Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 4, Episode 8 - Steal Me a Story - full transcript

Believe me, I'm going to deal with Sid
Sharkey in the strongest possible terms.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

Shortly before the explosion,
a woman's footsteps

were heard in the
vicinity of his office.

She's got 87 lines. Eighty-seven.
Almost as much as me.

If you want that narcissistic
egomaniac on the

set, you're gonna
have to get him yourself.

You're the director!
You handle this!

I'm just lucky I wasn't in the same
room with him when the bomb went off.

- I told you to mind
your own business.
- Oh, dear Lord.

Well, now, Anne, lookee here.



If that don't beat
all. See that scar?

Well, good heavens, Doctor.
That looks like an old knife wound.

It sure does. I guess we
know what that means.

I'm sorry, Doctor. You're
way ahead of me, as usual.

Unless I missed my guess, Dalton
Ramsey was severely wounded...

Oh, I'd say no more
than two months ago.

Which means he was the
one who hid in the alley...

waiting for Agatha Baxendale's chauffeur
to respond to the blackmail note...

that had been sent to
Agatha's brother-in-law Sidney...

the night before Naomi
Randall's elopement with...

Ran off with who?
Siegfried Perlmutter.

Siegfried? Perlmutter? Naomi?

Who comes up with these
names anyway? All right. Cut!

See, that's what
we're selling here.



Gary's down-home,
easygoing style.

Brenda's the
big-city counterpart...

Urban, tough, independent.

That gets us access to the
younger female audience.

Well, now, Anne—
Now, when I say “tough,"

I mean strong but not enough
to turn off our male appeal.

Gary's our star, so
let him be the, uh,

engine that drives the story.

Think of Brenda as, uh,

the fireman stoking the engine.
Unless I missed my guess...

So, every week Dr. Steve Valiant
gets involved with a major crime. Right.

And Dr. Valiant solves the case with
foxy down-home common sense— Mm-hmm.

Um, assisted by his
street-smart big-city nurse.

Uh, keep the contrast sharp.

And in the end, Dr. Valiant
beats up the bad guys...

and hands them
over to the police.

Uh, more or less.

Um— Mr. Stone,

I don't want you to think that
I'm ungrateful for this opportunity,

but I'm not sure that I could think
of a story line that you would like.

Don't worry, honey. Have
I got a great plot for you.

Batted it out last night.

This is very good.

You bet it is.

Um, the only thing is...

Well, this business with the poison
and the dead brother who faked his death,

and then the switch at the end
with the fire at the mortuary...

Isn't that the same as
J.B. Fletcher's new book?

Similar. I read it last week.

Well, actually,
I didn't read it.

Somebody gave me a
three-paragraph synopsis. I don't know.

I don't think I could
just steal her plotline.

Honey,

what do you think
television's all about?

We haven't got time
to— To think up new plots.

Yeah, but...

Look, Miss Yamada,
I'm a busy guy.

Now, the network says,
"Use a female writer."

Well, okay. I'm using
one. The bucks are good.

You get your foot in the door.
Now, you want this gig or don't you?

Mrs. Fletcher, the newspaper
said you were leaving town today.

My publisher is
an absolute tyrant.

Having a chance to meet
my readers is such a pleasure.

"To Lydia, a devoted reader.
Love, Jessica Fletcher."

Oh, I thank you!

Wait till I show the girls.

Good evening. Good evening, Mrs.
Fletcher. I—I don't want to buy a book.

I—I mean, I bought
one last week.

But, um— Yes?

Is there somewhere
we could talk privately?

It's very important.

I mean, this is a tremendous
break for me, Mrs. Fletcher.

I can earn more from this one script
than I've made in the past two years.

But— stealing your story?

No way.

Anyway, I—I just wanted to let
you know what was happening.

And I appreciate
your telling me, Gayle.

This Mr. Stone sounds
like a very dishonest person.

- He's a television producer.
- Oh, now.

You're much too
young to be that cynical.

Well, I'm afraid if I don't do
this, he'll find someone who will.

If I were you, I
would get a lawyer.

Well, why don't we cross that
bridge when we come to it? Cookie?

Oh. Thank you.

Meanwhile— Yes?

Well, what about you and me
coming up with a new story?

Something that this
gentlemen may like even better.

Oh, no. No, no. I—I couldn't
impose on you like that. Why not?

I think it would
be a lot of fun.

And if your Mr. Stone
likes this scenario better,

well, then you can tell him it's
instead of stealing the plot of my book.

You're out on a ledge, Rocco.

Come to grips with your iniquity
while you still have a chance.

How in the name
of sweet St. Peter...

am I supposed to say this
garbage? Ask the director, Gary.

He seems to have
all the answers.

Mr. Puzo thinks of
us as talking furniture.

Well, I guess we'll have to fix
it ourselves like we always do.

Brenda, you fix this, and I'm
putting you up for an Emmy.

Gary, honey— Excuse me.

Leo just called. He says he
has to talk to you right away.

Leo, huh? Sounds expensive.

Leo's phone calls usually are.

Wait'll you see what our road company
John Huston's gonna do with our next scene,

aside from the obvious.

Not going well? About
the same as usual.

They even ran
out of coffee. Bert?

Problem, Bren? Um, Edie,
sweetheart? Move to your left a little.

Perhaps you could tell
me what the dramatic

values are in this scene
we're about to shoot.

It's about two pages long, and we
have to have it in the can by 4:00,

which means we hit our
marks and say our lines.

Charlie, what are you waiting for, a solar
eclipse? Let's get the show on the road.

Leo, I'm not interested...

in putting any more money into
them Mexican hamburger joints.

Look, Leo, I'm getting real tired of
pouring my paychecks down a rat hole.

Well— Well, that's
just fine, old buddy,

but I sure don't feel rich!

I had more money in my jeans when I
was hauling furniture back in Richmond.

Look, Leo, I don't want
to talk about it now.

Call me later. Later, Leo!

Take it easy, hon.

Here's your tea. Bloodsucker!

Ten percent to Leo,
10% to my agent...

Never mind my personal manager,

my lawyer, my publicist.

And all out of a lousy
50,000 an episode.

I know, sweetheart.
It gets me too.

You're worth twice that.

Where would this
show be without me?

It sure ain't the scripts.

And it sure ain't
Miss Brass Bottom.

Diane, did you see the new
script? They're beefin' up her part.

She's got 87 lines. Eighty-seven!
Almost as much as me.

Maybe something's goin' on.

Maybe they're
trying to push me out.

Executive Producer, 12:00 high.

Hey, Sid, welcome.

I just came from dailies.
Do you call that stuff film?

Where were you yesterday? Your
head, I mean. Oh, come on, Sid...

No, you come on. You're
already a day behind

schedule. Do you know
what that is in dollars?

Maybe if I was seeing Citizen Kane up
on the screen— Will you give me a break?

I got a blind cameraman,
the gaffer's loaded by 10:00...

and kindly Dr. Steven Valiant can't
remember two sentences in a row!

Always got an excuse, huh, baby?

Hey listen. You think you
can do any better? It's all yours.

But I gotta tell you,
Patterson's bad news.

I know he's the show, Sid,
but you gotta do something.

No, you gotta do something.

Hey, I gotta call Kate Hollander over at
the network. I got a new series cooking.

Undercover Urchins.

Five little street kids— black, white,
yellow. You know, assorted colors.

But the neat thing is—get
this— They work for the cops.

Solving crimes. Sounds great.

Yeah, it's got good topspin. If it
goes, I'm gonna use you on it...

If you get Gary
Patterson straightened out.

Okay? Huh? Okay?

Excuse me. Mr. Sharkey.

Hey, sweetheart. How's it goin'?

Lousy, thanks. I want to talk
to you about this new script.

Yeah, what about it? Who
writes this crap anyway?

And then she starts down the
stairs into the dark, damp basement.

The dark figure in the
shadow steps forward,

but we only see his feet.

Yeah, yeah. It's—It's—
It's nice. It's very nice.

- Listen, Miss
Yamada— - Very nice?

Well, it's even pretty good.

But it's not our kind of story.

Well, I'm sorry.
Honey, it's too original.

Our audience doesn't wanna
think about what's going on.

They tune in Danger Doctor
to see something, uh, familiar.

Hey, if it were up to me, I
could maybe give it a shot.

Miss Fletcher was afraid
this was going to happen.

- Fletcher? What's she got to do with this?
- Well...

Well, this new story,
it's—it's really her idea.

Well, you see, I
went to see her—

You saw J.B. Fletcher? What for?

Well, to tell her.
To— To tell her what,

that we're ripping
off one of her stories?

Oh. Beautiful. I mean, I can see that
you've got a real future in this business.

Listen. We'll be
talking to your agent.

Oh— L-Look, I'm sorry, Mr. Stone,
but— but in good conscience, I...

Yeah. Honey, do yourself a favor.
That conscience of yours? Lose it.

Thanks for stopping by.

And my name is Gayle.

Gayle, calm down.
I'll handle this.

Look, the network has been
negotiating for the rights...

on one of my books
for a miniseries.

Oh, yes. There is definitely something that
I can do about Mr. Stone and Mr. Sharkey.

Miss Hollander's office. I'm
sorry. She's on another line.

May I take a message?

Oh, yes, Mr. Bernstein.
I have you on the list.

Yes, three times.

I've told her.

Yes, sir. I'll tell her again.

Good afternoon. Hello. I'm Jessica
Fletcher. I have an appointment.

Oh, yes. Mrs. Fletcher.

Miss Hollander's tied
up at the moment, but, uh,

the moment she's free,
I'll tell her you're here.

Please have a seat. Thank you.

That sounds a lot
like a threat, Sidney.

Kate, this is Sid
Sharkey. Right.

Kate, we're talking
high concept here.

Orphaned kids of the street
facing danger every minute...

to uphold the
American way of life.

Sid, you're talking the
Dead End Kids meet

Mod Squad. It's as
stale as a week-old bagel.

Kate, uh, I don't think
that you remember...

that you're talking to the man who's
responsible for one of your few hits.

Wrong, Sidney. They tune
in to see Gary and Brenda.

Besides, Avery Stone is
twice the producer you are.

You've been in on a
pass since day one.

Well, I'm sorry to hear
you say that, Katie.

When the boys in New York start
getting nervous about next year's schedule,

I hope it doesn't come down to
a choice between you and me!

Have a nice day!

Yes? Mrs. Fletcher to
see you, Miss Hollander.

Oh, yes. Have her come in.

I mean, I'm—I'm hurt and
bewildered and a little angry,

Miss Hollander, that this kind of,
well, outright theft could be permitted.

I can assure you, Mrs. Fletcher,

that this sort of behavior is not
condoned here— certainly not by me.

Well, I was sure that it wasn't.

And while I have not read your
new book, I'm sure it's delightful.

- I've been a fan of yours
for so many years.
- Oh, thank you.

Which is why I've been
fighting so hard to do...

that earlier book of
yours as a miniseries.

- Uh, Murder at the Asylum?
- I loved every page.

Oh, dear, I must be confused.

Um, I think that we're negotiating
Calvin Canterbury's Revenge.

Yes, of course we are. And
that one was even better.

Mrs. Fletcher—Jessica,

believe me, I'm going to deal with Sid
Sharkey in the strongest possible terms.

You have my word. He will
no longer be a bother to you.

Thank you. I feel very relieved,
Miss Hollander. Good-bye.

What the hell is this
"Get in here now"?

The last time I looked,
we were partners!

Right— 60/40, and I'm the 60.

What's going on between
you and Kate Hollander? What?

You been sucking up to her
behind my back? Of course not.

Buddy boy, I can feel the knife
between my shoulder blades.

All of a sudden, you're
the fair-haired boy.

You, who couldn't even get arrested
in this town a couple of years ago.

You, with so many bombs on your
résumé, you could stock your own arsenal.

- Hey, I don't have to take this.
- You don't make that show go. I do. Me!

Oh, come on, Sid. You don't even

know which end of the
camera the film goes in.

You think I can't run this series? Well,
buddy boy, you've never been more wrong.

- You're through.
- Oh, no. We got a contract.

Talk to my lawyer. Get out!

No, no. You're gonna
be talking to my lawyer!

You want me out
of here, Sid? Fine.

I'll be able to retire 10 times over
on what I'm gonna get out of you.

And meantime, I'm
gonna keep on working.

And if you want me out, buddy boy,
you're gonna have to throw me out!

What? The director
called, Mr. Sharkey.

Gary Patterson just
walked off the set.

Well, what do they
want me to do about it?

You're the director! You
handle it! Sid! Wait a minute!

What do you want me to do, threaten
him with suspension or replacement?

It's your responsibility!
Get serious, will ya?

Look, if you want that
narcissistic egomaniac on

the set, you're gonna
have to get him yourself.

I don't talk to actors.

Schmooze him. Give him
anything. Promise him anything.

Just get him back to work. Because if
you don't, I'm yanking you off the picture.

Do that!

Come here a minute.

Remember a couple of years ago when
I found you in that motel room in Tijuana,

your brain half-friend from that
stuff you were putting up your nose?

Do you remember who
kept his mouth shut and

gave you your first
shot when you got out?

I never said I wasn't
grateful. Then do me a favor.

Get Patterson back to work.

Now, you understand
what I'm saying to you.

Sid— I'm in kind
of a hurry, baby.

A week ago I asked you to write
me out of the next three shows.

I can't do that. Buddy Perlman
wants me for his new feature.

Now, Sid, this is a real
break. But my agent

has to know today. What
do I have to do, beg?

Sweetheart, listen to me.
Forget features. Forget Perlman.

You're a TV star
making big bucks.

I'm warning you. I'll walk.

You do, and you'll be slingin' hash
at Dinty Moore's the rest of your life.

We've got a contract—
You and me, remember?

Now it may be a trap, but it's
lined with mink, so like they say,

lay back and enjoy it.

Uh, excuse me. I'm
looking for Mr. Sharkey.

Oh, I'm sorry. He's not here.

Well, I'm Jessica Fletcher,
and I— Oh, Mrs. Fletcher.

I'm Freida Schmidt. I'm
Mr. Sharkey's secretary.

How do you do? I
have your message...

for Mr. Sharkey right here.

I'm sure he'll return your
call as soon as possible.

Yes, well, I have a
great deal to say to him,

and given a choice, I'd
rather say it in person.

Uh-huh.

Mr. Sharkey's office.

Oh, Mr. Perlman.

Lunch tomorrow.

The Polo Lounge at 1:00.

I'll see that he
gets the message.

Almost 7:00. Time
to call it a day.

Uh, yes. Well, uh— I wonder,
may I use your phone to call a cab?

Well, uh, where are you
staying? I'll be glad to drop you.

Oh, no. I couldn't bother you.
Nonsense. I'd be delighted.

Well, thank you.
That's very kind indeed.

Nothing waiting for me at home
except an antisocial cat and a TV dinner.

Good evening, Mr. Stone.
Good evening, Carmen.

Another late night, sir?

Sounds like I'm
not the only one.

Now, that's strange. I thought that
you were the last person still here.

Avery!

Hey, fellow, listen, I'm sorry about
that little blowup this afternoon.

You always are,
Sid, sooner or later.

No hard feelings?
No more than usual.

Listen, big guy, the
company's down on Stage 44.

They're moving slower
than a three-legged turtle.

Puzo's in his trailer with
another anxiety attack.

You hired him, Sid! Yeah,
well, this time he's through.

You find out whoever's available, 'cause
we're gonna dump him in the morning.

Carmen, ever consider
becoming a highly paid producer?

No. Don't.

Uh, Jessica Fletcher.
Lieutenant Bradshaw, please.

Uh, Mr. Stone's office.
End of the corridor, turn left.

Thank you. You're welcome.

They broke for a meal
30 minutes ago— Gayle?

Mrs. Fletcher, what
are you doing here?

I was summoned here. But
what in the world is going on?

Sid Sharkey's dead.
Something about a bomb.

That's all I know. Oh, Lord.

Have a seat. I
may need you later.

- Just who are you?
- Jessica Fletcher. And you?

- Take a seat inside.
- Excuse me, Lieutenant,

may I ask why— Just where in
the hell is this Hollander woman?

We called her an hour ago. I don't
think that we're gonna be able to get her.

I want her here in five minutes. If she's
not here, send the car and bring her.

The head of the studio says
that she's a very influential...

I couldn't care if she was the queen
of Hollywood. I want her here now.

If you please, ma'am.

Oh. You may sit down.

- Why, thank you,
Lieutenant, uh— - Bradshaw.

Where have you been for these past three
hours, Mrs. Fletcher? And can you prove it?

Now just one moment, Lieutenant
Bradshaw. I am here of my own free will.

For what reason, I have no idea.

And before I answer
any of your questions,

I'd like to know why I was
summoned so abruptly to this studio.

Shortly before 9:00, Sidney
Sharkey was blown to his reward...

by a sizable amount of dynamite,

the said explosive being
hidden in what we believe to be...

a package wrapped in pink
feminine wrapping paper.

Now, shortly before
the explosion, a woman's

footsteps were heard in
the vicinity of his office.

Yeah, but what's
that got to do with me?

I mean, I was never involved with
Mr. Sharkey. I don't even know him.

- You see, I am a writer—a novelist.
- Oh, I know who you are.

I even read a few of your
books a few years back.

Frankly, it was a
waste of my time.

Well, thank you. You called
the guy you didn't know,

said you had to speak to
him on an urgent matter.

Yeah. Well, I can explain that.

Now true or not—Sharkey
was going to steal

your plotline of your
latest book, wasn't he?

Yes, he was trying to
steal it, but, my goodness,

that was no reason for me to
resort to murder to stop him.

No? You came to
see him around 7:00.

Yes, and I left at 7:10.

The guard checked you in
and never checked you out.

Because his secretary and
I left by the back staircase.

It was a quicker
way to get to her car.

- But you could've
come back later the same way.
- That's ridiculous.

Oh, we'll see.

I'm not involved, Mrs. Fletcher.
I did not leave that package.

Well, don't take it
personally. Lieutenant

Bradshaw seems to be
accusing every woman in sight,

including me.
But I had no alibi.

I mean, I was at my
apartment from about 4:00...

writing until about 10:30,
when this policeman

came to my door to
take me to the studio.

And you were alone? Except
for my canary. Mrs. Fletcher,

I haven't been here in
Hollywoodland for very long,

but one thing I have learned...

Protect your fanny at all costs.

I mean, this creep Bradshaw is out to
make brownie points by solving this murder.

Well, that was my
impression precisely.

By the way, do you
have an alibi for 8:45?

- I was soaking in a hot tub.
- Anyone with you?

Thank you.

I know that— Sid would
have appreciated this...

This moment of respect.

As, uh, some of you already
know, we will be dedicating...

the remainder of this
season to his memory.

Okay, folks, back to work now.

Bert,

I don't want any repeat of last
night. What are you talking about?

I am paying you to direct
the picture, not your assistant.

I understand that you went off to your
trailer a half-hour before dinner break.

I wasn't feeling well, Avery. I had
the shakes. I nearly passed out.

Working for Sid will do that to
you. Well, you're working for me now.

What's past is past. So
deliver me a picture, okay?

You got it.

Mr. Stone— Uh,

Mrs. Fletcher, isn't it? Yes.

I'm, uh—I'm terribly sorry you
had to get involved in all this. Yes...

Say, you know that story that
you worked out with Miss Yamada?

Personally, I
loved it. But Sid...

Well, Sid never did have
much taste. So nice to meet you.

Mr. Stone, I wonder if I could
bother you for a few minutes.

I need to talk to
you about last night.

Sorry. I don't know
anything about last night.

Oh, yes, of course. You
left just before the explosion.

I'm just lucky I wasn't in the same
room with him when the bomb went off.

Yes. I suppose now that
Mr. Sharkey's dead, you'll be in charge.

Look, Mrs. Fletcher, whatever's
going on here is none of your concern.

Furthermore, you have no
business being on this set,

or on the studio
grounds, for that matter.

And I'd very much
appreciate it if you'd leave.

Mrs. Fletcher, excuse me.

I'm Diane Crane. Oh, yes.

I'm a close personal friend
of the star, Gary Patterson.

He's in his dressing room now.
He would really adore to meet you.

Oh. Please.

Well, now. Whoa!

This gal's not only a brain.
She's a mighty powerful armful too.

Well, it's a pleasure to meet you,
ma'am. Well, it's mutual, Mr. Patterson.

You know, I just love
your movies. Movies?

Hell, I haven't had a movie in
nine years. Please, sit down.

Thank you. No,
sir. Don't care to.

Television—That's where it's at.

Reaching tens of millions of
people, week in and week out.

Yeah. Oh, and
please, call me Gary.

Yes?

Uh, we're ready for you on
the set there, Mr. Patterson.

Is Sarah Bernhardt out
of her motor home yet?

I'm not sure, sir. Well, son,

you come back when
you are sure. Okay.

Well, now, Jessica...

If you watch television,
I'm sure you know...

that good writers are scarcer
than snowballs in Tallahassee.

Which is why I am prepared to
make you a million-dollar proposition.

What? Oh, no, really...

Now hear me out, little lady. I'm not
talking about just writing an episode.

No, ma'am. Mm-mmm. I
want you to ramrod the scripts...

All of 'em. But I don't know
anything about writing for television.

What's to know? "He said,"
"she said," blah, blah, blah.

I was here last night from 8:30 to 9:30
just trying to make sense of my next scene.

Oh, you were here alone?

Yes, uh—Well, no. I mean,
well, me and the little lady...

Uh, Gary likes to bounce
his ideas off of me.

Yes?

Oh. Gary, excuse
me. So sorry to bust in.

Mrs. Fletcher, I believe I asked
you politely to leave the lot.

She is talking to me, Stone.

Oh, fine. But, uh, when
she's finished, I would

like to have her escorted
out the main gate.

Mr. Stone, I'm afraid
that that presents

something of a problem.
You see, Mr. Patterson...

has offered me a job
developing scripts for the show,

and, uh, I've decided to accept.

I'm so sorry we couldn't
get you something better,

but, uh, they give all the really
good offices to the movie people.

Ah, I think this is lovely.

Oh, you should see what the
genius in the corner office has.

His last two pictures
lost 30 million bucks.

His fridge is stuffed
with beluga caviar.

Us they send Beer Nuts.

Well, anything you
need, I'll be right outside.

Just buzz. Freida, I haven't had an
opportunity to extend my condolences.

I understand you were with
Mr. Sharkey for 15 years.

Seventeen. Even before he
was the Hollywood wunderkind.

You know, everything that man
touched turned into a 40 share.

Everything. And then, poof.

Well, you must
have been very close.

Actually, I hated the warthog.

You know, I, uh, didn't
start out as a secretary.

Oh, yes.

Nah, nah, nah. Nothing
like that. I was his assistant.

I was supposed to
get a shot at producing.

At least that's what
he promised me.

But he always found an excuse
to keep me at the file drawer.

By the time I realized what a
louse he was, it was too late.

He paid me so much,
I had to stay. Mmm.

You know, Freida, that package
wasn't on the desk at 7:00.

Somebody must have
put it there after we left.

Oh, sure. The woman— the one
whose footsteps they heard. Probably.

Still...

Is there anything that
happened that day,

anything that you can remember
that was out of the ordinary?

It was the same old stuff.

I mean, Sid was aggravating
people right and left.

You know, there is
something I did notice.

What was that?

I got a quick look inside
his office right after

the explosion just
before they sealed it up,

and one of the file
drawers was open.

Now, I would never have
left it open like that, ever.

Was there anything special
in that particular file drawer?

Mm-hmm. All his
personal files...

Correspondence,
contracts, that sort of thing.

Freida, is it possible you could
invent a reason to look in that drawer?

Sure. Why not?

Good.

Let me know what
you find or don't find.

Meanwhile, I'm going to have
a chat with Mr. Avery Stone.

Come on, Chuck. You
tired of the show, or what?

Lay off, Avery. I approved
the set. It looks great.

Since when are you an
expert? That sloping ceiling...

That looks good? You think
we're casting midgets here?

Eighty-six the ceiling, Chuck. And the
wallpaper. And the windows. Dump it.

And I want a new set of
plans on my desk by 6:00.

Okay, boys? Okay.

Oh— Sorry.

Mrs. Fletcher. We keep
bumping into each other. Yes.

Uh, how's your new office?
Oh, just fine, thank you.

Great. You know, it's really
terrific having you on the show.

I can't tell you how long I've been
trying to get the network people...

to do new ideas, fresh,
original story lines.

Well, I'm just beginning to grasp
what an enormous responsibility I have.

I mean, trying to
please everyone.

Oh, poor Mr. Sharkey. No wonder
everyone was sniping at him.

You know, I had no idea how
universally disliked he was. Yeah.

His, uh, passing has
left a real void in my life.

Oh, yes. I'm sure.

But I'm not sure
that Kate Hollander,

our lady at the, uh, network
shares the same sense of loss.

The Iron Nightingale?

She hated Sid. You know
why? Because she needed him.

He talked her into
putting Danger Doctor on

the air. She thought
the show was garbage.

Of course, once it was a hit, she
started taking bows all over town.

Another crisis. I have to
get to a phone. Excuse me.

Oh— Oh. You know that, uh,
new story of Miss Yamada's?

Put it into work right away.
It's clever, original, and, uh—

Who knows? It might
even make a good episode.

Jessica. Thank
heavens I found you.

Diane, what is it?
What's the matter?

I've been looking
all over for you.

It's this latest script.
Gary absolutely hates it.

Ah. I'm sorry. I
haven't had a chance...

Gary would never dream
of asking you himself,

but if you could just see your
way to do some polish on it.

But I'm not a
screenwriter. I mean...

Well, Gary has
some wonderful ideas.

If you could sit down with
him for just a few minutes...

No, really. Writing a
script is Avery Stone's job.

That hack? He has not had
an original idea in his whole life.

Jessica, please.

I really don't want
to disappoint Gary.

He's having such
a rough time lately.

Diane, how long have
you been doing this?

Doing what? Running
interference for Mr. Patterson.

I mean, I love that act...

You know, that folksy,
warm, down-home character.

But that's really all it
is, isn't it? It's just an act.

No. And as long as he's got
you to do his dirty work for him,

he can maintain that image.

Isn't that right?

He wants everybody to love him.

Inside, he's just
a scared little boy.

I guess that comes
with being a star.

And did Mr. Sharkey love him?

Maybe I should turn
that question around.

How did he feel
about Sid Sharkey?

Gary didn't kill him.
I didn't ask you that.

Gary was in his dressing room
during the supper break the entire time.

I'll swear to it.
And will he swear...

that you were there
with him the entire time?

Oh, Diane. Even a blind man can
see that you two were lying earlier.

I did leave the dressing
room for a short time.

He needed some
medicine from home.

I left by the back gate. Our
house isn't very far from here.

I wasn't gone long, really.

When we learned that they
had heard a woman's footsteps...

in the corridor shortly
before the explosion,

well, we just
decided to keep quiet.

Do you think we
did the wrong thing?

I think that you should tell
Lieutenant Bradshaw the truth.

He's a bulldog, but he's fair.

And until he has all the facts, I don't
think he'll make any wild accusations.

You did it, honey.
You killed the guy.

And I'm this far from proving it. That's
a slanderous accusation, Lieutenant.

That's all right. I can
handle this, Leon.

Oh. You say you have no alibi
after 8:00 p.m. the night of the murder.

Nor do I need one. Why would
she kill him? They were close.

In fact, Miss Hollander was on the
verge of buying a new series from the man.

Make sure you
get that in the story.

Could we stop worrying
about publicity here?

Miss Hollander is being interrogated
in connection with a murder.

Which just happens
to be front-page stuff.

- Look, we know she's not guilty.
- You know it, but I don't.

Oh, Lieutenant. I told you you were
wasting your time when you walked in here.

Obviously this is just
a fishing expedition.

Or maybe the lieutenant is
looking for a little press of his own...

with this unwarranted
interrogation.

Miss Hollander, did
you or did you not tell

Mrs. J.B. Fletcher— and
I have a direct quote...

"I'm going to deal with Sid Sharkey
in the strongest possible terms"?

- Oh, for heaven's sake.
- "You have my word
he will no longer be a problem."

It was just an expression.
Sounds more like a threat to me.

This is a total waste of time.

Hello? Look, Miss Hollander is
trying to cooperate, Lieutenant.

Then have her tell me
where she was between

8:00 and 10:30 the
night Sharkey was killed!

I was in bed reading scripts.

Terrific.

My secretary was in the
bed too— Taking notes.

- Don't write that down.
- That was USA Today.

They want to do a three-column
layout on you in Thursday's edition.

Work it out.

Now, where were we?

I believe we were
discussing dictation.

Hello, Gayle. Mrs. Fletcher.

Oh. Are you really sure that
you want to be in this business?

I'm really beginning to wonder.

What have we got
here? CAA? ICM? APA?

These sound like some
sort of ballistic missiles.

Agents. Oh.

News of your new job
traveled fast. They're calling

with their congratulations
and their client lists...

Not necessarily in that order.

I gather that, uh, you've, uh, heard
from Mr. Stone about our story.

Yes. And I don't want you
to think that I'm ungrateful,

but, well...

Maybe we just have
so many words in us,

and I'm not sure that I want to waste
any of mine on fearless Steve Valiant, M.D.

Well, you won't get
any argument from me.

Well, the fact is, I've got 40
pages of a novel in my desk drawer,

and, well, although I know it
means starvation for a while,

I-I'd like to give it
another try. Good for you.

And when you think you're ready to
have it read, I'd be glad to look at it.

Would you? Of course.

Oh, that's just super.

And good luck. Oh,
thanks, Mrs. Fletcher.

Thanks.

Hi.

Well, what about that file drawer?
Did you manage to get a look?

I sure did. And one piece of
paper is conspicuously absent...

Brenda Blake's personal
services contract with Sid Sharkey.

You've stitched your
last sutures, Doc.

You won't shoot me.
You haven't the guts.

Steve— Cut!

Okay, uh, Mario, bring in
the stunt people, please.

Stunt people now, please.

Uh, Miss Blake, we
have to talk right away.

Look, I'm in the next shot.

Hey, is this— Is this
about my movie?

Uh, no. It's about
your contract...

The one that disappeared from
the files in Sid Sharkey's office.

- I'm—I'm sorry. I don't know
what you're— - Mrs. Fletcher.

Lieutenant. What
are you doing here?

Maybe we came up with the same
three cherries on the slot machine,

but I've got the warrant.

Brenda Blake,

I'm placing you under arrest
for the murder of Sidney Sharkey.

I didn't kill him. I
mean, why would I?

You're an actress,
sweetheart. Buddy Perlman

had offered you a
big part in his movie.

Sharkey wouldn't let you out. And for
me, that's motive enough for murder.

- Who says he wasn't
going to let me out?
- Ah!

The fact is, Bert
Puzo told me...

that Sid was having lunch with
Perlman the next day at the Polo Lounge.

Do you know what
that says to me?

Sid was going to sell
me off for a big price.

Oh, yes. Your personal
services contract.

Look, I couldn't
have killed him.

During the dinner break, I was lying
down in my motor home the whole time.

Well, that's odd. The assistant
director came by the motor home...

and knocked several times,
but you did not answer.

Well, yes, I—I did hear the knock, but I
was dozing, so I just decided to ignore it.

- I'm sorry, Miss Blake,
but I made that up.
- What?

Well, you better
start telling the truth,

sweetheart. I'm running
out of patience with you.

Okay, okay.

- I did leave my trailer,
and I did go to Sid's office.
- Now we're getting somewhere.

I had to get that
contract away from him.

Do you know what it's
like doing this dumb series,

grinding out sausage for two
schlockmeisters like Sharkey and Stone?

I—I am an actress.

And it was your footsteps they heard
in the corridor... shortly before 9:00.

And what about the package—
The one wrapped in the pink paper?

Did you see that on the
desk? I don't know. I...

Wait a minute. Yes.

Yes, I did see it.

Oh, great. That means anyone
could have left it there earlier.

Not just anyone.
Someone specific.

- You know who?
- I have a good idea.

Freida, how late is the
company working tonight?

- Till about midnight.
- Uh, Mrs. Fletcher,

if you've got an
idea, uh, let's hear it.

Freida, would you
come in, please?

Look, I don't know how
legal this is or if it'll work,

but without any real proof, it may be the
only chance we have to catch the killer.

Bert?

What do you say, Freida?

I've been waiting all
day to talk to you, Bert.

You were there last
night in Sid's office.

Must've been when you were supposed to be
in your trailer having that anxiety attack.

What is this, a joke?

You had to be there.

You told Brenda about
that luncheon engagement...

with Buddy Perlman
at the Polo Lounge.

How'd you know about that, Bert?

Call came in at 7:00.

I put it on the calendar.

You couldn't have known about
it unless you saw his calendar...

when you put the
bomb on his desk.

You're crazy.

Look, I'm not
going to the police.

Well, not yet.

Well, Sid's dead.

I need a place to land—
Somewhere secure.

Oh, I'm not greedy, Bert.

You'll find I'm a very
agreeable partner.

Freida, I need these
notes typed up right away.

Mr. Stone, it's almost 8:00.

These'll take a couple of hours.

We all have to
do our bit, Freida.

Terrific.

Sure thing, Mr. Stone. Pleasure.

We'll talk later, Bert.

Sorry.

Didn't mean to scare
you. Lieutenant?

Sorry, sir.

Well, nice idea while it
lasted, but he never bit.

They broke for a
meal 30 minutes ago.

Puzo left the set only once— to put
his briefcase in the trunk of his car,

and then he joined the
others for supper. His trunk?

I saw him go to his car this
morning. He doesn't have a trunk.

What kind of a car
was that, Sergeant,

and where was it parked?

Well, Anne, I guess you can
file this one away. Case closed.

Cut! That's a wrap, folks.

Uh, Mr. Puzo? I know it's
late, but I have to talk to you.

You're right, Mrs.
Fletcher. It is late.

Uh, can't this
wait? No, it can't.

What do you mean,
strange? Freida is a rock.

You're wrong. Oh, no. No, I'm
sorry. There's something wrong.

I mean, uh— She's been in such a strange
mood, and when I mentioned your name...

Mrs. Fletcher.

I told you to mind
your own business.

- Freida, you crazy?
- Yes. Crazy to have ever trusted you.

Now move.

Both of you. Oh, now
wait just a minute...

I said move before
I hurt somebody.

Oh, dear Lord. Look, I don't
know what you think you're doing...

Oh, I'm taking you
to the police, Bert.

And at this point, I don't very much
care whether I drag you in alive or dead.

Now start walking. My
car's just around the corner.

I think we should
do as she asks.

- Puzo, get behind the wheel.
- No.

Please, Mr. Puzo. I
think she means it.

- Freida, you're insane.
- Maybe I am.

Get in.

In! And shut the door.

Let's go. Freida,
for God's sake...

Start up the engine.

- Well, then I'll do it.
- No!

We've already removed the bomb
you planted from the car, Mr. Puzo.

We didn't want to see any
more people get blown up.

Well, Mrs. Fletcher, I— I
guess I ought to say thanks.

You may not be much of a writer,
but, uh, you'd make one hell of a cop.

Well, I'll take that in the spirit
in which it was intended—I think.

Um, can I give you
a lift somewhere?

Oh, thanks, no. I'm gonna to say
good-bye to Diane and Gary, and, uh...

Actually, I'm resigning. Now
don't get talked into anything.

Absolutely not.

Jessica!

Jessica, thank
God I've caught you!

Hello, Miss Hollander. You
cannot leave until we've talked.

If it's about the miniseries, would
you take it up with my agent?

Forget the mini. I've got
a much better idea. Oh?

A weekly series. The Jessica
Fletcher Mystery Hour. What?

The real-life adventures of a
crime-busting mystery writer.

No, no, no, no.

Oh, yes, yes. It'll
be sensational.

New, different,
original, but familiar.

Miss Hollander, I
don't write gunfights,

car chases or bedroom
scenes, so who would watch?

I'm sorry, but that is absolutely
the worst idea I have ever heard.