Moonlighting s01e05 Episode Script

Hey, kid, glum up.
How bad can it be? Pretty bad, Addison.
We need a case.
Of what? Relax, it's almost the weekend.
Besides, great cases aren't born, they're made.
Right now, some bank teller is thinking about the big grab.
Some frustrated housewife is staring at a steak knife contemplating her husband Harvey's clavicle.
Some poor relation is thinking of Uncle Stanford's millions.
Doctor said he'd be dead in three months, four years ago.
Our case is out there.
- It's just fermenting.
- You sound so certain.
I am so certain.
Even as we speak a spurned lover of some lustful lad is picking up a revolver pointing it at her former beloved's brain.
He turns, sees his mistress, sees the gun, there's a scream! - Addison! - Not bad.
She was sitting there, asking for words that rhyme with "detective.
" The mail came, she started to open it, and then she screamed.
- Did anyone suggest "effective"? - Addison.
- Miss DiPesto? - Agnes? - It's from him! - Him? Doesn't he do the burning bush thing? - Not Him.
- Him, J.
B.
Harland.
That him.
Who's that? The only J.
B.
Harland I know is the mystery writer.
- That's the one! - Well, what does it say? - I don't know.
- Just a shot in the dark but opening the envelope may tell you.
Of course.
You're right.
"J.
B.
Harland invites you to a murder.
" - I don't believe it, I won! - You won? - I won! - That's wonderful.
- What did you win? - A contest! Oh, there's so much to do! I gotta pack.
I've gotta get my hair done.
J.
B.
Harland, the greatest mystery writer of all time.
I'm gonna spend the weekend with him.
- Miss DiPesto, in mixed company? - It's not like that.
It's better than that.
Better than that? - Better! - J.
B.
Harland.
I know who he is.
- He writes Inspector Doughnut books.
- That's " Inspector Dumais.
" Me, Miss Agnes DiPesto and J.
B.
Harland.
- Explain this later? - Only if she explains it to me now.
I've been invited aboard the Murder Train.
J.
B.
Harland's Murder Train.
He does it every year.
He and four of his closest friends and the winner of the Murder Mystery Magazine's essay contest spend exactly 24 hours aboard a train bound for nowhere.
Sometime during the trip, a murder will occur.
Beats the hell out of my weekend plans.
The invitation was lost in the mail.
- The trip is tomorrow.
- Go, if you have things to do.
This is a hubbub of activity here, but we'll find a way to survive without you.
Thanks.
You guys are great.
In fact, you're better than great.
You're great-great.
We think you're great-great too.
- Great-great? - Bye-bye.
- Ta-ta.
- Ta-ta.
I feel funny asking, but since I don't know where the train's going and I don't want to leave my car at the station- Maddie will be glad to drive you there.
- It's Saturday night, I have plans.
- Haven't you heard of midnight Mass? We'll be back in time.
We'll both take you down there.
Me luck is on the rise.
I'd listen as fate cries.
The time is here, so give a cheer.
DiPesto won a prize.
- Great-great.
- So-so.
Boy, this is really exciting.
Union Station.
The last time I was in a train station I was taking a train.
Life's crazy.
You really are excited.
I'm really proud of you, getting your essay picked out by J.
B.
Harland.
What did you write about? Why J.
B.
Harland is the greatest mystery writer of all time.
- Gutty choice.
- A five-page essay and my picture.
- A picture? - Yeah.
I sent him a picture of me at the office.
I thought maybe if he saw that I work at a detective agency- - Obviously, you thought right.
- I can't believe it.
It's like Cinderella.
I think that makes you and me mice.
- What track are we looking for? - Let's see.
It just says "The J.
B.
Harland Murder Train.
" I'll go check the schedule.
- Who are the glad rags for? - You speaking to me? No, I'm speaking to this bum over here.
Hot date? It depends on what you consider a hot date.
Can he eat without you cutting his food up first? I didn't come here to talk about my private life.
I came here to see a friend off and get a lift to the theatre.
The theatre.
Let me guess, this guy got you fifth-row-centre tickets for Cats.
He's got an in backstage.
After the show, you can scratch the cats' ears while they cough up fur balls.
Why couldn't you just say, " I hope you have a nice time"? - I hope you have a nice time.
- Thank you.
Whatever curdles your cream.
It's a private train, track 29.
- Terrific.
- Terrific.
Terrific! Carpeting on the walls.
Must be tough to vacuum.
" Dear Miss DiPesto, welcome to J.
B.
Harland's Murder Train.
I am pleased to have you as my special guest and look forward to making your acquaintance.
Here's to a good mystery.
Your humble servant, J.
B.
Harland.
" It's almost more than I can stand.
- How exactly does this game work? - I'm not really sure.
This group gets together once a year and they race to solve a mystery designed by J.
B.
Harland.
- If you solve it, you win.
- Where's the rest of the group? Maybe that's part of the mystery.
That's what the whole thing is about.
You never really know what's going on.
Maybe I should get a head start and scout out the place.
Thank you for helping me with my stuff.
- I couldn't have done it alone.
- We wouldn't leave you stuffless.
- Have a terrific time.
- I think I will.
Gotta admit, pretty plush.
Bet you the whole damn train goes condo in a year.
- Addison? - All right, all right, all right.
I'm just gonna look around a little bit.
Pretty classy.
Personal head.
- Elegant button.
- What are you doing? I want to see how these work.
- Why? - Because it's there.
Isn't that a line from Mountains and Three-Minute Miles? - I'm gonna tell you something.
- Miracle of miracles.
Remember that blackout in 1965, the East Coast blacked out for a night? Well, I never told anybody this, but I caused that.
Why aren't I surprised? The whole time I was growing up, my mom told me: " David, turn your lights out.
There are children in China who are in the dark.
" And the whole time, I never turned them out.
There's a rebel in me, I admit it.
One day, I'm over at my friend's house, and I'm thinking: " I got to get home before my mom gets home from work.
" Dangerous guy that I am, I left the lights on.
For no reason, they're just on.
Wasting energy, wasting money.
So I get on my bike, and I'm riding home as fast as I can.
I've got to beat my mom home, right? I get home, slam on the coaster brakes, throw the bike down I look up, the lights are still on.
I also see my mom's home.
I figure she hasn't noticed.
I go into my pocket for a key I figure I'll sneak in, turn the lights off, and I'll be safe.
I go in my pocket, and there is no key.
Which means I gotta ring the doorbell which means my mom has to answer it she'll go by my room, see my lights on and realize I am not her son.
Must have been some mix-up at the hospital.
This is a riveting story.
Anyway, I press the doorbell, and it goes "ding.
" Is that it? That's the story? Get it? Normally, our doorbell goes "ding-dong.
" This time, it just went "ding.
" I heard it go "ding," and I turn around and look and all the lights on my block go out.
I did it.
Overloaded the whole system because I left my lights in my room on.
I never told that story to anybody.
I wonder why.
So now, whenever I see a button- Press it! Put me out of my misery and press it.
- My kind of button.
All right.
- Can we leave now? Nice.
Firm.
Takes me back to my days at San Quentin.
It's a joke.
- Come here, give it a test ride.
- I'll take your word for it.
- Maddie.
- David.
- Know what your problem is? - Tell me.
- You're just not spontaneous.
- You're right, let's go.
Come here.
Come sit by me.
- Why? - Because we're here on a private train, with a nice bed and carpeting on the walls.
Besides, I asked nice.
I'd do it for you.
- And then we can go? - Then we can leave.
There now, see? - That didn't hurt a bit, did it? - No.
It must have been something back then travelling across the country by train listening to the clickety-clack as the train rumbled through the heartland.
Every passenger's face a mystery.
Every car, filled with the possibility of intrigue - danger, romance.
- Do tell.
Incredible meals served on fine linen.
Drinks sipped as the train cut through the twilight.
- Twilight? - Twilight.
Do you feel something? My nail file pressed up against your ribs.
Good golly, it's almost sunrise here on the old Addison Flyer.
- Addison? - Wrong button.
- Addison, do something.
- What? - Do something! - What? - You did this on purpose.
- No, I didn't.
- Yes, you did.
- No, I didn't.
Yes, you did.
Yes, you did.
Miss.
Are you talking to me? You must be J.
B.
's guest.
His murder train's the best.
Rodney's the name, solving mysteries my game.
Even if they're only in jest.
My name is Agnes.
But my friends call me Miss DiPesto.
Hello, Miss DiPesto.
The train is moving.
I better get back to my room.
Why? I don't know.
Excuse me.
- Yes, you did.
- No, I didn't.
- Yes, you did.
- No, I didn't.
- Yes, you did! - No, I didn't.
- Yes, you did! - No, I didn't.
- You did! - I didn't.
- Hello? - Miss DiPesto! Grandma? - No, it's Maddie.
- And David.
We're in the bed in the wall.
Do you want me to leave? No, press the button and get us out.
Button? - Oh, the button.
- The button.
Was it good for you too? She made me do it.
I didn't want to do it.
I didn't feel we were ready.
- We're moving.
- Do we have to? All my friends go to this school.
- This train is moving! - Land of Goshen, she's right.
You better figure out a way to get me off this train.
I will gladly get you off this train.
I will throw you off this train if necessary but kindly refrain from physical acts that are not of an erotic nature.
This is not my fault.
I was not born yesterday! It's true, I had lunch with her yesterday.
Well, maybe if we all just sat down- Maddie.
Does anyone know who I can talk to about stopping the train? Stop this train? The J.
B.
Harland Murder Train? The engineer is locked in the engine room.
This train isn't going to stop for 24 hours.
- Twenty-four hours? - No need to panic.
We've been waiting for you.
My name is J.
B.
Harland.
As you all know each year, I select one reader from Murder Mystery Magazine to join us on our little trip.
This year, the special guest is Agnes- - Maddie Hayes.
- You're Maddie Hayes, aren't you? Janet, you're mistaken.
This lady's name is- Maddie Hayes.
- You're not Agnes DiPesto? - No, I am.
- But you're the one in the picture.
- What picture? See, that's me.
David, this is cute, of all of us.
Not too shabby.
I could use a copy of this myself.
You're not Miss DiPesto? - Then who are you? - They're detectives.
Partners at the agency where I work.
They were seeing me off and got stuck on the train.
You mean you're both authentic private eyes? I don't believe it.
I- Excuse me.
Are you just going to glare at them, or are you gonna invite them to stay? That wouldn't work at all.
J.
B.
has written this mystery with six players in mind.
Besides, there are only six sleeping compartments.
Don't take this the wrong way, but if it's all the same I'd like to get off the train.
- Off the train? - I didn't pack.
It's a come-as-you-are murder, right? You wouldn't even have to stop, just slow down.
No, as I explained, that isn't possible.
- Rodney.
- Yes? Let's get some accommodations for our guests.
- Right, J.
B.
- Then it's settled.
This is going to be a fascinating 24 hours.
I'll leave you all to go about your business.
Tonight, somewhere on this train, a murder will occur.
Until then cherish your peace of mind.
- Not bad for a Saturday night.
- I'm not speaking to you.
I did not get us shanghaied on this train on purpose.
As long as we're- There's no "we're.
" There is me.
There is you.
You're here, let's make the best of it.
Make the best of it for both of us.
I'd rather be alone.
- Fine.
- Fine.
- Okay.
- Okay, fine.
Mystery train, mystery meat.
My favourite.
- You're really a detective? - Real as they get.
David Addison.
David.
That's a good name.
It's easy to put on cakes.
Sebastian Rhodes here.
I'm a baker.
I'm a chef too but I specialize in cakes and breads and mysteries.
I sure am glad J.
B.
decided to let you stay.
It's gonna be a lot of fun having real private eyes to play against.
Yeah, I know, I can hardly stand the excitement.
- I hope you understand.
- Excuse me? Don't think I was campaigning to have you removed from the train.
It's just that J.
B.
labours a month or more on these mysteries and extra bodies, live ones, could throw the whole thing out of whack.
There's no place I'd rather be less than on this train.
You won't believe it, but you and I almost worked together.
I own Magic Night, the perfume company.
- I was up for the- - The Magic Night Girl.
At one point, our house- J.
B.
and I used to own a home together.
We used to live together, that's what I'm trying to say.
I had pictures of you all over my house, trying to make up my mind.
But I contemplated too long and Blue Moon Shampoo got you first.
- So you and J.
B.
Harland aren't-? - No, not anymore.
Not really.
We now own two homes together and he makes a point to be in the one that I'm not.
- I'm sorry.
- Don't be, I'm happy.
Besides, I had my chance.
One night, about seven years ago, on one of these mysteries, in fact J.
B.
was whacked out of his mind on Courvoisier.
He asked me to marry him but I was greedy and stupid.
I wanted a sober proposal.
I've finally stopped waiting.
Well, enjoy the murder, Maddie.
- Hello.
- Come in.
All this is yours? This is nothing.
You should see my apartment.
I should? No, I didn't mean "should" like you had to.
- I meant "should" like you could.
- Of course.
- I mean, if you wanted to.
- Of course.
That was a wonderful essay you wrote on J.
B.
It meant a lot to him.
It was all true.
He's a genius.
I've been reading his books for years.
Really? Which one's your favourite? That's not easy.
I guess it would be Death Extension.
I couldn't put it down.
That stuff with the light switch was brilliant.
That was a little idea that came to me during the blackout.
The city, not me.
That was your idea? Yes.
I work as a technical adviser for J.
B.
I'm a forensic specialist.
That's kind of like a murder-and-clue man.
J.
B.
will call me at 2 in the morning and ask if you can trace fingerprints on Jell-O stuff like that.
Actually, I'm working on a little story of my own right now.
J.
B.
has been very encouraging.
A mentor, really.
A wonderful man.
What's that? It's called a Bunsen burner.
Very lively, very lethal.
Miss DiPesto.
Here's to a beautiful woman a good murder and the man who brought us all together J.
B.
Harland.
I know you're not speaking to me but you gotta admit this train, this night pretty romantic.
Haven't you ever had a fantasy like this? About a night like this, on a train like this? Yep.
Only none of these people were in it, including you.
I love it when you talk mean to me.
So when is this stupid murder supposed to happen, anyway? Now, I've heard that scream before.
I think he's dead.
You don't want to sleep here tonight.
Perhaps it was something he ate.
Maybe it's the mystery.
Maybe he's faking.
Don't touch that man.
You don't know where he's been.
Pretty dead.
This has got to be some incredible, amazing, sick joke.
Talk about life imitating art.
Art? Don't make me laugh.
What we've got here is life imitating trash.
Wanna bet his tongue catches flies? How about a little respect for the dead? I respect you, Rodney.
I don't believe you people.
J.
B.
is lying here dead and you're trading quips.
What would you like us to do? For one thing, we could stop this train.
Not possible.
It can't be done.
In '77, when I was passing that kidney stone- Sebastian, please spare us.
What are we going to do? J.
B.
is dead.
And it would seem one of us killed him.
I have an idea.
For 15 years we've been gathering together to solve a mystery a mystery served up by J.
B.
This train is not stopping for another 22 hours, folks.
I like it, I like it.
Are you suggesting we turn J.
B.
's death into a game? Somebody's already done that.
I agree with Sebastian.
We owe it to J.
B.
to solve this murder among ourselves.
Besides, which would we rather hand over to the police a dead body, or a live murderer? - This is sick.
- And stupid.
Aren't we giving the murderer a break here? How are we gonna be able to find the murderer if he or she is free to tamper with the evidence or change the clues? She's right.
You're all mystery experts.
Whoever did it will have a dandy time watching you race down blind alleys.
What you're saying is that we need someone to lead the investigation.
Someone without a connection to J.
B.
Someone without a motive.
- Someone without luggage.
- I don't think- That's okay, you look good.
So gang let's figure out where to start.
What we have is a dead body.
Amazing observation.
Without a murder weapon.
Wouldn't the killer have taken the weapon and thrown it off the train? Good question, Agnes.
No talking, Rodney.
David.
Oh, gee, already? - Is there a freezer on this train? - No, no, it's not that.
It's- Magic Night.
- He's covered with it.
- Covered with it? How do you suppose he came to have your perfume all over him, Janet? How do you think? The mind reels.
Sell it somewhere else, Miss McCall.
The prom ended for you and J.
B.
years ago.
What are you saying, that I killed him? I wonder if she didn't hide the murder weapon in her room.
- In her room.
- In my room? In your room.
Let me at it.
- It's gotta be somewhere in her room.
- Leave no stone unturned.
Why is everybody running? What are you people doing? Partner, why don't you and I search down here.
Certainly.
This isn't an investigation, it's an inquisition.
Say that in English.
These people are going to kill each other.
- So? - So? Don't you feel any responsibility for them? I didn't want to be on this train, and I feel responsibility for them.
We can't let them just run around willy-nilly, making accusations.
One of us has to keep them occupied until this dumb train stops.
- Why? - Why? Goodness, if don't you care about anyone else on this train - what about DiPesto? - What about her? She's an innocent.
Did you notice whose bed the body was left in? She can get hurt in the middle of this.
Accusations, innuendoes.
I know you.
You'd never forgive yourself if something happened to her.
Never? Never is a long time, Maddie.
How cold and unfeeling do you think I am? Don't answer that.
It's an essay question.
Think about it for a minute.
Now, let's go back down here to episode 88 of Dynasty and see if things have calmed down.
What are you doing? It doesn't make sense.
Everybody knows that I love J.
B.
" Loved.
" Past tense.
Give me that.
Skyler, Sebastian, Rodney, all of you for the last time, I did not kill J.
B.
I admit that there were reasons.
I'll admit there were times I would have liked to.
It's easy to hate someone who swears undying love and then ignores you when you get your first laugh line.
The sad part is that J.
B.
really loved me.
And he would have realized that if only If only one of you fools hadn't killed him.
What a convincing performance.
I know I'm moved.
Shut up! Shut up! I hate you! - I hate all men! Men are pigs! - Janet.
You're pigs, because you don't know what it's like to be left.
Men don't get left.
Women get left, like a toy that you're tired of or like a car that doesn't go fast enough.
Mr.
Harland didn't leave you.
Here you are aboard his murder train.
I bullied him to get this invitation again.
The only woman that he was at all interested in on this train was you.
Or, actually, you.
I hated you, Mr.
J.
B.
Jackass.
Sounds like a confession to me.
It is.
I confess.
I could have killed him.
I even thought about it.
But I didn't do it.
I can't remember when I've had this much fun.
You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that nerves are raw.
Everybody is a little tired.
Let's call a temporary truce and get some rest.
We can meet again first thing in the morning.
I think Miss Hayes is right.
Rested minds are happy minds.
- I suppose.
- Perhaps.
- Well - I guess so.
Count me in.
Everybody okay? Sebastian, your foot is in my face.
My foot is not in your face.
I know it's impossible for you to see over that mound of flesh between your neck and your knees, but trust me, your foot is in my face.
- Good night, Miss DiPesto.
- Good night, Rodney.
- Good night, Miss Hayes.
- Good night, Skyler.
- Good night, Sebastian.
- Good night, Janet.
Good night, John Boy.
I found it.
I found the murder weapon.
You found it? Where did you find it? In Skyler Cantrell's room, of course.
David, there's still eight hours left of this train trip.
How will you keep them from killing each other? I think you underestimate the sensitivity and maturity of this group.
They're not hysterical.
Trust me, this will work out.
- You sure? - Positive.
I suspected Skyler all along.
So I snuck in here this morning, and I found it.
Here.
- In this shaving kit.
- Tough beard.
She's trying to frame him.
It's obvious.
Skyler has no motive.
No motive? He hated J.
B.
But I hate everyone.
You had to get rid of him, didn't you? Talk about a mystery.
I'm baffled.
Aren't any of you curious as to how Sky's back-breaking gambling debts suddenly disappeared? Do go on.
I so enjoy seeing you make a fool of yourself.
You were over your head, weren't you? Admit it, you were terrified.
- I've slept better.
- And what did you do? You went to J.
B.
for a loan, didn't you? - J.
B.
was my friend.
- And what did your friend say? He laughed.
He said no.
He said he was going to enjoy seeing me squirm for a while.
And what happened then? Why don't you tell them? You're such a gifted storyteller.
Next thing I heard, your much beloved and much moneyed father died of a coronary.
In a slightly too-hot hot tub.
But that's the way the victim died in J.
B.
's last book.
- How did you know that? - Rodney was J.
B.
's technical adviser.
He reviewed everything that J.
B.
wrote.
Is that true, Skyler? Oh, yes.
Except the once-lovely Miss McCall has her facts slightly bollixed up.
My father passed away in May.
Mr.
Harland did not begin work on the book in question until July.
I did not steal a method of death from him.
He stole it from me.
Are those dates correct, Rodney? Well, I don't know.
But it's easily checked in the office after the train has stopped.
Right, after the train has stopped and Skyler's had a chance to flee with his inheritance.
Isn't there some way to do something now? I mean, couldn't we fingerprint this thing or something? I have a dusting kit with me.
Say, you're good at this.
Most people tense up when you take the print, and it smears.
Practice.
How long have you been into this? Seems like you know your way around a petri dish.
Gee, ever since I was a kid.
You know, I got my first microscope when I was only this big.
Index finger, please.
And you work exclusively for J.
B.
Harland? Hired me right out of school.
The truth is, I owe the world to J.
B.
He gave me a creative outlet, a purpose.
I didn't even know I could write before I worked for him.
We were researching death by injection for one of the short stories.
I gave him a fact sheet: the various drugs, the various deaths.
He threw it in my face.
He said, " I don't want facts.
I want a scene.
I want drama.
" That really hurt, you know.
But I went back to my lab and I found the drug the poison that I thought would work the best.
And I wrote out for him exactly how I thought the killer would use it: What it would look like, what he would say to his victim.
Well, the next day, I gave it to him.
He didn't say a word.
But he used it, verbatim, in the book.
Ever since then, he has been something of a mentor to me.
- That gave you the bug, huh? - Yeah.
Actually, I'm writing a novel of my own right now.
Mystery? What else is there? You too, huh? Rodney strikes again.
- What do you think of him, anyway? - Who? Rodney? - Do you think he's strange? - I've met stranger, I think.
Why? Is something going on? Oh, no.
Nothing is going on.
- Maybe something should be going on.
- Oh, gosh, I don't know.
Miss Hayes, it may not show, but I've been around the block.
You go around the block enough times, and you get scared.
Everyone is scared, Agnes.
Oh, come on, not you.
Not me? Why not, because I was a model? You think I never cried myself to sleep because the phone didn't ring? Think I never fell in love at night to discover I hated him during the day? Do you think I was never hurt? This smile, this is my scar tissue.
I've seen my fair share of blocks too.
We're all scared, Agnes.
But you can't let it stop you from getting where you have to go.
Don't touch me, I'm sterile.
Not that kind of sterile.
You do good work, Rodney.
I'm telling my friends about you.
You're a funny man, Mr.
Addison.
It shows, huh? I used to worry about it.
Then I read an article, said it was genetic.
Later.
- Mr.
Addison? - Someone call my name? - Agnes DiPesto.
- One of my favourite people.
- Tell me about her.
- What do you want to know? I don't know.
Anything you want to tell me.
I can't remember a woman ever having this effect on me before.
Usually, it's love-them-and-leave-them Rodney.
You know how women are.
They find out you have a Ph.
D.
in chemical engineering and they're all over you.
But this, this is different.
Is she everything I think she is? My opinion? The night before DiPesto was born, God went to a great party.
Let me ask you one more question.
And please, be honest.
I like you, Addison.
I'm not going after something I have no right to, am I? I don't follow.
You were there first.
I'm not gonna lie to you, Rodney.
It hasn't been easy watching the sparks fly across the room.
But can't argue with kismet, eh? That's big of you, Addison.
Thanks.
Just be on your best behaviour, young man.
- She's a very special lady.
- I will.
- Talk to me.
- Little over three hours left.
- Ta-da! - Ta-da what? What could happen in three and a half hours? Old Rodney works fast.
Mr.
Addison, Miss Hayes, I found this.
It was buried under some paper towels in the trash.
All right, it's my shirt.
But it's a phoney clue.
Somebody planted it to make me look guilty.
It's working.
Well, I'm certainly glad Miss DiPesto found this.
You're all so convinced I did it I even started to believe I did it.
But this is more plausible.
Truth be told, I suspected Sebastian from the beginning.
You did, huh? Absolutely.
Sebastian never really was part of our group.
He was a charity case.
Everybody knows that J.
B.
liked to surround himself with fawning admirers.
And Sebastian fawns better than Bambi.
Come on, Skyler.
Why don't you say what you mean? You're jealous.
You've always been jealous.
Jealous of the- Of the deep friendship I had with J.
B.
My goodness.
The fat has seeped into his brain and is causing him to hallucinate.
Come on, you know what I'm talking about.
J.
B.
and I had something very special.
Please, I'm getting cavities just listening to this.
I was J.
B.
's friend.
He loved me.
He even invited me, one time, to spend a weekend at his estate.
And what happened when you got there? I don't know what you mean.
I had a terrific time.
Cooking.
That's the only reason you were there.
The reason he invited you.
The only reason he gave you the time of day, Sebastian.
- That's not true.
- He was cheap.
He wanted you up there to cook for the real guests the ones he did care about.
He pretended that you were the hired help.
Pretended he didn't even know you.
Admit it.
He humiliated you.
He used you the way he used everybody in his life.
And that's why he invited you up to his estate and that's why he kept inviting you on this train trip.
To cook.
I'm so hungry.
How can you think of food at a time like this? He concentrates.
I could go for a nice glazed ham some baby yams and peas.
When I was little I felt like I had to eat every single pea on my plate because I hated the idea of one little pea being separated from his family.
You know what I used to do? I used to slice them in half and see if they'd scream.
Fifteen minutes more.
Just 15 minutes more.
Well the fingerprints came up clear as a bell.
- There were even traces of blood.
- Thank God for fingerprints.
Well, come on, Rodney, out with it.
Who's the culprit? - Who? - Who? - Who? - You.
- Me? - You.
My goose is really cooked.
My nerves are really shook.
J.
B.
is dead, it's on my head.
- Life is such a rook.
- Agnes.
My prints are on the knife.
It's going to cost my life.
I'm gonna fry, I wanna cry.
- Oh, why, oh, why, oh, why? - Agnes.
Let's think a second.
I'm sorry.
I don't mean to disturb everyone but what are we thinking about? - The murder, the clues, the details.
- The number of a good lawyer.
It's okay, you guys, you've done everything you can.
Will you come and see me in the big house? - The big house? - I got it.
- I know who our murderer is.
- You do? I do.
Get those knuckleheads in the club car.
Yes, sir, Mr.
Addison.
I don't mind saying that I was sure you would come up with the answer.
Well, who is it? - It isn't you.
And it isn't me.
- Addison? - It isn't Miss DiPesto.
- Who did it? And it can't be the butler, because J.
B.
didn't have one.
I guess you're wondering why I called you all here.
I always wanted to say that.
I'm here to tell you that our killer is in this room, and it is not Miss DiPesto.
Isn't all this just so much smoke to hide the guilt of your secretary? All the evidence points to her.
The body in her bed, the prints on the knife.
The prints that so conveniently turned up just as we were all tired and confused.
Just as we were all ready to be convinced.
What are you trying to imply? Don't get nervous, Rodney.
Shouldn't you be put through the wringer like everyone else? Fine.
Fine.
But I want it made clear that I care as much about Miss DiPesto as you do.
You know eight years is a long time to work for someone.
Surprising that a man of Harland's influence didn't help you publish your books earlier.
Or did he publish your books? I mean, after all you supplied the crimes, the clues, the solutions.
If you had murdered him you would have freed yourself from J.
B.
Harland in a way that would prove once and for all that you were the clever one.
It's pretty good.
But you don't have a shred of evidence.
But I do, and you gave it to me.
I suspected the truth as soon as I saw the body in the berth.
But I couldn't catch a smart guy like you, Rodney.
So I had to let you catch yourself.
You identified the prints on this as Miss DiPesto's.
But they weren't there.
I wiped them clean before you got it.
The only prints on this were mine.
But you didn't check, because you didn't have to.
You knew no one in this room was in a position to challenge you.
- Wanna know how I did that? - No, I'm wondering why you did that.
I'm sorry it had to end this way, Miss DiPesto.
I really liked you.
Love is hard.
Obviously, it would be in Miss DiPesto's best interests if none of you tried to stop me.
Wipe this clean.
DiPesto's prints are on it.
Addison! - David.
- He disappeared.
Check in here.
David.
- What are you doing? - Stay inside! Don't do that.
Addison! I told you to stay inside.
- I've enough to worry about here.
- Addison, get back here! Get inside! Wait a minute! What are you doing? - I have to tell you, he's got a- - Gun! You don't know when to quit, do you, Addison? - Yes, I do.
Let's go back down.
- Just stay right where you are.
I don't want to have to kill anyone else.
Rodney, there's a tunnel coming! Sure there is.
Rodney, if you turn into graffiti, you'll break Ms.
DiPesto's heart.
Why don't you just turn around and look? Rodney, I'm telling you, man, if you don't duck down right now they're gonna find you between " Bob loves Mary" and "Jesus saves.
" Look out! Rodney! It's okay, Maddie, you can open your eyes now.
- Tell her she can open her eyes.
- You can open your eyes.
Pretty great-great, huh-huh? Pretty great-great, huh-huh.
- Sorry to bother you.
- No bother.
It's awfully late for you to still be here.
I know, but something's on my mind.
I need to talk to someone, woman to woman.
- Woman to woman? - Woman to woman.
You may not have noticed but during the J.
B.
Harland Murder Train trip I began to develop a deep and meaningful relationship - with Rodney- - Rodney Dillon.
It showed.
- I guess there's no hiding passion.
- Guess not.
Well, as I'm sure you're aware his schedule is rather cluttered for the next 30 years.
Twenty-two, with good behaviour.
I recall hearing something to that effect.
And what I was wondering was - Well - Yes? Twenty-two years is a long time.
It certainly is.
And according to Donahue, I'm at my physical and sexual peak - right now.
- Well, Donahue ought to know.
You know the man who comes by to sell sandwiches in the morning? - Mr.
Sandwich? - His name is Neil.
He asked me to have dinner with him.
Not just sandwiches either.
- Hot food.
- Hot food? Am I being fair to Rodney? - Well, he did try to frame you.
- Yeah, I know.
Besides, one meal does not a romance make.
- Yeah, I know.
- I'd go.
- You would? - Yeah.
It's not easy being a single woman in the 1980s, is it? Well thanks for the advice.
It was great-great.
I guess I better go home and call Mr.
Sandwich.
- Good night, Agnes.
- Don't you stay too late.
I won't.