Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 4, Episode 17 - A Very Good Year for Murder - full transcript

♪ Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

Gambini Winery— run by Gambinis.

- And the cause of death?
- It could be poison.

- I really didn't know him all that well.
- What was I supposed to do,
let them break my legs?

You're a piece of equipment,
Marco— Like a tractor.

- Such violence.
- It's a game.

- People get hurt.
- I mean, supposing this conglomerate
is run by organized crime.

It's not of your business. You got a
reservation on a plane back east, use it.

The vineyards of
the family Gambini.

The finest grapes in the
world— Nurtured with love.

Papa did all of this.



So? What do you think?

I'd say that you are
very proud of him, Marco.

Proud? You bet.

I mean, he's a tough
old bird, but he had to

do all the fighting.
For me, it's been easy.

Not bad, huh?

For a penniless immigrant boy
to create all this from nothing.

From nothing, Jessica.

You know, it's hard to believe
that he's going to be 75 tomorrow.

You know, I'm really looking forward
to this, uh— What do you call it?

Compleanno. Compleanno.

Birthday party. It's
a feast. Celebration.

Friends comin' from all
over. Music, dancing...

You're gonna dance,
too, tomorrow, Jessica.



A tarantella. Ooh.

Well, uh, I'll do my best.

It's easy. I'll show you.

Come on. Let's get back.

- Jessica!
- Paul! There you are!

I don't believe it. You look
younger every time I see you.

Oh, thank you. And
you've put on a bit of weight.

Agreed. Coach
threatened my life if I didn't.

Next time you tackle some running
back, just remember who you have to thank.

Excuse me. I want
to check out my horse.

- All right.
- You know, Papa's right.

If I hadn't passed English, they
would've kicked me off the football team,

- and today I'd be picking grapes
for a dollar an hour.
- Oh, I doubt that very much, Paul.

My goodness, do you
remember— In those days,

a summer without tutoring
was a summer wasted.

So, just another job—
That's what I was?

Oh, no. You were a
monumental challenge.

And don’t you forget it.

Paulie! Hey, Tony!

Ow!

You're getting fat. You're driving as bad
as ever. Where'd you get those wheels?

Nine straight passes
at the crap table.

Mrs. Fletcher. Tony, the younger
brother. Do you remember me?

Oh, of course I remember
you, Tony. Nice to see you.

Is Sis coming? Of course.
With her latest boyfriend in tow.

Michele's working in San
Francisco. Oh, yes. In advertising.

Yeah, well, this month. She's
a career girl without a career.

Ah, but the one thing you can
count on is she won't show up alone.

Yeah, she dangles
those yo-yos like marriage

bait in front of Pop,
but it's just eyewash.

She's having too good
a time to get serious.

- Tony!
- Ah.

You had a phone call from
Tahoe. A man named John.

I left the number on
the desk in the study.

Johnny? He's Mr. Sure Thing. He
knows horses like I know nuclear physics.

Excuse me.

Horses, the crap
table— What a waste.

My brother's got more brains
than all of us put together.

Papa, the doctor told you
you have to take these.

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Mr. Smart Guy Doctor.

Take 'em away. Shoo.
Shoo, shoo, shoo.

You have to take your medicine.

Ay, Jessica. Come in. We talk.

Uh-huh. Talk.

You talk some sense into him.

My daughter-in-law. She
thinks she's Florence Nightingale.

Hey, Paulie, leave us
alone for a minute, huh?

I want to talk private
to this nice young lady.

Okay, Grandpa. Behave
yourself, huh? No funny business.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

Yeah.

Yeah, no kidding.

That's not—Wait. Hold
on. What are you saying?

No—What are you, threatening
me? Don't threaten me, Johnny.

And I— And you
know I'm good for it.

No, I'm not going to Tahoe tonight.
It's my grandfather's birthday tomorrow.

Really, I really don't
care what you think.

This morning I select this
wine for the evening meal...

like I do every morning.

It's what you call
a ritual. Hmm?

Here. Smell this.

Oh, my goodness.

It's called Volpolicella.

Made from special grapes
grown in Barolo, in northern Italy.

I bring 'em over
myself 18 years ago.

This wine I drink only
with special people.

Well, then I'm very flattered.

So, he— Marco,
he took you riding.

Yes. He showed
you the vineyards?

So what do you think? I
think they're magnificent.

Yeah, one day, maybe soon,

all of that will go to
Marco and his kids.

It's what you call a... legacy.

Well, God willing,

when I'm dead and gone,
they'll learn to appreciate it.

Or course they will.
And don't be so morbid.

Seventy-five is a milestone.
It's not the end of the road.

You think they
care the way I care?

The way my dear Rosa cared?

Well, aren't you being
a little hard on them?

Maybe what's wrong,
I wasn't hard enough.

Stella, you know, I'm
worried about Salvatore.

He doesn't look as
good as he should.

A big company back east
is trying to buy a winery.

Papa doesn't want to sell.

Ten years ago, he
would've laughed at them.

But these days, he
doesn't sleep so good.

But if he doesn't
want to sell...

Do you know what kind of
people we're talking about here?

Men in fancy suits who make
screwdrivers and shaving cream.

Papa fights, but how much
fight does he have left?

Yes, but surely
Marco cares. Oh, sure.

My brother.

He's got a wife who'd rather
live the fancy life in San Francisco.

Who is it?

Every time she comes
with a new face. Michele?

She should get
married and settle down.

Hi, guys.

Sweetie. Hi. Hi.

Gosh, it's good to see you guys.

Tony, Paul, say
hello to Ben Schuyler.

Ben, these are my brothers.

Hello, Paul. Tony.

Uh, right. Uh, Paul.
Nice to meet you.

You're the football
player, right? Right.

Yeah—I mean, what
a stupid thing to say.

I think I saw you play once.

- A friend of mine had the game on,
and I was sort of watching it.
- Oh. A real fan, huh?

- Yeah, I guess.
- Come on. Let's go inside.

Oh, thanks.

Where does she find these guys?

Why can't she keep one
for just a couple of months?

Marco, this visit, don't
start anything with her.

She throws it in my face.

No.

She's 26 years old.

Maybe she doesn't want to die
here with your precious grapes,

or end up like your sister.

Papa needs me.

You're a piece of
equipment, Marco—

Like a tractor or a wine press.

Just part of the machinery.

We both are.

I see in the quarterback's eyes
that the ball's coming my way,

so I time it so just when
it gets there, wham,

I hit the guy with
everything but the bench.

Paulie, enough. His eyes glaze
over like a frosted windshield.

Then the ball pops in my arms.

I go 11 yards.
Touchdown. Such violence.

Stella, it's a game.

People get hurt. People get hurt driving
to work, but they don't get paid like I do.

Plus what you
pick up on the side.

- What's that supposed to mean?
- Oh, come on, Paulie.

Last year you guys won 10 games.
Nine of them you didn't beat the spread.

You got something to
say, Tony, just spit it out.

- Okay, boys, okay.
- No, I'm not saying you, Paulie.

It's just what's been going on
with your team is no big secret.

- Tony, knock it off.
- Tony, you lose a couple bets on the side?

As a matter of fact, I have.

Oh, well, who cares? It
wasn't your money anyway.

Stop it. Both of you.

What kind of behavior is this?
We're supposed to be celebrating.

I offer a toast...

to a man who has taught
me the meaning of honor...

and respect, the
dignity of hard work,

and the joy of life.

When I die, I hope the only
thing they say about me...

is that "he was the son
of Salvatore Gambini."

And that "he was a
credit to his father."

- Papa.
- Papa.

I'm grateful to God for giving
me a strong and loving son.

Sit, sit, sit.

A caring, unselfish daughter.

Three beautiful grandchildren
in whom I take great pride.

It warms my heart to see
once again the family gathered,

and joined by someone
who's like family to us.

Tomorrow I reach
another birthday.

But the day will come when I will
no longer be able to be with you.

But my heart is glad to
know that you will all carry on,

that my beloved winery will
continue to prosper under the care...

I know you will all bring to it.

Famiglia Gambini sempre.

"The family united
forever." Salute.

- Salute, Papa.
- Salute.

Come. Mangia, mangia.

Grandpa? Grandpa?

Hey.

Hey. Paulie.

Grandpa, listen. I
got to get to Tahoe.

I got—It's business.
I got to see this guy.

Hey, what—what time is it?

About a quarter past 6:00.

Now, I chartered a plane so I could
make it back to the party tonight.

You know I wouldn't do this if I
didn't have to, but it's very important.

Yeah, sure.

I'm very tired this morning.
I'm—I'm gonna sleep in late.

You do me a favor.

Go—Go down to my wine cellar...

and get three bottles
of '68 Bordeaux.

'68, huh? It's near the top of the
rack at the bottom of the stairs.

Red label, okay?

I want to get— I want to get
something special for Jessica, huh?

Here's the key. You'll decant
the bottles before you go?

Sure, sure. Yeah. Hey, listen.

Everything's gonna be okay.

You get in any trouble,
you come tell me, okay?

Don't do anything dumb.

I can handle this, Grandpa.

Heh. Sure.

Thanks. Yeah. Okay.

Go on. Go ahead. Go on.

Ow!

What was that? Who
screamed? I don't know.

Marco, what happened?

No, Pop.

Tony!

No. Come—Ow.
It hurts. Sit still.

You're lucky you're not dead.

You know, you really
should go to the hospital

and get an X-ray. No.
I gotta get to Tahoe.

You don't gotta go anywhere.

You—Stella, please. Pop, you
don't give me orders anymore, okay?

Jessica, how is he? Well, he's
got a very nasty bump on his head.

How did it happen?
Did he slip or something?

No. One of the wooden steps
to the wine cellar gave way.

You know, he really
should go to the hospital.

Maybe you could talk
some sense into him.

That'd be a first.

Well, it's not
pretty, but it's safe.

Paul, where is the old step?

Down there— what's left of it.

May I take a look at it? Go
ahead. Not much to look at.

Jessica, is something wrong?

I'm not sure.
Take a look at this.

That's just an old
step that gave way.

Yes, but in spite of
the splintered wood,

it's quite obvious that it
has been sawed through.

Are you saying someone
tampered with it?

Pop, I told you I'm
going. I'm gonna go!

Don't talk that way to me. And
don’t you walk away from me!

Leave me alone, Pop.

What are you trying
to do, kill yourself?

Hey, tell me. What's so
important you gotta go to Tahoe?

Now look. Come on,
Tony. I don't want to fight.

If I don't show, it could
be very bad for me.

And that's all you
need to know, okay?

Right.

♪

♪

You having a good time,
Pop? No, it's too fast for me.

Oh, that's a good
year. Don't waste it.

All right.

Excuse me. All right.

There's more where that came
from if you start me against the Bulls.

Oh, wow. That's
what I call energy.

Oh. She won't quit
till the band does.

Not your kind of music?

When it comes to
dancing, I'm all thumbs.

Uh, I think you mixed a metaphor,
but I think I get what you mean.

Uh, you know, it's really
an honor to—to meet

you, Mrs. Fletcher. Oh,
thank you very much.

When I was a kid growing up on
a little farm outside Moline, Illinois,

I used to lose
myself writing stories.

Anything to escape the boredom
of milking cows and pitching hay.

Well, I think we all
start out that way.

For the last four months,
I've been writing every day...

on a piece about lost
California gold mines.

Oh, that sounds
fascinating. Yeah.

But my real ambition is to write a novel.
Are there any tips you could give me?

Oh, read, read and
read some more.

You know, I'm in the middle of a
gripping mystery by P.D. James.

Oh, right. I love his work.

Her work.

Uh, "P" is for
Phyllis. He is a she.

Sure, I knew that.

Uh, would you excuse me?

Maybe I can get Michele to slow down long
enough to grab something to eat. Oh, sure.

Thanks, uh...

You get tired of gettin' beaten up every
Sunday afternoon, Paulie, give me a call.

I could use a
deputy built like you.

It's harder and harder
to handle the drunks.

Hey, you keep away
from him. When he retires,

he's gonna come and
help run the family business.

- That so?
- Sure. All the kids.

Having a good time now, okay. But
pretty soon they all come back here.

You've seen the sign
at the front gate, huh?

It says "Gambini," huh?

Gambini Winery— run by Gambinis.

♪ Papa.

You're so cute and funny.

♪ Hey, Papa.

Come on. I talked to the band.
This one's for you. Oh, no, no, no.

Come on. Just listening to
this music makes me tired.

Oh, now, come on, Papa.
Please. Please. Aw, come on!

All right, Sis. What?

You and me. Come on.
We got to show them. Oh, no.

Come on, come on, come
on, come on, come on.

♪

So, Mrs. Fletcher, are
you enjoying the party?

Oh, yes. Although I
shudder at the thought of

all these calories, but
they smell so wonderful.

Uh, I'm Thaddeus Kyle.
Well, how do you do?

And, uh, if anybody around these parts
has known Sal Gambini longer than I have,

I've yet to meet him.
Well, that's quite an

accomplishment, with
all this competition.

Uh, I understand that there was

a minor accident at
the house this morning.

Where'd you hear
that? Paul told me.

He's, uh, worried about the old
man's safety, as I'm sure you are.

Uh, I'm also the
local police chief.

Ah. Then Paul also told you that
it may not have been an accident.

Don't tell Sal.

He doesn't know, but I've got a half a
dozen men scattered throughout the room.

Good. Hmm. Um, any idea
who may be responsible?

Me? Well, Mrs. Fletcher,

you have quite a reputation
as an amateur crime solver.

I'm afraid that's
greatly exaggerated.

Thank you.

You know, greed can
be a powerful motive.

The winery must be
worth 30, maybe 40 million.

Are you suggesting that a member of
the family tampered with that wooden stair?

This place, it's
been Sal's life,

but to the others, maybe
all it means is money.

That's a very
ugly theory, Chief.

Well, I heard Sal turned
down a real good offer to sell.

Could be somebody ran out
of patience. That's just a theory.

Uh, would you excuse
me for a moment, please?

Oh, yes.

♪

♪

What, no breakfast?

Where's the smell
of bacon? First

you sit down, then
you get your breakfast.

Mmm. Hot cakes. What's
everyone else having?

Good morning. Buon
giorno. Buon giorno, Papa.

- What are you doing up?
- Yes, I thought
you'd be asleep all morning.

What time did you
get to bed last night?

Don't you worry about me. Pretty soon
everybody leaves. Lots of time to sleep.

Stella, what are
we having for lunch?

What did you ask
for yesterday, Papa?

Osso buco gremolata. So that's
what you’re gonna get. Okay?

Okay, okay. I just gotta
know so I pick the right wine.

No, I'll do it. I don't
want you on those steps.

What? I look like a cripple, eh?

Come on, Jessica.
I'll let you choose.

You know, I'm not an
expert. So I'll give you advice.

You haven't seen my
beautiful cellar in a long time.

I got a Soave, it tastes so
good, it makes you want to cry.

Here.

Good Lord! What is it?

It's Ben Schuyler.

All yours, John.

Sam. Sir?

Until I tell you otherwise,
I want you right here, son.

- Keep track who comes and goes.
- Right, Chief.

Michele, is it possible
that he had heart trouble

or some condition that
you weren't aware of?

Look, I really didn't
know him all that well.

I met him eight weeks ago
when he came to the agency...

to talk to my boss
about a copy-writing job.

Excuse me.

Come on, sweetheart.

Doc says he's been dead
about eight, nine hours.

Which means he died
last night around 2:00 a.m.

- Give or take an hour.
- And the cause of death?

This stays between you
and me. It could be poison.

Oh, dear Lord.

Your dad worries about
you so much. Mom...

That little girl seems to
be handling it pretty good.

Chief, she and the victim
weren't all that close.

Mrs. Fletcher, only one
person around here...

even knew who the
fellow was till yesterday.

It's kind of hard to believe
he was killed by a stranger.

But I'll tell you something
else that bothers me...

Finding the body in the wine
cellar with the door locked.

Do you know there was
only one key? Salvatore's.

Keeps it in a nightstand
next to his bed.

Oh, I see. Now you're
accusing Salvatore? No. No, uh—

There could have been
an extra key made, or

somebody could have
sneaked into his bedroom.

Stella tells me that the old
fella sleeps pretty soundly.

All I'm saying is,
whoever got Schuyler...

sure likely was somebody
inside this house.

Well, I can't argue with that.

Chief, maybe we should...

take a look at Mr. Schuyler's
belongings, his luggage.

That is, if you don't mind. Anyway,
just a thought. Of course I don't mind.

Maybe we can put that lively
curiosity of yours to good use.

Did you find
anything in his wallet?

What you'd expect— credit cards,
driver's license, a couple of snapshots.

Well, here's something—
Credit card receipt.

Hmm. Matches one of
the cards in his wallet.

Well, that's from a service station
in Long Island City, New York.

That's interesting.
Take a look at that date.

Nine weeks ago.

That's one week
before he met Michele...

- at the ad agency in San Francisco.
- Wh-What's the point?

Last night he told me he'd spent
the last four months in California...

researching a story on
lost gold mines of California.

What was he doing in New York?

I don't know.
Vacationing? Visiting?

Visiting? But why
would he lie about it?

Well, ma'am, he didn't exactly
lie. Maybe it just slipped his mind.

Maybe.

Jessica?

Hey, what are you doing?

Well, I'm almost
embarrassed to tell you.

Ah. Playing detective, hmm?

You're pretty hot stuff. But
what were you looking for?

Well, I'm afraid Chief Kyle thinks
that somebody inside the house...

might have been involved
in Mr. Schuyler's murder.

One of us? He's crazy!

Well, I was hoping that
I could find some sign...

to prove that somebody
outside broke into the house.

That's why all those
questions to Michele, huh?

That crazy old coot.
He thinks, what,

my granddaughter commits
murder or something?

Salvatore, calm down. Chief
Kyle is only doing his job.

His job?

Did Michele ever
talk to you about him?

About Ben Schuyler, I mean?

No. Why—Why should she?

She's got a boyfriend each
month. They're all the same.

Mmm. I'm not so
sure about this one.

He told me that he was a writer,
but he hadn't the vaguest idea...

who P. D. James is. P.D.?

Just one of the world's
foremost writers of mystery fiction.

So I told you. He was a jerk.

But listen, Jessica. There may even
be some people who never heard of you.

Oh, no doubt about that.
But there was something else.

He said that he wasn't very successful,
yet he drove up in a luxury convertible,

and all of his clothes came
from very expensive stores.

Maybe he came
from a wealthy family.

No, no. He told me that he was
brought up on a little farm in Illinois.

No. There's something
about Mr. Ben Schuyler

that just doesn't add up.

Papa?

Pap—Oh. Papa, Tony's back.

Oh. Yeah. Come, Jessica.

I'm sorry, kid.
What a rotten thing.

I'm all right, Tony. Honest.

Here, Tony. Thanks.

Guys—Grandpa, I'm sorry I
missed your party. I tried to make it.

Yeah. Sure, sure, sure. Yeah.

I got caught up on
business. Oh, yes.

And we know what kind
of business it was, Tony.

Marco, leave the boy alone.

Oh, come on, Papa!

He shows no respect. He comes
and he goes like he owns this place.

He takes all the time.
When does he give?

Let him grow up.
He's still a boy.

Jessica, the phone. Chief Kyle.

Yes, Chief?

I just got the report back from
the coroner. It was poison, all right.

I see. Now that's not all.

On a hunch, I sent Schuyler's fingerprints
to the central file in Washington.

Mr. Schuyler's not
Mr. Schuyler. Oh?

His real name is Benito Soriano.

And according to their file,
he's a hit man for the mob.

A hired killer.

He came to the ad agency where
I work about eight weeks ago...

to see about a copy-writing job.

One thing led to another, and
we went out the following evening.

Michele— Excuse me, Chief.

Um, Michele, who
initiated the first date?

He did. And on that date
and subsequent dates,

did he question you— well,
actually pump you about the family?

Not that I noticed. He wasn't
curious about anyone in particular?

- One of your brothers
or your grandfather?
- Nothing out of the ordinary.

- Look, I've told you
all I know about him.
- Thaddeus.

Uh. all right. You can
take her home, Marco.

I'll let you know if I
need to see her again.

Thank you. Jessica.

Uh, Marco, uh, you
go ahead without me.

I want to talk to the chief. Oh.

All right. Let's say that
Stella's using Michele...

to get at someone in the family.

- Who?
- Well, if Ben—or Benito
was responsible for Tony's accident,

then I would have to say
that Salvatore was the target.

The way I hear it, these
hired killers usually use guns.

Well, not if the death is
supposed to look accidental.

Suppose you're right.

Who hired him? Why? Now, who
stood to gain by Salvatore's death?

I don't know. Well, of
course you do. They all did.

The important question is, who had the
easiest access to an organization killer?

Through his Lake Tahoe
connections, for instance?

Tony? But Tony
was injured in the fall.

Ah, a bump on the
head, a few bruises. How

do we know he even
fell? Maybe he faked it.

You know, there is
another possibility.

Stella told me that Salvatore
has been under great pressure...

from an eastern
conglomerate to sell.

Kansatronics—
Something like that.

Well, now you're telling
me that a Fortune 500...

is hiring mob muscle to
negotiate their contracts?

Maybe this company isn't
even in the Fortune 5,000.

Have you ever
heard of it? I haven't.

I mean, supposing this conglomerate
is run by organized crime?

Morning, sir. May I help you?

Yeah. My name is Stephen Ridgely.
Uh, I'm here to see Paul Gambini.

- Is he expecting you?
- Uh, no.

- Well, may I see
some identification, please?
- Well, yeah, sure.

Steve.

- Paul.
- That's okay, Deputy. I know this man.

The murder's been all over the tube in
L.A. I took the first flight I could get.

Let's go for a ride.

Who is it?

I don't know. A
friend of Paulie's.

Get his name! I'll
ask the deputy later.

No, now, Marco, now. No, no, no. I want
to find out about this $50,000 business.

- I told you. I wrote a check.
- Only you don't have $50,000
in the bank!

You don't have $50 in the bank.

Will you come on?

Now they were threatening me!

Now what was I supposed to do,
let them break my legs? Kill me?

How do you like that? You're a
real joy to me, Tony. You know that?

You throw around money
you don't have, and then

you expect your grandfather
and me to bail you out.

Take it easy, Marco. No,
Papa. I mean, I want to know...

what the hell
kind of a life this is.

I work 14 hours a day. For what?

For this? Maybe Fiona's right.

Maybe you ought to sell the
winery, Papa. Be done with it.

That's enough. Marco, leave us.

- Papa— - Now.

Antonio! What am I
gonna do with you?

Grandpa, I'm sorry. Yeah. Yeah,
I know. All the time you're sorry.

I know, you don't mean
bad, but— Antonio, listen.

I've been waiting a long
time for you to grow up.

You—You got the brains.

You're the smart one.

You're the one who'll be able to
take over from me and from your papa.

But how am I gonna
make you care? Huh? How?

I—I care. I do. I...

I don't know. I
got this thing that...

I'm an old man, Tony.

I haven't got much
time left, huh?

I don't want to die with
things the way they are now.

You're not gonna
die. Everybody dies.

It's what you do before
you die that's important.

Here. Go cover the check.

But you think about what I say.

Okay.

Thank you. Thanks.

Nah, nah, nah, nah.

Well, at least stay
for lunch, huh? Okay.

OH, Jessica, I'd like you to meet
an old friend of mine, Steve Ridgely.

Steve, Jessica
Fletcher. Pleasure.

How do you do? And,
uh, my aunt Stella.

Aunt Stella, would you mind
setting another place at lunch for us?

Are you one of Paul's teammates?

Me? No.

I don't know very
much about football.

Uh, Steve's an...
investment adviser.

Jessica.

You got a minute? Excuse me.

Sit. Sit.

Is something wrong?
You seem upset.

My friend Chief
Kyle just called me.

Asked me some questions about that company
back east that wants to buy my winery.

Yes. He thought...

No. It's not what he
thought. It's what you thought.

Well, he asked me for my help.

Jessica, my business dealings—

They got nothing to do with the death
of that hired killer. Are you so sure?

Salvatore, you've been under
a great deal of pressure to sell.

Now, that so-called accident was
obviously aimed at you, not at Tony.

I don't know what that
New York bum was up to.

The guy is dead. Who cares?

Yes, but whoever hired him—
No. Come on, Jessica. It's over.

That's it.

It's none of your business.

You got a reservation on
a plane back east, use it.

I'm sorry. I...

I don't mean to be ungracious,
but this is family business...

Gambini family.

I'll pack my things. Yeah.

Jessica, wait, wait, wait!

- Paul, what's going on?
Who— - It isn't what you think.

But I can't tell the others.

Come on. I'll explain.

Stephen Ridgely,
Special Investigator?

Working for the football commissioner
out of the league office in New York.

And what are you investigating,
Mr. Ridgely? Gambling.

Last year, there were rumors
that some of Paul's teammates...

may not have been trying
as hard as they should have.

Steve asked me to cooperate
to find out if the rumors were true,

and if so, who was involved.

Oh. I'm beginning to understand.

When the news got out that a mob killer
had infiltrated the Gambini household,

they thought they
might be after you, Paul.

Sports gambling
involves millions.

And some of the people
involved are dangerous.

Paul and I decided to go
through his things to see...

if we could find something to link
this mob killer to the eastern syndicate.

Well, I'm afraid Chief
Kyle and I beat you to it.

The one unusual thing that
we found was a credit card slip...

that puts your man in Long
Island City nine weeks ago.

Perhaps he was, uh,
making arrangements...

with whoever hired him.
Or he was home for a visit.

That's where Soriano
really comes from, not that

phony Midwest farm Paul
said he told Michele about.

Yes, but still, if he was
in New York— The truth is,

he could have been hired
by anyone from anywhere.

I keep telling Steve it
doesn't make sense.

If someone wanted to get
to me, why go to this trouble?

I'm a sitting duck
anytime, anywhere.

Yes. Yes, of course you are.

And so is Tony.

Salvatore?

Oh. Come.

Jessica, I'm sorry if I
was impatient with you.

Uh, I haven't been
getting much sleep lately.

Look, you—you want me to ask
Paulie to drive you to the airport?

I'm not leaving right now. I
want to talk to Chief Kyle first.

Look, I told you...

You told me a lot of things, Salvatore.
Most of them weren't the truth.

That hired killer was after you.

You gonna start that up again?

It was something that Paul said.

Soriano would never go to
these lengths to kill Tony or Paul.

They were easy
targets, all too accessible.

But you, Salvatore—
You stay close to home.

You rarely go to
the winery anymore.

I mean, somebody trying to kill you would
have to come up with a very clever ruse...

to gain access to this house.

Hey, that'd be good
for one of your stories.

You found out who he was.

And when he nearly killed Tony with
that so-called accident, you killed him.

Jessica, I never saw
the guy before in my life.

Well, then why did you call
him "that New York bum"...

when he was trying to pass himself
off as a young farmer from Illinois?

But you knew better.
How? When did you find out?

When?

From the beginning, that's when.

Michele...

You think I'd let her marry
any jabroni off the streets?

On the phone, she tells
me about this Ben Schuyler.

So I check him out, just
like I check all of them out.

Checked him out with whom?

People who know,
okay? Friends. Huh?

They tell me all about
this Benito Soriano.

Now, Jessica, I don't have to be a
college professor to know what he's after.

- But why?
- Because certain people
want to buy this winery,

and I don't want to sell.

Maybe they figure
Marco or Stella...

or—or my grandkids
won't be so tough.

Jessie, we're not
talking nice people here.

But if you knew, why did
you let him come? To kill him?

No. The other way around. What?

You let him come here
so that he could kill you?

Jessica, what you've been
hearing about my health, it's all true...

Only worse.

I—I drink the wine for the
pain, but it don't do any good.

I only got a few
months left. That's all.

Salvatore, I'm sorry.

Now, what are you
sorry— That I'm dying?

So—So what?
That's not important.

I got a family here
that's not a family.

You see them. Only
worrying about themselves.

They're not thinking
about my— My winery,

about the legacy I
want to leave them.

And then I figure out...

What—What can I do to
bring this family together, huh?

To make them care.

Then it comes to me. Huh?

It's all here.
Huh? In this letter.

Who that guy was,
who he was working for,

and why they killed me.

I figured maybe this would
make the family so angry,

they'd pull together
to fight against this

bunch of thieves trying
to steal my company.

Oh, dear Lord.

It's all in the will.

The winery goes to the
whole family in equal shares.

Nobody can sell until
they all agree—all of them.

But when Tony almost
got killed because of me,

I figured I'd better kill this guy
before somebody else got hurt.

So I bring him down
here after the party.

I offer him a very
special glass of wine.

The first wine I ever bottled.

That bum's palate was so
dull he didn't taste nothin'.

Not the wine, not the poison.

I should've gave him junk.
It was a waste of good wine.

But murder? Of what?

I killed a wild dog?

I'll take my chances with God.

Jessica, you're a good friend.

You'll see my
family gets that letter.

Salvatore. Oh, no.

Oh, dear Lord. Paul! Stella!

Come—Come here quickly!

No, it's better this
way. Help me! Paul!

Jessica, we want you
to know— all of us...

Whatever happens, we're
going to fight to keep the winery.

I've been very selfish.

I never realized how much
Marco was like his father,

how much they
both loved the place.

We got to him in
time, Mr. Gambini.

Oh, thank God.

He's asking for you. Try
not to make it too long.

I knew there was something
I hated about this job.

Chief... Thaddeus.

You know, there isn't
any real evidence...

that Salvatore killed that man.

Yes, I know.

Except for his confession.

Which, frankly, is, uh— Well,
it's growing very dim in my mind.

Is it?

In fact, by the time the
country prosecutor...

gets around to
questioning me, I...

I wouldn't be surprised if it
hadn't faded away entirely.

You know, if the old fella
got himself a real good lawyer,

it'd probably take six months, maybe
a year before we'd get him to trail.

By that time—

Hardly seems worth the
bother of the paperwork.

That was my thought.