The Golden Girls (1985–1992): Season 7, Episode 2 - The Case of the Libertine Belle - full transcript
A murder mystery weekend turns deadly, and Blanche is the prime suspect in a real-life murder.
♪ Thank you for being a friend
♪ Traveled down the
road and back again
♪ Your heart is true
♪ You're a pal and a confidant
♪ And if you threw a party
♪ Invited everyone you knew
♪ You would see
♪ The biggest gift
would be from me
♪ And the card
attached would say
♪ Thank you for being a friend ♪
Oh, morning, Ma.
How'd you sleep?
Pretty good.
I dreamed I was
making love to Jay Leno.
That's a strange
dream for you to have.
Not really.
It was Monday night, and
he was filling in for Carson.
Mornin', all.
Oh, Blanche, honey, how
was your date last night?
Oh, unforgettable.
Mel Bushman and
I were coming back
from a champagne
picnic at Sunset Beach.
We ran out of gas in
the middle of nowhere.
Oh, my goodness!
What did you do?
You name it.
Blanche, you got
a call last night
from something called
the Maltese Falcon Club.
Oh, good.
Remember I was asked
to select the activity
for the museum
staff's annual outing?
Yesterday, I signed us up
for a murder-mystery weekend
at the Queen of the Keys Hotel.
You mean, the kind of thing
where mock murders are committed
and then the guests
try to solve them?
Exactly.
Mmm-hmm. That sounds like fun.
You know, back in Minnesota,
I was known as the
Sherlock Holmes of St. Olaf.
Figured out which one
was Shinola, did you, Rose?
The hard way.
I sure hope this
weekend is a success.
It could give me
a shot at becoming
Kendall Nesbitt's new assistant.
Who's Kendall Nesbitt?
Oh, he's the museum's
director of acquisitions.
If I got this job, it would
mean going to Europe with him
to look for rare
paintings and antiques.
Well, if he has an eye for
antiques, you should be a shoo-in.
Look who's calling
the vase Ming.
There's just one hitch.
I need three more people to
get the group rate at the hotel.
I thought hotels always
gave you the group rate.
Yeah, sweetheart, but
this is for the whole night.
Is there any chance I could
persuade you girls to join me
for a murder-mystery weekend?
Blanche, are you kidding?
I have read every word
Dashiell Hammett and
Raymond Chandler ever wrote.
Now, Sam Spade and Philip
Marlowe have become a part of me.
"She had more curves
than the Monaco Grand Prix
"and was twice as dangerous.
"Her jewelry was mute testimony
"that Charlie Chaplin
wasn't the only tramp
"who hit it big in this town."
You do this on first
dates, don't you, Dorothy?
Does this mean you'll go?
Of course we'll go.
Sure, anything for a friend.
What the heck. I'll go, too.
Yeah, like you had a choice.
When do you think the
mysteries are gonna start?
You want a mystery?
You should have tried
the pink dressing
at the salad bar.
Oh, jeez, the mystery continues.
Now, girls, remember, look
everyone over very carefully.
Try to figure out who
are the real guests
and who are actors
pretending to be guests.
It'll help when it comes
to solving the mysteries.
Okay, Dorothy.
If that's your real name.
How is that coffee?
Terrific!
Actor.
Blanche, you're
wearing my earrings.
Oh, I know that.
But when I asked you
before where they were,
you said you didn't know,
and now you're wearing them.
Well, Rose, there could
be two explanations.
Either I was lying,
or I was wrong about the
number of explanations.
Blanche. Oh, Kendall.
Blanche, I must
commend you again.
I have a feeling
we're in for a weekend
none of us is going to forget.
Oh, I do declare,
your sweet words could
charm the mornin' dew
right off of the honeysuckle.
That was good, Blanche.
Now, do Br'er Rabbit.
I believe the fun
is about to begin.
Ladies.
I think I got to him, don't you?
Your eyes are as
good as rolled back.
I do believe that things are
gonna turn out even better than I...
Oh, Kendall is sitting
down with Posey MacGlinn.
She is my main rival
for that assistant's job.
Oh, look at the shameless
way she's flirtin' with him.
Disgustin'.
You flirted with him.
I'm from the South.
Flirting is part of my heritage.
What do you mean?
Her mother was a slut, too.
Ladies and gentlemen,
I'm sure we all join
his son, his daughter
and his new bride, Candy,
in wishing many
returns of the day
to our friend and
patron for 40 years,
Giles Forsythe.
My God! They've been murdered!
Does this mean we don't
get any birthday cake?
Please, nobody touch anything.
My name is Spade Marlowe.
I'm a private detective
retained by the late
philanthropist, Giles Forsythe,
because when an 88-year-old
man marries a 22-year-old girl,
he likes to know
what she's up to.
I'm sorry to interrupt,
but does anybody but me
think the hat's a little precious?
Today was Giles
Forsythe's birthday,
and he intended as
always to celebrate
by having dinner here
with his son, Philip,
a well-known collector
of pre-Columbian artifacts,
his spinster daughter, Gloria,
and of course his
new bride, Candy.
I've failed to
protect my client,
but I am determined,
with your help,
to solve these crimes and
bring the murderer to justice.
Maybe that bloody dagger will
lead us to the murder weapon.
St. Olaf?
Boy, he is good.
Unusual knife.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, cut the cake.
I recognize that.
It's a rare Mayan
sacrificial dagger.
That could prove
to be significant.
Undoubtedly the weapon
used to kill Mrs. Forsythe,
but obviously her
husband was shot.
Then there must be a gun.
South side?
Uncanny.
Do you mind?
Go right ahead. You
won't find anything.
What I believe they
refer to as a purse gun,
and it's been recently fired.
I don't understand.
Ladies and gentlemen,
you now have enough
clues to solve these murders.
Who did it, how and why?
The butler did it!
I'm a maitre d'.
Thank you. The maitre d' did it!
Philip did it!
Gloria did it!
It was Colonel Mustard in
the library with the candlestick.
Oh, she says, "The butler
did it," and I'm the idiot?
The answer is obvious.
They both did it.
Oh, now, if Miss
Smarty solves the crime,
she'll make a big
impression on Kendall,
and I can just kiss
that job goodbye.
Philip was a collector
of pre-Columbian relics.
Candy had her throat
cut with a Mayan dagger.
He killed her.
The gun was in Gloria's purse.
She killed her father.
Nice try, ma' am, but Philip and
Gloria are innocent of those crimes.
Perhaps, but they
are both murderers.
Sit down, Dorothy. Don't
make a fool of yourself.
Would you care to explain?
In the first place, it is unlikely
that Gloria murdered her father.
Statistics show that patricide
is overwhelmingly a male crime.
Although daughters
frequently murder their mothers!
If Gloria had killed her father,
would she then have tried to
conceal the weapon in her purse?
Ladies and
gentlemen, I think not.
That gun was obviously
planted in her purse
to pin the murder on her.
I've got it!
A maitre d' is
some kind of waiter.
On the other hand,
Philip would never pick
a Mayan sacrificial knife
as a murder weapon.
Too obvious.
But it would be no
problem for his sister
to sneak the weapon
out of his collection.
This woman's pathetic!
Oh, big news. Tear
out the front page.
Notice that the dagger was
found to the left of the victim.
A throat...
A throat is almost
always cut from behind.
Not part of the show,
people. Not part of the show.
Being right-handed, I
would slash from left to right.
But from the fact
that the murder weapon was
dropped to the left of the victim,
we can deduce that the
murderer is left-handed.
Notice that Gloria, like
most left-handed people,
wears her wristwatch
on her right wrist.
I think it is painfully clear
that Philip and Gloria
both planned murders,
and each meant
to pin it on the other.
They knew that the
lights would be turned off
when the cake appeared
because that happens every year.
Coincidence? Ha!
Siblings often think alike.
You've given us a
who, a how and a "Ha."
But what about why?
What's the motive?
When a 22-year-old
marries an 88-year-old,
chances are she's
not after his body.
Oh, boy.
Gloria and Philip
were both afraid
that Candy would persuade
the old man to change his will,
and they both hoped that
pinning the crime on the other
would make them
the sole inheritor.
Well, there you have
it, ladies and gentlemen,
the who, how and why.
Dorothy, that was a
real Tour de France.
Thank you, thank you, Rose.
Girls, guess what?
Kendall just told me he
needs to be alone with me.
What did you do?
Well, what else? I gave
him my key to our room.
Now, let me have yours, Rose.
You can bunk with
Dorothy and Sophia tonight.
But we were gonna be roomies.
Either you're bunkin' with them,
or you can sleep in the closet.
Closet? Give me that key.
Coming, Kendall.
Oh.
Compliments of Mr. Nesbitt.
Well, how sweet. I'll take it.
No, no, no. I've got it, ma'am.
Oh, my God!
Oh, my God!
It's all right. What
is this all about?
He's dead!
Blanche, calm down.
This is undoubtedly just another
part of the mystery weekend.
Oh, yeah? He looks
pretty dead to me.
All right, Ma, give
me your mirror.
What for?
Every morning I hold
it under Ma's nose.
If it fogs up, I
start the coffee.
No breath.
Oh, my God. He's dead.
Oh, God.
I'm Vaczy, hotel security.
Nobody touch anything.
You say no one was in the
room but her and the victim?
That's right, sir.
He's dead, all right.
Steak knife right
through the heart.
That must be what killed him.
St. Olaf?
It's like I'm wearing a sign.
I want everybody
out of this room.
I'm clearing it till
the police get here.
And nobody leaves
the hotel, especially you.
As of now, you're
the only suspect.
If they put me in prison,
I'll be brave. I can handle it.
Blanche, you don't understand.
They'll put you in
a women's prison.
Don't let me go,
Dorothy! Don't let me go!
Honey, you are not going to
go because you are not guilty.
I understand you can have
anything for your last meal.
Just ice cream, if you want.
I think I'm gonna be sick.
You're not helping, Rose.
It's almost as though you
believe Blanche is guilty.
Well, she lied
about my earrings,
and she took them.
I mean, deceit, then theft.
Isn't murder the
next logical step?
St. Olaf, right?
Face it, Dorothy. Blanche was
discovered in a locked room.
Only she and the
victim had keys.
I mean, give me
another explanation.
The trouble is, I can't.
Oh, come on, pussycat.
You figured out that
mystery at dinner.
Oh, Ma, that was
a game. This is life.
Oh, that's right. You've
never been good at life.
How can I be accused of murder?
I am a Devereaux.
Things like this usually
happen to people named Petrillo.
I take offense at that.
No one in my family ever,
ever left a body to be found.
Okay, I'm Lieutenant Alvarez,
Dade County Homicide,
and here's what I got.
At around 9:45 last night,
this guy went to Room 405,
carrying champagne
ordered by Nesbitt.
He was admitted by Blanche
Devereaux and discovered the corpse.
Now, Ms. Devereaux and this
dead guy had the only two keys.
Forensics say that
the cause of death
was a stab wound
inflicted by a steak knife.
We know Ms. Devereaux
had steak for dinner.
Given these facts, unless
somebody has something else,
we got enough to make an arrest.
My, my, Mr. Officer.
I do declare, your sweet words
could charm the mornin' dew
right off the honeysuckle.
Blanche, not now.
If not now, when?
Blanche Devereaux... Wait, wait!
You haven't
established a motive.
You want a motive?
I'll give you a motive.
That woman gave
Kendall her room key.
I saw her do it.
Her plan was to seduce him
to insure that she would
win the job as his assistant.
Then she got the other key to
the room from that woman there.
She... She rushed
up to the room.
She tore off her clothes.
That's Velcro.
It just gives the
illusion of a tear.
She flung her dress on the bed.
She slipped into a negligee
and awaited her prey.
What she didn't realize was the
reason that Kendall went to her room,
the reason Kendall
ordered the champagne,
was to let her down easy.
He'd already
promised the job to me.
And the reason he
went to her room,
rather than having
her come to his,
was that I was sharing his room.
Slut!
When Kendall told her the truth,
she flew into a jealous rage.
She plunged the steak
knife into his chest.
That tramp murdered my lover!
I know Blanche
Devereaux, Lieutenant,
and this tramp is incapable
of committing murder.
Okay, we got a motive,
we got a weapon,
and we got one
suspect with no alibi.
Blanche Devereaux, I'm
charging you with murder.
You have the right
to remain... Wait, wait!
Why would she
bring a steak knife
to what she thought
was a romantic liaison?
It could've been for anything.
I'm not familiar with
her sexual proclivities.
What, are you a rookie?
You still haven't
answered the question
of how somebody
else got into the room.
What if there was
a knock at the door?
Nesbitt might have assumed that it
was the waiter with the champagne.
That is speculation.
But one more point.
The hotel security chief
cordoned off the room,
so the only people who saw
the room after the murder,
other than you and your staff,
were the waiter, the security
chief, and the four of us.
So?
So when Miss MacGlinn was
reconstructing the murder scene,
she described Blanche's
dress being slung over the bed.
It was. I saw it.
But Miss MacGlinn
could only have seen it
if she'd been there
prior to the murder.
I think I see now
how it happened.
Last evening, at dinner,
when Miss MacGlinn saw
Blanche give Kendall Nesbitt her key,
she was furious.
She dropped a steak
knife into her purse.
Big deal, I took a
whole place setting.
Not now, Ma!
And when she felt that
she wouldn't be missed,
she slipped out of the dining
room and headed upstairs.
Kendall had let himself
into Blanche's room
while she was in the shower
and was making
himself comfortable
when there was a
knock at the door.
Thinking it was the
champagne, he opened the door.
Posey was there.
She accused him of two-timing.
He denied it.
Posey pulled out a steak knife,
plunged it into his chest
and left the room before
Blanche could discover her.
Jealous rage was
the motive, all right,
but Blanche wasn't the murderer.
There's your murderer,
Posey MacGlinn.
Well, Miss MacGlinn, what
do you have to say now?
Dorothy Zbornak, you've stuck
your nose in for the last time!
Posey MacGlinn,
I charge you with the
murder of Kendall Nesbitt.
Lieutenant Alvarez, I don't
think that'll be necessary,
as I seem to have
recovered from my death,
but I would like to thank
the Maltese Falcon Club
and, in particular,
Blanche Devereaux
for giving us a weekend
we'll never forget.
Thank you for coming.
So wait a minute.
You mean those
guys were all in on it?
I was in on it, too.
Oh, come on, you were not.
Oh, all right. I was not.
Damn it, I just hate to
be the brunt of jokes.
Funny, you don't mind
being the brunt of limericks.
That's different. That's poetry.
Wait a minute. There's
one thing I don't understand.
When I checked to make sure
that Kendall was really dead,
why didn't his breath
show up on your mirror?
Simple. The mirror had
been sprayed with defogger.
But who could have done that?
I did.
The people at the
club asked me to.
Well, Rose, why would you
do such a cruel thing to me?
Well, Blanche, there
could be two explanations.
Either I was getting back at
you for taking my earrings or...
Oh, who are we kidding?
That's why I did it.
This whole thing
is just unbelievable.
Kendall, you're not dead,
and I didn't kill anybody.
And I didn't take
any silverware.
Does this mean I'm still
in the runnin' for the job?
Of course you are.
Oh, well...
So this was all a
mockery, a sham.
No crimes were committed at all.
What a load of fun.
Pussycat, help me
carry my purse to the car.
♪ Traveled down the
road and back again
♪ Your heart is true
♪ You're a pal and a confidant
♪ And if you threw a party
♪ Invited everyone you knew
♪ You would see
♪ The biggest gift
would be from me
♪ And the card
attached would say
♪ Thank you for being a friend ♪
Oh, morning, Ma.
How'd you sleep?
Pretty good.
I dreamed I was
making love to Jay Leno.
That's a strange
dream for you to have.
Not really.
It was Monday night, and
he was filling in for Carson.
Mornin', all.
Oh, Blanche, honey, how
was your date last night?
Oh, unforgettable.
Mel Bushman and
I were coming back
from a champagne
picnic at Sunset Beach.
We ran out of gas in
the middle of nowhere.
Oh, my goodness!
What did you do?
You name it.
Blanche, you got
a call last night
from something called
the Maltese Falcon Club.
Oh, good.
Remember I was asked
to select the activity
for the museum
staff's annual outing?
Yesterday, I signed us up
for a murder-mystery weekend
at the Queen of the Keys Hotel.
You mean, the kind of thing
where mock murders are committed
and then the guests
try to solve them?
Exactly.
Mmm-hmm. That sounds like fun.
You know, back in Minnesota,
I was known as the
Sherlock Holmes of St. Olaf.
Figured out which one
was Shinola, did you, Rose?
The hard way.
I sure hope this
weekend is a success.
It could give me
a shot at becoming
Kendall Nesbitt's new assistant.
Who's Kendall Nesbitt?
Oh, he's the museum's
director of acquisitions.
If I got this job, it would
mean going to Europe with him
to look for rare
paintings and antiques.
Well, if he has an eye for
antiques, you should be a shoo-in.
Look who's calling
the vase Ming.
There's just one hitch.
I need three more people to
get the group rate at the hotel.
I thought hotels always
gave you the group rate.
Yeah, sweetheart, but
this is for the whole night.
Is there any chance I could
persuade you girls to join me
for a murder-mystery weekend?
Blanche, are you kidding?
I have read every word
Dashiell Hammett and
Raymond Chandler ever wrote.
Now, Sam Spade and Philip
Marlowe have become a part of me.
"She had more curves
than the Monaco Grand Prix
"and was twice as dangerous.
"Her jewelry was mute testimony
"that Charlie Chaplin
wasn't the only tramp
"who hit it big in this town."
You do this on first
dates, don't you, Dorothy?
Does this mean you'll go?
Of course we'll go.
Sure, anything for a friend.
What the heck. I'll go, too.
Yeah, like you had a choice.
When do you think the
mysteries are gonna start?
You want a mystery?
You should have tried
the pink dressing
at the salad bar.
Oh, jeez, the mystery continues.
Now, girls, remember, look
everyone over very carefully.
Try to figure out who
are the real guests
and who are actors
pretending to be guests.
It'll help when it comes
to solving the mysteries.
Okay, Dorothy.
If that's your real name.
How is that coffee?
Terrific!
Actor.
Blanche, you're
wearing my earrings.
Oh, I know that.
But when I asked you
before where they were,
you said you didn't know,
and now you're wearing them.
Well, Rose, there could
be two explanations.
Either I was lying,
or I was wrong about the
number of explanations.
Blanche. Oh, Kendall.
Blanche, I must
commend you again.
I have a feeling
we're in for a weekend
none of us is going to forget.
Oh, I do declare,
your sweet words could
charm the mornin' dew
right off of the honeysuckle.
That was good, Blanche.
Now, do Br'er Rabbit.
I believe the fun
is about to begin.
Ladies.
I think I got to him, don't you?
Your eyes are as
good as rolled back.
I do believe that things are
gonna turn out even better than I...
Oh, Kendall is sitting
down with Posey MacGlinn.
She is my main rival
for that assistant's job.
Oh, look at the shameless
way she's flirtin' with him.
Disgustin'.
You flirted with him.
I'm from the South.
Flirting is part of my heritage.
What do you mean?
Her mother was a slut, too.
Ladies and gentlemen,
I'm sure we all join
his son, his daughter
and his new bride, Candy,
in wishing many
returns of the day
to our friend and
patron for 40 years,
Giles Forsythe.
My God! They've been murdered!
Does this mean we don't
get any birthday cake?
Please, nobody touch anything.
My name is Spade Marlowe.
I'm a private detective
retained by the late
philanthropist, Giles Forsythe,
because when an 88-year-old
man marries a 22-year-old girl,
he likes to know
what she's up to.
I'm sorry to interrupt,
but does anybody but me
think the hat's a little precious?
Today was Giles
Forsythe's birthday,
and he intended as
always to celebrate
by having dinner here
with his son, Philip,
a well-known collector
of pre-Columbian artifacts,
his spinster daughter, Gloria,
and of course his
new bride, Candy.
I've failed to
protect my client,
but I am determined,
with your help,
to solve these crimes and
bring the murderer to justice.
Maybe that bloody dagger will
lead us to the murder weapon.
St. Olaf?
Boy, he is good.
Unusual knife.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, cut the cake.
I recognize that.
It's a rare Mayan
sacrificial dagger.
That could prove
to be significant.
Undoubtedly the weapon
used to kill Mrs. Forsythe,
but obviously her
husband was shot.
Then there must be a gun.
South side?
Uncanny.
Do you mind?
Go right ahead. You
won't find anything.
What I believe they
refer to as a purse gun,
and it's been recently fired.
I don't understand.
Ladies and gentlemen,
you now have enough
clues to solve these murders.
Who did it, how and why?
The butler did it!
I'm a maitre d'.
Thank you. The maitre d' did it!
Philip did it!
Gloria did it!
It was Colonel Mustard in
the library with the candlestick.
Oh, she says, "The butler
did it," and I'm the idiot?
The answer is obvious.
They both did it.
Oh, now, if Miss
Smarty solves the crime,
she'll make a big
impression on Kendall,
and I can just kiss
that job goodbye.
Philip was a collector
of pre-Columbian relics.
Candy had her throat
cut with a Mayan dagger.
He killed her.
The gun was in Gloria's purse.
She killed her father.
Nice try, ma' am, but Philip and
Gloria are innocent of those crimes.
Perhaps, but they
are both murderers.
Sit down, Dorothy. Don't
make a fool of yourself.
Would you care to explain?
In the first place, it is unlikely
that Gloria murdered her father.
Statistics show that patricide
is overwhelmingly a male crime.
Although daughters
frequently murder their mothers!
If Gloria had killed her father,
would she then have tried to
conceal the weapon in her purse?
Ladies and
gentlemen, I think not.
That gun was obviously
planted in her purse
to pin the murder on her.
I've got it!
A maitre d' is
some kind of waiter.
On the other hand,
Philip would never pick
a Mayan sacrificial knife
as a murder weapon.
Too obvious.
But it would be no
problem for his sister
to sneak the weapon
out of his collection.
This woman's pathetic!
Oh, big news. Tear
out the front page.
Notice that the dagger was
found to the left of the victim.
A throat...
A throat is almost
always cut from behind.
Not part of the show,
people. Not part of the show.
Being right-handed, I
would slash from left to right.
But from the fact
that the murder weapon was
dropped to the left of the victim,
we can deduce that the
murderer is left-handed.
Notice that Gloria, like
most left-handed people,
wears her wristwatch
on her right wrist.
I think it is painfully clear
that Philip and Gloria
both planned murders,
and each meant
to pin it on the other.
They knew that the
lights would be turned off
when the cake appeared
because that happens every year.
Coincidence? Ha!
Siblings often think alike.
You've given us a
who, a how and a "Ha."
But what about why?
What's the motive?
When a 22-year-old
marries an 88-year-old,
chances are she's
not after his body.
Oh, boy.
Gloria and Philip
were both afraid
that Candy would persuade
the old man to change his will,
and they both hoped that
pinning the crime on the other
would make them
the sole inheritor.
Well, there you have
it, ladies and gentlemen,
the who, how and why.
Dorothy, that was a
real Tour de France.
Thank you, thank you, Rose.
Girls, guess what?
Kendall just told me he
needs to be alone with me.
What did you do?
Well, what else? I gave
him my key to our room.
Now, let me have yours, Rose.
You can bunk with
Dorothy and Sophia tonight.
But we were gonna be roomies.
Either you're bunkin' with them,
or you can sleep in the closet.
Closet? Give me that key.
Coming, Kendall.
Oh.
Compliments of Mr. Nesbitt.
Well, how sweet. I'll take it.
No, no, no. I've got it, ma'am.
Oh, my God!
Oh, my God!
It's all right. What
is this all about?
He's dead!
Blanche, calm down.
This is undoubtedly just another
part of the mystery weekend.
Oh, yeah? He looks
pretty dead to me.
All right, Ma, give
me your mirror.
What for?
Every morning I hold
it under Ma's nose.
If it fogs up, I
start the coffee.
No breath.
Oh, my God. He's dead.
Oh, God.
I'm Vaczy, hotel security.
Nobody touch anything.
You say no one was in the
room but her and the victim?
That's right, sir.
He's dead, all right.
Steak knife right
through the heart.
That must be what killed him.
St. Olaf?
It's like I'm wearing a sign.
I want everybody
out of this room.
I'm clearing it till
the police get here.
And nobody leaves
the hotel, especially you.
As of now, you're
the only suspect.
If they put me in prison,
I'll be brave. I can handle it.
Blanche, you don't understand.
They'll put you in
a women's prison.
Don't let me go,
Dorothy! Don't let me go!
Honey, you are not going to
go because you are not guilty.
I understand you can have
anything for your last meal.
Just ice cream, if you want.
I think I'm gonna be sick.
You're not helping, Rose.
It's almost as though you
believe Blanche is guilty.
Well, she lied
about my earrings,
and she took them.
I mean, deceit, then theft.
Isn't murder the
next logical step?
St. Olaf, right?
Face it, Dorothy. Blanche was
discovered in a locked room.
Only she and the
victim had keys.
I mean, give me
another explanation.
The trouble is, I can't.
Oh, come on, pussycat.
You figured out that
mystery at dinner.
Oh, Ma, that was
a game. This is life.
Oh, that's right. You've
never been good at life.
How can I be accused of murder?
I am a Devereaux.
Things like this usually
happen to people named Petrillo.
I take offense at that.
No one in my family ever,
ever left a body to be found.
Okay, I'm Lieutenant Alvarez,
Dade County Homicide,
and here's what I got.
At around 9:45 last night,
this guy went to Room 405,
carrying champagne
ordered by Nesbitt.
He was admitted by Blanche
Devereaux and discovered the corpse.
Now, Ms. Devereaux and this
dead guy had the only two keys.
Forensics say that
the cause of death
was a stab wound
inflicted by a steak knife.
We know Ms. Devereaux
had steak for dinner.
Given these facts, unless
somebody has something else,
we got enough to make an arrest.
My, my, Mr. Officer.
I do declare, your sweet words
could charm the mornin' dew
right off the honeysuckle.
Blanche, not now.
If not now, when?
Blanche Devereaux... Wait, wait!
You haven't
established a motive.
You want a motive?
I'll give you a motive.
That woman gave
Kendall her room key.
I saw her do it.
Her plan was to seduce him
to insure that she would
win the job as his assistant.
Then she got the other key to
the room from that woman there.
She... She rushed
up to the room.
She tore off her clothes.
That's Velcro.
It just gives the
illusion of a tear.
She flung her dress on the bed.
She slipped into a negligee
and awaited her prey.
What she didn't realize was the
reason that Kendall went to her room,
the reason Kendall
ordered the champagne,
was to let her down easy.
He'd already
promised the job to me.
And the reason he
went to her room,
rather than having
her come to his,
was that I was sharing his room.
Slut!
When Kendall told her the truth,
she flew into a jealous rage.
She plunged the steak
knife into his chest.
That tramp murdered my lover!
I know Blanche
Devereaux, Lieutenant,
and this tramp is incapable
of committing murder.
Okay, we got a motive,
we got a weapon,
and we got one
suspect with no alibi.
Blanche Devereaux, I'm
charging you with murder.
You have the right
to remain... Wait, wait!
Why would she
bring a steak knife
to what she thought
was a romantic liaison?
It could've been for anything.
I'm not familiar with
her sexual proclivities.
What, are you a rookie?
You still haven't
answered the question
of how somebody
else got into the room.
What if there was
a knock at the door?
Nesbitt might have assumed that it
was the waiter with the champagne.
That is speculation.
But one more point.
The hotel security chief
cordoned off the room,
so the only people who saw
the room after the murder,
other than you and your staff,
were the waiter, the security
chief, and the four of us.
So?
So when Miss MacGlinn was
reconstructing the murder scene,
she described Blanche's
dress being slung over the bed.
It was. I saw it.
But Miss MacGlinn
could only have seen it
if she'd been there
prior to the murder.
I think I see now
how it happened.
Last evening, at dinner,
when Miss MacGlinn saw
Blanche give Kendall Nesbitt her key,
she was furious.
She dropped a steak
knife into her purse.
Big deal, I took a
whole place setting.
Not now, Ma!
And when she felt that
she wouldn't be missed,
she slipped out of the dining
room and headed upstairs.
Kendall had let himself
into Blanche's room
while she was in the shower
and was making
himself comfortable
when there was a
knock at the door.
Thinking it was the
champagne, he opened the door.
Posey was there.
She accused him of two-timing.
He denied it.
Posey pulled out a steak knife,
plunged it into his chest
and left the room before
Blanche could discover her.
Jealous rage was
the motive, all right,
but Blanche wasn't the murderer.
There's your murderer,
Posey MacGlinn.
Well, Miss MacGlinn, what
do you have to say now?
Dorothy Zbornak, you've stuck
your nose in for the last time!
Posey MacGlinn,
I charge you with the
murder of Kendall Nesbitt.
Lieutenant Alvarez, I don't
think that'll be necessary,
as I seem to have
recovered from my death,
but I would like to thank
the Maltese Falcon Club
and, in particular,
Blanche Devereaux
for giving us a weekend
we'll never forget.
Thank you for coming.
So wait a minute.
You mean those
guys were all in on it?
I was in on it, too.
Oh, come on, you were not.
Oh, all right. I was not.
Damn it, I just hate to
be the brunt of jokes.
Funny, you don't mind
being the brunt of limericks.
That's different. That's poetry.
Wait a minute. There's
one thing I don't understand.
When I checked to make sure
that Kendall was really dead,
why didn't his breath
show up on your mirror?
Simple. The mirror had
been sprayed with defogger.
But who could have done that?
I did.
The people at the
club asked me to.
Well, Rose, why would you
do such a cruel thing to me?
Well, Blanche, there
could be two explanations.
Either I was getting back at
you for taking my earrings or...
Oh, who are we kidding?
That's why I did it.
This whole thing
is just unbelievable.
Kendall, you're not dead,
and I didn't kill anybody.
And I didn't take
any silverware.
Does this mean I'm still
in the runnin' for the job?
Of course you are.
Oh, well...
So this was all a
mockery, a sham.
No crimes were committed at all.
What a load of fun.
Pussycat, help me
carry my purse to the car.