All language subtitles for Murder.She.Wrote.S02E04.School.for.Scandal.WEBRip.x264-ION10

How could you do this to your mother?
Have you no decency?

[Jessica] Tonight, on Murder, She Wrote.

[grunts]

-His head's bashed in, chief.
-This may not have been an accident.

This'll be my first murder case.

If I had typed that blackmail note,

don't you think I would have

been smart enough
to get rid of the typewriter?

I knew what she had in mind.

But I didn't kill Nick.

I think he may have
been seeing another woman.

He left here
under a terrible cloud.

Got the confession
typed up again, chief.

What name shall I fill in?

Just leave it blank.

"Clotilde watched
the dying rays of sunset fade

on the boats that had been
beached on the sand

and marveled at the colors

that defied
the onslaught of night.

It was a sight worthy of
Van Gogh at Saintes-Maries,

and she shivered slightly,

though the air was warm
and no breeze stirred.

It was then that she sensed
his presence.

She turned and felt the power

of Jean-Paul's
hard, sinewy arms...

[laughter]
...pulling her against him.

Her arms moved
to encircle and hold him,

her mouth seeking his,

speaking urgently in hungry
tongues of rippling desire."

All right.
Any comments?

Yeah.
It's garbage.

Why?
Because of the subject matter?

James Joyce is riddled with
specific sexual situations.

So is D.H. Lawrence.

Yeah, but they were writers.

So is Daphne Clover.

A writer on a--
on a different level.

You can say that again.

You catch Daphne
on that talk show yesterday?

Oh, yeah,
the pride of Crenshaw College.

Hey, professor Mercer.

How does Dr. Laird feel
about Daphne's notoriety?

That fact that Daphne Clover
happens to be the daughter

of our English department head

has nothing to do
with James Joyce.

I hear professor Laird tried

to get her daughter's books banned

from the campus bookstore.

Ah, well,
then you heard wrong.

Now, let's get back
to James Joyce.

-Mornin', ma'am.
-Morning.

[train whistle blows]

Beryl!

Darling.

-Jessica.
-Hello, Henry.

I'm sorry we're late.

Beryl couldn't find
the car keys.

But of course
I found them, Henry.

Otherwise we wouldn't be here,
would we?

Jessica, I am so looking forward

to hearing
your commencement address.

Well, I'm still rewriting.

You know, books are easy
compared to speeches.

Well, don't worry;

Beryl will cry
no matter what you say.

Oh, Henry!

I can't tell you
how honored we are

that you accepted
our invitation.

Well, it isn't every day that
I'm offered an honorary degree,

especially from
a dear old classmate.

I suppose I'll be on
your fund-raising list forever.

Longer than that.

Jessica, by the way,
did Henry tell you?

Jocelyn's giving a party tonight
in your honor.

Jocelyn Laird, head of
the English department.

How's that, Jocelyn?

A little higher, Alger.

Well, I, for one,
hate to see Carmichael retire.

He was an excellent
assistant head.

Ah, but then there comes a time

when a man's years in harness
ought to earn him a rest.

-To the punch.
-That's still too low, Alger.

Hmm.

Let me get that for you.

Put it over there, Ron.

Could we talk?

Ron, we have already discussed
the position

of assistant department head.

Sure. And Alger Kenyon
is senior man.

Jocelyn, we need new ideas,
some energy,

I mean, something the kids
can relate to.

Ron, I have told you.

I cannot promote you
if you don't publish,

and you haven't.

Oh, the whole system
is stupid.

We are supposed to be teaching
these kids something,

not writing these--
these dry, dusty articles

that nobody reads.

There is a difference
between teaching

and pandering to your students.

So, you, uh--
you heard about that.

Oh, half the campus has heard.

You read Daphne's books
to your class

when you know it sets me up
for ridicule.

I'm sorry, but that's what
the kids read today.

Now, I thought it might be
a way to get them--

just get them interested
in something better.

Ron, I--

[doorbell chimes]

Mother, darling.

Ooh, how are you?

What are you doing here,
Daphne?

What an ecstatically warm
greeting.

Lighten up, mother.

At least pretend
that you're glad to see me.

Alger.

Oh, dear Alger.

-Mwah!
[chuckles]

Oh, still playing
mommy's little helper, as usual.

Hello, Daphne.

Ah, I know you.

Mom's cute protege.

Ron something, isn't it?

That's close enough.

[knocking at door]

[humming]

You remember Nick, mother.

I'm afraid I do.

Yeah, so how's the old
teaching racket, professor?

And I was afraid this weekend
was going to be dull.

If it's excitement
you're looking for,

I suggest you go back
to New York.

Oh, sorry, moms,
but you're stuck with us.

Between my agent,
my business manager,

three Hollywood producers,
and the dogs,

Nick and I decided to pop up
here for a little rest.

Well, I think
I better get moving.

Daphne, I don't want to be
rude--

But you're gonna try.

You've come
at a very awkward time.

It's commencement weekend,

and I am planning on throwing
a small party for the faculty.

Aw, well, looks like I
should've brought a tie, huh?

Oh, don't worry, mother.

I'm gonna keep
your embarrassment down

to a bare minimum, promise.

Besides, Nick and I plan to do
a lot of private entertaining

of our own

in the guesthouse.

[classical music playing]

What an exquisite punch.

What is that elusive flavor?

Uhm, mango, I think.

That's one thing about Jocelyn,

she really is so inventive.

Did you see my letter to the editor
in the regional review?

Yes, you certainly set them straight...
on the Middle East question.

That is such
a beautiful table.

It has to be an original
Duncan Phyfe.

You have very discerning
taste, Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, you obviously love
beautiful things.

I wish you'd call me Jessica.

I so enjoy your books,
Jessica.

Well, that is high praise
from a scholar of your stature,

and I did so enjoy and admire

your Walt Whitman's
Life and Times.

That was a biography award,
as I remember.

Not many people do.

Excuse me, professor Laird.

The cucumber sandwiches
are running out.

Would you like me to make
some more?

-There are more in the kitchen.
-Oh.

I'll get them.
Excuse me.

Oh, let me help you.

Mrs. Fletcher.

It's such a pleasure
to meet you.

Well, thank you.

You must tell me where you
find such intricate plots.

-Alger Kenyon, poetry.
-How do you do?

I publish about, oh,
several articles a year

on Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

Next year, I won't be doing any.

She is my first love.

Well, surely Robert Browning
isn't jealous?

Oh, well, unfortunately,
I won't have more time.

You see, I-I expect to be
taking on the duties

of assistant department head.

Well, I'm sure that Elizabeth
will understand.

Oh, of course,
it isn't official yet,

but, yes, I do have every
expectation.

[woman screams]

Oh, my goodness.

That ought to cool you off.

Ugh!

Oh, dear.

I think we awoke the dead.

Oh, look, she's-- She's...

Yes, she certainly is.

I'm sorry, mother.

Did we wake up your party?

Daphne, put something on.

Oh.

[laughing]

Oh. Oh!

Ooh, come in here.

Now, that means trouble.

Uh, what means trouble?

Now, please.

Henry, you must remember
your blood pressure.

That young man, Nick Fulton,

he used to be a student here.

Well, I suppose I shouldn't go
that far.

He left
under a terrible cloud.

More like a full-fledged
thunderstorm.

Excuse me.

Hey, everybody.

Thought we'd liven up
your party a little bit.

Even brought our own bubbly.

Why, thank you.

Oh, mother,
is-is this dressy enough?

Sir.

Oh, J.B. Fletcher.

Thank heaven there's somebody
here I can talk to.

Love your books.

Thank you.
And I think you write well.

You mean you've actually read
my books?

Oh, yes.

You know, you have
a very real talent

for setting a scene.

You create very evocative
word pictures,

like beautiful paintings.

It's a talent
that I wish that I had.

Right.
Right, J.B.

Well, art is where it's at.

My business manager
just bought me

a few impressionists.

You know what they say:

keep your money
where you can see it, right?

[chuckles]

I hear Picasso is really hot.

Well, his pictures may be hot,

but I hear that Picasso
is dead.

[laughter]

Leave us alone, Nick.

What say me and you,
we take a walk, huh?

[people gasp]

Ron! Are you all right?

How could you do this
to your mother?

Have you no decency?
Now, will you please just leave?

Sure, Algie.
Sure.

Nick?
[chuckles]

Well, uh, catch you all later.

Listen, terrific party.

Next time, we'll make it
my place, okay?

Good night, all.

Oh!

Ow!
[laughs]

Whoo!

[door slams]

Yeah? Well, maybe
I'm pushing the wrong lady.

What happened
to what I gave you last week?

It's not enough.

It's never enough.

Is that any way
to treat a partner?

It's over, Nick.
Get out!

It's over
when I say it's over,

and don't you forget that.

You know what you are,
don't you, Nick?

Me? What about you?

You're disgusting.

You don't care about me.
You're just using me.

One of these days you're
gonna push me too far, Nicky.

I told you, I got debts. I need it.

No. No more money, Nick.

Look, honey.

What I get from you, I earn.

And don't you forget it.

Oh!

Ow!

You touch me again,
I'll kill you!

[rapping at door]

[theme music]

-His head's bashed in, chief.
-I can see that.

Must have fallen from
that window up there.

Has he got any ID on him?

Nothin'.

Damn.

Well, cover him up.

All right, now.

Uh, which one of you
reported the accident?

I did.

Are you the police?

Yes, ma'am. Chief Griffin.

Who are you?

I'll be right down.

I am very much afraid, chief,

but, uh, this may not
have been an accident.

Are you saying
this fellow was murdered?

All I'm saying

is that I don't think
that he fell out of that window.

Is that so?

With the construction,

there is plaster dust
all over the floor up there.

Now, take a look at his feet.

See? There's nothing
on the soles of his shoes.

Now, this is just a theory,

but maybe Nick died
somewhere else

and was carried here.

Nick?
Do you know this fella?

Oh, yes, I met him last night.

His name is Nick Fulton.

He's a houseguest
of professor Laird,

head of the English department.

-And just who are you, ma'am?
-Oh, I'm Jessica Fletcher.

I'm staying
with president Hayward.

Oh, the mystery book writer
lady.

I thought I recognized
your face.

Campus bookstore laid in
a bunch of your books.

I was gonna buy one,

but then I figured they'd be
coming out in paperback.

Well, I can see that you're
a very patient man, chief...

Griffin.

Mrs. Fletcher, it's a pleasure
to make your acquaintance.

Thank you.

This'll be
my first murder case.

Oh.

But we're not sure yet
that it is a murder.

That'd be a shame.

I mean, I'm in the middle
of my course, but I'm ready.

Course?

Criminology.
Northeast Home Study Academy.

Oh, I see.

Fact is, I'd appreciate any
assistance you could give me.

Well, I don't want
to interfere.

I'd be very grateful.

Well, I did hear something
very interesting

from one of the students
before you got here.

Now, he was driving home
late last night

and saw a light-colored
station wagon

parked right over there.

That was around 2:00
in the morning.

I'll check that out.

Well, it may be significant

when the coroner establishes
the time and cause of death.

Oh, that's good.
Solid procedure.

Anything else?

Well, it might be helpful
to know Nick's movements

after the party last night.

The party.

Gee, Mrs. Fletcher,

you seem to know
everybody around here,

and I was wondering, well,

maybe if you could tag along
with me,

it would be useful.

I'd really appreciate it.

Will you give me
a couple of minutes?

Absolutely.

What?

Nick murdered?

Sorry, ma'am,

but to the trained mind,
there's no other conclusion.

I have a few questions
I'd like to ask you.

Maybe you could tell me
just what you were up to

after the party last night.

Oh.

I, uh--
I came back here after we left.

-I was upset.
-Upset?

No, I mean, I was tired.

Exhausted.

I took a few sleeping pills,
and then I went right to bed.

Uh-huh.

[silently]

And that, uh, fella, Fulton,

was he here
when you went to bed?

Of course he was here.

And what time was that?

Midnight.

Look, I don't know
why you're asking me

all these questions.

I didn't kill him, if that's
what you're driving at.

No one's made any accusations,
miss Laird.

It's Clover.
You want the story on Nick?

I'll give it to you in one word.

Stud.

I knew him vaguely
from the campus.

I ran into him again
in New York at a disco.

A week after,
he moved into my townhouse.

And why did you come
to Crenshaw this weekend?

Because I live here.

At least I used to.

Look, officer.

When things get hairy
in the Big Apple,

I sometimes come here
to the guesthouse to write,

especially when I've been
inspired

by a hunk like Nick Fulton.

Now,

unless you've got
any other stupid questions,

get the hell out of here
so I can dress!

Or maybe, uh--

maybe you'd just like to watch.

I think that just about
does it.

You go ahead, chief. I wanna pay
my respects to professor Laird.

Well, I'm sure Griffin
has it all wrong.

Murder? On the Crenshaw campus?

The State University, perhaps,
but certainly not here.

He seems pretty convinced.

Well, you're not involved
in this investigation, are you?

Oh no. After my speech
tomorrow evening,

I'm going to take the late train
back to Cabot Cove.

-It must be lovely there.
-Oh, it is.

Of course, I knew Nick Fulton
only slightly, but...

as you saw last night,
he had a crude temper.

As well as an unsavory reputation.
At least around here.

Jocelyn, I'm sure that Daphne
isn't seriously under suspicion.

Of course she's not.
What a preposterous idea?

Well, I'd better
get back to my speech.

Before I make a complete
fool of myself tomorrow.

If you hear any new developments,
please let me know.

Oh, of course.

It's shocking!

Absolutely shocking!

There, there, now, Henry.

Please, dear,
don't get so excited.

I'm not excited, Beryl.

I'm exasperated.

Yeah, a murder.

I mean, right here on campus.

And on commencement weekend.

I tell you,
I've heard nothing else

since I got back this morning.

Oh, Jessica,
I'm so glad you're back.

Henry is so excited.
He's exasperating again.

Well, I can certainly
understand that.

You were away?

Yeah, my mother,
she's ailing again.

I had to take the late train
to Boston last night

after the party.

Oh, how is your dear mother,
Alger?

-She is not at all well.
-Oh.

[doorbell rings]
-Excuse me.

You know, I may have to
put her into a home.

It is a terrible situation.

As a matter of fact,
I should call her right now.

If you'll excuse me.

Yes, yes, of course.
Give her my love.

Oh, chief, good morning.
Come in.

Sorry to bother you,
Dr. Hayward,

but I have some questions.

-All right.
-Good-bye.

Say hello to your mother.

Right here.

Here we go, yes.

Ah, Mrs. Fletcher.

I got the coroner's report.

Time of death:
about 1:00 in the morning.

Cause: massive skull fracture
with a blunt instrument.

Not a fall from the building.

I don't suppose you found
the murder weapon.

No.

You mentioned you had
some questions, chief.

Right.

I understand that the victim
had a fight at the party

with one of the faculty members.

Oh, you must mean Ron Mercer.

Oh, yes,
it was a dreadful scene.

Mr. Fulton was very rude
to his wife.

You're not suggesting, chief,
that Ron Mercer

had anything to do
with the killing, are you?

[gasps] Henry.

Oh, I forgot to tell you.

I saw him later in the evening.

After the party, I mean.

-Ron Mercer, that is.
-You did?

Yes.

Well, Henry was having
one of his restless nights,

and he was downstairs
pacing up and down,

and, you know, he always
does that when he gets upset.

-Beryl.
-Oh, that's all right, darling.

Anyway, uh, Henry was
downstairs.

I got up to get
a little drink of water.

And when I looked
out the window,

there was Ron,
walking across the campus.

About what time was that?

I guess it was about, oh,
1:00 in the morning.

He was walking in the direction
of Jocelyn's house.

[sighs]

Oh, dear.
Have I said something wrong?

[telephone rings]

Oh, excuse me.

Hayward residence.

Yes.
Yes, he's here.

Just a moment, please.

Chief Griffin,
it's for you.

Excuse me.

Chief Griffin.

Who is this?

Damn it.
Who's speaking?

Hello.

[receiver clicking]
-Hello.

Well, what is it, chief?

If this tip checks out,

I think we got that fella's
murderer dead bang.

Miss Daphne Clover.

Hold it.
I think this is it.

He said we'd find a note
and a murder weapon.

"Pay me $10,000,

or your nasty secret
will be exposed."

There's your blackmail note,
chief.

Chief, are you sure that you
didn't recognize the voice

on the other end of the line?

No, it sounded like he had
a cold.

But he sure knew
what he was talking about.

Now to find the murder weapon.

Chief.

Don't that look like blood
to you?

It sure does.

Don't handle it.
Put it in a plastic bag.

What the hell are you doing?

-We have a search warrant.
-A warrant?

Well, what do you think
you're gonna find?

A blackmail note
and a murder weapon,

and we've already found both.

Miss Clover,
I'm placing you under arrest

for the murder of Nick Fulton.

No.

Uh, chief, excuse me,
but I'm not sure...

I am, Mrs. Fletcher.

No.

Jessica,
I just heard the news.

Is it true?

Yes, chief Griffin
has arrested Daphne.

-Excuse me.
-What is it?

The mate to this candlestick
was found in the guesthouse,

spattered with blood.

Oh, that's absurd.

I mean, Daphne may be
many things,

but she is not a killer.

And she is your daughter.

Jessica, I am not being swayed
by maternal affection.

I know her. She could not have done
this thing.

The blood on the candlestick

matches Nick Fulton's
in all points.

And that gives me
the murder weapon.

What about fingerprints?

They were smudged.
We can't use them.

Chief, I hate to throw
cold water

on your investigation,

but that candlestick
was planted in the guesthouse.

It came from the main house.

Is that so?

Yes, and anyone could have
taken it during the party.

Including miss Clover.

Well, I doubt that.

I mean, the candlestick
couldn't have been hidden

in the pocket of a fur coat,

and she graphically
demonstrated

that there was nothing
underneath the coat.

And how do you explain
the blackmail note, ma'am?

What blackmail note?

Fulton was obviously
blackmailing your daughter,

and that gives me the motive.

No, I didn't kill him!

He was alive
last time I saw him.

May I see the note?

Oh, that's interesting.

Typed on a machine
with a slightly bent "e."

And unsigned.

My goodness, chief.

If Nick Fulton were sharing
a bed with Daphne,

why would he type her a note?

I mean, I assume they were
talking to one other.

But I found it in his pocket.

Chief, that note
and that candlestick

were probably planted
in the guesthouse,

most likely by the person
who phoned you.

All right.

For the time being,
I'll hold off on formal charges.

You're free to go, miss Clover,
but don't leave town.

Thanks J.B.

Are you sure I'm not taking
you out of your way?

No trouble, Mrs. Fletcher.

Did you, by any chance,

check out Mr. Fulton
with the New York authorities?

Of course. Standard procedure,
chapter seven.

They tele-typed
his records to me.

Two arrests for assault,
no convictions.

Yeah, despite all your fancy
talk, Mrs. Fletcher,

Daphne Clover is my killer.

All I got to do is build a case
the DA can't screw up.

Anybody who'd write scuzzy books,

the way she does, doesn't have
the same moral code the rest of us do.

Chief, have you read
any of her books?

Oh sure, all of them.

Thank you.

Uh, excuse me.

I'd like to check connections
to Cabot Cove

via Boston, please.

One way or round trip?

Oh, I have my ticket already.

I just want to know the times.

This window
is for tickets only.

You'll have to check
with information.

Oh, yes, information.
Thank you.

Yeah?

I think we were discussing
connections to Cabot Cove.

You'll have to change
in Boston.

Uh, yes, I know that.

What time do
the connecting trains leave?

All trains connect.

At what times?

Every hour on the quarter hour
until 20:15.

Oh, yes, 8:15 p.m.

Oh, but this schedule says--

That schedule changed
two weeks ago.

Want to check
your baggage through?

I think it might be quicker
if I carried it myself.

Thank you.

Aye.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher!

Can I give you a lift?

Oh, that's very kind,
if you're sure it's no trouble.

-Not at all.
-Thanks.

Well, what do you think
of Crenshaw College,

Mrs. Fletcher?

It's lovely.

Except for the tragedy
of Nick Fulton.

Yes.

Jocelyn Laird thinks
that it might have been

someone from his past
who killed him.

Oh, I don't think so.

You know, Trish,
I got the impression

that you and Ron
had met him somewhere before.

You hope
that people have forgotten.

But they talk behind your back.

Oh, it wasn't gossip, Trish.

It was the way
that you reacted to him.

Sure... What the hell?

It was a couple of years ago.

Ron and I had just moved here.

Nick was on an athletic
scholarship.

He'd come over
to the house for tutoring.

And then he started coming over
when Ron wasn't home.

I'm sorry.

Ron didn't kill him.

He and I sat up talking
until morning after the party.

No, Trish.

I'm sorry, but someone saw Ron
walking near Jocelyn's house

around the time of the murder,

and someone else saw
a station wagon

similar to this one

parked very close
to where the body was found.

No, Ron couldn't have done it.

Trish, where did Ron go
last night?

I'm not sure.

I-- I think he may have been
seeing another woman.

Jessica, I'm so glad
you could come.

I wanted to thank you

for putting chief Griffin
straight about Daphne.

Oh, what a lovely place
to work.

You know, I'm almost ashamed
to admit

that I still work
at the kitchen table.

Must be a very satisfying life
for you...

here at Crenshaw,
working with young people,

away from the more frantic
demands of the world.

I still find time
to write an occasional article.

My goodness, a word processor.

The college bought it for me.

-I never learned to use it.
-Really?

People tell me I should use one,
but I'm terrified at the idea.

[chuckles]

Ooh, just got a flash
for my speech.

Would you mind if I borrowed
your typewriter for a minute?

Let me jot it down
before I forget it.

Jessica, if I had typed
that blackmail note,

don't you think
I would have been smart enough

to get rid of the typewriter?

[chuckles]

I suppose that was
a bit obvious.

I am so glad we met.

We could become great friends.

Yes, we have so much
in common.

Like writing, for instance.

Don't you think it's about time
you were honest with me?

I'm sorry, Jessica.

I don't know what you mean.

I think you do, Jocelyn.

Daphne Clover is a fraud.

You wrote those books.

Jessica, really.

Daphne knows barely enough
about painting

to tell red from green.

Yet her books are filled
with artistic metaphors,

like Van Gogh's boats
at Saintes-Maries,

to name just one.

She said she came up here
to work,

but there was no typewriter
in the guesthouse,

no reference books,
not even a pencil.

Do you know how much I earned
for the Walt Whitman biography?

Barely enough to pay off
a secondhand car.

Then I found out how much

one of those trash merchants
was paid

for his latest opus.

Sordid sex,
that's what they wanted.

And I was one of
the proper paupers

in the literary world,

while hacks
with a third-rate vocabulary

were living like royalty.

Was I angry?

You bet I was.

I sat down and wrote
the first one in six weeks,

not years of my life,
but six silly weeks.

I asked Daphne to submit it
to a publisher under her name.

Lord knows I couldn't use
my own,

not and keep my reputation.

And then Nick found out
about the arrangement.

He-- He started threatening me,

asking for money.

And then he--

He came to my bedroom
after the party,

demanding money.

I refused, and he--

He threatened me again,
and I-- I--

I hit him with the candlestick.

It was self-defense,
I promise you.

Then why did you move
the body?

Now, that was stupid.

I thought I could make it look
like an accident.

But Daphne had
nothing to do with it!

She was asleep!

Jocelyn, don't you think
you should have a little chat

with chief Griffin?

Will you go with me, Jessica?

Yeah.

I guess for now
I'll have to take your word

about the self-defense,
professor.

Chief, don't you think
Nick Fulton's record

supports a plea of self-defense?

It's up to the DA.

Read this before you sign it.

You can't go in there, miss.

No, let go of me!

No, mother.
You didn't sign that.

It's all settled, miss Clover!

Don't you see
what she's doing?

She's confessing to protect me!

Daphne, stay out of this.

No!
It's a lie.

She didn't kill Nick.
I did.

Daphne...

Damnedest thing I ever saw.

Why, chief?

Daphne's confession
supports your original theory.

But now I have
two confessions.

Both ladies claim they were
attacked by Nick Fulton.

Both claim self-defense.

Well, it doesn't take a genius
to figure out

that one of them is lying
to protect the other.

Yeah, but which one?

Oh, I've got a speech to make.

Got the confession
typed up again, chief.

What name shall I fill in?

Just leave it blank.

Something to think about,
chief.

I doubt if either Daphne
or her mother

could have carried
Mr. Fulton's body

up those stairs
to the third floor alone.

[people talking]

"So it's the contribution
we make

rather than the rewards
that we earn"--

Henry, have you seen
my gloves?

On the desk, Beryl.

Oh, thank you, dear.

There they are.

Oh, Henry.

Oh, dear, I forgot
to give this to you.

Yes, Alger Kenyon
brought it by for you.

Where are my glasses?

Oh, I'll find them.

Jessica, would you, please?

I don't seem to have my glasses.

Yes.

"This will inform you
of my resignation

from Crenshaw college,

effective with
the end of this term.

Sincerely, Dr. Alger Kenyon."

Alger resigning?

What on earth for?

Oh, really, Henry.

Sometimes you can be so dense.

It's because of Jocelyn.

Jocelyn?

He's madly in love with her.

Alger and Jocelyn?

Well, why doesn't somebody
tell me these things?

I'm afraid
that even I noticed that.

So Alger is resigning

because Jocelyn gave the job
to Ron Mercer.

[gasps] Henry, I forgot.

Jocelyn called you yesterday.

She gave the job
to Ron Mercer?

She gave the job
to Ron Mercer.

Of course.

Henry, how long do we have

before the commencement
exercises begin?

-About an hour.
-Good.

I have a couple of phone calls
to make.

Then can I borrow your bicycle?

Well, yes, of course.

Oh, I am so glad you could
meet me here, Dr. Kenyon.

I do have rather
a lot of packing to do.

Well, this won't take long.

I really wanted to talk
to Ron Mercer.

About what, Mrs. Fletcher?

It's almost time
for commencement.

Yes, you know, I tried
not to get involved

in this Nick Fulton killing,

but I just couldn't stand by
and let Jocelyn and Daphne

ruin their lives for something
that they didn't do.

But they confessed.

No, I'm afraid
that doesn't hold water.

If Jocelyn were guilty,

she certainly wouldn't have
tried to frame her daughter

with that bloody candlestick,

and Daphne never would have
left it on the mantel.

I was hoping that you could
clear it up for me, Ron.

I don't know anything
about Nick Fulton's death.

But I think that you do.

You were seen walking
toward Jocelyn Laird's house

about the time Nick Fulton died.

I didn't kill him.

And a station wagon
like yours

was observed that night

near where the body was
discovered.

Trish, you told me
that you suspected

Ron was seeing another woman.

I think you went
to Jocelyn's house

after the party, Ron,
not to kill Nick Fulton

but to try to persuade Jocelyn
to give you the assistant's job.

You went to her?

At that hour of the night?
That's indecent.

Ron, how could you?

She's the one
who wanted it that way.

She invited me back
after the party.

I knew what she had in mind.

But I didn't kill Nick.

He was already dead
when I got there.

She--

She told me
to come around the back,

that she'd be waiting.

And she said-she said
that there had been

a terrible accident.

She promised me the job

if I would help her move
the body,

make it look like
it happened somewhere else.

So I went back, and I--
I got the station wagon.

And then we moved Nick's body
to the construction site.

I carried it upstairs, and I--

I threw it out the window.

Trish, she--

She promised me the job.

Making love to her was--
that wasn't my idea, Trish.

It was hers.

No! Now, that is a damnable lie,
Mercer!

Jocelyn would never have
taken you into her bed.

Now, I should know.
She and I were--

We were very close.

Never-never physical,
of course.

I mean, not like her--
her daughter.

Our love didn't need that.

You may not really understand
Jocelyn, Alger,

but I'm sure that you love her
too much

to let her take the blame
for something that you did.

Me?

But I didn't kill him.

I took the late train
after the party

to go to Boston that night

to see my mother.

I'm afraid you couldn't have.

The schedule was changed.

The last train left
long before the party was over.

That doesn't mean
I killed him.

No, it doesn't.

But the blackmail note
chief Griffin found

was typed on the same machine

that typed your letter
of resignation,

the one with the bent "e."

It had to be you that phoned
that false tip to chief Griffin.

Why Daphne, Alger?

I was afraid.

I was afraid that

they'd blame Jocelyn.

It was all Daphne's fault,

Daphne and those--
those filthy books.

It's 'cause of Daphne

that that man came
into Jocelyn's life.

Why don't you tell us
what really happened?

Uh,

after the party, I--

I decided to go back

and spend some time
with Jocelyn,

you know, to cheer her up

after that dreadful scene
with her daughter.

Our friendship was discreet.

She had given me a key.

I could hear her voice
in the bedroom.

She sounded frightened.

It was Fulton.

He was demanding money from her.

It was something to do
with Daphne,

some sort of blackmail.

He touched her.

He touched Jocelyn.

She told him to wait

while she went out
to get her checkbook.

I hit him with the candlestick.

Then I went out
through the door

be-- before she came back in.

So when Jocelyn returned
with the checkbook,

she found Nick dead.

She saw the door open

and must have assumed
that Daphne had killed him.

When Ron arrived
a few minutes later,

she made up that story
about an accident.

And where was Daphne?

Apparently asleep
in the guesthouse.

She must really have taken
some sleeping pills.

But why did Daphne confess?

Because she thought
her mother had killed him.

You see, each one recognized
the murder weapon

and suspected the other.

Each one wanted to protect
the other.

Jocelyn didn't love me.

Giving that job to Mercer
proved that.

So, you see,

I had to resign.

Chief Griffin?
Jessica Fletcher.

I'm at the Mercer home.

Alger Kenyon is here

and wants to make a statement
about the Nick Fulton killing.

No, I won't be here.

This is your case.

Oh, dear, I'm late.

Please excuse me.