, I heard about the murder.

Are you okay?

More or less, yeah.

I’m worried about you.

Oh, don’t be.

They say that... you discovered the body?

So?

Well, what were you doing way out there?

I’ve answered enough questions for one morning, Sue.

Please, Monroe, don’t shut me out.

I-I can’t stand it.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Yes, you do.

You’re involved somehow with them, aren’t you?

Something to do with that family.

Forget it, Sue. You’re imagining things.

Am I?

Ever since we’ve been seeing each other,

ever since you got to town,

I sensed there’s something between you and those people.

- Sue, I-- - Please, Monroe, don’t do this to me.

I haven’t wanted to pry, but,

it’s making me a little crazy.

The way you look at them when they come to town,

the phone calls,

the dates that you’ve broken off with me.

The dead girl. Ms. King.

That’s it, isn’t it?

- You and she-- - No!

Then it’s that-- that Valerie.

- The pretty one. - Sue...

I’m sorry.

Just let me get back to work, okay?

Monroe?

But why would she take my cloak?

If I remember correctly,

Marian’s coat was this pale, cream one.

Is that Marian King’s coat?

Yes, it is.

But I still don’t understand why she didn’t wear it.

Maybe she couldn’t find it under that top coat.

Or maybe she was just in such a hurry,

she grabbed the nearest one, yours.

Who does this belong to?

That is mine.

Then you were right about the incident

at the boathouse last night.

Whoa, hold it. What incident?

When Jessica got home, she called me

suggesting that I get in touch with you.

I didn’t think it was important.

Sibella, there were no journals in the boathouse.

- Journals? - And the note.

Was it really about your meeting with Phil Coile?

The Count never existed.

This is Joe Welinsky, my real first husband.

I’ve been receiving these for several weeks now.

"You owe me, love Joe."

"It’s time to share the wealth. Joe W."

This one is from Milwaukee. And this from St. Louis.

But there’s no return address on either one.

This one’s even more threatening.

"If you refuse, I’ll make mincemeat out of you. Signed J.W."

He always had a crazy streak.

I divorced him after I left Bert Falls.

I hadn’t heard from him in years

until I got these notes.

Anyway, yesterday I received one Marian found

asking me to meet him in the boathouse.

I thought perhaps if we talked,

I might convince him to go away.

Jessica. How is she holding up?

Oh, pretty well, I think.

Sheriff Metzger is still taking her statement.

And you, Derek, how are you holding up?

I’m not, uh, sure how I should respond to that, Jessica.

Well, I suppose that depends how deeply you were involved with Marian.

Well, you do know how to cut to the chase, don’t you?

For me, I think I was trying to convince myself

that I wasn’t growing old.

And for her?

Well, it was more serious for her.

She wanted me to divorce Sibella.

You’re not suggesting that I--

Oh, I’m not suggesting anything, Derek.

Hey, I’m just saying it wasn’t supposed to include murder, okay?

Listen, for the kind of money you’re paying me you won't even see ripples.

Yeah, I gotta go.

Quick. Old man Turner’s looking for you.

Like I told you before, even if I wanted to help Colin,

which I don’t, I have no way of doing it.

Sibella does. She has a friend in Washington.

Please, daddy? Please?

Come on, I know you can talk her into it.

She owes you everything, for God’s sake.

Knowing the way Sibella feels about Colin,

I don’t even think she’ll listen.

What about the way that I feel? Doesn’t that count?

Dammit, why couldn’t it have been her?

It was her cloak. Could’ve been so easy.

Hold it, Coile!

Freeze!

Don’t shoot! I’m not armed!

Neither was Marian King when someone killed her last night.

That someone wouldn’t have been you, would it, Coile?

Are you crazy?

I don’t even know her, why would I wanna kill her?

Could be she saw the same thing in the box that I see.

Pure ivory.

My guess is you’ve been smuggling that in by boat.

Probably by way of Canada.

Which would explain the flashing lights

people have been seeing offshore.

And the private beach made it a breeze.

Until Ms. Stone arrived.

No wonder you wanted her gone.

You got that part right, sheriff, but,

not bad enough to kill for it.

Yeah? Suppose we let a jury decide that, huh, Coile?

I’m placing you under arrest for smuggling ivory.

And I got a hunch before we’re through,

I’ll be charging you with the attempted murder of Sibella Stone

and the murder of Marian King.

Joseph Henry Wilensky.

So this was Mrs. Stone’s first husband.

Have you seen anybody around town that looks like him, Mrs. Fletcher?

No, no, I haven’t.

According to this, he served three years

of a seven-year term.

Then after six months, he jumped bail.

Been a fugitive ever since.

That was seven years ago.

Then what did you say,

all of a sudden, a few months ago, right out of the blue,

he starts sending notes to Ms. Stone?

- May I use your phone? - Of course, Mrs. Fletcher.

What city, please?

Yes, I’d like the area code for Enid, Oklahoma, please.

Clean, simple, no muss, no fuss.

I love it. Makes you feel like you’re doing your job.

Also, makes you insufferable.

Hey. I’m entitled to a little of that.

I mean you find a lead,

you follow it to it’s logical conclusion

and you catch the guy.

Not only without an alibi for murder,

but red-handed on a whole other crime.

Besides, you’re never insufferable?

Me? Oh, sheriff,

I suggest that you seriously consider a brain scan.

Oh, right.

How ’bout when you finally figured out what was wrong with Adele’s foot?

We didn’t hear the end of that for a month.

The fact that your wife was unaware

that she was walking around for six weeks with a nail in her shoe,

had, you must admit, a certain anecdotal quality.

Especially when you realize

she never once wore that particular shoe

when she came limping in to see me.

Yeah, well, I-- Oh, Mrs. F!

- Oh, Jessica. - Sheriff, I--

Easy on the compliments, Mrs. F.

The Doc isn’t handling them too well.

Actually, sheriff, I came by to tell you,

that I think that you’re mistaken.

And although I can’t quite prove who did murder Marian King,

I’m almost certain that Phil Coile had nothing to do with it.

My goodness, Jess. You don’t say.

Come on, Mrs. F. We got enough on Coile--

To put him away for a couple of lifetimes.

I myself, caught him--

Sheriff, on the off chance that it could prove otherwise,

would you authorize a credit card check?

Credit card check? Sure. Why not?

But I gotta tell you, this is one time you’re mistaken.

Okay, who’s credit card, and what detail?

It’s pretty much the way you had it figured, Mrs. F.

The airline tickets to St. Louis,

New Orleans, Memphis.

Look who signed for him.

- Yes. Sheriff, this one frightens me. - Why?

I think it means that unless we move very fast,

there could be more murders.

Coffee shop.

Sure. It’s for you, Monroe.

Listen, you two close up for me, okay?

You got it, Mr. Turner.

Good night, Mr. Turner.

Hello?

Well I gotta talk to you too.

Tonight?

Okay.

I’ve gotta go out there.

Monroe, I’m scared.

Don’t be. This is the last time.

I'm gonna put an end to this.

Take my chances.

Mr. Shepard,

I wonder if we could have a word with you, please.

Oh, my God.

I was afraid you wouldn’t be here.

Monroe. What’s wrong?

Just tell me what the problem is, Sibella.

What was so urgent?

It’s Derek. He knows about us.

He’s furious and I’m terrified.

So?

You don’t understand. We’re in danger.

He murdered Marian.

Sibella!

Derek, darling, help me!

Sibella?

Sibella, who’s he?

What’s going on?

What’s going on, my darling, is your death.

Wait a minute.

You murdered Marian, didn’t you?

And now...

Don’t even twitch, lady.

Andy.

- Nice job, Mr. Shepard. - Thanks.

Looks like you had this one nailed too, Mrs. F.

She uses this gun to kill her husband,

plugs Monroe with this one,

and then puts the first one in Monroe’s hand.

Thereby making it look as if Monroe had killed Derek,

and that you had no choice

but to kill Monroe in self defense.

Do you really think I’m so stupid, Derek,

that I was blind to what was going on

between you and Marian?

You killed Marian because of our affair?

No Derek, it wasn’t as simple as that.

You came to Cabot Cove to play a calculated charade.

Knowing that I’d be the first to suspect

that attempts were being made on your life.

Attempts which you cleverly contrived.

First the dinner party,

during which a number of people would be made aware that you were missing,

leaving the note where Marian or someone else could find it.

That way you felt sure

you’d be found at the boathouse in time to be rescued.

It was you who saw through the floorboards.

But the tide, she almost drowned.

The one thing she didn’t take into account,

was her ankle getting caught.

Trapping her down there.

Then I remembered the tide chart

you kept prominently pinned to the bulletin board.

Excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher,

probably 80 percent of the people in Cabot Cove have a tide chart.

Even someone who insisted that the bluff was the closest

she ever came to the water’s edge?

Okay. But why was Marian King wearing Mrs. Stone’s cloak?

Because you hid her coat, didn’t you, Sibella? After the party?

Knowing that Marian would be going down to the boathouse

for her usual clandestine meeting with your husband.

So she had no choice but to wear your distinctive cloak.

I get it now.

She kills Ms. King making it look like a mistake.

Like she was the intended victim.

Then she puts Ms. King’s cream colored coat back

so this morning we all see that it’s there under Mr. Hartman’s.

My God, Sibella. Why?

I think that Sibella learned what I did, Derek.

When Marian dropped those journals

off at my house the day of the party,

she questioned me about my work.

I have to guard against slipping into patterns,

doing it the same old way. Maybe everyone does.

Are you thinking of becoming a writer?

I--

Yes, I guess I’ve thought about it.

It left me with the impression

that though she was reluctant to admit it,

she might’ve done more than just considered the possibility.

And then later, I recalled a story

about the new novelist from Oklahoma

and I learned that the only record

of Mrs. Bobbie Jo Peckinpaw from Enid, Oklahoma,

was a post office box rented by Marian King.

The conniving little tramp.

She learned to write by watching me.

With Marian and Derek dead,

as publisher of my own books,

I’d have the best of all worlds.

But there were other key elements in your plan.

The first being your ex-husband Joe Welinsky.

He’s still a fugitive.

Which gave you a ready-made scapegoat.

An angry, vengeful ex-husband

who wanted a piece of your success.

But you needed somebody to help you create that fiction.

So I found Monroe. Sweet boy.

Yeah, sweet boy. You had him scared to death.

Somehow you found out he had a police record

and you threatened to use that against him.

You told him if he didn’t do as you asked,

you were gonna tell everyone that he had burglarized your place.

I might never had made the connection, Sibella,

except that earlier today, in the coffee shop,

while Monroe was preparing the menu,

his chalk broke and I happened to notice

that he misspelled the word "mince",

in the same way as that note that you showed us

after Marian’s body was discovered.

My compliments, Jessica.

I should’ve stuck to my specialty, gothic romance,

and left the murder plotting to you.

I think you were mistaken

on a far more basic level, Sibella.

You convinced yourself

you could pull it off in real life.

And so we checked their credit card records.

- There you go. - Thank you.

Air travel receipts signed for by Monroe

for places like St. Louis, Chicago, Des Moines,

places he must’ve sent the Joe Wilensky letters from.

And the final item was a purchase

that Sibella signed for.

First class air fare to Jamaica.

The holiday that she told me she was planning with her husband.

Only the ticket was for just one person. Sibella.

Ayuh. Well I told you.

Told me what, Seth?

What do you mean, what?

That whole bunch was looney.

New Yorkers and race-car driver vagabonds.

They never should have been allowed up here in the first place.

Mrs. Fletcher, -Dr. Hazlitt,

I just wanted to thank you Mrs. Fletcher.

And to let you know that I’ve decided to settle down here

in Cabot Cove with Sue.

Well, I think that’s lovely.

And I hope you’ll both be very happy.

Thank you.

Monroe?

Well, have a nice day.

Well, now, Seth.

Doesn’t that make you feel good?

Wonderful.

I just hope he takes some spelling lessons.