[cheerful orchestral music]
[sinister music playing]
[clock chimes]
Roger, is that you?
[rattling noise]
[wind howling]
[suspenseful music playing]
[gasps]
[loud noise]
[footsteps approaching]
Roger?
Roger, please!
For God's sake!
If this is some kind of a sick joke...
[Cellini] Cut! Lights!
[Cellini] Still too long.
We've got to pep it up, people.
All right. Second act in ten minutes.
We open tomorrow night. I don't intend to close the night after.
Ladies, this is a private rehearsal.
No outsiders.
Uh, Mr. Cellini, you did as us to meet you here.
And why would I do a thing like that? I don't even know you.
We're the refreshment committee.
From the PTA.
Oh. Yes, yes. Uh, 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. -Gave me the goosebumps.
Oh yes. And I'm sure no one will ever guess
the uncle is the killer.
Uh, wait a minute. Wait a minute!
-[muffled talking] -[Cellini] Hold it, lady. Hold it!
Hold it. Uh, whatever made you think the uncle is the killer?
Well, isn't he? How delightful. I was totally fooled.
Yes, as a matter of fact, he is the killer.
-Miss, uh... -Mrs. Fletcher. Oh and this is,
this is Mrs. Hoey, in charge of punch.
And this is Mrs. Thompson. She's brownies and macaroons?
-Macaroons. -Charmed. Charmed.
Look, uh, somebody slipped you a copy of the script, right?
Oh no. No, but when the uncle showed up after the party
wearing a different tie,
obviously he changed it for a reason.
And then there was the phone call from the coroner.
I mean, he couldn't have known about that.
Not unless he'd overheard the conversation between
the doctor and the priest.
Oh, 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.
[muffled talking]
[cheerful orchestral music playing]
George!
Get me that idiot of a writer. I want to talk to him now.
[phone ringing]
-Hello? -[Grady] It's Grady, aunt Jess.
Grady? What's the matter?
[Grady] Nothing's the matter, aunt Jess. Everything's terrific.
[Jessica sighs] Nothing's terrific
at 6:23 in the morning.
You didn't lose your job with that fish person, did you?
Nope, the job's fine.
Oh, what a relief.
You know, 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?
Well, 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.
Oh, uh... well...
you see, not only did I read it, I gave it to a friend of mine
who showed it to coventry house and...
and well, you see, aunt Jess, they want to publish it.
What?
Oh, dear. No!
I thought you'd be pleased.
Well, I am not pleased, Grady. I'm not a writer.
Look, 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.
Oh, be sensible.
Look, just because somebody wants to publish my book
doesn't mean anyone will bother to read it.
It's all been arranged.
They've 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 mean, I'd just make a fool of myself.
Ah, come on. They'll love you, just like I do.
[Jessica] Well, maybe just for a day or so.
That's terrific.
Oh, uh, look, I got to go. The Captain's called a meeting.
I'll see you in the morning at the station, okay?
Oh, yes. Uh, good-bye.
Jessica, are you really going to be on television?
-I'm afraid so. -Not like that, you're not.
Oh, what's the matter?
Jessica, millions of people will be watching.
-You have to look now, with it. -[speaking French] Au courant.
And those tweeds... have got to go.
[cheerful music playing]
[Kitt] Are you sure she caught the train?
Positive. Very organized lady, my aunt Jess.
She's precise and punctual.
There. What did I tell you? Aunt Jess!
Oh, there's my nephew now.
Aunt Jess!
Thank you so much, Daniel, for all your help.
[Daniel] Oh, no, Ma'am. My pleasure.
Well, I certainly hope that your boy gets that scholarship.
Well, thank you, Ma'am. And you have a nice stay.
-All right? -I will. Oh, Grady!
Aunt Jess. [Jessica laughs heartily]
Look, 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.
Oh, my heavens. What a relief!
Oh, aunt Jess, this is Kitt Donovan.
She works for the publishing company
in public relations.
You must be the friend who's responsible
for getting me into this.
-Guilty. -Well, nevertheless,
I'm delighted to meet you.
Oh, 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?
Uhm, in about 20 minutes.
Oh, and believe me, Mr. Giles can't wait to meet you.
[door clicks open]
Jane, I have to talk to the accountants.
If Mr. Templeton calls, ask him meet me here at 3:00.
-[Jane] Yes, Sir. -Excuse me, Mr. Giles. Uhm...
Oh, good Lord! Mrs. Fletcher, can you forgive me?
I had a dozen crises already this morning.
Oh, well, 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.
Kitt, coordinate with Jane, will you?
Uhm, 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, uh, I've not been sleeping well.
-Apples. -Yes, uh, thank you.
Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.
-If he wasn't so busy, I'd-- -Oh, no matter, Kitt.
I didn't come here to be wined and dined.
Well, shall we have a go at the inquisitors?
[Kitt giggles]
Well, uh, actually, I never suspected
that my book would be published.
I really wrote it...
well, for my own enjoyment, I guess. You know, like,
like some people needlepoint or paint and...
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?
Oh, I couldn't.
Television is your business... not mine.
[silly music playing]
Oh, 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 something.
[silly music playing]
The fact is that I never intended
to have the book published.
Uh, it was all my nephew's idea.
Hey, isn't that something. She got the idea to write
-The book from her nephew. -Oh, no, no.
-That isn't what I meant at all. -Let's see.
It's 23 past the hour and we're sitting here
with that famous writer, Mrs. Jennifer Fletcher.
And, uh, 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.
Oh yes.
It's a little... Maybe you're living with somebody.
How about a prison record?
[silly music playing]
[radio host] Anything?
I, for one, Mrs. Fletcher,
was delighted by the feminist thrust
you were able to weave into your storyline.
[Jessica] That really wasn't my intention.
Oh, nonsense. I suppose what I liked best of all
was your courage in choosing the pregnant ballerina as your killer.
Oh, I really don't think you should reveal that.
[presenter] In too many of these books,
women are merely ornaments and sex objects.
[presenter] As a person with decoration--
[Jessica] Oh, I really do think we should stop the tape.
I mean, after all, 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.
[Agnes] J.B. Fletcher?
[Agnes] Hey, hey! You j, you, you J.B. Fletcher?
-Yes, I am. -Here.
Don't write on it, read it.
[Agnes] Guess next time you'll think twice about
stealing ideas from Agnes Peabody!
I'll see you in court, honey.
[silly music playing]
Oh, 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.
Ah! Mrs. Fletcher? Mrs. Fletcher?
Jessica, I'm mortified by my behavior.
I've come to beg your forgiveness.
Oh, I smell a conspiracy.
But please don't blame Kitt. 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."
You know, back in Cabot Cove
the only thing we have with claws are lobsters.
-And we eat them. -You know, 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.
Well, 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.
[Giles laughs]
[Giles] Dear old Agnes Peabody
is totally convinced she's written half the novels
in the Library of Congress.
[Giles] Now she has those subpoenas printed up herself.
[Jessica laughs]
In other words, just another dotty old lady.
You know, the people of your city make me feel the same way.
Oh, 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.
Oh, and "Mr. Giles"
is that stuffed shirt in the three piece suit
I left back in new York.
[Giles] I don't know about you, but I'm glad we let your nephew
and Kitt find their own way out here today.
[shotgun blast]
[Caleb] Pull!
[shotgun blast]
-Pull! -[Louise] Good shot, darling!
Thank you, Louise.
You're really shooting well today.
You want to try it? It just takes a clear eye and a steady hand.
No, thank you.
If I'm going to make a fool of myself,
let me choose my own pratfall.
Pull!
[shotgun blast]
Louise!
How delightful to see you.
-How nice of you to invite us. -Louise McCallum, Jessica Fletcher.
Now you, I am delighted to meet.
-Oh. -I loved your book.
Why, thank you.
Really, really. I, I couldn't put it down.
Where's the Captain?
Oh, 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. -Ah!
But like a good host, you offered to put her up anyway.
[rumbling]
-Oh, what was that? -[Giles] Oh, sonic boom.
We've got an airport nearby.
-Ah. -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.
Uh, come as what? What is she talking about?
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.
[crickets chirping]
Hello Davis. I see we're not the first to arrive.
Oh, 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.
Oh. That's not magic. That's just hard work.
Suppose I just settle for the pleasure of her company.
[Arnold] Darn it all, Pres!
I've been waiting all day to meet this lady.
Dumpty is the name, Mrs. 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 wall flower.
Eggs-actly.
[lively piano music playing]
♪ 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.
[Peter] Wrong, Ashley. You're wrong.
You're so terribly wrong. It is never inappropriate
to wish the world a little ill will.
[sweeping piano notes]
Well, any requests? How about you, Doctor?
A medley of my hit from yesteryear?
[doctor] 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, Doctor, off-broadway.
Off-broadway, my friend. The fringes of civilization.
To be specific, 17th street.
Hey, look here.
[Peter] If it ain't Sherlock Holmes himself.
[tinkling piano music]
-Why don't we cut out of here? -Grady, it's only 8:15.
-I hate parties. -[laughs] 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.
Huh?
-[sniggers] Does it tickle? -Just a little.
Grady, what's the matter?
[Grady] Am I nuts, or is that my room?
[sinister music playing]
[dramatic music playing]
-Wait here! -Grady!
[suspenseful music playing]
[Dexter groans]
All right, young man, that's quite enough.
There's 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.
[Dexter] When society seeks, uh, 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.
The 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.
Oh, 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.
[Dexter] Which one is under investigation?
And need I remind you
The Enquirer will have a field day?
[Giles] Grady, do me a favor, will you?
Escort this gentleman to his car?
Sure thing, Mr. Giles.
[Giles] And out the back way, please.
I'd rather not disturb our guests.
It was a great pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Fletcher.
[Dexter] You have a rare gift for murder.
Continued success.
Why, thank you. I think.
[laughing and talking in background]
Uh, forgive me...
but 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?
[Dexter] 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?
[Caleb] Listen, Doc, if there's one thing I know about,
it's the public taste buds. And I'm telling you
they want their food fast and they want it cheap.
You're from Maine, you know about fish.
Do you ever eat at Captain Caleb's?
Oh yes, Captain. And it is an experience I'll never forget.
There you are. I rest my case.
[Louise] Caleb...
-Caleb. -Huh...
The party's beginning to pall. Let's go home.
Get yourself some coffee, Louise.
I don't want coffee. I want to go home.
[Caleb] Well, I don't.
[Louise] Oh...
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.
Excuse me.
Uh, Louise, dear. Louise! Uh, please, don't...
Please, don't go. Not just yet.
Oh, Grady, there you are. Please, help Mrs. McCallum home.
She's in no condition to drive.
Oh, 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.
No. I can manage.
-You're in no condition. -Leave me alone!
For God's sake, will you leave me alone?
Geez!
[tires screeching]
[Jessica] Grady, are you all right?
-Yeah. -Oh!
Yeah, I'm okay. It's her I'm worried about.
She's crazy!
Thirty dollars a ticket? [chuckles]
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?
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars will barely get you started.
Uh, 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.
Oh, 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 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.
Oh, damn!
Oh, dear. We must get that out before it leaves a stain.
-Forget it. -Oh, no. Come with me.
I mean, we can't let that beautiful dress be ruined.
Yes, I understand.
I'll see what I can work out.
-What happened? Accident? -Oh, nothing serious.
We need milk, soda, lemons... oh, 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.
-Oh. -I told him you'd 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 Rogers and Hart.
-Hammerstein. -Even worse.
Oh, 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?
[laughs] 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?
[cheerful piano music]
[soft snoring]
[car horn honking]
[car approaches]
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 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.
[Kitt screaming] Oh, my god!
Jessica! Oh, god! [sobbing]
[Jessica] What's the matter? It's all right.
In the pool!
[dramatic music playing]
[Kitt] Oh, god!
What's the matter?
-Oh. -Jessica?
[Louise] Jessica?
-What is it? What's the matter? -No, Louise!
What's wrong?
Caleb!
[Madge] Yo, Jim. This is Central.
Find out who that fellow in the pool is?
Uh, yeah, Madge. The name's Caleb McCallum.
You know, that seafood guy? Of course, that's unofficial.
Uh, the chief won't let the wife identify.
It's just as well. The guy got his face blown off with a 12-Gauge.
[Madge] How's the chief holding up?
Uh, he's better, Madge, now that he's had his coffee.
You know how he feels about trouble on Sundays.
[Roy] Now, I want to keep this short and to the point.
Fact is, what we're dealing with here is, uh, murder.
No amount of tip-toeing around is going to change that.
So, uh, 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, uh...
Ms. 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 you say he's been dead?
Well, at least several hours.
In other words, somebody killed him last night
maybe while your party was going on.
[light music playing]
And no, nobody heard a shot from a 12-Gauge shotgun?
Chief, the party was noisy.
It was chilly, so the windows were closed.
[Giles] The pool is some distance from the house.
Suppose you tell me what happened here last night, Mr. Giles.
Folks don't go around getting half their heads blown off for no reason.
I'm looking for motive.
[Peter] 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.
At least... I don't think I did.
I vaguely remember driving away last evening.
And then I... 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,
uh, so, uh, you know, just keep yourselves available.
That's, that's all for right now.
[Peter] 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.
[light music playing]
[clearing throat]
I beg your pardon, Chief Gunderson. I was, uh, just checking something out.
I probably should have asked you first.
But I didn't disturb any evidence, believe me.
I read your book.
-Oh, 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?
Oh, my goodness!
Chief, did Mr. Giles tell you about last night's intruder?
Oh, you mean the private eye from New York?
You think he killed the Captain?
Oh, 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 telling me?
The guy in the pool wasn't McCallum?
[Caleb] 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 wearing your costume.
Well, I haven't got the faintest idea.
[Louise] Caleb!
-I'm all right. I'm just fine. -Oh, thank god.
-[Caleb laughs] -Oh, Caleb. Oh, Caleb.
-[Caleb groans] -[Louise] Oh, thank god.
[Caleb muffled] I'm just fine.
Well, I'm not.
-Oh! -That's for last night
and all the other last nights you've put me through.
[bright music playing]
[Caleb] Baxendale.
I hired the man.
He's working for me.
He's not the man in the pool, is he?
Mrs. Fletcher seems to think so. We're checking the fingerprints.
Now, Mr. McCallum,
suppose you tell us what he was doing here.
Well, all right.
I'm having some trouble in my, uh, in my business.
Some little problems.
And somebody is leaking out confidential information,
so I hired Baxendale to find out who it was.
[Caleb] And he told me Friday... Friday, he told me
that he was on to something
and he was going to tie it all up this weekend.
Maybe he came here to report early.
What, by snooping around the upstairs bedroom?
Well, I'm sure he didn't want to be seen.
He was more than likely waiting 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... went to get some fresh air.
I know this young lady from the party,
one of the guests, was with me. I hardly knew her.
[Caleb] 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 going to go prancing through the lobby of that motel
looking like a refugee from a costume ball.
See you back in New York, aunt Jess. Bye bye.
Have a good trip!
-[Kitt] Stay safe. -Ah, yes.
-[Kitt] Bye bye. -I, uh, I hope you don't mind
my not going back with you.
-I've got a lot to clear up around here. -Oh, I understand.
But really, Preston, this limousine is totally unnecessary.
Just put me on the train. I'll be fine.
Nonsense, you arrive in style, you go back the same way.
Is something wrong?
Oh.
Hmm?
You seem, I don't know, a little distracted.
I realize that this weekend didn't turn out
-Quite the way we planned. -Oh, no, 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?
[somber music playing] Oh, nothing. I'll be fine.
-Safe trip. -Yes.
[cheerful music playing]
Afternoon, Mrs. Fletcher.
Uh, Davis, do you mind, uh, dropping me off at Headquarters?
-[Davis] I'd be delighted, Sir. -Thank you, Sir.
[Jessica] What's the matter, Chief? Your car break down?
[Roy] No, Ma'am, I just, uh, want to have a chat.
A private chat.
So what's the problem?
-Problem? Well, I don't know-- -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 making it your business.
Well, the point is, someone killed Sherlock Holmes.
That New York gumshoe was no Sherlock Holmes.
Ah, 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...
depending 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 ten years.
[Grady] "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."
Wonder who that detective was spying on?
Bet you whoever it was is the killer.
Maybe.
You know, I'll bet you could solve this case.
Me? I'm not a detective. I'm a substitute English teacher.
-You mean a writer. -Oh, I don't know what I mean.
But I do know that Ethel Jenks is leaving Wednesday
to visit her daughter in Montpellier, and I promised I'd take her class for her.
They can get somebody else.
[Jessica] Look, the truth is, I want to go back.
Look, maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I don't have much use for city life.
And you know, frankly, except for you
and Kitt Donovan, I don't much care for the people, either.
Even Preston Giles?
[Grady] At least you could have called him,
told him you were leaving.
Oh, 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.
Oh, 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.
Oh, no, no, no. That's not your job.
-Oh, now, don't be silly. -Well...
-How was your stay? -Well, I can't wait to get home.
Jessica! Oh, Mrs. Fletcher!
-Oh! Oh,thank god I caught you. -What's the matter, child?
It's Grady. He's been arrested.
Arrested? For what?
For suspicion of murder.
[dramatic music playing]
[sirens wailing]
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.
Oh, 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 taking over.
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 a half mile from Giles' 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 Ms. 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 too.
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 kind of smudged.
And third, have you also checked the bank accounts?
Now Grady's account, I know, it's, it, it's anemic,
but what about Ms. Vickers'?
We're looking into it.
Jess, are you all right?
Oh, 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?
[Roy] 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 never saw that report before or that detective.
[Jessica] Oh, 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.
Well, what's that got to do with Grady?
Well, the way the police figured, Baxendale got the goods on Grady
and 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 and lure Grady out to the pool area.
They think that Grady lost his temper
and shot him with a skeet gun.
Oh, 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.
Well, of course, and once we can figure out why,
I suspect we'll know who.
Which brings me to the subject of Ms. Vickers.
Now, 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 are practicing indoor Olympics
in hotel rooms all over town.
-Kitt! -Well, it's the truth, isn't it?
Then for the last few months, she gets frozen out.
[Kitt] Oh, 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?
Oh, 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.
Eleven fifteen.
Uh-huh.
Time for which I gratefully could provide them
with an iron-clad alibi.
-You mean when you and I-- -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.
[light music playing]