All language subtitles for MSW01E01 The Murder Of Sherlock Holmes

Roger, is that you?

Roger?

Roger, please!

For God's sake!

If this is some kind of a sick joke...

House lights!

It's still too long.

We've gotta pep it up, people. All right, second act in 10 minutes.

We open tomorrow night. I don't intend to close the night after.

Ladies, this is a private rehearsal. No outsiders.

Mr. Cellini, you did ask us to meet you here.

Why would I do a thing like that? I don't even know you.

We're the refreshment committee. From the P.T.A.

Yes, yes. The cookie ladies.

George. George, will you sharpen up that last cue.

Please, see me after the rehearsal.

Mr. Cellini, I just love the show. It's so... mystifying.

It gave me the goose bumps. Yes.

And I'm sure no one will ever guess the uncle is the killer.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Hold it, lady! Hold it! Hold it!

Whatever made you think the uncle is the killer? Well, isn't he?

How delightful. I was totally fooled.

Yeah, as a matter of fact, he is the killer.

Miss, Mrs. Fletcher. This is Mrs. Hoey, in charge of punch.

And this is Mrs. Thompson. She's brownies and, macaroons? Macaroons.

Charmed. Charmed. Somebody slipped you a copy of the script, right?

No. No, but when the uncle showed up after the party wearing a different tie,

obviously he changed it for a reason.

Then there was the phone call from the coroner. He couldn't have known about that,

not unless he'd overheard the conversation between the doctor and the priest.

How silly of me. Here I am explaining your play to you.

I'm so sorry. Come on, girls.

We'll catch the second act tomorrow with everyone else.

Jessica, could you tell us about...

George! Get me that idiot of a writer! I wanna talk to him now!

Hello! It's Grady, Aunt Jess.

Grady? Well, what's the matter?

Nothin's the matter, Aunt Jess. Everything's terrific.

Nothing's terrific. It's 6:23 in the morning.

You didn't lose your job with that fish person, did you?

- Nope. The job's fine. - What a relief.

You really should tell that Captain Caleb to do something about his food.

The girls and I tried it last Friday, and, honestly, it isn't very good.

Aunt Jess, I'm only an accountant, not the cook.

Anyway, that's not why I called. You remember the last time I came to visit?

I found your manuscript, and I read it. I hope you don't mind.

My book? Of course I don't mind.

But I certainly wouldn't want anybody else to read it.

Well...

You see, not only did I read it,

I gave it to a friend of mine who showed it to Coventry House, and...

Well, you see, Aunt Jess, they want to publish it.

What!

- Dear, no. - I thought you'd be pleased.

Well, I am not pleased, Grady. I'm not a writer.

Look, l... I was just filling time after your uncle died.

- I didn't dream for a minute... - That's the trouble, Aunt Jess.

You've never dreamed, and it's about time you did.

Be sensible. Look, just because somebody wants to publish my book...

doesn't mean anyone will bother to read it.

But it's all been arranged. They booked you on the Today show, David Letterman, Phil Donahue.

Phil Donahue? Donahue? I may die.

These publicity junkets, they come with the territory.

Yes, but what would I say? I'd just make a fool of myself.

Aw, come on. They'll love you, just like I do.

Well, maybe just for a day or so.

That's terrific. Look, I gotta go. The captain's called a meeting.

I'll see you in the morning at the station, okay?

Yes. Good-bye.

Jessica, are you really going to be on television? I'm afraid so.

Not like that, you're not. What's the matter?

Jessica, millions of people will be watching.

You have to look "now," "with it." Au courant.

And those tweeds have got to go.

Are you sure she caught the train? Positive.

A very organized lady, my Aunt Jess. She's precise and punctual.

There. What'd I tell you? Aunt Jess!

- There's my nephew now. - Aunt Jess.

Thank you so much, Daniel, for all your help.

No, ma'am. My pleasure.

I certainly hope that your boy gets that scholarship. Thank you, ma'am.

You have a nice stay, all right? I will.

- Grady! - Aunt Jess!

I hope I look all right, but, you know,

the good Lord never intended for me to look like a barber pole.

What are you talking about? You look great.

Thank heavens. What a relief.

Aunt Jess, this is Kit Donovan.

She works for the publishing company in public relations.

You must be the friend who's responsible for getting me into this.

Guilty. Nevertheless, I'm delighted to meet you.

It's a pleasure, Mrs. Fletcher. Grady's told me so much about you.

Isn't that a coincidence? Grady's told me absolutely nothing about you.

Now, when do I get to meet this publisher I've heard so much about?

In about 20 minutes.

And believe me, Mr. Giles can't wait to meet you.

Jane, I have to talk to the accountants.

If Mr. Templeton calls, ask him to meet me here at 3:00. Ex-Excuse me. Mr. Giles...

Good Lord! Mrs. Fletcher, can you forgive me?

I had a dozen crises already this morning.

I certainly wouldn't want to be your 13th.

We must have dinner and get acquainted.

I'm sure you're just as delightful as your book.

Kit, coordinate with Jane, will you?

It is so good to meet you, and I do hope you enjoy your stay in the city.

Do you eat apples? What?

You really should, you know.

Pectin, it's very good for the complexion. You look very gray.

Well, actually, I've... I've not been sleeping well.

Apples. Yes. Thank you.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.

If he wasn't so busy, l... No matter, Kit.

I didn't come here to be wined and dined.

Well, shall we have a go at the inquisitors?

Well, actually, I never suspected that my book would be published.

I really wrote it, well, for my own enjoyment, I guess...

You know, like some people needlepoint or paint.

Then you have no pretensions to having created literature?

How refreshing in an era dedicated to...

the beatification of the trivial...

and the canonization of the mundane.

Well, on the other hand, people do seem to enjoy it.

The people, yes.

Well, of course we both know, dear lady,

that it takes very little to please the folks from Dubuque.

How else do you explain television?

I couldn't.

Television is your business, not mine.

My goodness. Eight copies.

You must be a real book lover. To whom shall I inscribe them?

Just sign your name and the date, honey. This is just an investment.

If you ever become somebody, they might be worth somethin'.

The fact is that I never intended to have the book published.

It was all my nephew's idea. Hey, isn't that something?

She got the idea to write the book from her nephew. No, that isn't what I meant.

Let's see. It's 23 past the hour, and we're sitting here...

with that famous writer... Miss Jennifer Fletcher.

And back with more of your calls right after this word...

From Henry's Fur Storage.

I'm sorry, honey, but we're just dying in here.

Yes.

Look, m-maybe you're living with somebody.

How about a prison record? Anything?

I, for one, Mrs. Fletcher, was delighted by the feminist thrust...

you were able to weave into your story line.

That really wasn't my intention. Nonsense.

I suppose what I like best of all was your courage...

in choosing the pregnant ballerina as your killer.

I really don't think you should reveal that.

In too many of these books, women are merely ornaments...

... superfluous decoration. I really do think we should stop the tape.

A lot of people haven't read the book yet.

I don't think it's fair to reveal the identity of the murderer. What's the difference?

Mrs. Fletcher, I'm on your side.

J.B. Fletcher? Hey, hey!

You J. - - You-You J.B. Fletcher?

Yes, I am. Here.

No, don't write on it. Read it.

I guess, next time, you'll think twice about stealin' ideas from Agnes Peabody.

I'll see you in court, honey.

Mrs. Fletcher, please. I wish you'd reconsider.

There's nothing to reconsider, dear.

Four days in the Big Apple is quite enough for me, thank you.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Mrs. Fletcher? Jessica?

I'm mortified by my behavior. I've come to beg your forgiveness.

L... I smell a conspiracy.

Please don't blame Kit. She was just doing her job.

Mr. Giles, I'm sure you're a very charming man,

but, these last few days, I've been insulted, browbeaten and patronized.

And I say no, thank you.

Back in Cabot Cove, the only thing we have with claws are lobsters, and we eat them.

I know what you mean. Believe me. It took me years to get used to this town.

Look, I'm having a little party at my place in the country over the weekend.

I'd like you to be my guest... all of you.

I want you to meet some real people...

not critics or columnists, but my friends.

And then on Monday, if you still want to go back home,

I'll put you on this train personally.

Fair enough?

Well, we'd better put these in water before they wilt.

Dear old Agnes Peabody...

totally convinced she's written half the novels in the Library of Congress.

She has those subpoenas printed up herself.

In other words, just another dotty old lady.

The people of your city make me feel the same way.

You mean those self-important media types.

Well, we live with them because we have to.

Why? Why? Well, because...

You know, I'm damned if I know why.

You know, Mrs. J.B. Fletcher, you could be a very disruptive influence in my life.

Well, only my students call me Mrs. Fletcher, Mr. Giles.

And Mr. Giles is that stuffed shirt in the three-piece suit...

I left back in New York.

I don't know about you,

but I'm glad we let your nephew and Kit find their own way out here today.

Pull!

Pull!

Good shot, darling. Thank you, Louise.

You're really shooting well today.

You wanna try it? It just takes a clear eye and a steady hand.

No, thank you.

If I'm gonna make a fool of myself, let me choose my own pratfall.

Pull!

Louise.

How delightful to see you. How nice of you to invite us.

Louise McCallum, Jessica Fletcher. You, I am delighted to meet.

I loved your book. Why, thank you.

Really, really. I couldn't put it down.

Where's the captain? He's terminating skeets with extreme prejudice.

Do you know, Pres, he invited that what's her name?

That assistant with the slinky walk?

I want you to know, Louise, that inviting Ashley Vickers was not my idea.

But, like a good host, you offered to put her up anyway.

What was that?

Sonic boom. We've got an airport a few miles down the road.

You get used to it. Jessica, who are you coming as tonight?

- What? - She hasn't decided.

Well, when you do, let me know. I don't want to duplicate.

Come as what?

Wh-What is she talking about? I'm so sorry. I should have told you.

The party tonight... we're all coming as our favorite fictional character.

I know, I know. You haven't got a thing to wear.

Well, I could always come as Lady Godiva.

♪♪

♪♪ Hello, Davis! I see we're not the first to arrive.

I love that outfit. Who are you supposed to be tonight... Rhett Butler?

Good evening, Mrs. March.

- I'm flabbergasted. -

Is this what you improvised out of odds and ends?

Well, with a little help from Louise McCallum.

And before you ask, I'm Cinderella's godmother.

Care to make a wish? I could use a dozen more novels by J.B. Fletcher.

That's not magic. That's just hard work.

Suppose I just settle for the pleasure of her company.

Darn it all, Pres. I've been waitin' all day to meet this lady.

Dumpty is the name, Miss Fletcher.

Humpty Dumpty. Bet you can't guess what this is.

Jess, I warn you. Arnold is a notorious punster.

Well, in that case, I'd probably call it a wallflower.

"Eggs-zactly."

♪♪

♪ Bah, humbug ♪

♪ Bah, humbug ♪

♪ Bring on the sleet and ice up the street ♪♪

Aren't you just a little out of season, Ebenezer? After all, this is April.

Wrong, Ashley. You're wrong. You're so terribly wrong.

It is never inappropriate to wish the world a little ill will.

♪♪

Well, any requests? How about you, Doctor?

A medley of my hit from yesteryear.

Whatever you like to play, dear, dear Peter.

Your stuff is always wonderful, glorious, terrific!

Well, well, Doctor. You have impeccable taste.

I may get deathly ill just to develop a relationship.

What's this I hear about you putting together a Broadway show?

No, no, no, no. Doctor, off-Broadway. Off-Broadway, my friend.

The fringes of civilization.

To be specific... 17th Street.

'Ey, look here. If it ain't Sherlock Holmes himself. - ♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Why don't we cut outta here?

Grady, it's only 8:15. I hate parties.

Look, my boss is giving a party. Your boss is a guest.

At least act like you enjoy their company. I do.

I enjoy yours better.

Does it tickle? Just a little.

- Grady, what's the matter? - Am I nuts, or is that my room?

Wait here. Grady?

All right, young man. That's quite enough.

There is no need to be boorish.

You're what? A private investigator.

My name is Dexter Baxendale. You're kidding.

Not everyone in my profession sports a broken nose and dirty fingernails,

my pubescent friend.

When society seeks confidential assistance,

they do not necessarily hire Mike Hammer.

Once more... what are you doing here?

I have been retained by a very influential individual...

to conduct a discreet investigation.

With Dexter Baxendale, discretion is a way of life.

- My card. - You still haven't answered my question. What are you doing here?

I'm not at liberty to say.

Very well.

You may turn me over to the local constable, Mr. Giles,

but no amount of coercion will force me to betray a trust.

On the other hand, when the local newspapers get hold of this story,

the finger of suspicion will point equally at each of your guests.

Which one is under investigation?

And need I remind you? The Enquirer will have a field day.

Grady, do me a favor, will you?

- Escort this gentleman to his car. - Sure thing, Mr. Giles.

And out the back way, please. I'd rather not disturb our guests.

It was a great pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Fletcher.

You have a rare gift for murder.

Continued success.

Why, thank you, I think.

Forgive me.

Ever since I entered this room,

I've been trying to deduce who you're dressed as.

And I think I have it. It's Edmond Dantes, isn't it?

The Count of Monte Cristo.

Very good, Mr. Baxendale. I'm almost sorry I'm throwing you out.

You might have made a charming guest.

What did I promise you? A quiet little weekend?

♪♪

Listen, Doc, if there's one thing I know about, it's the public taste buds.

I'm telling you. They want their food fast, and they want it cheap.

You're from Maine. You know about fish.

Ever eat at Cap'n Caleb's? Yes, Captain.

And it is an experience I'll never forget.

There you are. I rest my case.

Caleb?

Caleb. The party's beginning to pall. Let's go home,

Get yourself some coffee, Louise.

I don't want coffee. I wanna go home.

Well, I don't.

Well, fine.

Fine, darling. I'll-I'll just trot along like a civilized wife...

and let you and Ashley...

do whatever it is you do.

'Scuse me.

Louise, dear. Louise.

Please don't... Please don't go. Not just yet.

Excuse me. Grady, there you are.

Please, help Mrs. McCallum home. She's in no condition to drive. Sure.

Mrs. McCallum, why don't you let me drive you home? I can manage.

That's okay. It's my pleasure. Just give me your key.

Let me drive you home. No! I can manage!

You're in no condition. Leave me alone! For God's sake, leave me alone!

Don't get... Geez!

Grady! Are you all right?

Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay.

It's her I'm worried about. She's crazy.

Thirty dollars a ticket?

I'm sorry, Peter, but at those prices, off-Broadway is off my budget.

Do you have any idea what it costs to get a new production mounted?

$250,000 will barely get you started.

No, no, no. I suppose if this new production fails,

I could always write for Nashville.

♪ She was the queen of office sweethearts ♪

♪ He was the king that brought her to ruin ♪

♪ He gave her dictation and a place to stay ♪

♪Then he gave her a royal... ♪♪

Oops. Sorry, Ashley.

No offense intended. None taken.

For the past several months, my relationship with the captain has been strictly business.

Speaking of which, the old rooster seems to have flown the coop.

That's right. I... I haven't seen him in almost an hour.

And you haven't seen Little Red Riding Hood either.

Maybe the both of them have run off to Grandmother's house.

Damn! - Dear.

We must get that out before it leaves a stain.

Forget it. No. Come with me.

We can't let that beautiful dress be ruined.

Yes, I understand.

I'll see what I can work out.

What happened? Accident? Nothing serious.

We need milk, soda, lemons.

And eggs. What was that about?

Surely not business on a Saturday night?

A very persistent reporter from the New York Times.

He insists on interviewing you first thing Monday morning.

I told him you left for Pago Pago and weren't expected back till the turn of the century.

Good for you. I don't know what that is, but I'm not eating it.

Well, it's an old Fletcher recipe...

guaranteed to take the spots off of a leopard.

Now, you come along with me. We'll go to one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Really, Jessica. It's not worth it.

I'm a frugal Yankee. Humor me.

Pres! Pres, will you please tell this old grump...

to sit his little fanny at the piano and play something for us?

Sounds like a reasonable request to me. Alas, Preston,

Madame wishes to hear a potpourri of Rodgers and Hart.

Hammerstein. Even worse.

Well.

What better way to repay your kind invitation than to amuse your guests.

What would you all like to hear, the complete score to Pipe Dream?

Ha ha! That should clear the room nicely. Bah! Humbug!

All right. I can only stay till 4:00,

so, please, get your requests in early, all right?

♪♪

♪♪

- Good morning, Louise. - Don't tell me. I look like hell.

I feel worse, and I'm in no mood for a lecture.

How about a nice cup of coffee? No, thanks. I was looking for Caleb.

I thought he might have slept over.

Well, I, I wouldn't know about that.

It's all right. I can guess where he went last night.

Usually he has the decency to come home.

My God!

Jessica! God!

What's the matter, Kit? In the pool! In the pool!

God! Go...

What's the matter?

Jessica?

Jessica?

What is it? What's the matter? What's wrong? No, Louise.

Caleb!

Yo, Jim, this is Central.

You find out who that fella in the pool is?

Yeah, Madge. The name's Caleb McCallum.

You know, that seafood guy. Course, that's unofficial.

The-The chief won't let the wife identify. It's just as well.

The guy got his face blown off with a 12-gauge.

How's the chief holding up?

He's better, Madge, now that he's had his coffee.

You know how he feels about trouble on Sundays.

Now, I wanna keep this short and to the point.

Fact is, what we're dealing with here is, murder.

No amount of tip-toein' around's gonna change that.

So, you'll forgive me... especially you, Mrs. McCallum...

if my questions seem blunt. We understand, Chief.

The body was discovered about 6:00 a.m. This morning by...

- Miss Donovan. Is that right? - She's upstairs lying down.

Yes. As a matter of fact, I gave her a sedative.

Doc, I know you're not the coroner, but you got a look at that body.

Now just off the top of your head, how long would you say he'd been dead?

Well, at least several hours.

In other words, somebody killed him last night,

maybe while your party was goin' on.

And no-nobody heard a shot. From a 12-gauge shotgun?

Chief, the party was noisy.

It was chilly, so the windows were closed.

And the pool's some distance from the house.

Suppose you tell me what happened here last night, Mr. Giles.

Folks don't go around gettin' half their heads blown off for no reason.

- I'm lookin' for motive. - For killing Caleb McCallum? Surely you jest.

Half the country had reason to kill him. The other half didn't know him.

- Not funny, friend. - But accurate.

The captain wasn't particularly well loved.

Though I doubt that any of us despised him enough to kill him.

Except for me.

That's what you're all thinking, isn't it?

I didn't kill my husband.

A least, I don't think I did.

I vaguely remember driving away last evening.

And then l-l... I woke up behind the wheel of my car...

at sunup, next to the lake.

Everything else in between is a blank.

All right. I'll be taking statements from everybody.

So, you know, just keep yourselves available. That's all for right now.

Chief. I've got auditions for a new show. I've gotta be in town by this evening.

You'll leave here when I say so and not before.

I beg your pardon, Chief Gunderson.

I was, just checking something out.

I probably should have asked you first.

But I didn't disturb any evidence. Believe me.

I read your book. You did? How nice.

Didn't say I liked it. Said I read it.

So...

What do you think? I beg your pardon?

You know people, ma'am. I can tell that.

You see the little things, the inconsistencies.

So, what do you think about Mrs. McCallum?

Well, surely she's not a suspect, is she?

At the moment, she is the suspect.

She is?

My goodness.

Chief, did Mr. Giles tell you about last night's intruder?

You mean the private eye from New York?

You think he killed the captain? No. No, not at all.

But I'm sure you noticed the shoes on the body floating in the swimming pool.

"Shoes." Now, last night at the party,

Captain Caleb was wearing black patent leather... highly polished.

Is that so? Now, that private detective was discovered on the second floor.

I'm almost sure that he got in through that window. Now, look here.

You see this broken plant? And there, that footprint.

Now, in order to climb up to that window,

that detective would have had to be wearing soft rubber-soled shoes.

What are you tellin' me? The guy in the pool wasn't McCallum?

Sure as hell wasn't.

Well, I'll be a son of a...

Yeah, you are, Chief. You always have been.

- And stupid to boot. - That so?

Well, Mr. McCallum, suppose you tell us who the corpse was in the pool...

and how come he was wearin' your costume.

Well, I haven't got the faintest idea. Caleb!

I'm all right. I'm just fine.

Thank God. Hey.

Caleb! Caleb! No, no.

Thank God! I'm just fine.

Well, I'm not.

That's for last night.

And all the other "last nights" you've put me through.

Baxendale?

I hired the man. He was workin' for me.

He's not the man in the pool, is he?

Mrs. Fletcher seems to think so.

We're checkin' the fingerprints.

Now, Mr. McCallum, suppose you tell us what he was doin' here.

Well.

All right. I'm having some trouble in my, in my business...

some little problems... and somebody is leaking out confidential information.

So I hired Baxendale to find out who it was.

And he told me Friday... Friday, he told me...

that he was onto somethin', and he was gonna tie it all up this weekend.

Maybe he came here to report early.

What, with snoopin' around in the upstairs bedrooms?

Well, I'm sure he didn't want to be seen.

He was more than likely waitin' for a chance to come down here and talk to me privately.

Yeah. Maybe.

But, Caleb, that still doesn't explain what he was doing in your Sherlock Holmes costume.

Well, I don't know about that. I left the party early.

I went out. I went to get some... fresh air.

A young lady from the party... one of the guests... was with me.

I hardly knew her.

All right. We spent the night at the local inn. Okay?

That still doesn't explain the costume.

I put it in the front closet. I wasn't gonna go prancing through the lobby of that motel...

looking like a refugee from a costume ball.

Gunderson. We don't have to...

Not gonna drag that girl into this, are we?

Don't see as how we have much choice,

considerin' she's your only alibi.

See you back in New York, Aunt Jess. Bye-bye.

Have a good trip. Okay.

Bye-bye. I hope you don't mind my not going back with you.

I've got a lot to clear up around here. I understand.

But really, Preston, this limousine is totally unnecessary.

Just put me on the train. I'll be fine.

Nonsense. You arrived in style. You'll go back the same way.

Something wrong?

You seem, I don't know, a little distracted.

I realize this weekend didn't turn out quite the way we planned.

No, no. It's nothing like that.

It's just that, well, it's so easy to write about murder.

But confronting the reality, that's quite a different thing.

And then... Yes?

Nothing. I'll be fine.

Safe trip. Yes.

Afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher. Davis, do you mind dropping me off at headquarters?

I'd be delighted to. Thank you, sir.

What's the matter, Chief? Your car break down?

No, ma'am. I just, wanna have a chat.

A private chat. So, what's the problem?

Problem? I don't know what you mean. Just now, back there,

you had a look on your face same as you had outside by the bushes.

So, let's hear it. Chief, really, this is none of my business.

I'm makin' it your business.

Well, the point is, someone killed Sherlock Holmes.

That New York gumshoe was no Sherlock Holmes. But he was, Chief.

At least he was the moment that he was killed.

The question is, did the killer know that he was? What?

You're investigating the murder of a private detective.

Now, suppose the killer didn't know that it was Mr. Baxendale.

Suppose the killer thought it was Captain Caleb.

After all, the captain was the one wearing the Sherlock Holmes outfit all night.

Wait a minute. You're telling me we've got two possible victims...

and two sets of suspects,

dependin' on who the killer thought he was killing.

I'm afraid so.

Between church and football...

and the fact the town council never calls me,

this is my favorite day of the week.

Mrs. Fletcher, you've just made this the worst Sunday I've spent in 10 years.

"McCallum had registered at the inn shortly after 10:30.

"The internationally known fast food king was accompanied by a young woman...

whose identity had not been divulged by authorities."

I wonder who that detective was spying on.

Bet you whoever it was is the killer. Maybe.

You know, I bet you could solve this case.

Me? I'm not a detective. I'm a substitute English teacher.

You mean a writer. I don't know what I mean.

But I do know that Ethel Jenks is leaving Wednesday to visit her daughter in Montpelier,

and I promised I'd take her class for her.

They can get somebody else. No. The truth is, I want to go back.

Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I don't have much use for city life.

And, you know, frankly, except for you and Kit Donovan,

I don't much care for the people either. Even Preston Giles?

At least you could've called him, told him you were leaving.

Grady, don't pout. I'll call him from Cabot Cove.

And, you know, it's a tad unseemly...

for you to be fixing up your old auntie with a suitor,

no matter how pleasant or distinguished he might be.

Hey, I wasn't. Honest.

You were. Honest.

Well, I'm sorry you guys didn't hit it off.

But don't you see? That's the trouble.

We were beginning to hit it off much too well.

Well, Mrs. Fletcher, good morning. Daniel, how nice to see you.

Here, let me help you with that. No, no, no. That's not your job.

Now, don't be silly. Well.

How was your stay? Well, I can't wait to get home.

Jessica! Mrs. Fletcher!

Thank God I've caught you. What's the matter, child?

- It's Grady. He's been arrested. - Arrested? For what?

For suspicion of murder.

Chief, my nephew did not kill that private detective.

I hope you're right, Mrs. Fletcher. He seems to be a nice young man... for a thief.

A thief? What are you talking about?

He's been stealing confidential information from his company.

But that's ridiculous.

Maybe so. Maybe so, Mrs. Fletcher.

But there's some county detectives in there questioning him, and they're not so sure.

Well, I should think that you'd be doing the questioning.

It's a matter of jurisdiction.

When it's murder, the county cops have a way of takin' over.

I suppose they think that a chief of police from a small town like me is in over his head.

Well, if you believe that Grady is a thief, maybe they're right.

Look, Mrs. Fletcher, I know he's kin,

but facts are facts.

At 6:00 a.m. This morning, we found that detective's car...

parked about half a mile from Giles's place.

In the glove compartment, we found a confidential real estate report...

that McCallum tells us is worth $300,000 or $400,000 in the wrong hands.

And it was stolen from his office early Friday morning.

And you assume that Grady is the thief?

He had access, ma'am. And so, I'm sure, did Miss Vickers.

Well, she's being questioned just right at this very moment.

But Baxendale was discovered in your nephew's room.

And that automatically makes Grady the killer. Makes him a suspect... and a pretty good one.

Baxendale could have been in my nephew's room by accident.

The first-floor bathroom was out of order. People were traipsing up and down the staircase all night.

That detective could have ducked into Grady's room to avoid being seen.

That's weak, Mrs. Fletcher. That's very weak.

Now, second, if Grady were the thief, his fingerprints would have been all over that report.

We checked the fingerprints. They're all kinda smudged.

And third, have you also checked the bank accounts?

Now, Grady's account, I know it's... it's anemic.

But what about Miss Vickers? We're looking into it.

Jess, are you all right? Better now that you're here.

Grady is fine. Karl Teretsky is having him released.

We'll meet him in 15 minutes at the restaurant across the street.

Karl Teretsky? That's pretty high-priced legal talent, Mr. Giles.

And what do you suggest, Chief, that I retain some boy right out of law school?

No, thanks. I know how you people operate.

You find yourself a scapegoat, and then you mold your facts to fit the case.

- Well, not this time. -

I'm gonna ignore that, Mr. Giles.

I may be a small town cop, but I know my job. Do you, Chief? I wonder.

I suppose you're part of that crowd that's tryin' to get rid of me.

No, but don't tempt me.

Just so you understand...

I'm gonna catch this killer.

That's a promise.

I never saw that report before or that detective.

I'm sure you didn't, Grady.

I just got off the phone with Karl Teretsky. Things aren't looking any better.

Seems that Baxendale had a reputation as a cheap blackmailer. What's that got to do with Grady?

The way the police figure it, Baxendale got the goods on Grady,

then came back to the party to confront him... probably to extort a payoff.

Baxendale took the Sherlock Holmes costume out of the front closet so he could mingle,

then lured Grady out to the pool area.

They think that Grady lost his temper and shot him with the skeet gun.

Fiddle-faddle! Mr. Baxendale was a detective, not a mind-reader.

I mean, how could he possibly have known that that costume was in the hall closet?

They're not thinking clearly. Even so, there must be a reason he was dressed that way.

Of course. And once we can figure out why, I suspect we'll know who.

Which brings me to the subject of Miss Vickers.

Would she have taken that report, do you think?

Are you kidding? Two years ago, she was low gal in the steno pool.

Then, all of a sudden, she and the captain were practicing indoor Olympics...

in hotel rooms all over town. Kit.

Well, it's the truth, isn't it?

Then, for the last few months, she gets frozen out.

Not her job. She's too smart for that.

But the captain's got himself another bunkmate.

Now, if you ask me, that gives her a hell of a good reason.

Ashley. Mrs. Fletcher. What are you doing here?

I think it's called a war council. Would you like to join us?

Thanks, but, no. I just spent several hours across the street...

being hounded by a couple of Homicide detectives.

All I want now is a hot bath and a cold drink.

You know, Ashley, there could be strength in numbers.

You know, the police are absolutely convinced...

that either you or my nephew murdered that private detective.

But that's not true. Don't you know? What?

The police have just pinpointed the time of death.

Preston's neighbors heard a loud noise at 11:15.

They didn't bother to investigate it because they thought it was a sonic boom.

But the police investigated. There were no jets overhead Saturday night.

So that sonic boom was the sound of the shotgun. 11:15.

Time for which I gratefully could provide them with an ironclad alibi.

You mean when you and l... That's right.

At 11:15, I was sitting half-naked in an upstairs bedroom...

while you were washing out my dress.

Now, you really must excuse me.

Please don't worry.

Karl Teretsky is one of the best trial lawyers in the state.

Do you really think it'll come to that... a trial?

No, of course not. Jess, you have my word.

Grady will be exonerated one way or the other.

I'm sorry. I think the police have already made up their minds.

- Kit tells me she caught up with you at the railway station. - I was going to call you.

From Maine.

I feel a little foolish.

This weekend, before the trouble,

was one of the happiest times I've spent in years.

Did I misread you so badly? Of course not.

But back home, we have a saying.

Flowers that bloom too quickly are fair game for a late frost.

Do you really say that?

Well, actually, no.

You'll be going back then.

Well, not until I know that Grady's all right.

Driver, take the lady to her hotel. Sure thing, Mac.

How about dinner tonight? Well, there's a lot to do.

And you do have to eat. I'd love to.

I'll call you later.

Driver, do you know a place called...

Now, where was it? I had it here someplace.

Bayview? Baytown?

We got a Bay Ridge, lady. That's in Brooklyn.

Over in Jersey, you got your Bayonne.

Now, out on the Island, you got your Bayshore, your Bayville, your Bayside.

Bayside. That's it. Bayside.

Bayside Yacht Club. Would you mind driving me there?

For 20 bucks? I'm prepared to make up the difference.

Look, lady, to tell you the truth, I wanna get home. My feet are killin' me.

What's your hurry?

Yeah, yeah, I know. Guys at my job are supposed to have a problem someplace else.

But with me, it's my feet. What can I tell ya?

It's some joke? No, no.

They can be terribly painful.

My friend Lena Miller... she had the most awful time.

For years, she had these little calluses.

They were like corns, only they weren't corns.

That's what I got. Then you must try some of our ointment.

Nah. Listen, I tried all that stuff.

Not ours, you haven't. Back home, we make it ourselves. Get away.

You know, my old man's got the same problem. I think it's "heretical."

Dear. I was sure I brought more cash with me.

Two, three, four. I don't suppose you'd take a credit card.

No, I didn't think you would.

Look, Mrs. Fletcher, you gonna be in there long?

Well, not if I can help it. Okay. Then I'll tell you what.

I'll wait for you here, and I'll drive you back to the city off the meter.

Bernie, I couldn't ask you to do that.

What are you gonna do, take a subway? Forget about it, Mrs. Fletcher.

You go do what you gotta do, and I'll be here readin' the paper. All right?

You're very kind. I know. I'm a real prince.

Hello! Captain Caleb?

Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, well, well.

What a delight. I called your office. They told me I'd find you here.

I hope you don't mind. Not a bit. Come right aboard.

To what do I owe this great pleasure?

I assume you know that they've arrested my nephew.

Yes. Well, the evidence is conclusive. "Evidence"?

You've been talking to Chief Gunderson.

Gunderson is an incompetent fool!

I've been trying to get him fired for six months.

Strange. I found him very diligent.

Well, he's a political hack, Mrs. Fletcher.

He's putting in his time till he gets his pension.

However, in this case, I think he does have his facts correct.

- What facts are those? - Well, I told you.

Someone in my organization has been stealing information.

This information is about proposed sites for my chowder houses.

These leaks have cost me a great deal of money.

Baxendale narrowed the list of suspects down to six.

And at his suggestion, I made those six people... and only those six...

aware of a confidential report that I'd received.

The report was a phony, of course.

I also let it be known that I'd be acting on that information on Monday.

I see. You were forcing your traitor to act quickly.

Precisely. Those six people were very carefully watched, as you know...

Baxendale's surveillance took him to that party on Saturday.

You don't suppose he could have found that report in Ashley's room?

No, I don't.

He wasn't caught in Ashley's room, and, as you also know,

Ashley had an alibi that night, which is more than I can say for your nephew.

Grady was with Kit Donovan.

That's like Bonnie Parker alibiing Clyde Barrow.

Captain, we may be forgetting something.

I mean, how do we know for sure that anyone intended to kill Baxendale?

I mean, in that costume, the killer may have been after you.

Not a chance. According to the police,

the shot was fired from 25 feet away, no more.

I just can't help but think... It was such a dark night, you know, so cloudy.

And you know that if a mistake was made...

You're probably right.

Mrs. Fletcher, you're a very shrewd cookie, but you're barking up the wrong tree.

All my employees know that I am Cap'n Caleb's Chowder Houses, okay?

Without me, the whole thing falls apart.

And as for my wife, Louise, we have a prenuptial agreement.

As long as I'm alive, she lives like a queen.

If I die, she gets next to nothin'.

There goes your theory of mistaken identity.

♪♪

Now, you wait here, Bernie, and I'll go upstairs and get some money.

Aw, forget it, Mrs. F. If this ointment works,

it's worth a lot more than a few bucks on a meter.

Bernie, you're really very kind.

Now, be sure to put it on for a half hour every night for a week.

And don't forget to write to me and let me know how it worked.

You bet. Take it easy, Mrs. F.

Bye.

Thank you very much.

Hello?

Aunt Jess, where have you been? We've been worried sick.

Grady, what time does your office close?

What time what? I don't know. What's the difference?

What time, Grady?

6:30, 7:00. Aunt Jess, what's going on?

Listen. Only two people could have stolen that real estate report...

you and Ashley Vickers.

Now, I've pretty much eliminated you as a suspect. Thanks.

Which means that we have to prove that Ashley is the culprit.

Now, I want to look around her office.

- Aunt Jess, that's police business. - At the moment, the police business seems to be convicting you of murder.

Meet me outside the hotel at 7:00.

Swell, they can tack on breaking and entering onto my murder one sentence.

Are you sure you want to do this?

I'm only sure that someone has to do something.

Even if Ashley did take those papers, she couldn't have killed that detective.

No, but her accomplice could. What accomplice?

Grady, at great risk of exposure, Miss Vickers not only stole that report,

she brought it back to New Holvang.

Why? Obviously, to pass it on to someone else.

Someone at the party. Well, probably.

And remember, whoever she was dealing with...

was just as vulnerable as she was.

Well, it doesn't figure she'd keep anything incriminating in her office.

Well, we'll never know unless we look.

Come on.

Good evening, Mr. Fletcher. Evening, Tom.

Workin' late tonight? No. I mean, I'm not working.

I'm showing my aunt where I work.

This is my aunt visiting from Maine.

How do, ma'am? I hope you're enjoying your stay.

It's been a rare experience. Believe me.

We shouldn't be very long. That's all right.

Of course, we could be quite a while.

There's a lot to see.

Don't worry if we're up there a long time.

No problem. You folks can take all the time you want.

Right. Well, thanks a lot.

You're welcome, sir. Grady, let's go.

All right. Ashley's office is at the end of the corridor on the left. Why are you whispering?

Shh! For heaven's sakes, Grady. There's no one here.

I'll search the office, and you check the records. What?

We need to know the names of the people from whom the company bought the properties.

Now, can you get them? Yeah. They're in the computer, but I don't...

Grady, whoever bought and then resold those overpriced properties...

has to have some connection, directly or indirectly, with Ashley and her contact.

Now scoot. I'll be fine.

This may take a while.

Yes? Why are you calling me here?

I told you I don't want you calling me anywhere, especially now.

Talk about what? I thought I made it clear.

It's over. I want no part of murder.

All right, all right. Stop getting hysterical.

Where are you?

All right. I'll be there as soon as possible.

Because they may be following me. I can't be sure.

I will do the best I can.

Grady!

Grady!

That was a fast trip, Miss Vickers.

Sign me out, will you, Tom? Sure thing.

Good night now.

So nice to meet you, Tom. Ma'am. Ma'am? Excuse me, ma'am. Ma'am?

Taxi!

Taxi!

Taxi!

Taxi!

Can you follow that bus?

Are you kiddin' me, lady? You know where that thing's goin'?

But that's the trouble. I don't know where it's going.

Thank you so much.

Does this bus go to the same place as that bus up ahead?

That's the way it works, lady. Up the street. Down the street.

Seventy-five cents. Y-yes, of course.

I've got my wallet here someplace. Here we are.

Exact change, lady. But I don't have exact change.

Then off you get at the next stop. No. I'm sorry. I can't do that.

Then the bus will sit there till you do.

Excuse me. Do you have four quarters for a dollar?

Nope. I've got three quarters for a dollar.

Yes. Three quarters.

You must do quite well. Beats hell out of welfare, sweetie.

For seventy-five cents, you're entitled to a seat, lady.

I'm fine just like this. Well, I'm not. Sit down.

You know, "George," rudeness does not become you.

Yeah, I know, but it's a job requirement. Please, lady, take a seat.

- George, I want to get off. - You just got on.

I know. I want... I want to get off.

Immediately. Please.

Lady, I'm not supposed to open the doors anyplace but a special stop, but for you...

Hey, mama, you lookin' for somethin'? Excuse me.

Hello. Excuse her. The lady wants to be excused.

Please, would you mind letting me pass?

You give me a pass, and I'll let you by. Don't be ridiculous. Step aside before I call the police.

You gonna call the police? What, you got the phone in there?

Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I do.

Come here!

Get back here, mama.

You see, I'm not only gonna take your purse,

I'm gonna give ya a free blood test.

Are you all right?

Yes.

I think so.

Thank you. Thank you.

You want some advice? I'd stay out of this neighborhood, Mrs. Fletcher.

You know me? Yes, ma'am.

I recognized you as soon as I saw you back on the bus.

- I read your book. It's terrific. - Thank you.

But l-I still don't...

Hey, don't you know, Mrs. Fletcher? You're a celebrity.

What time is it? About the same as it was a minute ago.

11:30. I'm sure she'll be all right, Mr. Giles.

Chasing around New York City alone, at night, maybe following a killer?

What happens if Ashley discovers she's being followed?

Sir!

Jess! In God's name, where have you been? We've been worried sick.

For heaven's sakes, Preston. I'm fine.

Don't tell me you've been waiting here for me?

You weren't actually following Ashley Vickers? I was, but I lost her.

I must hurry. I've got a phone call to make. Kit.

Grady, did you get what we need? Well, not exactly.

Roy Gunderson.

He's the chief of police.

Grady, what were you saying about that computer?

I think I hit a wrong button. Instead of real estate transactions,

it started spitting out last year's wholesale fish prices.

Well, we may not need that list of names anyway.

Hello, operator?

Well, would you be good enough to connect me? Well, that's very kind.

What do you mean you won't need them?

You could have been arrested for trespassing. Yes, but I think I've got the connection.

Hello? Hello. Chief Gunderson?

This is Jessica Fletcher.

Jessica Fletcher.

Well, I believe it's about a quarter past midnight.

I'm sorry. Yes. Yes, but we do have a murder to solve.

And I think you'll sleep much better once you've arrested Ashley Vickers.

Chief, this evening, I was privy to a conversation...

in which she practically admitted having stolen that report.

Chief.

Would you please stop complaining about your insomnia and listen!

Now, I believe that your private detective was the intended victim all along,

and I suggest that you scour his records to find some connection...

between Ashley Vickers and that Broadway composer.

- You remember him... Peter Brill. - Peter?

Now, I may be wrong, but, frankly, I doubt it.

Anyway, Mr. Baxendale's files need a good going-over.

Well... l... It...

Yes, I suppose tomorrow would be soon enough to start.

But...

You're quite welcome, Chief.

Good night.

You can't be serious about Peter Brill.

What do you mean? Don't you remember, at the party,

him telling us about how he was holding auditions for a new musical in a small theater?

Off 17th Street... that's where I lost Ashley Vickers.

That could just be a coincidence. I don't think so, Kit.

Mr. Brill has been very unsuccessful for several years,

yet now he has the funds to mount a new show.

Even off-Broadway doesn't come that cheap.

There is nothing in these papers about the show.

But there must be an item...

or an ad or something that would identify the theater.

Now, first thing tomorrow morning, that gentleman and I are going to have a...

a little chat.

♪♪

♪♪

Listen. Sounds of life.

No, Grady. I want you to wait out here.

I'm not lettin' you go in there alone. Of course you will.

Aunt Jess, it could be dangerous.

If Mr. Brill believes we're ganging up on him, it could be very unproductive. I think I'll get further on my own.

All right, but if you're not back in 20 minutes, I'm comin' in there. I'll count on you.

♪♪

♪You played a trick on my heart, honey ♪ ♪♪

♪You made my love disappear ♪

♪ I was the rabbit in your hat ♪

♪ I was your lucky boutonniere ♪

♪You played a trick on my heart, honey ♪

♪It became so very clear♪

♪When you tucked me up your sleeve ♪

♪And you didn't even shed a tear ♪♪

Whoa!

Well, Petey, sweetheart, ain't she great?

Yes. Marvin, your client's talent is exceeded only...

by her monumental capacity for flagellation of the treble clef.

You got it. Are-Are we through here?

I gotta be on the switchboard by 8:30.

Yes. I've heard all I need to hear. Thank you so much, Miss Devine.

That means I stink, right?

Hey, well, listen, buddy, you know, you don't play so hot either.

Yes, well, you see, I've had only two hours sleep.

Whereas with you, sweet thing, the oblivion of Morpheus...

seems to be a perpetual state of mind.

Yeah? - Listen, honey.

Honey, sweetheart. Sweetheart, come on.

Come on. Let's get outta here.

Petey. Petey, I'll be seein' ya.

Listen.

You got the dough for this thing, right?

Yes, Marvin. I got the dough.

Dynamite.

Come on, honey. Let's go.

Just where did you get the dough, Mr. Brill?

If you're here to audition, honey, come back tonight.

I was hoping we could have a nice little private chat.

Mrs. Fletcher.

Well, nothing would delight me more, but not this morning.

Perhaps, lunch sometime later in the week.

Mr. Brill, tell me about the stolen information...

that you've been receiving from Ashley Vickers.

My dear lady, I have no idea what you're talking about.

But of course you do. I followed her here last night.

If Ashley chose to sit in on my auditions,

that is no reason to assume that we are in league in some clandestine scheme.

Now stop this fiddle-faddle. A young man's future is in dire jeopardy...

because of your shenanigans, and I won't allow it.

At the risk of repeating myself, I do not know what you are talking about.

Peter.

- Give it up. - Don't be a fool.

It's going to come out now anyway, all of it.

Are you out of your mind? Do you wanna go to jail?

Do you want to be arrested for murder?

Yes, Mrs. Fletcher.

Peter and I have enjoyed a perfect partnership.

He made enough money to stage a modest comeback,

and I had my revenge on Captain Caleb.

But murder?

You, of all people, should realize I couldn't possibly have killed that detective.

Yes, of course.

What a pity Mr. Brill couldn't have been in the room with us.

Then I could have been your alibi too.

What a generous thought,

but you needn't concern yourself with me.

At the time of that detective's untimely demise,

I was seated at the parlor piano delighting my fellow guests...

with dozens of melodic gems from my incomparable repertoire.

Aunt Jess? You all right?

Just fine.

Hold it, mister! Stay right there.

Now very slowly, I want your hands over your head,

flat against the wood.

I know the drill, son.

My name is Roy Gunderson.

I'm chief of police up in New Holvang.

My... My identification's in my inside coat pocket.

Sorry, Chief.

Can't be too careful, you know?

What are you fellas doin' here? Got an anonymous tip.

Said we'd find something very interesting on this boat.

Funny.

I got the same message.

You boys know anything about sailin'? Sure, a little bit.

Well, lay on that winch, and let's hoist this mainsail.

Turn the crank.

The victim's wife, Louise McCallum, arrived at the Hudson Street Police Station...

shortly after 1:00 p.m. Today, accompanied by her attorney.

When asked if she was under suspicion in her husband's death, authorities had no official comment.

Mrs. McCallum, could I ask you, why would they ask you to come down here today?

Could I just get one answer from you, ma'am?

Well, to recap, fast food mogul Caleb McCallum is dead at 58,

fatally shot several times in the chest.

I can't believe it. Why not?

The murderer was just rectifying his earlier mistake.

It's so hard to imagine Louise a murderer.

Chief. Mr. Giles.

Hope I'm not disturbin'... Afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher.

Chief, why did they arrest Louise McCallum?

They just brought her in for questioning, ma'am. That's all.

To tell you the truth, we're kinda back to the start line on this thing.

Except for the fact that your nephew is off the hook.

Miss Vickers and Mr. Brill have made full statements about the theft of the documents.

- But not about the murder. - Jess, that detective was just in the wrong place at the wrong time...

and wearing the wrong costume.

- Caleb's murder proves that. - Sure does.

Anyway, the two of them have alibis for both killings.

Seems that last night, Brill dragged the lady over to some New Jersey nightclub...

to catch this singer's act.

Accordin' to the witnesses, they didn't leave there till past 2:30 in the mornin'.

Coroner says McCallum was dead by that time.

Well, the... New York City Homicide has taken over this case.

So I'm headin' back home.

I just want to say, Mrs. Fletcher, that I'm proud I met ya.

You can horn in on one of my cases anytime.

Thanks, Chief. And anytime you're in Maine,

you let me cook you up some lobster stew.

I'll do that.

Jess.

That "anytime" business sounds like you've decided something.

Yes, Preston. I-I'm going back.

I've got a... I've got a 4:30 reservation on the train.

Funny.

Despite the insanity that has surrounded our brief acquaintance,

these days have been very special to me.

You know, over the past several years,

I've acquired every luxury a man could want.

But I've been operating on automatic pilot...

automatic banking, automatic security systems,

automatic lights, appliances.

I'm a pampered rich man who does nothing for himself,

and I'm miserable.

Or, at least, I have been.

Preston, wait.

I do like you... a great deal.

But, I'm sorry.

This is all moving just...

too fast for a widow woman from Maine.

I can respect that.

Are you sure? Absolutely.

Look, Jess,

you and I are going to be joined at the hip professionally for a long, long time.

If something else is destined to come out of this relationship, so be it.

If not,

at least I'll have made a very good friend.

They're talking about a movie deal, but don't get your hopes up.

They usually fall through. I certainly hope so.

After New York, I know I'm not ready for Hollywood.

Well, the tape with Barbara Walters is going to air on Friday.

And finally the New York Times book reporter that's been assigned to you...

a Chris Landon... will be calling you by phone.

Fine. Is that it? Well, not quite.

There's a reporter from the Yale newspaper...

that wants to get on with you in New London and ride to Providence.

Be nice to him, Jessica.

Those Yalies are big fans of yours. I adore them.

And I adore you too. You're a dear, Kit.

Now, see that this nephew of mine keeps out of trouble. Promise.

Are you sure you have to go? Positive.

And I was so sure you'd solve the mystery.

Well, I couldn't and I didn't, and that's it.

It will have to remain unsolved, at least by me. All aboard!

Well, Mrs. Fletcher, nice to see you again. Hello, Daniel.

Are you sure you're leaving this time? Absolutely.

And one other thing, young man.

I want no surprise telegram mentioning the word "elopement."

I expect the deed to be done in my parlor.

Well, I guess you must have had a fine visit.

Well, I could hardly drag myself away.

Did your boy hear from the university? Yes, ma'am.

He starts next September 4.

You and your wife must be so proud. That we are.

Excuse me, ma'am. Are you feeling all right?

Yes. Why, don't I look well? - Yeah, you look just fine.

It's just that, Well, you seem a little out of sorts.

Well, it's funny, you know. This past week or so,

l-I couldn't wait to get out of this city, go back where I belong.

And now I'm... I'm not exactly sure where that is.

Yes, ma'am.

Well, if, you need anything, you just let me know.

Thank you.

Daniel! Daniel.

Daniel! What happened? What's the matter?

How do I get a train to New Holvang? You have to take the ramp to the north end of the station. But...

Mrs. Fletcher, what about your luggage?

Check it through to Boston. I'll pick it up there.

Good night, Jane. Have a pleasant evening. You, too, Mr. Giles.

Mr. Giles's office.

Yes. One moment, please.

It's some reporter from Yale University. I think you better take it.

This is Preston Giles. What can I do for you?

She wasn't? Well, where'd she go?

New Holvang? Are you sure?

Well, thank you for calling.

Jane, this is what I need.

I want a charter plane waiting for me at Teterboro ready to go when I arrive.

Yes, sir.

Excuse me. Do you know 33 Amber Lane?

Big house... red brick, iron gates. Sure, I know it.

Are you sure you wanna go there? Yes.

Good evening, Deputy. Nice to see you again.

- Yes, ma'am. -

Hey, lady, you sure you want this house?

Maybe nobody told ya, but we had a murder here a few days ago.

Yes. I was here.

Yeah?

You know, I don't think there's anybody here right now.

Well, I didn't expect there would be.

I'm not sure how long I'll be here. Would you please wait?

Aw, gee, lady, I don't know. It was the end of the shift, and I was on my way home.

Well, naturally, I'll make it worth your while.

Well... Aw, sure. I guess so.

For a few minutes anyway. Thanks so much.

I can unlock that for you.

That is you, isn't it, Jess?

Yes, it's me. A little hard to see.

I thought you were in New York.

You're supposed to be on your way to Maine. What are you doing here?

Trying to tie up a loose end.

I didn't think you'd go away happy.

- What is it? What have you figured out? - I'm not sure.

It's almost 8:00. What happens at 8:00?

Maybe nothing.

The house is dark. Where's Davis?

I gave him a couple of days off.

Look, this is silly. I've paid your cab driver and let him go.

Come on. Let's go inside and have a drink.

Not yet. What is it? What are you trying to prove?

You know, Preston, you and I are standing about 25 feet apart.

That's the same distance the killer was from Sherlock Holmes when he was shot.

- I guess. - The police believe that Mr. Baxendale was shot by mistake,

that, in the darkness, the killer thought he was firing at Captain Caleb.

But, at this distance, I can see you perfectly.

That's because we're standing in bright moonlight.

Jess, the night of the party, it was overcast.

There was no moon. It was pitch-dark out here.

The killer saw the costume and assumed that McCallum was in that costume.

Automatic lights.

I'd hoped I was wrong.

They went on at 8:00. When do they shut off?

Midnight, but what's the point?

The point is, the murder occurred at 11:15.

The point is, the killer knew exactly who his victim was.

Or, more specifically, Preston,

you knew you were shooting that detective.

Jess, for God's sake, you're not serious?

With this much light, there couldn't have been a mistake.

Someone had reason to kill Baxendale.

We know it wasn't Ashley Vickers or Peter Brill.

No one at the party knew he was around,

no one but you and me and Kit and Grady.

Why, I can't believe you're saying this.

Do you think I'm taking any pleasure in it?

But why would I kill the man? I didn't even know him.

I think you did. At least he knew you. Don't you remember?

As he was leaving the bedroom, he saw that brass figure of Blind Justice.

And he turned and he said something very strange.

He knew that you were the Count of Monte Cristo.

It was as if something suddenly clicked into place.

Is that it? No, of course it isn't.

There were lots of little things... things that didn't mean anything at the time,

but now I understand.

In the cab, after you'd retained the lawyer,

you promised that Grady would be exonerated one way or the other.

- I was trying to comfort you. - No.

I think you would have confessed if you thought that Grady was in any real danger.

Jess, honestly.

No, you're not being honest, Preston, not at all.

- The telephone call proved that. - What telephone call?

At the party, when you were on the telephone when Ashley and I walked into the kitchen and I asked you who was calling.

Do you remember what you said?

A very persistent reporter from the New York Times.

He insists on interviewing you first thing Monday morning.

I told him you left for Pago Pago and weren't expected back till the turn of the century.

The Times reporter assigned to interview me...

was a young woman, not a man, Preston.

It was Mr. Baxendale on the phone, wasn't it?

Yes.

He insisted I meet him by the pool at 11:00.

The subject was blackmail.

I couldn't go through that, not after all these years.

I was in a blind rage. I took a gun and shot him.

When I realized how easily I could have been seen...

If anyone had been outside, they could have heard the shot.

Many years ago, I was betrayed by three partners in a business venture.

An apartment house we built collapsed.

Several people were killed.

Although I had nothing to do with the construction end, I was made the scapegoat.

They got off free, and I was sentenced to 15 years in prison.

After two years, I managed to escape.

Don't ask the details, but the police assumed I died in the attempt.

Like the Count of Monte Cristo.

As you well know, my favorite fictional character.

Well, not everyone was convinced that I was dead.

A hotshot detective, third grade, had a hunch that I was still alive.

He became even more positive when, over the next couple of years...

like the Count of Monte Cristo...

l financially destroyed my three ex-partners from a safe distance.

Saturday was the first time I'd seen him in 22 years, and I didn't recognize him.

But, obviously, he recognized me.

He'd changed his name, as I had,

but I knew that, if the police ever started poking around his files,

sooner or later they'd come across me.

Yes, the files.

That's why you dressed Baxendale up in the Sherlock Holmes outfit...

to make the police think that the killer had intended to kill Caleb.

You had to divert attention away from Baxendale.

Yes.

He was a slimy blackmailer, Jess. He threatened to destroy my life.

Morally, it was a case of self-defense.

Preston, even if I could bring myself to believe that,

there's no way that you can justify the murdering of Caleb McCallum.

And you did kill him, for the same reason...

to divert suspicion from yourself.

- Caleb wasn't much of a human being either. - But he didn't deserve killing.

No one deserves killing.

Preston! I'm so angry! I don't know whether to scream or cry.

All the way to the railway station, I was thinking about you.

Twice, I nearly turned around and came back.

Then when I realized... When I read that newspaper...

I'm sorry, Jess. I truly am.

Another time, a different place, we might have had something.

I'm going to talk to Gunderson.

Would you go with me?

Yes.

I'd like to very much.

Grady, I'm not coming back to this city. Not next month. Not next year.

Hey, I know you're a little upset. "Upset"?

These last seven days have been the most miserable week of my entire life.

You really liked him, didn't you? Yes, I really liked him.

Grady, if only I hadn't been such a terrible busybody.

If only I could have just let it be.

Great. Then I'd be on trial, not Preston Giles. Well, I've had enough.

I've had enough murders, enough puzzles, enough suspects.

You know, I don't even think I'm gonna write another book.

Sure, you will, and I'll be the first one to read it.

We'll see. Jessica! Wait!

Thank God I caught you. Kit, what's the matter?

The police, they've been trying to find you all morning.

They won't say, but I think they need your help. Help from me?

The bodies of two dead wrestlers were found this morning at Madison Square Garden.

They were lying in the middle of the ring.

One had been stabbed, and the other drowned. Absolutely not.

They say there's a logical explanation, but they really need your help.

Grady, tell her, dear.

Good-bye, children, and don't forget to write.

It's been wonderful being with you both.

Take care.

"Drowned"?