Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 2, Episode 4 - School for Scandal - full transcript

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

- [Woman] Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.
- Oh!

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

- This'll be my first murder case.
- If I had typed that blackmail note,

don’t you think I would have been
smart enough to get rid of the typewriter?

I knew what she had in
mind. But I didn't kill Nick.

I think he may have been
seeing another woman.

He left here under
a terrible cloud.

Got the confession typed up
again, Chief. What name shall I fill in?

Just leave it blank.

[Man] "Clothilde watched the dying
rays of sunset fade on the boats...



"that had been
beached on the sand...

"and marveled at the colors
that defied the onslaught of night.

"It was a sight worthy of
van Gogh at Sainte-Marie's,

"and she shivered slightly, though
the air was warm and no breeze stirred.

"It was then that she
sensed his presence.

"She turned and felt the power of
Jean-Paul's hard, sinewy arms— [Laughing]

"pulling her against him.

"Her arms moved to
encircle and hold him,

her mouth seeking his, speaking urgently
in hungry tongues of rippling desire."

All right. Any comments?

Yeah. It's garbage.

Why? Because of
the subject matter?

James Joyce is riddled with
specific sexual situations.

So is D.H. Lawrence.



- Yeah. But they were writers.
- So is Daphne Clover.

A writer on a—on
a different level.

You can say that again.

You catch Daphne on
that talk show yesterday?

Oh, yeah. The pride
of Crenshaw College.

Hey, Professor Mercer. How does
Dr. Laird feel about Daphne's notoriety?

That fact that Daphne
Clover happens to be

the daughter of our
English department head...

has nothing to do
with James Joyce.

I hear Professor
Laird tried to get her

daughter's books banned
from the campus bookstore.

Ah, well, then you heard wrong.

Now, let's get back
to James Joyce.

Mornin', ma'am. Morning.

[Train Whistle Blows]

- Beryl!
- Oh! Darling.

Jessica. Hello, Henry.

I'm sorry we're late. Uh,
Beryl couldn't find the car keys.

But of course I
found them, Henry.

Otherwise we wouldn't
be here, would we?

Jessica, I am so looking forward to
hearing your commencement address.

Well, I'm still rewriting. You know,
books are easy compared to speeches.

Well, don't worry. Beryl will
cry no matter what you say.

Oh, Henry! I can't tell you how honored
we are that you accepted our invitation.

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

Especially from a
dear old classmate.

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

Longer than that.

Jessica, by the way,
did Henry tell you?

Jocelyn's giving a party
tonight in your honor. Oh.

Jocelyn Laird, head of
the English department.

- [Man] How's that, Jocelyn?
- A little higher, Alger.

Well, I for one hate to
see Carmichael retire.

He was an excellent
assistant head.

Ah, but then there
comes a time when...

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

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

Hmm.

Let me get that for you.

Put it over there, Ron.

Could we talk?

Ron, we have already discussed the
position of assistant department head.

Sure. And Alger
Kenyon is senior man.

Jocelyn, we need new ideas.

Some energy. I mean,
something the kids can relate to.

Ron, I have told you. I cannot
promote you if you don't publish.

And you haven't.

Oh, the whole system is stupid.

We are supposed to be
teaching these kids something.

Not writing these— these dry,
dusty articles that nobody reads.

There is a difference between
teaching and pandering to your students.

So, you, uh— You
heard about that.

Oh, half the campus has heard.

You read Daphne's books to your class
when you know it sets me up for ridicule.

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

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

Just get them interested
in something better.

Ron, I...

[Doorbell Chimes]

Mother. Darling.

Oh, how are you?

What are you doing here, Daphne?

What an ecstatically
warm greeting.

Lighten up, Mother.

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

Alger. Oh, dear Alger.

Oh. [Chuckles]

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

Hello, Daphne.

Ah!

I know you.

Mom's cute protégé.

Ron something, isn't
it? That's close enough.

[Knocking]

- ♪ [Humming]
- You remember Nick, Mother.

I'm afraid I do.

Yeah. So how's the old
teaching racket, Professor?

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

If it's excitement you're looking for,
I suggest you go back to New York.

Oh, sorry, Moms, but
you’re stuck with us.

Between my agent, my business manager,
three Hollywood producers and the dogs,

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

Well, I think I
better get moving.

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

But you're gonna try.

You've come at a
very awkward time.

It's commencement
weekend, and I am planning

on throwing a small
party for the faculty.

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

Oh, don't worry, Mother.

I'm gonna keep your embarrassment
down to a bare minimum. Promise.

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

In the guesthouse.

♪ [Classical]

What an exquisite punch.

Uh, what is that elusive flavor?

Um, mango, I think.

That's one thing about Jocelyn.
She really is so inventive. Yeah.

Did, uh, you see my letter to
the editor in the Regional Review?

Yes. You certainly set them straight
on the Middle East question, didn't you?

That is such a beautiful table.

It has to be an
original Duncan Phyfe.

You have very discerning
taste, Mrs. Fletcher.

[Chuckles] Well, you
obviously love beautiful things.

I wish you'd call me Jessica.

I so enjoy your books, Jessica.

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

and I did so enjoy and admire
your Walt Whitman's Life and Times.

That was a Biography
Award, as I remember.

Not many people do.

Excuse me, Professor Laird. Uh, the
cucumber sandwiches are running out.

Would you like me to make some
more? There are more in the kitchen.

Oh. I'll get them.

Excuse me. Oh, let me help you.

Mrs. Fletcher.

[Chuckles] It's such a pleasure
to meet you. Thank you.

You must tell me where you
find such intricate plots. [Chuckles]

Alger Kenyon, poetry.
How do you do?

[Alger] Uh, I publish
about, oh, several

articles a year on
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

Uh, next year I won't
be, uh, doing any.

Uh, she is my first love.

Surely Robert
Browning isn't jealous?

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

You see, I— I expect to be taking on
the duties of assistant department head.

Well, I'm sure that
Elizabeth will understand.

Oh, of course, it isn't
official yet, but, uh...

Yes. I do have
every expectation...

- [Woman Screams]
- Oh, my goodness.

[Nick] That ought
to cool you off.

[Grunts]

- Oh, dear.
- I think we woke the dead.

Oh, look. She's—She's...

Yes. She certainly is.

I'm sorry, Mother. Did
we wake up your party?

[Laughs] Daphne,
put something on.

Oh.

[Laughing]

Ooh. Oh!

Ooh. Come in here.

Now that means trouble.

Uh, what means trouble?

Now, please.

Henry you must remember
your blood pressure.

That young man— Nick Fulton.
He used to be a student here.

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

He left under a terrible cloud.

More like a full-fledged
thunderstorm.

Excuse me.

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

Even brought our own bubbly.

Why, thank you. Oh, Mother.
Is—Is this dressy enough?

Sir.

Oh, J. B. Fletcher.

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

[Jessica] Thank you.
And I think you write well.

You mean you've actually
read my books? Oh, yes.

You know, you have a very
real talent for setting a scene.

You create very evocative word
pictures, like beautiful paintings.

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

Right. Right, J.B.
Well, art is where it's at.

My business manager just
bought me a few Impressionists.

You know what they say. Keep your money
where you can see it, right? [Chuckles]

I hear Picasso is really hot.

Well, his pictures may be hot,
but, uh, I hear that Picasso is dead.

[Laughs]

- [Woman] Leave us alone, Nick.
- What say me and you take a walk?

Come on.

- [Crowd Gasps]
- [Vase Smashes]

Ron, are you all right?

How could you do this
to your mother? Have you

no decency? Now, will
you please just leave?

Sure, Algie. Sure.

Nick. [Chuckles]

Well, uh, catch you all later.

Listen. Terrific party.

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

Good night, all. Oh!

Oh! [Laughs]

Whoo! [Laughing] [Nick Laughing]

[Door Slams] [Nick] Yeah? Well,
maybe I'm pushing the wrong lady.

[Daphne] What happened to what I
gave you last week? It's not enough.

It's never enough. Is that
any way to treat a partner?

It's over, Nick. Get out! It's over when I
say it's over, and don’t you forget that.

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

Me? What about you?

You're disgusting.

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

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

[Nick] I told you. I
got debts. I need it.

No. No more money, Nick.

Look, honey. What I
get from you, I earn.

And don't you forget it.

[Groans]

Oh!

Ow!

You touch me
again, I'll kill you!

[Rattling]

His head's bashed in, Chief.

I can see that.

Must have fallen from
that window up there.

Has he got any
I.D. on him? Nothin'.

Damn. Well, cover him up.

All right now. Uh, which one
of you reported the accident?

[Jessica] I did.

- Are you the police?
- Yes, ma'am. Chief Griffin.

Who are you? I'll be right down.

I am very much afraid, Chief, but,
uh, this may not have been an accident.

Are you saying this
fellow was murdered?

All I'm saying is that I don't think that
he fell out of that window. Is that so?

With the construction, there is
plaster dust all over the floor up there.

Now take a look at his feet.

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

Now, this is just a theory,

but maybe Nick died
somewhere else...

and was carried here.

Nick? Do you know this fella?

Oh, yes. I met him last
night. His name is Nick Fulton.

He's a houseguest of Professor
Laird, head of the English department.

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

I'm staying with, uh,
President Hayward.

Oh. The mystery book writer lady.
I thought I recognized your face.

Campus bookstore laid
in a bunch of your books.

I was gonna buy one, but then I
figured they'd be coming out in paperback.

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

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

Thank you. This'll be
my first murder case.

Oh. Uh, but we're not
sure yet that it is a murder.

That'd be a shame. I mean, I'm in
the middle of my course, but I'm ready.

Course? Criminology.
Northeast Home Study Academy.

Oh, I see. Fact is,
I'd appreciate any...

assistance you could give me.

Well, I don't want to
interfere. I'd be very grateful.

Well, I did hear
something very interesting...

from one of the students
before you got here.

Now, he was driving
home late last night...

and saw a light-colored station
wagon parked right over there.

That was around 2:00 in
the morning. I'll check that out.

Well, it may be significant
when the coroner

establishes the time
and cause of death.

Oh, that's good. Solid
procedure. Anything else?

Well, it might be helpful to know Nick's
movements after the party last night.

The party.

Gee, Mrs. Fletcher. You seem
to know everybody around here,

and I was wondering,
well, maybe if you

could tag along with
me, it would be useful.

I'd really appreciate it.

Will you give me a couple
of minutes? Absolutely.

What?

Nick murdered?

Sorry, ma'am. But to the trained
mind, there's no other conclusion.

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

Maybe you could tell me just what
you were up to after the party last night.

Oh.

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

I was upset. Upset?

No. I mean... I was tired.

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

Uh-huh.

[Mouthing Words]

And that, uh, fella, Fulton— was
he here when you went to bed?

Of course he was here.

- And what time was that?
- Midnight.

Look.

I don't know why you're
asking me all these questions.

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

No one's made any
accusations, Miss Laird.

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

I'll give it to you in one word.

Stud. I knew him
vaguely from the campus.

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

A week after, he moved
into my townhouse.

- And why did you come
to Crenshaw this weekend?
- Because I live here.

A t least I used to.

Look, Officer.

When things get
hairy in the Big Apple,

I sometimes come here
to the guesthouse to write.

Especially when I've been
inspired by a hunk like Nick Fulton.

Now,

unless you've got any
other stupid questions,

get the hell out of
here so I can dress!

Or maybe, uh...

Maybe you just like to watch.

I think that just about
does it. Mrs. Fletcher?

You go ahead, Chief. I want to
pay my respects to Professor Laird.

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

Murder on the Crenshaw campus?

The state university
perhaps, but certainly not here.

He seems pretty convinced.

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

Oh, no. After my speech
tomorrow evening, I'm

going to take the late
train back to Cabot Cove.

It must be lovely
there. Oh, it is.

Of course, I knew
Nick Fulton only slightly,

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

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

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

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

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

before I make a complete
fool of myself tomorrow.

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

[Henry] It's shocking!

Absolutely shocking!

There, there, now, Henry.
Please, dear. Don't get so excited.

I'm not excited,
Beryl. I'm exasperated.

[Alger] Yeah. A murder. I
mean, right here on campus.

And on commencement
weekend. I tell you. I've

heard nothing else since
I got back this morning.

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

Henry is so excited
he's exasperating again.

Well, I can certainly
understand that.

You were away? Yeah. My
mother. She's ailing again.

Oh. I had to take the late train to
Boston last night after the party.

Oh, how is your
dear mother, Alger?

- She is not at all well.
- Oh.

[Doorbell Rings] Excuse me.

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

It is a terrible situation. I— As a matter
of fact, I should call her right now.

If you'll excuse me? Yes.
Of course. Give her my love.

Oh, Chief. Good
morning. Come in.

Sorry to bother you, Dr. Hayward,
but I have some questions.

All right. Good-bye.

Come in. Say
hello to your mother.

Right here.

Here we go. Yes.
Ah. Mrs. Fletcher.

I got the coroner's report.

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

Cause: massive skull
fracture with a blunt instrument.

Not a fall from the building.

I don't suppose you
found the murder weapon?

No.

You mentioned you had
some questions, Chief.

[Griffin] Right. I understand
that the victim had a

fight at the party with one
of the faculty members.

Oh, you must mean Ron Mercer.

Oh, yes. It was
a dreadful scene.

Mr. Fulton was
very rude to his wife.

You're not suggesting,
Chief, that Ron Mercer

had anything to do
with the killing, are you?

[Gasps] Henry. Oh.
I forgot to tell you.

I saw him later in the
evening. After the party, I mean.

- Ron Mercer, that is.
- You did?

Yes. Well, Henry was having
one of his restless nights,

and he was downstairs
pacing up and down,

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

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

Anyway, uh, Henry was downstairs.
I got up to get a little drink of water.

And when I looked out the window,
there was Ron, walking across the campus.

- Uh, about what time was that?
- Right. Good.

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

He was, uh, walking in the
direction of Jocelyn’s house.

[Sighs]

Oh, dear. Have I
said something wrong?

[Rings]

Oh. Excuse me.

Hayward residence.

Yes. Yes. He's here.

Just a moment, please.

- Uh, Chief Griffin, it's for you.
- Excuse me.

Chief Griffin.

Who is this?

Damn it. Who's speaking?

Hello.

[Receiver Clicking] Hello.

Well, what is it, Chief?

If this tip checks out, I think we
got that fella's murderer dead bang.

Miss Daphne Clover.

Oh.

Hold it. I think this is it.

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

"Pay me $10,000, or your
nasty secret will be exposed."

There's your
blackmail note, Chief.

Chief, are you sure you didn't recognize
the voice on the other end of the line?

No. It sounded like he had a cold. But
he sure knew what he was talking about.

Now to find the murder weapon.

Chief.

Don't that look like
blood to you? It sure does.

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

What the hell are you doing?

We have a search
warrant. A warrant?

What do you think
you're gonna find?

A blackmail note and a murder
weapon. And we've already found both.

Miss Clover, I'm placing you under
arrest for the murder of Nick Fulton.

Chief, excuse me,
but... I'm not sure—

I am, Mrs. Fletcher.

No. No.

Jessica, I just heard
the news. Is it true?

Yes. Chief Griffin has
arrested Daphne. Excuse me.

What is it?

The mate to this candlestick was found
in the guesthouse spattered with blood.

Oh, that's absurd. I mean, Daphne may
be many things, but she is not a killer.

And she is your daughter.

Jessica, I am not being
swayed by maternal affection.

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

The blood on the candlestick
matches Nick Fulton's in all points.

And that gives me
the murder weapon.

What about fingerprints? They
were smudged. We can't use them.

Chief, I hate to throw cold
water on your investigation,

but that candlestick was
planted in the guesthouse.

It came from the
main house. Is that so?

Yes. And anyone could
have taken it during the party.

Including Miss Clover.

Well, I doubt that. I mean,
the candlestick couldn't

have been hidden in
the pocket of a fur coat.

And she graphically demonstrated that
there was nothing underneath the coat.

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

What blackmail note?

Fulton was obviously
blackmailing your daughter.

And that gives
me the motive. No.

No. I didn't kill him! He
was alive last time I saw him.

May I see the note?

Oh, that's interesting. Typed on
a machine with a slightly bent "E."

And unsigned.

My goodness, Chief.

If Nick Fulton were sharing a bed with
Daphne, why would he type her a note?

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

But I found it in his pocket.

Chief, that note and that candlestick
were probably planted in the guesthouse.

Most likely by the
person who phoned you.

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

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

Thanks, J.B.

Now you're sure I'm not taking you out
of your way? No trouble, Mrs. Fletcher.

Did you by any chance check out
Mr. Fulton with the New York authorities?

Of course. Standard
procedure. Chapter seven.

They Teletyped his record to me.

Two arrests for
assault. No convictions.

Yeah. Despite all your fancy talk,
Mrs. Fletcher, Daphne Clover's my killer.

All I gotta do is build a
case the D.A. can't screw up.

Anybody who'd write scuzzy
books the way she does...

doesn't have the same
moral code the rest of us do.

Chief, have you read
any of her books?

Oh, sure. All of them.

Thank you.

Uh, excuse me. I'd like
to check connections

to Cabot Cove
via Boston, please.

One way or round trip?

I have my ticket already. I
just want to know the times.

This window is for tickets only.

You'll have to check
with information.

Oh, yes. Information. Thank you.

A-yah?

I think we were discussing
connections to Cabot Cove.

You'll have to change in Boston.

Uh, yes. I—I know that.

What time do the
connecting trains leave?

All trains connect.

At what times?

Every hour on the
quarter hour until 2015.

Oh, yes. 8:15 p.m.

Oh. But this schedule says...

That schedule
changed two weeks ago.

Uh, want to check
your baggage through?

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

Thank you.

A-yah.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

- Can I give you a lift?
- Oh, that's very kind,
if you're sure it's no trouble.

- Not at all.
- Thanks.

Well, what do you think of
Crenshaw College, Mrs. Fletcher?

It's lovely. Except for
the tragedy of Nick Fulton.

Yes.

Jocelyn Laird thinks that it might have
been someone from his past who killed him.

Oh, I don't think so.

You know, Trish, I got the
impression that you and Ron...

had met him somewhere before.

You hope that
people have forgotten,

but they talk behind your back.

Oh, it wasn't gossip, Trish.

It was the way that
you reacted to him.

Sure.

What the hell.

It was, uh, a
couple of years ago.

Ron and I had just moved here.

Nick was on an
athletic scholarship.

He'd come over to
the house for tutoring.

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

I'm sorry.

Ron didn't kill him.

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

No, Trish. I'm sorry,

but someone saw Ron walking near Jocelyn’s
house around the time of the murder.

And someone else saw a
station wagon similar to this one...

parked very close to
where the body was found.

No. Ron couldn't have done it.

Trish, where did
Ron go last night?

I'm not sure.

I...

I think he may have been
seeing another woman.

Jessica, I'm so
glad you could come.

I wanted to thank you for putting
Chief Griffin straight about Daphne.

Oh, what a lovely place to work.

You know, I'm almost ashamed to admit
that I still work at the kitchen table.

Must be a very
satisfying life for you.

Here at Crenshaw,
working with young people.

Away from the more
frantic demands of the world.

I still find time to write
an occasional article.

My goodness. A word processor.

The college bought it for
me. I never learned to use it.

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

[Chuckles]

Ooh. Just got a
flash for my speech.

Would you mind if I
borrowed your typewriter for

a minute? Let me jot it
down before I forget it.

[Typing] Jessica, if I had
typed that blackmail note,

don't you think I would have been
smart enough to get rid of the typewriter?

[Chuckles] I suppose
that was a bit obvious.

I am so glad we met. We
could become great friends.

Yes. We have so much in common.

Like writing, for instance. Mmm.

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

I'm sorry, Jessica. I don't
know what you mean.

I think you do, Jocelyn.

Daphne Clover is a fraud.

You wrote those books.

- Jessica, really.
- Daphne knows barely enough
about painting to tell red from green.

Yet her books are filled
with artistic metaphors like...

van Gogh's Boats at
Sainte-Marie, to name just one.

She said she came
up here to work,

but there was no
typewriter in the guesthouse,

no reference books—
Not even a pencil.

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

Barely enough to pay
off a secondhand car.

Then I found out how
much one of those trash

merchants was paid
for his latest opus.

Sordid sex. That's
what they wanted.

And I was one of the proper
paupers in the literary world,

while hacks with a third-rate
vocabulary were living like royalty.

Was I angry?

You bet I was.

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

Not years of my life,
but six silly weeks.

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

Lord knows I couldn't use my
own— Not and keep my reputation.

And then Nick found out
about the arrangement.

He... He st-started
threatening me,

asking for money.

And then he...

He came to my bedroom after
the party demanding money.

I refused, and he—

He threatened
me again, and I—I...

I hit him with the candlestick.

It was self-defense.
I promise you.

Then why did you move the body?

That was stupid.

I thought I could make
it look like an accident.

But Daphne had
nothing to do with it.

She was asleep.

Jocelyn, don't you think you should
have a little chat with Chief Griffin?

Will you go with me, Jessica?

Yeah.

I guess for now I'll have to take your
word about the self-defense, Professor.

Chief, don't you think Nick Fulton's
record supports a plea of self-defense?

It's up to the D.A. Read
this before you sign it.

You can't go in there,
miss. No. Let go of me.

No, Mother. You
didn't sign that.

It's all settled, Miss Clover!

Don't you see what she's
doing? She's confessing

to protect me!
Daphne, stay out of this.

No! It's a lie.

She didn't kill Nick. I did.

Daphne.

Damnedest thing I ever saw.

Why, Chief? Daphne's confession
supports your original theory.

But now I have two confessions.

Both ladies claim they
were attacked by Nick Fulton.

Both claim self-defense.

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

that one of them is
lying to protect the other.

Yeah, but which one?

Oh. I've got a speech to make.

Got the confession typed up
again, Chief. What name shall I fill in?

Just leave it blank.

Something to think about, Chief.

I doubt if either
Daphne or her mother...

could have carried Mr. Fulton's body
up those stairs to the third floor alone.

[Chattering]

"So it's the
contribution we make"—

Oh. Perfect. "Uh, rather than
the rewards that we earn"...

Henry, have you seen my
gloves? On the desk, Beryl.

Oh, thank you, dear. [Chuckles]

[Jessica Sighs] There
they are. Oh, Henry.

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

Huh? Yes. Alger Kenyon
brought it by for you.

Where are my glasses? Oh.

I'll find them.

Jessica, would you, please? I don't
seem to have my glasses. Oh. Yes. Uh...

"This will inform you of my
resignation from Crenshaw College...

"effective with the
end of this term.

Sincerely, Dr. Alger Kenyon."

Alger resigning?

What on earth for?

Oh, really, Henry. Sometimes
you can be so dense.

It's because of
Jocelyn. Jocelyn?

- He's madly in love with her.
- Alger and Jocelyn?

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

I'm afraid that
even I noticed that.

So Alger is resigning...

because Jocelyn gave
the job to Ron Mercer.

[Gasps] Henry, I forgot.

Jocelyn called you yesterday.

She gave the job to Ron Mercer?

She gave the job to Ron Mercer.

Of course.

Henry, how long do we have before
the commencement exercises begin?

About an hour. Good.

I have a couple of
phone calls to make.

Then can I borrow your bicycle?

Well, yes, of course.

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

I do have rather a
lot of packing to do.

Well, this won't take long. I
really wanted to talk to Ron Mercer.

About what, Mrs. Fletcher? It's,
uh, almost time for commencement.

Yes. You know, I tried not to get
involved in this Nick Fulton killing,

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

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

- But they confessed.
- No. I'm afraid that doesn't hold water.

If Jocelyn were guilty,
she certainly wouldn't have

tried to frame her daughter
with that bloody candlestick.

And Daphne never would
have left it on the mantel.

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

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

But I think that you do.

You were seen walking
toward Jocelyn Laird's

house about the
time Nick Fulton died.

I didn't kill him. And a
station wagon like yours...

was observed that night near
where the body was discovered.

Trish, you told me that you suspected
Ron was seeing another woman.

I think you went to Jocelyn’s
house after the party, Ron.

Not to kill Nick Fulton,
but to try to persuade

Jocelyn to give you
the assistant's job.

You went to her?

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

Ron, how could you? She's
the one who wanted it that way.

She invited me
back after the party.

I knew what she had in mind.

But I didn't kill Nick.

He was already
dead when I got there.

She...

She told me to come
around the back. That—

That she'd be waiting.

And she said— she said that
there had been a terrible accident.

She promised me the job...

if I would help her move the body, make
it look like it happened somewhere else.

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

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

I carried it upstairs, and I...

I—I threw it out the window.

Trish. She... She
promised me the job.

Making love to her was—
That wasn't my idea, Trish.

- It was hers.
- No! Now that is a damnable lie, Mercer!

Jocelyn would never
have taken you into her bed.

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

We were very close.

Never— Never
physical, of course.

I mean, not like
her... Her daughter.

Our love didn't need that.

You may not really
understand Jocelyn, Alger,

but I'm sure that you
love her too much to let

her take the blame for
something that you did.

Me?

But I didn't kill him.

I took the late train after the
party to go to Boston that night.

To see my mother. I'm
afraid you couldn't have.

The schedule was changed. The last
train left long before the party was over.

That doesn't mean I
killed him. No, it doesn't.

But the blackmail note
Chief Griffin found...

was typed on the same
machine that typed your

letter of resignation—
The one with the bent "E."

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

Why Daphne, Alger?

I was afraid.

I was afraid that, uh,

they'd blame Jocelyn.

It was all Daphne's
fault. Daphne and those...

Those filthy books.

It's 'cause of Daphne that...

that man came
into Jocelyn’s life.

Why don't you tell us
what really happened?

Well, uh,

after the party, I, uh...

I decided to go back and
spend some time with Jocelyn.

You know,

to cheer her up after that
dreadful scene with her daughter.

[Alger Narrating] Our
friendship was discreet.

She, uh, had given me a key.

I could hear her
voice in the bedroom.

She sounded frightened.

It was Fulton.

He was demanding money from her.

It was something
to do with Daphne.

Some sort of blackmail.

He touched her.

He touched Jocelyn.

She— She told him to wait...

while she went out
to get her checkbook.

I hit him with the candlestick.

Then I went out
through the door be...

Before she came back in.

So when Jocelyn returned
with the checkbook,

she found Nick dead.

She saw the door open and...

must have assumed that
Daphne had killed him.

When Ron arrived
a few minutes later,

she made up that
story about an accident.

And where was Daphne?

Apparently asleep
in the guesthouse.

She must really have
taken some sleeping pills.

But why did Daphne confess?

Because she thought
her mother had killed him.

You see, each one recognized the
murder weapon and suspected the other.

Each one wanted
to protect the other.

Jocelyn didn't love me.

Giving that job to
Mercer proved that.

So, you see, uh,
I had to resign.

Chief Griffin? Jessica Fletcher.

I'm at the Mercer home.

Alger Kenyon is here and wants to make
a statement about the Nick Fulton killing.

No. I won't be here.

This is your case.

♪ [Distant]

Oh, dear. I'm late.

Please excuse me.