All language subtitles for MrSWr5E04.Snow.White.Blood.Red.

We’ve got a panic brewing downstairs.

There’s a killer in our midst,

and at least for now, we’re all trapped here by the storm.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

He was stabbed, stripped, and hung up on the showerhead.

Well, on the surface it appears that we’re looking

for a left-handed homicidal maniac.

If you were a man, I would be killing you!

Sheriff, we have a problem. Two murders within

the last 12 hours. We need help.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Johnny! You know, I had an idea that was you.

You’re not half bad. I thought you were out of practice.

Well, cross-country I can handle.

But downhill it was total terror all the way.

I have a feeling I’m gonna regret this tomorrow.

Well, if the storm hits like they’re saying,

- there won’t be any skiing tomorrow. - Oh, saved!

At least I won’t make a fool of myself

in front of the entire U.S. World Cup team.

Don’t jump the gun. None of us have actually made the ski team yet,

except for Gunnar Tilstrom.

- So, when does your nephew arrive? - Well, soon, I hope.

Uh, Mrs. Fletcher, would you excuse me?

There seems to be a lady in distress over there.

Oh, yes, yes. I see what you mean.

Anne, honey.

Look, you have to keep track of the inventory.

All right, Mike. I made a mistake.

How long are you going to keep this up?

- I’m just trying to impress upon you-- - All right! I’m impressed.

You didn’t marry me because I was a bookkeeper.

- Hi, Anne. - Oh, hello, Mrs. Fletcher.

Um, it came in about an hour ago.

- I have it right here under the counter. - Oh, good.

Oh, my! That is a nasty-looking item.

I never noticed it before.

We use it on beginners who clog up the expert course.

Thanks for the warning.

How was the skiing?

Well, I have a sore back and my shins are killing me.

- Other than that, it was wonderful. - Hmm.

Maybe you should have tried the intermediate course.

- I did. - Oh.

Oh, my. That is wonderful!

You know, Grady’s gonna love this.

- It’s a marvelous birthday present. - Actually,

Anne, this entire weekend is my present.

I haven’t seen him for three months.

Excuse me.

Ski shop.

Yes, uh...

Maybe it would be better if I got back to you on that, huh?

- Who is it? - No one.

- It’s him, isn’t it? - Mike.

- Give me that. - Hello?

Is that you, Gunnar? Gunnar!

- It seems as if your boyfriend hung up. - Mike, please.

- Do you mind putting this on my bill? - Certainly. I’m sorry.

How could you humiliate me like that?

That’s very funny, darling.

I’ve been meaning to ask you

the same question for a week!

Pity, Gunnar. The old Swedish charm’s beginning to fail you.

Is that an expert opinion, Pamela?

I can do better.

No, thank you. Our relationship has always been strictly business.

Let’s keep it that way.

Mind if I sit down?

Well, I suppose I should offer to buy you a drink.

Warm beer?

Let’s skip the amenities. I haven’t the patience.

Three months ago, I signed you to a very fat contract

to endorse our line of ski equipment.

- It was my idea, Gunnar. I fought for it. - How can I repay you?

Based on the assumption that you would compete

in the next World Cup ski competition, and hopefully win.

Now I’m hearing rumblings you might not even compete.

Come on, Pam. Lighten up.

I mean, I appreciate what you did, but I have won

a few other events in my lifetime.

- That’s old news. - Look, I’m pushing 30.

Now, I have a certain mystique which I do not want to jeopardize.

I could end up crippled like Mike Lowery.

Winding down my years trapped in a place like this.

On the other hand,

I have certain skills which have not diminished.

I see myself wooing a wealthy widow not too ravaged by time.

You mean, like that little peccadillo of yours last month at Lake Tahoe?

- Who told you that? - I merely heard a rumor,

and the rumor is the lady is hardly a widow,

but, in fact, very much married to one of those

ugly gangster types...

with a very jealous and vindictive nature.

So I found out.

I’m sorry if my plans are gonna cause you embarrassment

at the office, but that’s how it is.

Gunnar, you are a miserable human being.

Gunnar?

What do you think you’re doing?

Building up my deltoids, Papa Bear.

I am not your "papa" anything.

I just talked to Ms. Leeds.

She’s threatening lawsuit!

Relax, Karl.

Stick to coaching. The business end is my concern.

What is this she says about the World Cup?

Two years we worked together.

- We worked hard. - I didn’t notice

you raising any sweat, old-timer.

You can’t quit on me. I won’t let you.

World Cup. You act like it’s some kind of holy quest.

Something you couldn’t win, so now you’re trying to win it through me.

You’re talking crazy.

I am, huh?

Well, I don’t know what I’m gonna do yet, old man.

But I’ll tell you one thing I do know.

Even if I do decide to race next time out, I’d do it without you.

Gunnar, you need me.

I need nobody, least of all you.

Are you all right?

I am fine.

Thank you.

Heck, I’d love to endorse your equipment, Ms. Leeds,

but you have Gunnar tied up to a contract.

- What do you need me for? - Well, Mr. McIvor--

- Call me Larry. - Larry.

The business world can be very treacherous,

like a downhill course laced with rocks.

- Anything can happen. - And you’re sort of

covering your bet with me.

Call it insurance. We’re talking about a lot of money.

Oh. And I sure could use it.

Let’s sleep on it.

Oh, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I meant--

Larry, you really are a delight.

I guess you don’t need a reservation.

Well, uh, I’m not so sure.

I guess this is where they put all the old fogies.

Around here, that’s anybody over 30.

Uh, I’m Jessica Fletcher from Cabot Cove, Maine. Over 30.

Well, Ed McMasters, New York City. The same.

- This is my wife Sylvia. - Over 21.

- Hello. - And she has been for many years.

I don’t know about you, but I could stand some down-home music with my dinner.

Well, as a matter of fact, so could we. Are you alone?

- Mm-hmm. - Well, you’re welcome to join us,

if you don’t mind eating with a cop.

Oh, not at all! They’re some of my favorite people.

Okay.

I keep telling Ed, 24 years now, that is enough.

Take the pension and quit.

Yeah, quit to do what? Be a security guard or tend bar?

I am a cop. I may not be the brightest guy in the force,

but that’s all I know.

What do you think, Jessica?

Well, I think, whatever you do,

you better fill your life with something.

You know, a hobby or maybe a new career,

but something.

I know that when my husband died, if I hadn’t had my work,

I would have gone stark staring mad.

What kind of work do you do, Jessica?

Well, at that time I was a schoolteacher.

Hmm.

Thank you kindly! Thank you kindly, friends.

I’d like to welcome y’all to the Sable Mountain Lodge.

We’ll be here picking every night.

You got something special you want to hear,

you just let us know. But before me and the boys

get on with it, I’d like to introduce you

to one terrific bunch of guys out there somewheres.

And being skiers yourselves, I don’t have to tell you

these fellas stand to win a few gold medals at the next World Cup meet.

Let’s see, uh, hey, Larry McIvor.

Stand up and say howdy, Larry.

Larry’s a little shy, girls, but don’t let that hold you back.

His mama give him permission to be here tonight.

And, uh, Johnny Dowd. Johnny, where are you?

And, uh, where is Gunnar Tilstrom?

Gunnar, where are you? Don’t you hide on me now.

There he is, right there! Gunnar Tilstrom!

It looks like mother nature

has sneaked up on us with a vengeance.

The outlook for the weekend is now snow and more snow.

The sudden storm which hit at daybreak this morning

has already dropped over a foot in some places,

and several local ski lodges have been

isolated by impassable roads.

By this afternoon, we expect the area

to be completely socked in.

Please just calm down.

- Please calm down. - Ladies and gentlemen.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry, but the minivan is disabled temporarily.

We’re trying to get it going.

Meanwhile, we’ve called into town for some cabs,

but so far nobody’s gotten through.

We’re doing everything--

Take it easy. Please. Please.

Welcome to bedlam.

They say at least an hour, but I suspect it’ll be a lot longer.

Should I take a number?

I think it’s going to be women and children first,

but of course in America, one never knows.

Looks like a frozen fuel line. Pump might have gone bad too.

I picked one hell of a time to fire my mechanic.

- Can you fix it? - I’m not sure.

- Mike! - What? What’s the matter?

It’s Gunnar. He’s dead.

- What? - Couple of dumb kids went skiing

in the storm this morning and found him

a few hundred yards down the trail.

- They’re bringing him up now. - Crazy fool.

- Skiing in the storm. No wonder he fell. - Fell? Hell, man,

it was no accident. He was shot with a bow and arrow.

Whoever took it got in through the rear.

The door, it’s been smashed in, Mr. Lowery.

We’ve got to get the cops up here.

Not a chance.

Honey, are you all right?

I just got off the phone. All the roads are closed.

Nobody’s getting in or out until the storm lets up.

Look, if I thought there was some way

that I could help, I would.

Mrs. Fletcher, please.

We’ve got a panic brewing downstairs.

Yes, but what could I do?

Well, you, uh, you could help us convince people

that something’s being done. I mean,

you do have a reputation for this sort of thing.

Yes, but I’m not a policeman.

You know, you have a working detective staying

right here at the lodge,

Lieutenant McMasters.

He and his wife left early this morning.

They drove out before the storm hit.

But surely you have security people.

We got a couple of rent-a-cops

from a private security company. They can hardly

even handle the drunks.

Please, Mrs. Fletcher. Something like this could destroy everything

we’ve worked for. If you did nothing

more than show us how to protect the evidence...

Well, I’m not at all sure what I could accomplish,

but, uh, all right.

I’ll do what I can until the police arrive.

Thank you.

This is absurd, Mrs. Fletcher.

I am not a coroner. I’m a gynecologist.

I’m afraid, doctor, that necessity creates strange bedfellows.

I gotta tell you, Jessica, this is a hell of a vacation.

Hey Ed! My goodness, I thought you’d left.

Yeah, we did. We ran into a snowbank about

as high as the Chrysler Building.

I didn’t think we were gonna make it back.

Oh, beautiful.

Well, in the South Bronx we learn to live

with stuff like this. But, uh, here?

How does it figure, huh?

Lieutenant McMasters, Dr. Lewis.

Oh, hi. I am a gynecologist!

Well, it’s just a little out of your line, huh, Doc?

Oh, but now you’re here--

Oh, no, no, no. Not so fast. Now, the Lowerys asked

- you to babysit this character. - Oh, no, no!

Uh, if you two don’t need me anymore--

Just stick around, will ya, Doc?

Listen, Jessica, if this was some punk pusher gettin’ knifed

under the Deegan Expressway, fine.

But bows and arrows? I mean, this is a little

- out of my league. - Ed, please?

You want some help? You’ve got it.

But this is your ball game.

So, what do you think?

Well, for one thing, I understand that Mr. Tilstrom

wasn’t too popular in some circles.

You got that right.

I mean, for starters you could ask a few questions.

- You really think someone’s gonna confess? - Not likely.

Well, if you find someone who needs a little leanin’ on,

that’s fine, because that I understand, huh?

Thank you, Ed. But remember,

you said it: this is not the South Bronx.

Okay.

Mrs. Fletcher? Please, now may I go?

Oh, my, yes. Thank you so much, Doctor.

My pleasure.

Mrs. Fletcher. This came in this morning.

A phone message for Gunnar.

After he’d left I guess.

Maybe it means something?

"Urgent. Call me. 702-555-0980. Vicki."

702. That’s Nevada, isn’t it?

I thought maybe it might mean something.

Yes. Thank you, Anne. I’ll hold on to this.

Tartaglia residence.

Yes. Uh, may I speak to Vicki, please?

Mrs. Tartaglia isn’t here at the moment. Who’s calling?

Could you tell me when she’s expected?

I don’t know! Who is this?

Who is this?

Are you looking for this, Mike?

Uh, it’s--it’s not what you think.

I--Anne left that lighter here the other day.

No. I’m sorry. She was using it last night in the bar.

I want that lighter, Mrs. Fletcher.

Don’t make me take it.

Well, for heaven’s sakes. If it’s that important, please have it.

There is just one thing. How are you going to explain that to the police?

- Anne didn’t kill him. - Did she tell you that?

- Yes. - Did she also tell

you that she’d spent the night here?

Look, I don’t want to embarrass you.

I’m--I’m merely trying to reconstruct what happened.

Believe me, I’m not asking you any questions that

- you won’t be asked by the authorities. - Okay, okay.

Look, we had a fight last night, and it was a beaut.

Three years of anger and frustration, it all hit the fan.

Not just for her, but for me too.

She said she had had enough.

You see, Mrs. Fletcher, we were already engaged when my accident happened.

Oh, she went through the marriage,

but I could never accept the idea

that she really loved me just for me.

I see.

So, she was here when Gunnar left to go skiing this morning?

He left a little bit before 6. He always does.

He likes to hit the trails before the tourists.

She didn’t leave until almost 7.

- She told you that? - It’s the truth.

- I admire your faith. - Faith?

Faith, Mrs. Fletcher?

I was watching in an empty room at the end of the corridor.

She’s scared.

She’s scared and she’s humiliated.

And when she remembered...

that she had left the lighter here,

I told her I would retrieve it.

Do you have to tell the police?

One of us should.

♪ And six pretty ladies to sing a sad song ♪

♪ oh beat the drum slowly ♪

All right!

All right. Here’s to Gunnar,

the best damned skier that ever came out of Colorado.

And that’s the truth.

Hear! Hear!

Hey, you guys remember Grenoble?

What? Three, maybe four years ago,

when Gunnar whipped that Austrian guy?

- Oh, yeah. - Out all night,

a head as big as a watermelon.

And there’s Gunnar stumblin’ around askin’, "which way is down?"

What’s the matter with you guys? He’s dead!

Don’t you understand?

We understand that, Larry. I mean, that’s the whole point.

You know how Gunnar loved to party.

Well, this is his party.

Yeah!

Yeah, well, I’m sorry, but right now

I don’t feel much like laughin’ and scratchin’.

Excuse me.

- What’s going on here? - I don’t know.

- I think it’s an Irish wake. - Hmm.

Any success locating the murder weapon?

Mrs. Lowery’s not keen on a room-by-room search.

She feels the people are edgy enough already with the snowstorm.

- So now what? - I wish I knew.

I mean, we can’t check out the murder site in the middle of a blizzard.

Obviously, there are no eyewitnesses.

- Otherwise we would have heard about it. - Tough case.

Well, it could be tougher.

Look, Ed, when a man is killed in New York,

- you have at least seven million suspects. - That’s true.

Gunnar Tilstrom was killed by somebody in this lodge,

and as no one has left, that someone must still be here.

Oh, the police will probably come check everybody’s backgrounds,

alibis, et cetera.

It could be easier than you think.

As long as it’s not my headache.

Look, if you come up with a brainstorm, you just let me know, okay?

- Sure. - I’m gonna see what Sylvia’s doing.

Okay.

- Mind if I join you? - Please, have a seat.

Thanks. Uh, just a coffee, please.

Isn’t it awful? About Gunnar Tilstrom.

Oh, yes.

Is it true you’ve been pressed into service?

Oh, I’m afraid so.

But to tell you the truth, there’s nothing much

that can be done until the police get here.

From the looks of things, that could be quite some time.

Thank you.

You know, I really didn’t know him very well at all.

We had a business relationship.

- Nothing more. - I see.

Hmm.

That was a bit abrupt, wasn’t it?

Well, the situation is pretty obvious.

You’re looking around for a suspect,

and I suppose I’m as qualified as the next person.

I must warn you though, those of us

who despised Gunnar comprise a sizable group.

Oh, how strange. I got the impression

that he was very likable.

Oh, Gunnar could turn on the charm

when he wanted to, which was often.

Let’s see, there was the singer in San Diego...

and the actress, Margo Tremayn. You might have

read about her in the tabloids.

And last month, the floozy in Lake Tahoe.

That was one of Gunnar’s less inspired liaisons.

Rumor has it he took up with the wife of a mobster

and barely made it out of town with his life.

His name wasn’t, by any chance, Tartaglia, was it?

His wife’s name Vicki?

I don’t know, and frankly I don’t care.

Want more?

You know, you seem very bitter, Ms. Leeds,

for someone with no personal interest.

Let me tell you something, Mrs. Fletcher.

I signed that man to a three-million-dollar contract,

which was the biggest break of my so-far humdrum career.

And he was about to ruin it all with his womanizing.

Bitter? You bet I was. I could have killed him.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

Oh, yes. Of course.

Maybe I’m just a dumb farm boy,

but where I come from, folks have respect for the dead.

Larry, they didn’t mean any harm.

Tragedy affects us all in different ways.

Guess you came back here to make sure I’m gonna sign that contract.

Is that the way Gunnar’s death affected you?

I’m here working out to stop myself from going crazy.

And as far as the contract is concerned,

at this point I don’t care if you sign it or not.

Excuse me. I’m gonna get dressed.

Ah.

I salute you, Ms. Leeds.

You got what you came for.

- Karl-- - Yes.

Everything is working out pretty good for you, isn’t it?

You happy now?

- You’ve been drinking. - Very good. You betcha.

It’s bad for the body, but it’s real good for the head.

Makes me not want to think so much.

And I like that,

because what I think is not good.

I think you could use some coffee.

I know why you came here to this lodge,

and it was not because you wanted to

protect your contract with Gunnar. It was to break it.

- What? - That’s right.

Don’t you think it made me sick to see Gunnar changing?

His gambling,

shaming himself the way he was with that woman in Lake Tahoe last month.

You and your company, you were getting embarrassed by Gunnar!

- No! - That’s right!

And you were about to have to put out a whole bunch of money.

But you didn’t want to, and now you don’t have to pay a cent

because Gunnar is dead.

If that’s an accusation, you can--

You’re--you’re hurting me!

Miss, you listen to me.

If you were a man, I would be killing you--

Maybe if I find out...

you had anything to do with Gunnar’s death at all,

I will still kill you.

- No. Thanks. I’ve had enough. - Okay.

Why, Mrs. Fletcher?

Why would anybody want to kill a sweet kid like that?

I wish I knew the answer.

Pamela, try to remember. Did you see anything?

Did you hear anything?

Just the water running in the shower.

So there was no one else in the locker room?

It was dinner time. The place was deserted.

Come in.

- How are you feeling? - Better, thanks.

Well, as near as we can figure,

Mclvor was slugged in the men’s locker room,

knocked unconscious, dragged into the ladies’ locker room.

He was stabbed, stripped, and hung up on the showerhead.

How was he struck? Was it from behind?

Well, according to the Doc,

and you know this is a little out of his league,

he suffered a severe blow to the left occipital.

Hit from behind.

The thing that killed him was the arrow.

It just doesn’t make any sense

to be attacked in the men’s room

and then strung up in the ladies’ room.

Jessica, we are dealing with a crazy here.

I mean, a certifiable hazelnut.

Well, more bad news. The phone lines are out.

We can keep up internal communications with our generator,

but as of now, we are totally isolated from the civilized world.

Look, Mrs. Lowery. I don’t want to start a panic,

but I’m telling you we’ve gotta turn this place inside out

until we come up with that bow and arrow.

No, no, no. Cause if we don’t,

somebody else is liable to end up dead.

Well, I doubt that anyone has it hidden in their rooms.

Ed, would it be possible for your wife to stay with Pamela?

Well, sure. No problem. Why? Do you have something in mind?

Well, I saw a four-wheel drive with a C.B. in the parking lot.

I really do think that we should try

to get in touch with the sheriff’s office.

It was red, with a Massachusetts plate.

- I’ll find out who owns it. - Good. You radio the cops, huh?

All right.

Meanwhile, I think I’m gonna have a little talk

with that crazy Norwegian coach, Anderson.

If you ask me, I think there’s something a little

"pfft-pfft" about that guy.

Feel better.

- What’s the channel? - 19.

Sable Mountain Lodge calling Sheriff’s station.

Sable Mountain Lodge calling Sheriff.

Sable Mountain, this is the Sheriff’s office.

We can barely hear you.

Sheriff, we have a problem. Two murders within

the last 12 hours. Possibility of a maniac on the premises.

We need help. Over.

Repeat, please. You’ve got another killing? Over.

That’s right. Involving the same weapon.

We need you in here right away.

Impossible. The roads are clogged,

and the choppers can’t fly in this soup.

You’re gonna have to hang on--

Morning if--we get...

Sheriff, would you repeat that, please? We did not hear that. Over.

Oh!

- That’s just great! Now what? - That’s a good question.

Any more trouble, we could have a full-scale panic on our hands.

You see, every dime me and Anne have has been sunk into this place.

Something like this, it could ruin us.

- Or worse. - Worse? Like what?

Mike, was it your idea to invite all your old friends here this weekend?

Yeah, me and Anne. We thought it’d be good for business.

Why?

The last U.S. World Cup team:

Gunnar Tilstrom, Larry McIvor, Johnny Dowd,

and you, before your accident.

Two of these men on the team are dead.

Mrs. Fletcher, what are you getting at?

Well, I’m not quite sure, but there must be some reason for these killings.

Be careful, Mike!

Mike!

Johnny!

Mike. He tried to kill me.

You said "he" tried to attack you, Johnny?

How do you know it was a he?

I mean, you never got a look at your attacker.

Okay. A person came up from behind me.

I was grabbed around the neck and then I felt this pain in my left arm.

We found this lying on the storeroom floor.

Well, did you see anything?

Boots, a ski outfit, color, anything?

I remember hitting the floor.

I guess I passed out. I don’t know for how long.

And then I heard you and Mike come in the room.

What were you doin’ in the storeroom?

Checkin’ on the generator.

That arm is gonna hurt for a while.

Sorry. I can’t give you anything stronger for the pain.

I’ll live.

- Try to get some sleep, huh? - You gotta be kidding.

You know, I used to think G.Y.N.

was dull, Lieutenant. Same old thing, week in, week out.

Well, believe me,

I have never been so anxious to get back to my boring routine.

Excuse me.

Poor guy. Can’t say that I blame him.

Some place for a vacation, huh, Jessica?

We got some screwball running loose here trying to knock off

the next World Cup ski team, hmm?

- Perhaps. - What do you mean, "perhaps"?

I mean, Tilstrom, McIvor and now Johnny Dowd.

I mean, what do you need, Jessica, a road map?

Well, on the surface, it appears that we’re looking for

- a left-handed homicidal maniac. - Left-handed?

Well, Johnny Dowd was stabbed on the left arm.

- Here. Turn around with your back to me. - Mm-hmm.

Attacked from the back, arm across the neck,

stabbed.

Now remember, Larry McIvor

was struck from the back on the left side.

Chances are, our killer is left-handed.

- Or what? - Or...

well, you know, the doctor was saying that Johnny Dowd’s

wound was really quite superficial.

Now, suppose you were the killer.

Suppose you wanted to divert suspicion from yourself.

That’d take a lot of guts.

Well, it takes more guts to face the gas chamber.

Yeah, but why?

You know, I’ve done some checking up on Johnny Dowd.

He’s good, but he’s not all that good.

With Gunnar and Larry out of the way,

odds on he’d have a chance for the World Cup team,

- maybe even win. - That’s a pretty flimsy motive

- for murder, Jessica. - Well, believe me, I’ve heard worse.

- Yeah, I guess you’re right. - So have I.

And then there’s a third possibility.

Gunnar could have been the only real target.

I mean, the killer probably planned to hit and run,

and then when the storm closed in,

he or she was unable to get away from here.

Again, diversion.

Larry McIvor’s death, and then the attack on Johnny Dowd,

they were both smoke screens.

That is a hell of a theory, Jessica.

Well, theories are easy to come by.

The truth is hard. Well, let’s hope that

the weather will let up by morning

and the local police can take over from us.

- Good night. - Good night.

- Yes? - Jessica. It’s Sylvia McMasters.

Sylvia, what’s the matter?

- Is Ed there with you? - With me? Oh, no!

- Oh, Lord. - Sylvia?

He got a call a few minutes ago.

He got dressed and rushed out.

- A call from whom? - He wouldn’t say, but he took his gun.

- Jessica, I’m worried. - Sylvia, try to stay calm.

I’ll see if I can find him.

Don’t move!

Ed, it’s Jessica!

Sorry.

I thought you were our boy.

Sylvia rang my room and told me that you’d had a phone call.

Yeah. Yeah. Some guy with a muffled voice disguised

said to meet him outside of the ski shop.

Said he had some information about the killings.

I really don’t like the sound of that.

I had the same feeling myself. A trap maybe, huh?

But it really doesn’t make any sense.

I mean, we’re not even close to identifying him.

Yeah, but maybe he doesn’t know that.

Maybe he’s just plain nutso.

It could be something else. It could be a ploy

to get you away from the main lodge.

Ed: yeah, that could be.

- Where the hell did that come from? - The car barn.

Hold it!

It’s Karl Anderson.

Jessica.

Who knows why a guy falls apart?

All I can tell you is that when I saw Gunnar pushing Anderson

around in that exercise room,

I mean, I got this feeling that something was just gonna explode,

You know? It’s just kinda hard for me to believe, Lieutenant.

- Karl was like a father to us. - Yeah, well...

Hello.

Oh, thank God. Yes. Thanks for letting us know.

- The phone lines are back in operation. - Oh, good!

Soon as they get the roads clear,

then the missus and I are gonna head back to New York.

Well, I guess I’ll go back to the lodge, huh?

You coming, Jessica?

Jessica?

Hey, where’d she go?

Mrs. Fletcher. Mrs. Fletcher.

I want you to promise me that this is the last time that

you will press me into service as an amateur coroner.

- Did you find them? - Yes.

Yes, and surgery on corpses is definitely not my long suit.

I believe, however, I extracted those from

Mr. Anderson’s body with a minimum of damage.

Yes. Two .38 caliber. But did they both come from the same gun?

Surely a police lab can check that out.

Oh, yes, in a matter of hours. But by that time,

- our killer would be long gone. - Forgive me, Mrs. Fletcher.

Perhaps I’m just dense, but I thought Mr. Anderson

- was shot by Lieutenant McMasters. - Well, yes, he was.

But the question is, was he also shot by someone else?

You know, I’m afraid if I ask what you mean by that,

you’re liable to tell me.

And then I’ll be drawn even deeper into this quagmire.

Mrs. Fletcher, it has been a delight.

I’m sure you’ll understand when I tell you that I’ve decided to give up skiing

in favor of something a little less rigorous.

Needlepoint comes to mind. Good day.

- Mrs. Fletcher. The police are on the way. - Good.

- Oh, good morning. - Oh, good morning, Jessica.

Ed tells me you two had quite an exciting time last night.

Oh, yes. Sylvia, do you have a minute?

- I need to talk to you. - Well, Ed’s warming up the engine.

- We really should be going. - It is important.

It’s about Mr. Anderson’s death last night.

- Oh, sure. Why not? - Yes. We can be more private in here.

Ed’s not in any kind of trouble, is he?

He told me he shot that man trying to escape

after he nearly killed one of you.

Why don’t we have a seat right here?

I’m really surprised, Ed leaving this way,

just as the police are about to arrive.

I’m sure they’re gonna have a lot of questions.

Oh, yes, lots. Ed says if we stick around,

we’ll be here all day filling out forms.

But he says if they’re really interested in talking to us,

well, sooner or later they’ll send someone to New York

to take a deposition.

The truth is, I’m worried about my cat.

I have a neighbor woman looking out after her, but it isn’t the same.

Not the same at all.

- Well, that’s just terrific. - What’s the matter, honey?

Well, somehow we’ve got a busted fuel line.

I think we oughta stay here a while, huh?

Come on, let’s go back to the room.

Why don’t you have a seat?

I was just telling Sylvia there’s been a development.

Oh, yeah? What sort of development?

- Karl Anderson. - Yeah?

He didn’t kill anyone. He was set up.

Are you sure?

Ed, do you remember those possibilities we talked about?

It came up number three.

Wait a second. You mean, Anderson killed Gunnar Tilstrom,

then knocked off Larry McIvor and then tried to kill

Johnny Dowd just as a cover-up?

Oh, it was a cover-up, all right,

but Anderson didn’t do it.

He was murdered, just like the other two.

No, no, Jessica. I shot Anderson trying to escape.

Yes. One shot from about 20 yards.

It caught him right here in the shoulder.

But this... this is the one that killed him, Ed.

When you shoot a man, he bleeds.

When you shoot a corpse, he doesn’t.

Jessica, what are you saying?

That that man was already dead when the snow thing

- came out of the shed? - Oh, yes.

Dr. Lewis pulled the bullets from Anderson’s body.

When Ballistics tests them, I think they’ll find they both

came from the same gun. Your gun, Ed.

You’re crazy, lady.

You know I never knew any of these people,

- so why would I wanna kill one of them? - For money perhaps?

From a man named Tartaglia,

who wanted to see Gunnar Tilstrom dead

because Tilstrom had been sleeping with his wife.

I think you’ve been reading too many of your own books, sweetheart.

What’s more, I think that when they check,

the authorities here are going to discover

that there is no Ed McMasters

working for the New York Police Department.

Well, in case you forgot, I was standing next to you

when that yo-yo fired that crazy bow and arrow, huh?

But it wasn’t Anderson who fired it.

Was it, Sylvia?

- Ed-- - Shut up!

You called my room from the phone in the car barn.

Mr. Anderson must have already been dead,

propped up in that snowmobile.

After you shot the bolt from the crossbow,

you started up the snowmobile and shoved it out the door

to make it look as if Anderson were trying to escape.

- Jessica, you really are out of your mind. - Am I?

While you were talking to me last night,

I heard the faint jingling of bells, sleigh bells, Sylvia.

They were hanging right next to the phone in the car barn.

That’s where you called me from.

When I jostled the bells this morning, it just came back to me.

And something else registered as well.

Having committed the murder, why didn’t the killer just leave?

But no one had left or even tried to leave.

No one but you two. And the only reason

that you came back was because the road was impassable.

You are gonna have one hell of a time proving any of this.

Well, that isn’t my job. I’ll leave that to the police.

Oh, yeah? Well, give ’em my regards.

Come on, honey. Let’s get outta here.

Hold it!

Jessica, the police are here.