Remington Steele (1982) s03e12 Episode Script

L'Orange must die.
We found him.
We found Dick L'Orange.
- Stop struggling, grandma! - "Grandma"? If this L'Orange fellow were to walk in here now, would you know him? That man- that's him! Tonight will be his last meal.
- I'm not Dick L'Orange! - Prepare to meet your maker.
The one we're looking for is the one who doesn't try to kill you.
That's very comforting.
Bon soir, and God bless.
Great table, Pierre.
And I loved the, uh, the "bow woof.
" - The Boeuf L 'Ornate? - Yeah, the meat loaf.
It is always a pleasure to serve true gourmets.
Ciao, Pierre.
Lock up.
- Teus.
- You saw? I saw.
- Rudizio.
- First, Dick L'Orange impoverishes us.
Then, he deceives us.
Whatever our differences in the past now we must act together.
There is only one answer to such deception.
It will be difficult to find L'Orange.
There are bribes.
More forceful methods.
- It would be risky.
- So is the restaurant business, huh? L'Orange must die.
L'Orange must die.
L'Orange must die.
Has it really been that long? Oh, Eloise, how could I forget a warmth as radiant as yours, eh? Ah! Sorry.
There seems to be a fly in the office.
Uh, as you were saying? Huh? Oh, listen, Eloise.
We can make up for it tomorrow night, eh? Candlelight? Cold bird? Chardonnay? Your buzzer must be broken, chief.
- Mildred! - I'm sorry, but the client's waiting.
Yes, I know, but one client at a time, please! I'm sorry, boss.
Okay, Eloise, thank you.
Bye.
Well, to tell you the truth, Bill, I can't quite place you.
There were a lot of people there, and- Uh- Uh, I do remember some idiot spilled punch on my dr- Oh.
I- I see.
Yeah.
No, I- I wouldn't dream of letting you pay for my cleaning bill.
Just a minute! Uh, dinner? Tonight? - Laura, a client awaits.
- I'm on the phone.
Uh, Bill? You were saying? - Miss Holt, we are conducting a business.
- Oh! A client requires our attention.
Yes, of course.
I'd love to have dinner with you, Bill.
- Mmm! - Who's the lucky fellow? Bill? I met him at a party.
- You go to parties? - Of course I go to parties.
- Yes, of course you do.
- Shall we? - The client awaits.
- Yes, of course.
My associate, Laura Holt.
Phyllis Lewis, publisher of Tomorrow's Food.
- Please, madame, do take a seat.
- Thank you.
Miss Holt, do you know our little magazine? Miss Holt, do you know our little magazine? I couldn't help but notice the cover story last month.
"Fun Things To Do With Whipped Cream.
" Tell me, was that model wearing anything under the whipped cream? Chocolate sauce, no doubt.
Miss Holt, perhaps you haven't realized, we are living in a new age.
"You are what you eat" is no longer mere nutritional advice.
- It's a social dictum.
- Snob eating? Exactly.
This is the era of raspberry vinegar Polish lettuce, mushrooms ferreted out by Asiatic clergy.
- What happened to home cooking? - Oh, it's still done in the frumpier homes.
This compulsion to eat fashionably, Mr.
Steele is what's brought me to you.
My restaurant critic, my dictator of what restaurant is in and what restaurant is out is missing.
- Dick L'Orange? - You know him? L'Orange- a pseudonym, I assume- specializes in skewering high-style eating establishments.
Rakes them over the coals, so to speak.
The readers adore him.
But his review for the next issue is two weeks late.
We go to press in three days, Mr.
Steele.
If I don't find L'Orange, I'm out of business.
- Did you call him? - He would never give us his number.
Have you tried dropping by his home? He wouldn't tell us where he lives.
Well, do you at least have a publicity photo of him? Oh, no, he'd never allow his photograph to be taken.
He wants to keep his identity completely secret so he won't receive any special treatment when he goes to a restaurant.
Can you give us a tiny hors d'oeuvre of a lead? We pay him by money order.
We forward his pay and his mail to a box at Personal Touch.
I'll pay whatever you ask, Mr.
Steele.
The future of Tomorrow's Food is in your hands.
Dick L'Orange could be sick or dead or, God forbid, he could be working for another magazine! Tell me, uh, what's this friend uh, what's his name- Bill.
- What's his last name? - Smith.
What does this Bill Smith do for a living? He's a certified public accountant.
Honorable profession.
You can spend the evening counting debits.
- And credits.
- Mmm.
Don't tell me you're staying home alone tonight, Mr.
Steele.
As a matter of fact, I'm having dinner with a fascinating woman named Eloise.
- Really? - Mm-hmm.
She's a stockbroker.
- Ouch! M.
B.
A.
from Harvard.
- Oh.
Whiz at the big board.
I didn't realize you were so interested in the big board.
Hi.
I, uh- I was, uh, thinking of renting a box.
Here's an application.
Oh, thank you.
Place an ad? Oh.
I think so.
But I'm having trouble with the words.
Tell me how this sounds.
Um, "Sexy, seething femme "longing for your touch.
"The kind of woman who knows what a man wants and is there with it before he asks.
" Uncle Pierre was right.
It was worth the wait.
Tonight, our uncle will make us his partners.
We found him.
We found Dick L'Orange.
"He must be the strong, silent type.
" - I'm silent.
- Shh, shh, shh.
Hello.
Yeah, it's an Auburn.
People stop and ask me all the time.
It's a 1936 V-8 supercharged.
Pretty, isn't she? Does this mean you want to take a spin or merely take the hubcaps? This is, uh- Fellas- "He must be a black belt in karate break-dance and love to discuss Schopenhauer.
" My brother drives one.
You were so close.
Oh! Oh, shoot! - What was that all about? - Yes, they came out of nowhere.
We must be closer to L'Orange than we think.
Circulars, invitations, competing magazines.
- Yuck! What's this? - Hmm? Oh! Cheese of the month, Mildred.
Last month's.
"An Eager Reader.
" No return address.
Forwarded from the magazine a week ago.
"A Passionate Admirer.
" Likewise.
"A True Friend.
" "Dear Dick.
You must try more of my dolci, F.
R.
" - "Dolci"? - Italian sweets, Mildred.
What does "Passionate Admirer" say? "I see that feta decrees more garlic.
T.
S.
" Feta? Greek cheese.
The "True Friend," Mr.
Steele? Hmm? Uh- "Allow me to thicken the sauce.
P.
F.
" It sounds like restaurateurs asking for a second chance.
If they didn't get it- Phyllis Lewis might recognize the initials.
Let me have that one, will you? - Let me have those, Mildred.
- Right.
Thank you.
All right.
Bye-bye.
Now what? I checked my sources.
As far as the government agencies are concerned Dick L'Orange wasn't born, doesn't work, wasn't in the armed services doesn't pay taxes and hasn't died.
Because he does that under his real name.
Right.
But we don't know his real name.
But if he's really missing then he's also missing under his real name.
Michael, could you please look a bit less satisfied? You know me, Phyllis.
Eating is living.
- Ah, Mrs.
Lewis.
- Mr.
Steele.
Do I detect a secret craving for, um, junk food? We are conducting a blind hot dog tasting contest for the magazine.
- Oh.
- This is Michael Fleming, my nostalgia editor.
- Remington Steele.
- Glad you're on the case, Steele.
You don't find L'Orange, we'll all be eating on food stamps.
Uh, we found these in L'Orange's postbox.
- Oh.
- Mm-hmm.
Uh, number one.
Fair texture.
A bit mushy.
Fine bouquet.
A touch too heavy on the bi-glycerine sorbate.
Have a bite? No, thanks.
Bi-glycerine sorbate has a tendency to clog my nasal passages.
Do any of those initials seem familiar? Well, these Italian initials could stand for Frederico Rudizio - of the Ristorante Rudizio.
- Oh.
L'Orange really knocked his gnocchi, you might say.
Oh, and these Greek initials must stand for Teus "Stravos" ofThe Eye of Zeus.
L'Orange said his moussaka tasted like a moose made it.
And "P.
F.
"? This could very well be the most volatile restaurateur in the business, Mr.
Steele.
Pierre Fumar of L'Ornate.
Wasn't L'Orange's pan roast of L'Ornate published at the same time he disappeared? Yes, I'm afraid it was.
Thank you very much indeed.
Thank you.
Number two.
Fair.
Sergeant Hackett, ma'am.
You wanna report a missing person? Not exactly.
I'm looking for someone and I'm hoping that someone has reported the person I'm looking for missing.
- Huh? - It's not easy to explain.
Well, how about starting with the name of the person you're looking for? - I'm afraid I don't know that.
- Can you describe him? - Not really.
- Well, let's start with an easy one.
- Is it a man or a woman? - I'm not sure.
TVBloopers and Practical Jokes, huh? Wait'll the boys hear about this.
When am I gonna be on TV? Look, could you just tell me who has been reported missing in the last three weeks? The last three weeks? Everyone? Every single person.
- What's so urgent? - I think I found L'Orange.
That's urgent.
- "310.
" - Listen, what makes you think you got the right man? It's not a man.
It's a woman.
She's been missing for 16 days.
"305.
" Here.
Her name is Anna Dix.
Dick Dix? That's not much.
- Oh.
She was born in Orange, New Jersey.
- Really? She's 63, widowed, a grandmother does charity work, a terrific cook.
Oh.
The scourge of elite eating, eh? I tracked down her daughter.
She takes her children to the best restaurants in town and she says she gets reimbursed.
- Really? Come on.
- Mm-hmm.
Oh.
Snap.
Ah.
Sweet.
Ah.
Good Lord.
! Huh! Oh! Oh! Oh, my goodness.
Kitty, kitty! Oh! Wait a minute.
Who's feeding the cat? Who's feeding you? Yes.
Is this yours? - It's fresh.
- It is.
How long have you known the, um, stockbroker? Eloise? Oh, about a month or two.
You must be very close by now.
Actually, I haven't seen that much of her.
Independent woman? Yes, yes.
You two might have a lot in common.
Tell me, what's Bill like? I don't really know him that well.
Uh-huh.
Would, uh- Would he and I have anything in common? I don't think so.
I get the feeling he's, um, different than you.
In what way? Um, he seems more open.
More in touch with his feelings.
No tacky mystery about him.
Nothing personal, Miss Holt.
Here, Princess.
Here, Princess.
Mrs.
Dix? We're friends.
Really.
! - You can trust us.
- No, you stay away! Get away! Please! We're here to help you.
You people are ruthless.
First you tried to kill me with the stove, then you tried to kill me with your sauces! No, Mrs.
Dix.
We're private investigators.
- This is Laura Holt.
I'm Remington Steele.
- Your identity is safe with us.
It is? Would-Would you like some tea? Love it.
You don't know who's trying to kill you, eh? Well, one night I thought someone had followed me home from my box at Personal Touch.
And I got really frightened.
I was afraid I'd ruined my cover.
Uh, the next night, when I arrived home, I turned the stove on.
I came in back into the living room here picked up the groceries to take 'em back in and kaboom.
My kitchen blew up behind me.
I mean, that's all I know.
I went into hiding.
I didn't wanna lead them to my family.
Where have you been staying all this time? Uh, with a friend at a senior citizens' home.
I sneak into his room late at night.
But I can't do that anymore.
I- Well, I need to get some sleep.
Uh, Mrs.
Dix did you bring this home from L'Ornate? No.
No, I never bring matchbooks home.
I'm afraid of fires.
- Case closed? - Case more serious.
Someone's trying to kill her.
Hmm.
She's at Miss Holt's.
Can you stay with her tonight, Mildred? Just what I need on my diet- watchdogging a gourmet cook.
Well, while you're feasting at home Miss Holt and I will be busy pursuing our quarry at L'Ornate.
You don't really think Fumar would have left his own matchbook at the scene of the crime? - Somebody did.
- All right, all right.
Bill and I will have dinner there tonight and I'll see if I can sink my teeth into something.
But, Laura, we're a team.
We do our best work together.
- So? - Well, we'll- What do you Americans call it? We'll, uh-We'll double-date.
No.
No, this American calls that planned lunacy.
Laura, you'll love Eloise.
She'll love you.
I'll love Bill, and he'll love me.
Sounds like a love feast.
I made some biscuits to go with the sherry.
Why, thank you, but I don't think I should have any.
Well, maybe just one.
Oh.
I'll get it! No, no, no.
It's my funeral.
Debits, credits.
Hi.
Do you remember me now? - Credits.
- I beg your pardon? Uh, you look much taller when I don't have punch all over my dress.
Don't wait up for me.
I do hope you're hungry, Eloise.
We are going to one of the better restaurants in town.
Marvelous.
I haven't eaten a bite since you called.
Oh.
Frantic day at the brokerage? No.
I wanted to fit into this dress.
Oh.
And you do.
You certainly do, Eloise.
You're being awfully gracious, Bill, about this change in plans.
Not at all.
One thing you'll find out about me, Laura I like to stay open to new experiences.
You may find Mr.
Steele a bit, um, unusual.
Not a chance.
Another thing you'll find out about me- I'm not judgmental.
Oh.
- I am looking forward to meeting your associate.
- Yes.
I'm looking forward to that too.
Actually, Miss Holt was rather surprised that I'm seeing a person like yourself.
How did you describe me? Oh, I made it clear that you were intelligent charming, successful.
Yes, she might be a bit testy about that.
Oh, not to worry.
I'm never competitive with other women.
You're not? - Mm-mmm.
- Oh.
No reservation? In that case there will be a wait of 45 "minute" to an hour.
Must be slim cuisine.
The patrons have wasted away to nothing.
Forty-five minute to an hour, madame.
Oh, Laura, dear.
Good evening.
- Bill Smith, Remington Steele.
- Oh.
Hello, Bill Smith.
How do you do? Yes.
Oh.
Eloise Fairchild, Laura Holt.
- Hello.
- Pleasure to meet you.
Problem.
Despite the ravages of L'Orange there will be at least an hour's wait.
Oh, really? Oh, well, not when Eloise is famished, eh? Ah.
What shall we do about this? Let's see.
Here we go.
Ah, yes, good evening.
The Remington Steele party.
I'm sorry we're running a little bit late.
Of course, Monsieur Steele.
Right this way.
Thank you.
I love when a man does that, don't you? Not really.
Business.
The nerve of that man to wave L'Orange's review in my face! That man- that's him! - That's who? - That's Dick L'Orange.
- The man at the postbox? - Absolutement.
Uh, champagne for all? Yes? Tonight will be his last meal.
Dessert will be on the house.
Come on, Pierre.
You can confide in us.
You must be ready to, uh, murder this L'Orange fellow, eh? He does not faze us, monsieur.
But obviously, this review has hurt your business.
Not at all, madame.
Our clientele dines fashionably late.
All right, Pierre, now, let's see.
For starters, why don't we have the baby clams in saffron butter the warm lobster salad with garlic croutons and lamb's lettuce the fricassee of tiny shrimps and scallops and, um the oysters in tiny, tiny beds of lettuce.
Very good, sir.
Perhaps the rest of us would like something else, Mr.
Steele.
Not I.
Whatever Remy orders is fine with me.
And what about you, Bill? Oh, one thing you'll learn about me, Laura- I'm flexible.
Tell me, Pierre, if this L'Orange fellow were to walk in here now, would you know him? Yes, monsieur.
He is so droll, so playful.
His sense of humor is beyond comprehension.
- Really? - He almost turned burgundy.
But if he's the one that planted the bomb, wouldn't he be more circumspect? I think Remy's work is so exciting.
Remy's work certainly is.
Mmm.
How's, uh, the accounting game, Bill? Well, one thing you'll learn about me- My work comes second.
My real goal right now is to get in touch with myself.
Having trouble with your telephone? I like a guy with a sense of humor.
Mmm.
Mr.
Steele.
- Oh.
What a coincidence.
- Not really.
Phyllis asked me to track you down.
She said you found L'Orange.
- Excuse us.
- Would you excuse us for a moment? We have found L'Orange, but he can't come out of hiding yet.
- Why not? We need his reviews.
- Someone is trying to kill him.
As soon as we catch the killer, L'Orange can go out and eat again, okay? Tell Phyllis we're taking good care of L'Orange.
Yes, all right.
I might as well have some dinner.
Uh, can I get something plain? Whatever monsieur wishes.
Green pasta with the red sauce.
The black pasta with the white sauce.
The white pasta with the black sauce.
And the green pasta with the black sauce.
Ah! - Oh, dear, oh, dear.
- I am so sorry, madame.
I will get a towel.
- Oh, no, no, don't bother.
Where is the ladies' room? - Allow me.
- Oh.
What rotten bad luck.
- Oh, dear.
Yes.
- Oh, well- - Excusez-moi.
Does one of you own a red Datsun "Z"? I do.
I am afraid there has been a little accident in the parking- Good-looking fellow.
Beautiful girl.
Excuse me.
The other lady asked if you would join her.
Oh, certainly.
Excuse me.
And what do you think of our humble cuisine tonight, monsieur? Oh, yes, Pierre.
The food is excellent.
Everything I've tasted is superb.
Perhaps you would care to convey your compliment in person.
Yes, I'd, uh- I'd love to talk to the chef.
Why not? Hmm? Follow me, monsieur.
Certainly.
- This is our chef.
- Oh, I just wanted- Uh, I just wanted to say the food was superb! Really superb! Everything was very, very tasty.
Keep up the good work, fellows, okay? Prepare to meet your maker, Monsieur L'Orange.
L'Orange? And now we draw the curtain on your nasty little comedy.
I think you're making a little mistake.
In fact, we're both making a mistake.
You see, I thought you- Well, never mind about that.
But the fact is that, uh, I'm not Dick L'Orange.
Really, I'm Remington Steele.
- No hasty moves.
- No.
I knew when we found you you would try to weasel out of it like a rat.
Didn't anyone ever tell you about mixing your metaphors? Or your petit fours, for that matter.
Die, L'Orange! - Are you sure everything's under control? - Oh, yes.
Yes, absolutely.
Absolutely.
Absolutely.
Ah, we're just leaving.
Hmm? - But- - My pasta.
Yes, terribly overcooked.
Come on.
Yes, yes, I know.
Terrible, terrible.
Are you all right? How's your dress? You ask me for your shares when the swine is still free? We handed him to you on the silver platter.
! - Is it our fault you cannot carve? - Don't bother me now.
I must consult my colleagues.
Excuse me.
- Could I have some more wine? - Certainement, monsieur.
Can we talk? Talk? Talk to you? After what you have done? - Why are you trying to kill Dick L'Orange? - You dare to ask me that? You who took my money and Stavros's money and "Radicchio's" to write bad reviews of other restaurants? And did you do it? No, you did not.
And what of Recherche, huh? - Recherche? - Oh, now you choose to be dumb.
We pay you for a bad review of Restaurant Recherche and once again, you do not deliver.
And you can ask why we are going to kill you? Hmm.
Done all that, have I? There are no words to describe you.
And you will pay, I can promise you.
You will pay.
Well, I must admit, I'm not a nice person, am I? Hmm.
Thanks for a lovely evening, Bill, and for dropping off Eloise.
Don't leave me, Laura.
I have a problem with rejection.
Bill, I-I'm not rejecting you.
I've got a case to pursue.
My wife rejected me.
She walked out on me.
And, um, it was devastating.
It must have been awful.
Yeah, I still haven't worked through all my feelings.
The shock, the confusion.
How long ago did she leave you? It takes time, Bill, but you'll get over it.
Good night.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Oh, hi.
- How was your date? - Fine.
Fine.
Is Mr.
Steele here yet? - No.
- Is everything all right? - Fine.
- Where's Mrs.
Dix? She's asleep.
- Would you wake her up, please, Mildred? - At this time of night? Mm-hmm.
We have to talk to her now.
- You have a good time with Bill? - Oh, absolutely.
I was sorry I had to cut it short.
Pity.
You might have found out more about him.
Good time with Eloise? I certainly did, yes.
Oh, yeah, she's all woman.
Confirmed that already? Do you think we should have left Uncle Pierre? Our new employer made us partners.
Uncle Pierre only gave us promises.
That's true.
Laura Holt, 3A.
And we must steal a grandmother for our new partner.
The restaurant business is very tough.
What are you talking about? They say that you took money from restaurateurs to write nasty reviews about their competitors.
That is a blasphemy, young man, and a dirty lie! I never took a penny from those thieves who run the restaurants.
I didn't even let them know who I was so they couldn't ooze their slimy charm in my direction.
They say you took money from all of them to write a bad review about a new place called Recherche.
And not only that, but that you double-crossed them, and then didn't even write about it! That is absurd! I wrote a bad review of the Recherche last month.
Why, they can't even make a decent chicken pot pie.
But the magazine didn't run the review.
I thought Phyllis ran out of space and would run it this month.
If you're not taking bribes why is it that you've attacked every restaurant that you visited? Because this city and every other one is full of robbers and incompetents passing themselves off as chefs and restaurateurs.
I'll get it.
It's the emperor's new cuisine.
I am on a crusade to clean up the deceit, the extravagant overcharging the ill treatment of the customers, the society that thinks food is good if the color of the tablecloth is au courant.
You're the Ralph Nader of quiche lorraine.
- Well put, young lady.
- Mildred? Mildred? Mildred? Mildred? Keep the door locked.
- Stop struggling, grandma! - "Grandma"? Aah! - Why are they taking Mildred? - Hang on.
Let go of me! Let go, you fool! Here she is, partner.
The grandmother.
As ordered.
Now you can see how good we are, partner.
I want an explanation of what's going on here, or someone's gonna pay through the nose.
- That's the wrong woman.
- You see? I told you! No, this is the right grandmother.
She's the wrong woman.
Get rid of her, dunces! - I am not leaving until you tell me what's going on.
- Out! - I am not going until I get an explanation! - Be quiet! - You should have told us you were the wrong grandmother.
- Oh! - Oh! - What happened? - They threw me out! - What? Well, some man I couldn't see said I was the wrong person.
I mean, it's bad enough to be kidnapped, but to be returned? They were out to kidnap somebody's grandmother.
- Mrs.
Dix? - I'm 42, for gosh sakes! Or thereabout.
I can't take much more of this, boss.
Everywhere I go, people are snatching me.
I mean, I love my job, but why am I so popular? I'm gonna have to come to work with a travel bag.
- If we believe Mrs.
Dix - And we do.
then someone else is pretending to be L'Orange and soliciting bribes from the restaurateurs.
The same someone who tried to blow up Mrs.
Dix.
And had me kidnapped by mistake.
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Mildred can identify his voice.
The Thin Man.
William Powell, Myrna Loy.
MGM, 1934.
Nick and Nora invite all the suspects to a dinner party and then serve up the killer as the main course.
Dick L'Orange can host a gourmet dinner to apologize to the restaurant business.
We can't endanger Mrs.
Dix.
Of course not.
Mr.
Steele will be the irascible Dick L'Orange.
Laura, these people are ready to kill me because they think I'm L'Orange.
- All but one.
- True, true.
The criminal knows Mrs.
Dix is Dick L'Orange.
The one we're looking for is the one who doesn't try to kill you.
That's very comforting.
Very comforting.
Aha! The festivities begin, ladies.
Mildred, mind the carpet.
- L'Orange.
- Fumar.
- Lovely apartment.
- Oh, thank you very much.
- Handsomely furnished.
- Thank you.
- I am first? - Yes, I believe you are.
You are a gourmand for punishment.
- Good evening.
Come in.
- Good evening.
My special vintage, L'Orange.
For you alone.
Oh, grazie, Rudizio.
Yes, uh, no doubt I will be transported.
Grazie.
Mmm.
- Well? - Hmm? Oh.
- Good evening.
- Good evening.
- What's the occasion? - You two are gonna help us cook someone's goose.
I hope we're not using any rich sauces.
This way.
- Gentlemen, I'd like to ask you a few questions.
- Let me ask you a question.
Is this Iranian caviar? At $25 an ounce? It's from Iceland.
San Diego.
Good goose takes time.
- Dinner is served.
- Ah.
Fumar tries to threaten me.
Rudizio brings me a wine of, uh, doubtful vintage.
- What about the Greek? - He keeps winking at me.
Any of those restaurateurs' voices sound familiar, Mildred? The Greek.
The timbre's the same.
And that accent's phonier than a plastic grape leaf.
Let's see just how Greek he really is.
- What do you suggest I do? - You're the Continental.
Yes, thank you.
Please, ladies and gentlemen, do be seated, yes.
Thank you.
- You haven't tried my wine, L'Orange.
- Remember the old Greek proverb: He who mixes the wines of the gods- Yes? Salads to clear the palate.
Bibb lettuce, lamb lettuce and arugula.
Whatever happened to plain old iceberg? Ooh! Ooh! I'm so sorry.
Ooh! My apologies.
She's new on thejob.
That's him- the voice.
The pudgy one with the mustache.
- Are you sure? - Positive! But he doesn't even own a restaurant- Or does he? Exactly what kind of Greek are you, Stavros? You dare to insult me! What Monsieur L'Orange is asking is exactly what man at this table could have sent letters to you restaurateurs in Monsieur L'Orange's name asking for bribes and then intercepted those bribes? Exactly.
What man could have read each column when it arrived at the magazine two weeks prior to publication learned what restaurants L'Orange panned and then contacted their competitors to demand bribes to write what he knew had already been written? Mrs.
Lewis, why didn't you run Monsieur L'Orange's savage pan of Recherche? Well, I never got the copy.
In fact, I had to fill in with an article on 50 ways to use hollandaise sauce.
And who would have reason to divert a savage pan of Recherche? When I check the tax records tomorrow I'm sure I'll find the answer to that.
Okay, I do own Recherche.
But you can't prove I did anything.
You had me kidnapped, buster! That's your proof, Fleming! All right.
Maybe I did take a few bribes.
I couldn't make a living at that magazine.
Hot dogs! She had me rating hot dogs! Michael, I thought you loved weenies.
You bought your restaurant with the money you made in bribes from other restaurateurs.
I opened the best place in town.
Honest name, good, plain food, big portions.
Then that L'Orange gave me a bad review.
And the only way to turn it into a rave review under L'Orange's byline was to kill L'Orange and step into his shoes and make plain food fashionable again.
A message from all the grandmothers in the world.
Next time, watch out who you snatch! - Ah, Miss Holt.
Hi.
- Hello.
Hello.
Good evening.
Um- Oh.
Uh, there's enough food left over from last night to feed a gourmet army.
Where's Eloise? - Uh, the truth? - Why not? Well, I know this was meant to be a makeup dinner for Bill and Eloise.
She's very sweet, very willing, easy to please.
- But that kind of takes the fun out of it, you know? - Oh.
Bill parking his "Z"? Uh, I didn't invite him.
Oh? Why not? Well, I learned one thing about Bill.
He, uh- He lacks something.
- Ah.
- Tacky mystery.