Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996): Season 9, Episode 22 - Love's Deadly Desire - full transcript

Dead! Totally, absolutely dead!

If the second half of your
new novel is as spellbinding,

you have another
bestseller on your hands.

Just because you bought my father
does not mean you can buy me, too.

I can guarantee you'll never
see another cent from us.

You look absolutely delicious.

Unless we move very fast,
there could be more murders.

That whole bunch was loony.

You so much as breathe
heavy, I go straight to Valerie.

Hold it, Coile!

Seth! Look out!



Hey, move it before
somebody sees us!

You said we'd have the
run of the beach, Coile.

Now, you told me that
old lighthouse was empty.

I did the best I could.

Anyway, their lease is
up in a couple of days.

By next time, we'll have
the beach all to ourselves.

Well, we better.

And if you can't deliver,

there's a half a dozen other guys
between here and Nova Scotia.

I told you, Larry...
Next Thursday, okay?

I know a guy in Quincy can
move this stuff in a big way.

Yeah. You'll get rich yet, Phil,
unless you send us all to the joint first.

"There was never any
question in Rebecca's mind

"that Squire Sydney's primary
business was smuggling.



"But could she reach
Constable Trelawney in time?

"Undaunted, she pressed on, determined
to arrive before the storm broke.

"She felt the cold blast of the
northeasterly against her cheek,

"while above, the scudding
clouds broke apart in a sudden fury.

"She quickened her pace,

"regretting the stubborn pride that had
forced her to refuse Vance Pembroke's

"offer of a ride
out to the estate.

"Rounding a bend, she peered
ahead, relief flooding her face.

"The lights of the house
shone in the distance,

luring her on with
their illusion of safety.

"Sacrificing all decorum,
she dashed up the walk,

"little knowing or caring what
twisted fate destiny might unleash.

"Rebecca reached the door."

Dead! Totally, absolutely dead!

What? WOMAN 2:
What is she talking about?

Ladies, please,
give her a chance.

All right. It's all right.
Now take a deep breath.

Tell us what happened.
Who? Who is dead?

Who? You mean, "What?" My car. Darn thing
died on me all the way back at Elm Street.

I hope I didn't
wreck everything.

Oh, of course not.

Oh, it seems that the weather
is conspiring against us.

With this storm on the way,
we probably ought to dispense

with the question
and answer period.

So I suggest that we all thank Miss
Stone for truly a memorable evening

and wish her and her family
a safe trip back to New York.

Oh, thank you. Thank you.

My stay in Cabot Cove has been
an absolutely marvelous experience.

Well, I have to
say this, Sibella,

if the second half of your
new novel is as spellbinding

as the first chapter
you read to us tonight,

you have another
bestseller on your hands.

Oh, I absolutely agree.

Miss Stone, Sibella,
would it be presumptuous

to ask, do you ever
miss the Count?

Your first husband?

Oh, I suppose my
reaction says it all.

Actually, Boris, Count
Risovsky, was a darling man,

but after my first novel, the men I
wrote became far more forceful, vivid...

Ah! There you are!

Hello, Derek. Hi, Jessica.

There she is.

Darling.

Sorry I'm late. I've been on the
phone all afternoon to the coast.

Oh, poor dear. That manuscript?

Actually, I think I have it
presold as a miniseries.

Oh, Derek, that's...

That's really terrific.

It's your classic Cinderella
story. Jessica, can you believe it?

This housewife from
Enid, Oklahoma...

What's her name?
Bobbie Jo Peckinpaw.

Yeah. She sends Derek the
very first thing she's ever written,

straight over the
transom, and it's fabulous.

Well, a little rough
around the edges, but...

But it means there's
hope for all of us.

Exactly. Jessica, now, please, you must
come by and see those journals I found.

One of them dates from
1843. They are amazing.

Well, I'd be most
interested, thank you.

Good night.

Oh, and drive carefully.

Um...

Marian, not now!

Well, I hope he got it. I don't if
he did. Howdy, Jim. How are you?

Hi, Dr. Hazlitt!

I'm sorry, Miss Reed.
Excuse me. How are you?

I'm fine, thanks.

Oh!

Ugh!

Look at my trousers.

What about... Miss,
are you all right?

I'll survive, which may be
more than I can say for my mail.

How about we take a look
before we leap to conclusions, eh?

There.

They're almost dry as a bone,
wouldn't you say, Miss, uh, Hartman?

Pity about your dry-cleaning.

Oh, drat!

Next time, perhaps you'll
look where you're going.

Colin, enough.

Young man, you've got to be
the rudest, most inconsiderate

person I've met in a long time.

Colin, it's time to get going.

Look, mister, get your jacket cleaned
and put it on the Stone account.

She's renting the bay house.

Stone. You mean the novelist?

My stepmother. And don't
worry, she's good for it.

Monroe?

You'd better snap to.
Mr. Turner's grumbling again.

Oh, thanks.

Mrs. Fletcher, wait!

It's Phil, isn't it?

Yes, ma'am, Phil Coile.

Of course! How's your mother?

Oh, much better, thanks.
Back's hardly bothering her at all.

Reason I yelled, Mrs.
Fletcher, that first step's broken.

Hit it wrong, you might
break a leg or worse.

Well, thank you for warning me.

I tried warning her,
too. Miss Stone, I mean.

Told her the place is falling apart
and what's she do? She rents it anyway.

And now I hear they
wanna stay another week.

You might wanna do
her a favor, Mrs. Fletcher.

Talk her into leaving
before somebody gets hurt.

Here we are.

Oh, Jessica, you're
an absolute angel.

I couldn't think where
in the world I'd left it.

Please, come and
sit down. Thank you.

And you know, I
couldn't ask Derek.

Well, if he I'd lost the very
first gift he ever gave me...

I understand from Phil Coile that you're
planning to spend a few more days here.

It has been so wonderful.
I'll be able to finish my book.

Assuming, that is,
that rocket scientist

can keep the place from
totally crumbling for that long.

And then, my reward. Three weeks
in Montego Bay, just Derek and me.

Here are the journals. But why don't
we take them outside and look at them?

What a good idea.

And, Marian, be a dear and fax
these copy changes back to New York?

I'll take care of it.

Nice to see you
again, Mrs. Fletcher.

Thank you, Marian.

"And as the snows of the
hardest winter in memory

"shed their melting
tears outside my window,

"I saw all nature wake, as
from a long and peaceful sleep.

"The robin's song this morning had all
the sweetness of a nosegay of violets."

Oh, Sibella, these
really are a find.

You know, I must
check with the owner

and see if he won't donate
these to the local library.

You know, this one
dates from 1879.

Apparently written by the
daughter when she was about 10.

Well, that would be... Let me think, now.
That would be Catherine Moody. Now...

Sibella!

I can't believe that they are still
trying to toss Colin out of the country!

Excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher.
Sibella, we have to talk.

Oh, I was just about
to leave, anyway.

Oh, stay where you
are, Jessica, please.

Now, Val, what is
our problem today?

This is from the INS. They want Colin
to come in for a deportation hearing.

You said that you had
a friend in Washington

who could fix it
so he could stay.

I do. But I never
said I'd call him.

Val, he's an opportunist.

No, he's not! He cares about me!

Oh, nonsense, girl.
Colin cares about Colin.

Valerie, darling, if you're
contemplating anything more serious

than sleeping with that
Piccadilly prima donna,

I can guarantee you'll never see another
cent from us, not so long as I live.

Just because you bought my father
does not mean you can buy me, too.

Excellent. Since your father can
now afford you in his own right,

perhaps you'd prefer that
he buy you on his terms.

Ugh!

And they say my
books are gothic trash.

This family is like
life imitating satire.

Listen, about dinner. Perhaps
it would be better to make it...

Oh, nonsense, Jessica. I won't hear of it.
- 00, Thursday, black tie?

7:00 it is.

Oh, more journals. How lovely.

Sibella found them
in the basement.

How about a cup of coffee?

Oh, no, thank you. I
have to be getting back.

I'll see you tonight, assuming our party
preparations aren't a complete disaster.

Mrs. Fletcher, may I
ask you a question?

Of course.

Do you find the
writing to be satisfying?

Well, yes. Yes, I do.

Of course, that's not to say that
some days aren't more fun than others.

Why do you ask?

Oh, I don't know.

Except for you, Sibella's the
only professional novelist I've met.

I've been working pretty closely
with her for the last couple of years,

and I guess it just seems to me
that it's not making her very happy.

For her, it's like she cares more
about the success than the writing.

Well, of course, it's very easy for that
to happen. Not the success, of course,

but everything
that goes with it.

The publicists, the tours, the
TV appearances, the media hype.

Sometimes it seems
like it's taken over her life.

It can if you let it.

Except it doesn't
seem to bother her.

It obviously bothers you. Look,
Marian, I can't speak for Sibella,

but I've found that writing can
get stale if I'm not stretching myself.

I have to guard against slipping into
patterns, doing it the same old way.

Maybe everyone does. Are
you thinking of becoming a writer?

Yes, I guess I've
thought about it.

On the other hand, it could
be that Sibella's unhappiness

is caused by something
other than her career.

Yes, I guess I never
considered that.

I better get back now.

Marian, I'm not much
of an advice-giver,

but if you do decide to write,

you might give some thought

to simply going out on
your own and just doing it.

I know from my own experience,
nobody is going to do it for you.

Well, thanks, Mrs.
Fletcher. I'll see myself out.

Fine.

This darn tie! Can
you fix this tie for me?

Oh, I've got to see to the caterers
and the table and the flowers...

Knock, knock!

Marian! You look lovely.
Doesn't she, Derek?

Yes, absolutely.

Thanks. I was wondering if
you needed help with anything?

Oh, you're a dear.

How are you with bow ties?

I think I can do it.

Just right there.

You look absolutely delicious.

Marian, not now.
Now is not the time.

When, for heaven's sakes?

You'll just have to be a little
more patient, that's all. I promise.

You've said that before.

Well, I know.

Well, when she's through with
her new novel, then. All right?

The next batch,
a little less dill.

Yes, ma'am.

Those candles over there, please
space them a little more evenly.

Mmm-hmm.

Sibella, I must speak with you.

Where's Valerie?
Shining your shoes?

Preening. She'll
be along shortly.

Listen, about my visa. I desperately
need your help, you know.

I know.

All right.

What is it you want?

A tradeoff.

I fix it so you can take out US
citizenship, and you give up Valerie.

That's out of the question.

Not that you two don't
deserve each other,

but without you, she might turn
into a human being I can tolerate.

Forget it, love.

I wasn't under the impression
that you had a choice.

Phil! Working late, aren't you?

Shape this place is in, the
work never stops, Miss Stone.

Like I said, whole thing's just
an accident waiting to happen.

I do appreciate your concern,

but, fortunately, the building
inspector doesn't agree with it.

I swear, I don't know why
I let you talk me into this.

Cheer up, Seth. It's a lovely
night. No clouds, lots of stars.

Ooh, look at those lights.

Lights? Fisherman, probably.

It appears to be
some sort of a signal.

SOS?

No. No, it's too irregular. See?

I can't and keep
this thing on the road.

Well, it's stopped.

Which is what I would like to do,
followed by turning around and going home.

Oh!

I hope we're not too late, Seth.

Oh, it's my fault. I couldn't
find my darn car keys.

Good evening, Mrs. Fletcher. Just hang up
your coats and join the others, won't you?

I'm trying to find Sibella.

Well, if this is what passes for

hospitality, we're in
for quite a long night.

By the way, did you notice

that Miss Hartman and
Mr. Wonderful are right over there?

Come on, Seth. Give it a chance.

Okay. But I'm warning you,
it's got disaster written all over it.

Help!

Please help, somebody!
Help! Somebody help me!

Help!

Help me! Help! Help!

And then again at Le Mans in
1980, the identical thing happened.

It was the 23rd hour. I had the race
won. Bloody car was running like a top.

And then, cornering out
of the Mulsanne Straight,

the rear suspension
broke and I spun out.

My fool mechanic had neglected
to install the proper shims.

Oh, it makes me very glad
that I never learned how to drive.

Interesting, isn't
it, how all his losses

seem to be someone else's fault.

All the same, I am fascinated
by people who live on the edge.

Well, I think Mr. Burnham
has already fallen off his.

I heard a couple of
the guests talking.

They said Colin had been dropped from his
racing team. Apparently, he lost his nerve.

Jessica, we have
been here 40 minutes.

Do you realize our hostess
hasn't put in an appearance yet?

Dr. Hazlitt.

Yes.

Jessica, you look
lovely. Thank you, Derek.

So, how can I induce you to leave
your publisher and sign with me?

Oh. I'm afraid that's a
very hard sale, Derek.

Oh, come on. Are you telling me

you're actually happy with
your advertising and promotion?

Are you telling me you've
ever met an author who was?

No.

Even my wife gives
me grief about that.

Um, excuse me. Daddy,
can I speak to you, please?

Yes. I wonder where
Sibella has disappeared to.

Oh, do you really care?

You needed her 10
years ago, not now.

Valerie, you shut up. All right?

What's wrong, Marian?

I'm not sure. I found
this on her dressing table.

"Boathouse, 7:00 p.m."

That's almost an hour ago.

Help!

Good God! Sibella?

Derek, my ankle's caught!

Hold on, darling!
We'll get you out.

Oh, Derek!

You're free now.
She's free. Pull her up.

Got it.

Oh!

Blood pressure and
temperature normal.

Except for those bruises on your ankle,
I'd say you're none the worse for wear.

Thank heaven for that.

The tide rising like that, another
few minutes, it would've been all over.

What were you doing down
in the boathouse, anyway?

It's ridiculous, really. Jessica was
very excited by the Moody family diaries.

I recalled seeing some more volumes
down there, so I went to get them.

So what's that got
to do with the note?

What note?

Oh, yes! Now I remember. I
wrote that memo to remind myself

to meet Phil Coile down there
yesterday evening to discuss some repairs.

Ironic, isn't it?

I don't know if that's
quite the word I'd use.

In any case, it's very fortunate
that Miss King found the note.

Yes. I will certainly
second that.

And now, darling, I think it's
essential that you get some rest.

I feel terrible that I've ruined what
promised to be a very lovely evening.

Thank you. Thank all of you.

Good night.

Thanks again. You're welcome.

Everything was very nice.

Have a nice night.

Colin! You startled me.

Valerie needed something warmer.

It was perfectly awful what happened
to Sibella. You must be frightfully upset.

Forget it. You so much as breathe
heavy, I go straight to Valerie.

I don't think so, love.

Because if you did, I'd
have to inform Sibella of your

nightly rendezvous with Derek.

Be my guest.

Ta-ta, Colin.

And on top of that, you
disappear for 15 minutes,

while I get treated to
another round of family feud.

Where the devil
were you, anyway?

Well, if you'll give me
half a chance, I'll tell you.

I went back to the boathouse.

You know those broken boards
that Sibella thought were rotten?

Well, some of their
edges were cleanly cut.

Are you saying
someone tried to kill her?

Or frighten her. I mean, either way,
I'm almost certain it was deliberate.

And that's not all.

I couldn't find any of those family
journals that she said were down there.

Somebody could've removed them.

Remember those
flashing lights that we

noticed on the water
while we were driving up?

Do you think there's
some sort of connection

between those lights
and what happened?

Well, I don't know. But I did think that
Sibella was being somewhat less than candid

about that note
that Marian found.

My sentiments exactly.

It's as if she was
frightened of something,

but can't quite bring
herself to tell us what it is.

But who or what
would it possibly...

Seth! Look out!

Are you all right?

Well, yes, I think so.

Now, where do you suppose Phil
Coile is going in such an all-fired hurry?

Oh, I was asking myself
the same question.

Okay. Mr. Shepard, where is she?

Right down there.

Andy.

Did you touch anything?

No. No way. I just took
one look, and ran to a phone.

Do you live around here?

No, sir.

I'm sort of new in town. I
rent a room over on Elm.

I was out walking,
watching the sunrise.

Any idea who it is?

I'm not sure.

I've seen that writer wearing
a coat with a hood like that.

Jessica Fletcher?

No. I think her name's Stone.

Sibella Stone?

Is she...

Okay if I move her, Sheriff?

Yeah, but as little as
possible till Doc gets here.

Wait a minute. That isn't...

That's not Mrs. Stone.

That's Sibella Stone's
assistant, Marian King.

Dr. Hazlitt figures it
happened last night.

Anywhere between
10:00 and 1:00 a.m.

It's horrible.

Yes, ma'am, it is.

Blow to the head like that, the Doc
had said, death was instantaneous.

And we figure she fell from
the bluff after she was struck.

Well, what was she
doing out there, anyhow?

I was about to
ask the same thing.

Perhaps she was headed to the
boathouse to, uh, meet someone.

Colin, that's ridiculous.

Why is that, Miss Hartman?

I'll tell you why.

Because the girl didn't have a devious
bone in her body or an enemy in the world,

so far as I know.

Oh, Sibella, I'm so
sorry. Thank you, Jessica.

Morning, Mrs. Fletcher. Are you
here to maybe shed some light on this?

Well, it's odd that you
should mention light.

I have no idea if there's any connection,
but has anyone mentioned to you

that someone has been
flashing signal lights

out in the bay at
night not far from here?

Signal lights? I saw it myself
on the way up here last night,

and Marian told me that she'd
seen them the past two nights.

Anyone else seen them?

Actually, I think I may have.

I usually take a walk before
going to bed, weather permitting.

On the beach? Oh, heavens, no.

The bluff is as close as
I care to get to the water.

Anyway, I just assumed that they were
ships passing or something of that sort.

On these walks, ma'am, do you
ever wear a long gray coat with a hood?

I have a gray cloak, yes.

Does Miss King
have one like that?

No, not that I know of.

Well then, I'm afraid, ma'am,

that Miss King was wearing
your cloak when she was killed.

Oh, my God.

So, you're saying...

I believe what the
Sheriff is suggesting

is that the killer might have
mistaken Marian for you.

Monroe.

I heard about the murder.

Are you okay?

Uh, more or less. Yeah.

I'm worried about you.

Well, don't be.

They say that

you discovered the body?

So?

Well, what were you
doing way out there?

I've answered enough
questions for one morning, Sue.

Please, Monroe, don't
shut me out! I can't stand it.

I don't know what
you're talking about.

Yes, you do. You were involved
somehow with them, weren't you?

Something to do
with that family.

Forget it, Sue. You're
imagining things.

Am I?

Ever since we've been seeing
each other, ever since you got to town,

I sensed that there's something
between you and those people.

Sue, I...

Please, Monroe,
don't do this to me.

I haven't wanted to pry, but
it's making me a little crazy.

The way you look at them when
they come to town, the phone calls.

The dates that you've broken off
with me. The dead girl, Miss King.

That's it, isn't it?
You and she... No!

Well, then it's that... That
Valerie. The pretty one.

Sue.

I'm sorry.

Just let me get
back to work, okay?

Monroe!

But why would she take my cloak?

If I remember correctly, Marian's
coat was this pale cream one.

Is that Marian King's coat?

Yes, it is.

But I still don't understand
why she didn't wear it.

Well, maybe she couldn't
find it under that topcoat.

Or maybe she was just in such a
hurry, she grabbed the nearest one, yours.

Who does this belong to?

Uh, that is mine.

Then you were right about the
incident at the boathouse last night.

Whoa! Hold it! What incident?

Well, when Jessica got home, she called
me suggesting that I get in touch with you.

I didn't think it was important.

Sibella, there were no
journals in the boathouse.

Journals?

And the note. Was it really
about your meeting with Phil Coile?

The Count never existed. This is
Joe Walensky. My real first husband.

I've been receiving these
for several weeks now.

"You owe me. Love, Joe."

"It's time to share
the wealth. Joe W."

Well, this one is
from Milwaukee,

and this from St. Louis. But there's
no return address on either one.

Well, this one's even
more threatening.

"If you refuse, I'll make
mincemeat out of you." Signed, J.W.

He always had a crazy streak. I
divorced him after I left Birch Falls.

I hadn't heard from him in
years. Until I got these notes.

Anyway, yesterday I
received the one Marian found,

asking me to meet
him in the boathouse.

I thought perhaps if we talked, I
might convince him to go away.

Jessica.

How is she holding up?

Oh, pretty well, I think. Sheriff
Metzger is still taking her statement.

And you, Derek? How
are you holding up?

I'm not sure how I should
respond to that, Jessica.

Well, I suppose that depends how
deeply you were involved with Marian.

Well, you do know how to
cut to the chase, don't you?

For me, I think I was trying to
convince myself that I wasn't growing old.

And for her?

Well, it was more serious for her.
She wanted me to divorce Sibella.

You're not suggesting that I...

I'm not suggesting
anything, Derek.

Hey, I'm just saying it wasn't
supposed to include murder, okay?

Listen, for the kind of money you're
paying me, you won't even see ripples.

Yeah, I gotta go.

Quick, old man
Turner's looking for you.

Look, I told you before, even if I
wanted to help Colin, which I don't,

I have no way of doing it.

Sibella does. She has
a friend in Washington.

Please, Daddy. Please.

Come on. I know
you can talk her into it.

Now, she owes you
everything, for God's sake.

Well, knowing the way
Sibella feels about Colin,

I don't even
think she'll listen.

What about the way I
feel? Doesn't that count?

Damn it! Why
couldn't it been her?

It was her cloak. It
could've been so easy.

Hold it, Coile! Freeze!

Don't shoot. I'm not armed.

Neither was Marian King when
someone killed her last night.

That someone wouldn't
have been you, would it, Coile?

Are you crazy?

I don't even know her.
Why would I wanna kill her?

Could be she saw the same
thing in the box that I see.

Raw ivory.

My guess is you've been
smuggling that in by boat.

Probably by way of Canada.

Which would explain
the flashing lights

people have been
seeing off-shore.

And the private beach made it a
breeze. Until Miss Stone arrived.

No wonder you wanted her gone.

Well, you got that
part right, Sheriff,

but not bad
enough to kill for it.

Yeah? Suppose we let a
jury decide that, huh, Coile?

I'm placing you under
arrest for smuggling ivory.

And I've got a hunch
before we're through,

I'll be charging you with the
attempted murder of Sibella Stone

and the murder of Marian King.

Joseph Henry Walensky.

So, this was Miss
Stone's first husband.

Have you seen anybody around
town looks like him, Mrs. Fletcher?

No. No, I haven't.

According to this, he served
three years of a seven year term,

and after six months,
he jumped bail.

He's been a fugitive ever since.

That was seven years ago.

And what did you say?

That all of a sudden
a few months ago,

right out of the blue, he starts
sending notes to Miss Stone?

May I use your phone?

Of course, Mrs. Fletcher.

What city, please?

Yes. I'd like the area code
for Enid, Oklahoma, please.

Clean, simple, no
muss, no fuss. I love it.

Makes you feel like
you're doing your job.

Also makes you insufferable.

Hey, I'm entitled
to a little of that.

I mean, you... You find a lead,

you follow it to its
logical conclusion,

and you catch the guy, not
only without an alibi for murder,

but red-handed on
a whole other crime.

Besides, you're
never insufferable?

Me? Oh, Sheriff.

I suggest that you seriously
consider a brain scan.

Oh, right.

How about when
you finally figured out

what was wrong
with Adele's foot?

We didn't hear the
end of that for a month.

The fact that your
wife was unaware

that she was walking around for
six weeks with a nail in her shoe has,

you must admit, a
certain anecdotal quality.

Especially when you realize she
never once wore that particular shoe

when she came
limping in to see me.

Yeah, well, I... Oh, Mrs. F.

Oh, Jessica.

Sheriff, I...

Easy on the compliments, Mrs. F.

The doc isn't
handling them too well.

Uh, actually, Sheriff,
I came by to tell you

that I think that
you're mistaken.

And although I can't quite prove
who did murder Marian King,

I'm almost certain that Phil
Coile had nothing to do with it.

My goodness,
Jess, you don't say.

Come on, Mrs. F. We've
got enough on Coile...

to put him away for
a couple of lifetimes.

I mean, I myself caught him...

Sheriff, on the off-chance
that it could prove otherwise,

would you authorize
a credit card check?

A credit card check?
Sure, why not?

But I gotta tell you, this is
one time you're mistaken.

Okay, whose credit
card and what detail?

Well, it's pretty much the
way you had it figured, Mrs. F.

Airline tickets to St. Louis,
New Orleans, Memphis.

Yeah. But look
who signed for them.

Yes.

Sheriff, this one frightens me.

Why?

I think it means that unless we move
very fast, there could be more murders.

Coffee shop. Oh, sure.

It's for you, Monroe.

Listen, you two
close up for me, okay?

You got it, Mr. Turner.

Good night, Mr. Turner.

Hello.

Yeah, well, I gotta
talk to you, too.

Tonight?

Okay.

I've gotta go out there.

Oh, Monroe, I'm scared.

Yeah, well, don't be.
This is the last time.

I'm gonna put an end
to this. Take my chances.

Mr. Shepard. I wonder if we
could have a word with you, please?

Oh, my God. I was afraid
you wouldn't be here.

Monroe. What's wrong?

Just tell me what the problem
is, Sibella. What was so urgent?

It's Derek. He knows about us.

He's furious.
Why, I'm terrified.

So?

You don't understand.
We're in danger.

He murdered Marian.

Sibella!

Derek, darling, help me!

Sibella.

Sibella, who's he?

What's going on?

What's going on, my
darling, is your death.

Wait a minute.

You murdered Marian, didn't you?

And now...

Don't even twitch, lady.

Andy.

Nice job, Mr. Shepard. Thanks.

Well, it looks like you had
this one nailed too, Mrs. F.

She uses this gun
to kill her husband.

Plugs Monroe with this one.

And then puts the first
one in Monroe's hand.

Thereby making it look as
if Monroe had killed Derek.

And that you had no choice
but to kill Monroe in self-defense.

Do you really think
I'm so stupid, Derek,

that I was blind to what was
going on between you and Marian?

You killed Marian
because of our affair?

No, Derek, it wasn't
as simple as that.

You came to Cabot Cove
to play a calculated charade.

Knowing that I'd be
the first to suspect

attempts were being
made on your life,

attempts which you
cleverly contrived.

First, the dinner party, during
which a number of people

would be made aware
that you were missing.

Leaving the note where Marian
or someone else could find it.

That way, you felt
sure you'd be found

at the boathouse in
time to be rescued.

Sibella!

It was you who sawed
through the floorboards.

But the tide...

She almost drowned.

The one thing she
didn't take into account

was her ankle getting caught,
trapping her down there.

Then I remembered the tide chart

you kept prominently
pinned to the bulletin board.

Excuse me, Mrs. Fletcher.

Probably 80% of the people in
Cabot Cove have a tide chart.

Even someone who insisted

that the bluff was the closest
she ever came to the water's edge?

Okay.

But why was Marian King
wearing Mrs. Stone's cloak?

Because you hid her
coat, didn't you, Sibella?

After the party, knowing that Marian
would be going down to the boathouse

for her usual clandestine
meeting with your husband.

So she had no choice but
to wear your distinctive cloak.

I get it now.

She kills Miss King,
making it look like a mistake,

like she was the
intended victim.

Then she puts Miss King's
cream-color coat back,

so this morning we all see that
it's there, under Mr. Hartman's.

My God, Sibella. Why?

I think that Sibella
learned what I did, Derek.

When Marian dropped those j journals
off at my house the day of the party,

she questioned me about my work.

I have to guard against slipping into
patterns, doing it the same old way.

Maybe everyone does. Are
you thinking of becoming a writer?

Yes, I guess I've
thought about it.

It left me with the impression

that though she was
reluctant to admit it,

she might have done more
than just consider the possibility.

And then later,
I recalled a story

about the new
novelist from Oklahoma.

And I learned
that the only record

of Mrs. Bobbie Jo
Peckinpaw in Enid, Oklahoma,

was a post office box
rented by Marian King.

The conniving little tramp.

She learned to
write by watching me.

With Marian and Derek dead,
as publisher of my own books,

I'd have the best of all worlds.

But there were other
key elements in your plan.

The first being your
ex-husband, Joe Walensky.

He's still a fugitive.

Which gave you a
ready-made scapegoat.

An angry, vengeful ex-husband
who wanted a piece of your success.

But you needed somebody
to help you create that fiction.

So I found Monroe. Sweet boy.

Yeah, sweet boy. You
had him scared to death.

Somehow you'd found
out he had a police record,

and you threatened
to use that against him.

You told him if he
didn't do as you asked,

you were gonna tell everyone
that he had burglarized your place.

I might never have made
the connection, Sibella,

except that earlier
today in the coffee shop,

while Monroe was preparing
the menu, his chalk broke,

and I happened to notice that
he misspelled the word "mince"

in the same way as
that note you showed us

after Marian's body
was discovered.

My compliments, Jessica.

I should have stuck to my
specialty, gothic romance,

and left the murder
plotting to you.

I think you were mistaken on
a far more basic level, Sibella.

You convinced yourself
you could pull it off in real life.

And so we checked
her credit card records.

Here you go. Thank you.

There were air travel receipts

signed for by
Monroe for places like

St. Louis, Chicago, Des Moines.

Places he must've sent the
Joe Walensky letters from. Hmm.

And the final item was a
purchase that Sibella signed for.

First-class airfare to Jamaica.

The holiday that she told me that
she was planning with her husband.

Only the ticket was for
just one person. Sibella.

Well, I told you.

Told me what, Seth?

What do you mean, "What?"
That whole bunch was loony.

New Yorkers. Race
car drivers. Vagabonds.

They never should've been
allowed up here in the first place.

Mrs. Fletcher, Dr. Hazlitt.

I just wanted to thank
you, Mrs. Fletcher,

and to let you know
that I've decided

to settle down here in
Cabot Cove with Sue.

Well, I think that's lovely.

And I hope you'll
both be very happy.

Thank you.

Monroe.

Well, have a nice day.

Well now, Seth, doesn't
that make you feel good?

Wonderful.

I just hope he takes
some spelling lessons.