Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 2, Episode 22 - If the Frame Fits - full transcript

Just when Jessica visits her Cedar Heighs senior friend Lloyd Marcus, who insists to show her a manuscript 'from a friend' to read and comment on, the mysterious local art thief strikes again, right there on houseman Forbes's day off, as he does every few months without any witnesses. Next day they find his daughter Julia is robbed in her home, but also killed. Jessica, rather then police chief Cooper, who retired from the NYPD, investigates, examining the crime scenes, neighbors, friends, other art owners...

- Oh, my Lord.
- Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

- You killed my daughter.
- Donald Granger
stands to collect one million dollars.

No fingerprints, no clues, no nothin'. And
none of the paintings have been recovered?

Four huge major art claims
this year, and I insured them all.

I find it hard to work
up much sympathy for

a man who tries to frame
someone for murder.

He had somethin' goin' didn't
want his wife knowin' nothing about.

I've destroyed the evidence.

We'll never find out
who really killed her.

And do you remember
The Horror of Harrow House,

with the lurid bloodstains
on the doormat?



Don't knock it. It sold half a
million copies in paperback.

Schlock, pure and simple,
but very effective. Mmm.

Glad you didn't blame
me for the artwork. Oh.

I never thought I'd say this, Lloyd,
but retirement actually agrees with you.

Does it? Mm-hmm.

When I worked those long
hours, slaving over ad campaigns,

I couldn't wait to get home at
night, but now that Lillian's gone...

Well, you certainly
seemed anxious to get home

tonight, not that I mind
leaving a dull party early.

I wanted us to get
at the manuscript.

Oh, yes. The, uh— The mystery novel
you sent me, written by, uh, a friend.

After all the trash I've had to
push, it was thrilling to come up...

Uh, well, to, uh— To find
something so original.

Forbes!



Forbes?

Forbes!

I forgot it was
Forbes's night off.

Suppose I throw
together a pot of tea?

Jessica? That's a
Desmond Devries, isn't it?

Wouldn't know. Lillian
was the collector.

One of those splatter paintings
is the same as the next to me.

I know. I feel the same way about
Frank's old model car collection,

but I just don't have
the heart to get rid of it.

You know, Jessica, you've made something
of your life since Frank passed away.

- I wish I could say the same.
- You have your daughters.

Grown and gone. Gone?

With Julia and her husband
living practically next door?

Well, that's lovely.

Someday, Jessica, you and I will have
a long talk about the joys of parenthood.

In terms of gratification, it ranks
right up there with molar extraction.

Come on. Forget the
tea. Let's get to work.

The Terror of Tarrytown awaits.

Oh. Could you persuade it to tarry
while I go get my copy from the library?

Lloyd? Maybe I oughta discuss
this in person with the author.

No, no! I mean, that's
impossible. He lives in Tibet.

Oh. But I will send him your suggestions,
provided the postage doesn't break me.

What was that? It
came from the library.

My God. The Henry Beergen. But that's
impossible. It was here a minute ago.

You weren't in any real danger,
ma'am. This guy never hurt anybody.

Nobody ever caught him in
the act either. I'll get the tea.

Still safer than New York.
They kill you for cab fare.

Oh, you worked for the New York
Police Department, Chief Cooper?

Seventeen years, till the
pressure on my arches got to me.

Must be much quieter here.

Uh, not enough for the wife.
She hates late night calls,

wants me to go into plumbing with her
brother. Plumbers get late night calls too.

At 24 bucks an hour, so
the wife keeps remindin' me.

Hmm. Painting cut out of
frame. Probably valuable.

- Do you know a lot about art?
- Me? Not a thing.

But our thief sure does.

There you go, Jess.

Ah. Lillian's valerian root
tea. Calm you right down.

Chief? Please.

I take it that all the
thefts have the same M.O.

Perpetrated every three months or
so. No fingerprints, no clues, no nothin'.

And none of the paintings
have been recovered?

Thanks. Disappeared,
just like our thief.

And our police chief, if he
doesn't do something about this.

Hey, another pattern: The perp
always finds an easy way to break in.

You shoulda locked
that window out there, sir.

We've been locking
up everything since

all this started 18 months
ago. Chief Cooper?

Sir. What on earth
has happened here, sir?

The art thief, Forbes.

Here? Good gracious me.

There's no sign of forced entry.

I do assure you, sir. I
locked up tight before I left.

- And just where were you tonight?
- Are you accusing my houseman?

It's unlikely that Mr. Forbes would
have forced his way in, Chief Cooper.

He had a key. To
the library window?

Through the kitchen door.

You see? The lock is sticky,

as if this tape had
just been placed there.

That's to prevent the
lock from engaging.

Locked up tight, eh?

You know, if I were you, I'd keep an
eye on that "valette" of yours, Mr. Marcus.

The man smells like a gin mill.

Ma'am, thanks very much
for your help. Appreciate it.

I can take it from here.

He'll take it, all right,
right to the dead case file.

I can kiss that
painting good-bye.

Well, surely it's insured?
Oh, yes. Insured.

Another robbery? The
company's gonna have my head.

Take it easy, Frank. Say hello to
Jessica Fletcher, the mystery writer.

Four huge major art claims
this year, and I insured them all.

Uh, how do you do, ma'am?

Jessica, Mayor
and Mildred Tilley.

Mayor? Oh, I'm sorry. I thought
you were in insurance, Mr. Tilley.

Heh. Well, maybe not for
long, the way things are going.

Home office is holding
the bag, and when

they're holding the
bag, I'm holding the bag.

Somebody's out to get
me. Oh, be quiet, Frank.

- You're the mystery writer.
- Guilty, I'm afraid.

Jessica figured out how the thief broke
in. More than I can say for Chief Cooper.

Daddy. Jessica. Sorry I'm
late. Isn't Donald here yet?

Lose him again, dear? I always
know where my husband is.

Of course you do, Mildred.
If you ever let dear Frank

out of your sight, no
telling what he'd be up to.

Frank, we're late for lunch.

Betty and Jay Jones, next
tee-off— Julia, your manners.

I'm sorry, Jessica. You
must think I'm awful, but...

ever since those two people came
here two years ago from New York,

Cedar Heights has
not been the same.

Well, sometimes it takes
people a while to adapt.

Huh. The dinosaurs
never learned.

You know, Julia, you've
turned into something of a snob.

Maybe marriage
doesn't agree with you.

Maybe because you don't
agree with my marriage.

Come on, Jessica.
Let's take a walk.

I'll show you how the
leisure class lives. All right.

Oh my, Lloyd. This is lovely.

Lovely, eh? Now that I've time
to play, my game's deserted me.

I give new meaning
to the word "duffer."

Whoa. Whoa.

Lloyd. Hello. Hello, Lloyd.

- Well, hello.
- Not...

I've just been tested on the field of
combat, and I've been found wanting.

What I need now
is a tall, cold gin fizz.

Jessica Fletcher, Binky
Holborn, Ellen Davis.

- How do you do? Great pleasure.
- How nice to meet you.

I-I'm the member here. Ellen's
our resident glamour puss.

It's the reason we hired her actually. She
adds a little sparkle to the front office.

Happy to meet you, Mrs. Fletcher, and
ignore him if you can. How do you do?

Binky was so anxious to
meet you, he came by my house

yesterday before I'd even
left to meet your plane.

- So how was the game?
- Oh, Lloyd, my dear friend.

I amazed this young thing with my
flawless form and my superb follow-through.

Unfortunately, for 18
holes the club head and the

balls never did get properly
introduced to one another.

OH, Jessica. I understand
you nearly had a

tête-à-tête with our Cedar
Heights art connoisseur.

I wish I could, uh,
claim credit for bravery,

but I didn't know that
he was in the room.

You know, one of mine was the very
first stolen, and I have a theory about it.

Drugs. Drugs?

Uh, uh, uh—Addicts, I mean.
The thief can't have been

a professional. He leaves
all the real masterpieces.

Say, I've got a
notion coming on.

Here it is. I shall throw a dinner
party especially for you tonight.

Oh, I'd be so honored. Jessica.

When will we have time
to go over the manuscript?

Oh, of course, Lloyd. The one
that was written by your friend.

Well, why don't
you bring it along?

As an amateur mystery
buff, I'd be fascinated to

hear what J. B. Fletcher
is gonna say about it.

- So, everybody's got to come.
- Oh. I'm sorry,
but I'm gonna have to beg off.

Uh, too much paperwork
to catch up with.

Oh, and I've planned
a very quiet evening at

home. Donald has been
so busy with his work.

We almost never get a chance
to be alone together. Sorry.

Oh. Well, it's just
gonna be the three of us

then. The servants
are going to be crushed.

They so rarely get the exercise.

Oh...

Take care of the car, and
pamper it, please. Pamper it.

Another martini, Henry.

Make it a double.

Third party up, 1:15.

You know, Daddy, I can stand
anything but those knowing looks.

No doubt Donald got hung up in some...
important business meeting. No doubt.

Well, at least he works,

which is more than I can say for most of
the... parasites that infect Cedar Heights.

Binky Holborn, for example.

You see, Jessica,

Daddy is convinced that, uh, my
husband is a fortune-hunting ne'er-do-well.

Speaking of the
ne'er-do-well. There he is now.

It looks like he gave your
sister a lift in from the city.

- Hello, darling.
- Mmm. Mmm.

Sorry I'm late. I, uh, gave
Sabrina a ride in from town.

Really. Oh, you know how I hate
driving in Friday afternoon traffic.

- Hi, Daddy.
- Hello, dear.

Say hello to Mrs. Fletcher.
You may not remember.

Of course I do. Hello. It's nice
to see you again. Thank you.

My son-in-law, Donald
Granger. How do you do?

- How do you do?
- What's on the menu? I'm starved.

Your martini, madam. Thank you.

Ann and Mike Clark,
next tee-off, 2:00.

Ann and Mike Clark.

So the waiter said, "You're
sitting in Hemingway's chair,"

and I said, "Well, I had no
idea Hemingway made chairs."

So you can see why it's absolutely
my most favorite café in Paris.

Well, it's mine too. But I
haven't been there in years.

I wish we could have made
more of an evening here tonight.

I mean, what with
Donald having to have that

business meeting with
that McKendrick fellow,

and Sabrina in bed with
that dreadful headache.

We were going to discuss
the book, weren't we?

Excellent idea.

Oh, I-I'm afraid I left my

copy with my notes
over at the other house.

Well, why don't you
go and fetch it, Lloyd?

And if you’re quick enough, you'll be
back just in time for the crème caramel.

I won't be 10 minutes.

You do know that we're
in for a long evening.

Call me selfish, but I just
had to have some time

alone with you, even
though the price is steep.

Now don't misunderstand
me. Lloyd's been like

a father to me ever
since my parents died.

But he has this
desire to be an author.

Yes. Oh, I wish he would write
with just a little more... panache.

And a little shorter.
Yes, that too.

I am sorry, Lloyd,
but really I think

that your friend would
be far better off...

writing about something closer
to his... personal experience.

It's quite all right, Jessica.

Your comments were very helpful.

That's odd.

Julia's front door is open.

Julia. Good Lord.

Julia? Julia.

I'm very sorry about

this, Mr. Marcus, but the
situation is under control.

I don't want platitudes,
Chief. I want action.

Uh, Lloyd. Perhaps you should go home.
No. There may be things I can tell you.

Yes. Well, actually...

Do you remember if that clock on
the mantel was broken before tonight?

The time is wrong.

It was fine yesterday. Julia
adored it. She bought it in France.

But it is broken know. I
wonder why? Obvious.

Broke in the struggle.
Provides time of death too.

But there's no sign of a struggle
here, or anywhere, for that matter.

Uh, Chief Cooper, I'm sure you want
to take that clock in for lab analysis?

Uh, including fingerprints.

Of course.

This is curious.

There are cuts on her neck.
She was strangled, ma'am.

Look, there's a... button there.

Initials. "D.G."

Donald Granger. Chief,
I recognize that button.

My son-in-law had a blazer made
in Savile Row on their honeymoon.

Jessica, it all fits.

There's no sign of
any struggle, as if

Julia had nothing to
fear from her murderer.

Lloyd.

Mrs. Fletcher.

What's happening here?

- You killed her.
- Oh, my Lord. Julia.

You killed my daughter.
You killed my daughter!

Oh, stop it.

Everything is all
wrong. This is insane.

I-I didn't kill her. Where
were you tonight, Donald?

- You mentioned a business dinner
with a Mr. McKendrick.
- That's right.

I, uh— No business
dinner lasts till 1:00.

You were probably with
some tramp. Lloyd, no.

Dad? How about some
breakfast? No. No, thank you, dear.

You can't give up
food and sleep. Later.

Hello? Yes. Yes, Chief.

I understand.
Thank you for calling.

Cooper just charged Donald
formally with Julia’s murder.

Oh, dear. That's impossible.
He couldn't have done it.

Oh? And could you
supply him with an alibi?

Of course not, but—
Sabrina, the evidence is clear.

Don't let your personal feelings
interfere with your judgment.

It would be more seemly
if you grieve for your sister,

rather than worry about this
double-dealing fortune hunter.

Excuse me.

That's not fair.
Sabrina, he's very upset.

Donald is not a fortune hunter.

He signed a prenuptial agreement—
At Daddy's insistence, by the way.

He made sure Donald would
never get a penny of her estate ever.

I've gotta get him a
lawyer. Excuse me.

Granger's story doesn't
hold water, Mrs. Fletcher,

just like these pipes here.

His so-called dinner engagement with
McKendrick was canceled earlier in the day.

Well, that doesn't prove
that he committed the murder.

Where was he at
the time of the killing?

At the Seafood Shanty, he
says. Just dropped in, he says.

Met a friend. Had
a late supper. Hah.

Nobody drops in at the
Shanty, Mrs. Fletcher.

It's way up by the
beach somewheres.

Kind of place folks go when they
don't wanna be seen. And the friend?

Wouldn't tell me her name.

You ask me, he had somethin' goin'
didn't want his wife knowin' nothing about.

- But you are gonna check on it.
- S-Sure.

Meantime, Granger
stays where he is,

least until he gets his
lawyer to bail him out.

I'll tell you somethin'. For
a guy that's supposed to

be bright, he committed
one hell of a stupid murder.

Yes.

Did I say somethin'
about a lawyer?

Oh, Mrs. Tilley. Oh.
Good morning, Ellen.

Hi. My, what a lovely outfit.

Oh. Well, thank you. I
suppose if you're going fishing,

it pays to have
attractive-looking bait.

I-I wanted to give
you your bill in person.

Uh, the mail has been
dreadful lately, and since we

haven't received a check
from you in several months...

I'm sure there's been
some kind of a mix-up.

Uh. Well, I'll see that my
husband gets this. Thank you.

Bob Smith, please
report to starter's desk.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

Hello, Mrs. Tilley.
Mildred, please.

I feel so neglectful. I
have been meaning for

the past two days to
invite you to the house.

I'm planning a little dinner
party. Oh, just a dozen people.

And naturally, you would
be the guest of honor.

Well, that's very flattering, but I
can't make any plans right now.

Ah, yes. You're hot on the
trail of Julia Granger's killer.

But I thought they
had arrested Donald?

They have, but, um— But you
don't believe it. Oh, fascinating.

I agree. Jessica, I have three
words for you: Cherchezla femme.

What do you mean?

- Sabrina, of course.
- Sabrina?

Mm-hmm. I'm amazed
you didn't know.

Donald was, shall we say, involved
with Sabrina before he met Julia.

They met at a ski resort, and
you know what that means.

And then Sabrina
introduced Donald to Julia,

and it seemed that their
relationship was over.

But with the late night business
meetings in Manhattan...

Well, need I say more?

Uh—I think you've said
quite enough already.

On the other hand, if it were Donald, then
Frank's company wouldn't have to pay off.

Pay off? The insurance,
of course. Surely you knew?

The day after they were married,
Frank sold them a huge policy.

Donald Granger stands to
collect one million dollars.

Unless he did bump
her off. Then in that case,

Frank wouldn't have to
pay a soul. Please, God.

Well, I really must go.

If you change your
mind about the party,

please let me know.

Great. Just when you dig up
the motive, Granger's got an alibi.

Then he was at the Seafood
Shanty, with his, uh, friend?

Young woman. Sabrina Marcus.

No. Brunette, real looker.
Nobody there knew her name.

None of this makes any sense.

Chief, isn't this whole thing beginning
to feel a little—as if it had been staged?

What do you mean, staged?

Well, that blazer button was theoretically
torn from a custom-made jacket. Yeah?

Julia's carefully-manicured
nails not even broken. Yeah?

And those cuts on the neck.

I mean, it seems unlikely...

that they would have been
caused by a velvet drapery cord.

Are you suggestin' somebody
else killed Julia and framed Donald?

What is it, Mrs. Fletcher?
Somethin ‘about that painting?

Huh. They all look alike to me.

But of course. They
all look alike, Chief.

Mr. Forbes, wasn't there a
Desmond Devries hanging here?

Yes, I believe there was.

Where is it now?
I wouldn't know.

Mr. Marcus rehung all the paintings
after the robbery, to balance the walls.

Was the Devries the only
painting that was replaced?

I wouldn't know, Mrs. Fletcher. Perhaps you
should question Mr. Marcus directly, hmm?

I couldn't help but
remember that you seemed

preoccupied last night on
the way back from Binky's.

At the time, I thought it was because of
my comments about your friend's script.

But I am afraid that you're no better
at planting clues than your friend is.

Planting clues? Jessica,
what are you talking about?

Lloyd, as much as you may believe
that all splatter paintings look alike,

they don't.

The Devries was in your living room
yesterday. It is now hanging in Julia’s.

And I have to wonder about you being
gone from Binky's for almost 40 minutes,

when you said that it
would take no more than 10.

I can't believe this.

You're accusing me of what?
Killing my own daughter?

No, Lloyd. You loved
her too much for that.

But I'm afraid I suspect that you
hated your son-in-law Donald...

enough to frame him for a
murder that he didn't commit.

I was driving home
to get the book...

when I saw the drapes
in Julia’s living room.

They were torn.

I went in, and she was there.

She was dead.

The Devries painting
I'd given her was gone,

and the room was
in a horrible mess.

Obviously, she'd caught the
thief in the act, and he'd— he'd—

So you rearranged the evidence to implicate
your son-in-law. He never loved her.

He was using her.

He dropped Sabrina... when he found
out that Julia had most of the money.

She didn't use to be so hard.

You remember those
days, don't you, Jess?

He made her miserable.

But she wasn't gonna divorce
him. She was too... proud.

Too stubborn.

She was too—too...
Too much in love?

Guess you knew about that
million dollar insurance policy, huh?

Yes.

I couldn't bear the thought of
Donald Granger getting away...

Profiting from my
little girl's death.

I was... so sick,

shaking all over.

But all I could think of was him
walking away free with all that money.

Do you think it was easy for me?

I had to press that silver
button into her fingers...

Her poor, stiff fingers.

Oh God, Jess.

I've destroyed the evidence.

We'll never find out
who really killed her.

The painting was
cut out of the frame.

The frame was lying
on the floor, smashed.

And the wire was...

wrapped... tightly
around her neck.

Well, that explains the cuts. Then you
replaced the wire with the drapery cord.

I found a pizza cutter
on the floor over there.

Pizza cutter? A tool
of the trade, I suppose.

It had flecks of paint
on it. I'm no expert.

I hurried home. I took my
own painting—this one...

Off the wall and put it there,

assuming no one would
know the difference.

So the Cedar Heights
art thief kills your daughter.

You cover up the theft to
throw blame on your son-in-law.

I found the lock on the
rear door taped over,

just like the previous
night at my house,

and a small penlight outside.

And the clock? I told you.

I found it on the floor
next to the mantelpiece.

The thief must have knocked it
off when he took the picture down.

I just replaced it. That's all.

And what did you do with
the frame and the wire?

- I threw them away.
- Great.

Our garbage is incinerated every day—
Another one of Mayor Tilley's good works...

So every shred of evidence you say
was here has been totally destroyed.

I did not kill my daughter.

Chief, think.

Why would Lloyd incriminate
himself if he weren't telling the truth?

Only reason for framin' somebody
is if you committed the crime yourself.

♪ Chief Cooper's an idiot.
He's had it out for Dad for years.

I wish I could
understand any of this.

I know that Lloyd has not liked
me, but to frame me for murder?

Donald, I'm so sorry.

I'm so confused by all this.

Mrs. Fletcher, what can we do?

Well, I think the first
order of business is to

try to discover the
identity of our art thief.

I'm afraid that's the only way we're
going to get your father released.

Well there must be some
evidence— fingerprints

or footprints
outside of the door.

Maybe they could
trace the... pizza cutter.

No, I'm afraid Lloyd got rid
of all the physical evidence.

By now, it's all destroyed.

Donald, could you give me a
lift to the country club? Sure.

I think that we have to start
at the beginning with this thing.

Meanwhile, Sabrina, your
dad's gonna need a good lawyer.

Let me take care of it.

Thanks.

Mrs. Fletcher, hi.

Oh, Ellen. My goodness,
you get a lot of exercise.

Have you seen Binky Holborn?

Yeah. I just left him out on the putting
green. He's working out his frustrations.

Thank you. Oh, by the way,
you'll be relieved to know...

that Donald Granger is no longer
under suspicion for the murder of his wife.

What? I-I mean, yes.
That—That is good news.

Yes, since it relieves
you of the obligation

of providing him
with a public, uh, alibi.

What are you talking about?

The night she died, Donald
was having a late night

supper with a very
attractive young brunette...

What is the expression?
"A real looker"...

At the Seaside Shanty,
right close to the beach.

It doesn't mean it was me.

The employees didn't know her name, but
I think they'll recognize your photograph.

Being new in Cedar Heights, I just
wanted to check out a new restaurant.

Donald and I, we happened
to run into one another.

I wouldn't try to read any more
into that if I were you, Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh, it might prove embarrassing.
Embarrassing to whom?

Actually, I was out for a walk
the night they stole my painting.

I always take an
after-dinner constitutional.

You can practically set
the town clock by me.

Well, you're a man
after my own heart.

Well, my doctor says I need
all the exercise I can get.

Those three-martini lunches
do tend to creep up on you.

Well, golf is certainly
good exercise.

Oh, my dear lady,
this is not exercise.

This is a test of one’s
capacity for total humiliation.

Ah. Yes, well.
That's enough of that.

Binky, about that
painting of yours...

Uh, was it insured? Oh, yes.
Mayor Tilley had the policy.

But the money didn't matter. I
mean, the painting was irreplaceable.

Yes, but not
impossible to fence.

The thief seemed to know a good deal about
art. Who was the next person to be robbed?

The Tilleys. Really?

Yes, and they should
thank the dear fellow. He

took the most maudlin
little piece off their hands.

Type of painting only an interior
decorator could love, don't you know?

I miss that gorgeous picture.

The little dog was so
cute. He wore a clown hat.

And it was insured?

Well— You don't think I
wouldn't insure myself?

Let me tell you something
about insurance, Jessica.

It's not money.
It's... peace of mind.

- Uh, where are our drinks?
- There you go.

Two high pro, low
sodium, low cals.

And, uh, one coffee. Thank you.

Lloyd must feel so ashamed.

Well, surely you don't think that
Lloyd killed his own daughter?

Oh, heavens, no.

But the disgrace of being arrested. I don't
know how he's ever going to live it down.

Mayor Tilley, Chief Cooper has made it
very... difficult to see the police files.

Might I look at your
insurance reports?

Oh, uh—That's impossible.

They're strictly confidential.
It's a company policy.

Well, perhaps you could tell me
what you remember about your theft?

Well— We were at the opera in New
York. It was a big benefit opening.

I mean, everybody who
was anybody was there.

I remember that I—I wore
an off-the-shoulder formal...

that was designed for me by a man
who used to work for Nancy's designer.

And then my dear
husband here fell asleep.

Believe me, that wasn't easy
with all that screaming up on stage.

Where were your
servants that night?

Oh, it was the maid's night off.

But Elise was questioned and
cleared, if that's what you're thinking.

Elise and Forbes—
Lloyd's manservant?

They've been keeping company.
Oh, they're so adorable, Jessica.

They see each other once
a week on their night off.

Though this week,
Elise had the flu.

And she just better
not have given it to me.

I suppose other people
in town knew that you

were going to the
opera? Who didn't?

Art coverage, a town like
this? Basement risk in it, right?

Tell you, the home office is gonna take my
head, nail it right up there like an elk.

- Well, surely they don't
hold you responsible?
- Tell you something else.

I-If this Cooper
doesn't get off his duff,

he's gonna be out on
the street— sweeping it.

Marcus posted bail an hour ago.

You're the chief of police,
Cooper, not a plumber.

Not yet. The way the
wife's been bustin' chops,

you may have my badge
back by suppertime.

All right.

So, you were sayin' about
them stolen paintings?

Oh, they've recovered
one. It was pure luck.

Friend of Carpenter's spotted
one in an Edinburgh gallery.

And now, what
about the servants?

Every time the thief hit,
it was maid's night out.

Not only that, all of the
owners were out of their houses.

Binky was taking his after-dinner stroll,
which he says is common knowledge.

The Tilleys were
at the opera benefit.

The Carpenters at
their daughter's sweet 16

party, Abbey Hayes at her
ceramics class. So what?

So what?

That indicates that the
thief is somebody with

an intimate knowledge
of these people's lives.

Like, uh, maybe
the chief of police?

Hey. Hold on now, Mayor.

It's your job to know
who's where, Cooper.

I've wondered why you haven't
gotten to the bottom of these thefts.

My wife assumes it's
because you're dimwitted.

Yeah? Well, your wife's no
tower of intellect either, you know.

- Gentlemen, please.
- Watch yourself, Chief.

You'd know just as much as I would about
the goings-on in this village, Mr. Mayor.

- Hell, who doesn't?
- Gentlemen.

If you would just be
quiet long enough to listen,

I think that you’re both right.

Now, your art
thief is no outsider.

He knows much too much about
the inner workings of this community.

I'm very much afraid
it could be anybody.

Oh, Mr. Forbes.

Mr. Forbes?

Mr. Forbes. Oh. Good
afternoon, ma'am.

Just the person I
wanted to talk to.

I hadn't realized that
you were a member here.

Member? What, me a member?
Oh, good heavens. No, ma'am.

I was just, uh,
visiting a friend.

Yes. I understand that,
uh, you've been spending

your nights off in the
company of a Miss Elise.

The Tilleys' maid? Oh, yes.
Oh, she's a lovely woman. Yes.

And very substantial. Fine cook.

Ah, yes. But this past Thursday— That's
the night that Mr. Marcus was robbed...

Elise was in bed with the flu.

Yet you led everyone to believe
that you were out with Elise as usual.

Oh, did I? Oh. Well, actually...

Ma'am, I—I trust I can rely
on your discretion. Oh, yes.

The fact is, I was in
the company of a Miss

Katrina Schnell, who
works here in the kitchen.

Oh, she's a lovely, charming
girl. An even better cook than...

And more— How shall I say?
More, uh, femininely attractive?

Ah, yes. Yes. Uh,
so you were with her?

All evening, until I returned home to
find that Mr. Marcus had been robbed.

I'd appreciate it if... you say
nothing about this. I mean, uh...

The truth is that I think Elise will
no longer be within the community.

I mean, with all the... financial
problems that the Tilleys are having.

Financial problems?

Well, if you'll excuse me, ma'am.
I'm expected home, late as it is.

Come in.

- Oh. I hope I'm not interrupting.
- Oh, no. Not at all.

Uh, uh— Please... sit down.

Thank you. I'm sure
you've heard, Miss Davis,

Lloyd Marcus has
been released on bail.

Am I supposed to
be pleased by that?

I'm sorry.

I know he's had a difficult
few days. It's just that...

Well, I find it hard to
work up much sympathy

for a man who tries to
frame someone for murder.

Especially someone
like Donald Granger?

If you have something to say, Mrs.
Fletcher, why don't you just say it?

I'd rather hear it from you.

You mean, were Donald
and I having an affair?

This is the '80s, Mrs. Fletcher.

Promiscuity is not
exactly page one news.

I worked at Donald's
club in New York.

He was... very unhappy with her.

H-He was going to
ask her for a divorce.

So you took this job
to be closer to him?

That's right.

And your friendship
with Binky is a ruse.

Binky is a bore.

All of that stupid endless talk about
his art, the house, this café, that bistro,

trips to England and
Scotland every three

months or so to play
those grand old courses.

I once asked him why he didn't just
move to St. Andrews if he liked it so much.

- Every three months?
- Mm-hmm.

What is it, Mrs. Fletcher?

I really came to ask you...

if any of the members seem to
be having financial difficulties.

Lots. Binky Holborn?

The idle rich are
notoriously slow payers,

but not Binky.

I just wish I knew
where he got it from.

Thank you, Ellen.

You've been very
helpful. Really.

- Jessica. How delightful.
- Good afternoon, Binky.

Oh, and Chief Cooper. Well,
what a surprise. Please, do come in.

To what do I owe the pleasure
of this unexpected visit?

I got a warrant here, Mr. Holborn,
signed by Judge Daley.

A warrant? What, did I forget to pay
a water bill? Certainly not intentional.

Ha, ha, ha. I'd like to
see your passport, sir.

My passport? Well, now
that does sound strange.

This has all the earmarks
of international intrigue.

Jessica, what is this
man talking about?

I think you know,
Binky. Periodic visits to,

uh, Great Britain, say,
every three months?

All coming within a week or so of
an art theft here in Cedar Heights.

OH, Jessica. You
can't be serious.

We've checked the
dates of the six robberies,

and the chief wants to compare them
with the visa entries into Great Britain.

That won't be
necessary. I suppose

I knew this couldn't
keep up forever.

Well, I'm delighted. I've been finally
undone by someone of your caliber.

And you're admittin' you stole
the paintings, Mr. Holborn?

Yes, I think that's
the gist of it, Chief.

I had them in the golf bag. No one
ever looked. It was quite simple, really.



Binky, why? Oh, I blush to
say it, but it was money really.

My aged mama and papa spent far
too much of it before they passed on.

And it's not as if they
educated me to make a

living, just to enjoy the
finer things, I'm afraid.

Well, here it is, Chief.

Not bad for abstract glop. Not that
I would dream of buying it myself.

Give it to Lloyd, will you?
Rightful owner and all that.

Now Jessica, you must
tell me. How did you know?

Guesswork, really.

You were the first person
to have a painting stolen.

Then of course there was the
coincidence of your overseas trips.

And then, Lloyd
mentioned that you’d been at

his house earlier the
day that he was robbed.

The must have been to tape the rear
door, as you did with your other victims.

Very clever of you. Well, you
know, I planned it all very carefully.

And it was very exciting, and of
course nobody suffered financially.

I mean, the insurance always
settled, and no one got hurt either.

Yeah. Not until Julia
Granger caught you in the act.

Oh, really, Chief.

When Julia Granger
was killed, I was having

crème caramel with
Jessica in my dining room.

Yes, that's right.

S-So what do we got
here? Another art thief?

Uh, not exactly.

Binky, the so-called
thief who murdered

Julia Granger and
tried to blame it on you...

left behind several clues.

The electrician's tape for the
door, a penlight with smudged prints.

- Don't forget the pizza cutter.
- The what?

Pizza cutter. One of
them sharp little wheelies,

used to cut the
painting out of the frame.

Well, that's ridiculous. I
always use a single-edge razor.

Pizza cutter indeed.
You'd ruin the painting.

Yes, of course. Now things
are beginning to make sense.

Well, I don't think I've ever even had a
pizza. You've got to believe me, Jessica.

Oh, I do, Binky. Indeed I do.

Pizza cutter. Hah!

Donald? Look, we...

We're both really
torn up inside, but I...

I just want you to know that if there's
anything I can do— Thank you, Sis.

Is that what I'm gonna be
for you from now on? "Sis"?

Look, Donald. She's dead. I-I'd do
anything to bring her back, but I can't.

We—You and I have got
to get on with our lives.

That's what I intend to do, Sabrina,
only not here in Cedar Heights.

I may move out to the West Coast.
I've got some things going on out there.

West Coast? But I thought—
Well, you thought wrong, I'm afraid.

Sorry, kid.

Sabrina?

I thought you'd like
to know that we've

discovered the identity
of your sister's killer.

Not Father? No.

The art thief. I knew it.

No. Not him either, Mr. Granger.

Though we had been
working under that assumption.

Oh, her killer did steal a
painting to misdirect suspicion,

but the fact is, your only
motive was to kill your wife.

What? That's absurd.

Why would I kill my wife? I signed a
prenuptial agreement. I get nothing.

Not exactly. You'd get nothing if you
divorced Julia or she predeceased you,

but you would collect a
million dollars in insurance.

You're insane.

With all the recent thefts, it
would be simple enough to

make it seem like Julia had
caught the thief in the act.

And it might have worked, if Lloyd
hadn't reframed the frame you left behind.

No wonder you seemed
genuinely shocked by the

scene of the crime when
you returned that night.

Things weren't the way
you left them, were they?

It must have been frightening
and confusing for you.

You knew somebody had rearranged the
evidence, but you couldn't say anything.

Killing Julia was the
only way you could

maintain your lifestyle
and have Ellen Davis.

And I was with Ellen
Davis at the Seafood

Shanty between 9:30
and midnight. Check it out.

We did, but the medical examiner couldn't
be that specific about the time of death.

Well, it had to be 9:45, because the
clock was broken during the struggle.

- Is that right, Mr. Granger?
- What is this?

The clock was
broken at 9:45, all right,

but I bagged it for evidence before
you came in the house that night.

How could you have known about the time
on the clock unless you broke it yourself,

which is, I'm afraid,
exactly what you did.

The medical examiner couldn't
pinpoint the time of death that precisely,

but Lloyd had told me that
Julia’s fingers had been stiff...

when he planted your
button in her hand,

which meant that the murder had to have
taken place quite a bit earlier than 9:45.

You strangled her with some
painting wire and the clock,

which you set ahead
to 9:45 and then broke,

and then manufactured a
struggle leading to the fireplace,

allowing you enough
time to establish your alibi.

This must be one of the
most elaborate crimes ever

committed— in the
imagination of J.B. Fletcher.

Earlier today, you asked why Chief
Cooper didn't trace the pizza cutter?

But Lloyd told only the chief and me
about the tools the killer left behind,

or should I say planted?

It wasn't reported
anywheres else.

So how could you have known
about it, unless you were the thief?

No. I don't believe it.

Believe it, Sabrina.

It was a million-dollar
crapshoot, and I lost.

Count your blessings, kid. It
could have been you in that box.

No. No!

Sabrina.

Let's go.