Pushing Daisies Season 2 Episode 7 Robbing Hood
At this very moment at the Longborough School for boys, when it came to the currency of popularity
young Ned was poor but not the poorest.
Eugene Mulchandani's thick accent and unfortunate family history of disproportionate jaw structure
made him both extremely difficult to understand and an easy mark for bullies.
Young Ned knew that playing with Eugene meant losing his marbles,
but he considered the sacrificed aggies, steelies,
and shooters an act of charity.
For, aside from ned, Eugene had only two other companions --
Bilbo, his lethargic indian python, and Ackbar, a bunny.
Eugene was devastated when he lerned that, upon attempting to eat Ackbar the bunny,
Bilbo the snake choked, killing them both.
Under the guise of burying Eugene's pets,
young Ned resolved to perform another act of charity for his language-mangling friend.
He knew that giving Eugene his friends back would require two innocent creatures to die...
And a lie about how he found them both barely breathing when he went to bury them.
But as long as the benefits outweighed the costs,
he also believed an act of charity outweighed the consequences.
20 years, 16 weeks, 4 days and 9 hours later,
the boy had grown into the pie maker,
and the pie maker was, at this very moment...
troubled.
You're stress-baking.
I don't know what you're talking about.
I'm talking about you've been up since before the sun,
and there's a traffic jam of pies waiting to exit into the oven.
You're worried about something.
"Worried" would imply an urge toward action.
"Troubled" seems more apt.
About a certain man named Dwight
who came asking questions about your dad and is now dating my aunt Vivian?
Oh, you're stress-baking.
If he's dating your aunt, he's going to see a picture of you,
and if he doesn't have retrograde amnesia,
he's going to recognize you, if he hasn't already.
Why is he dating your aunt?
Not to suggest that she's not datable and perfectly lovely,
but it does seem more than a little coincidental.
Does your aunt Vivian's nice-smelling new boy toy have something to do with why you faked your death?
No.
Because maybe he's been after you all along.
Maybe he works for the IRS.
If anyone can figure out whether you're dead, it's a tax man.
Or maybe he thinks you really are dead, and he's one of those paranormal investigators.
Maybe he's the old priest, and the young priest is coming.
That would be a waste of religion because she's not... Dead.
I find myself urged to action.
Yeah. Me too.
Public records, criminal records --
we've got to find out who Dwight is and if he's after more than just your aunt's companionship.
Mm, counter intelligence via pie delivery --
like gossiping with a purpose.
My speciality.
It's pie time!
Olive! What a surprise! And with a pie.
The second sweetest treat of my day.
Something sweeter than a Pie Hole pie?
The first was a surprise visit from a certain gentleman caller.
Oh, the lovely lady of the Hole.
And with a special delivery to heel.
Oh, no need to stand on my account.
I'm just here doing my duty.
No other reason I can speak of.
Uh, and what type of duty are you in again?
Clergy? Tax services?
Dwight collects and appraises antiques,
which I learned right after he told me he's dating my sister.
Lily is naturally suspicious of new liaisons,
but I felt compelled to come clean about our relationship.
Sneaking around is for politicians in bathroom stalls.
Not for a brisk and bucolic autumn-cum-winter afternoon on the park.
Ladies.
Bye.
Seems nice.
I don't trust him further than I can spit.
And I can spit.
God... look at the way he drapes himself all over her.
Makes me want to stick a fork in my eye.
I need a drink.
You're holding one.
I need a stronger one. And a fork.
While Olive pondered one sister blinded by love and the other by distrust,
Emerson Cod pondered the exorbitant amount of cash he'd just been given.
I demand justice for the decedent, and I will not rest, settle, or adjourn...
Until I have it!
Mind demanding it in your inside voice?
I'm sorry.
Years of litigation have made me a loud talker.
What makes a dead man's lawyer so willing to shell out his own green over a client's death?
I have a special practice.
Gustav was my one client, and that client is now dead.
So why you still hanging on?
Looking for a few stray cash capillaries?
Gustav was -- he was more than a client.
He was a -- he was a cantankerous bombast with a violent temper
and a lust for power and wealth.
In lawyer speak, I was in love with him.
You talk to the police about your friend?
The police station is run by a bunch of monkeys.
You want the best, you pay the premium.
Why ain't the family paying the premium?
His wife was his family, and she was the biggest leech of all.
Always after his will.
So you figure she got to the will through murder.
Well, I never trusted her.
I tried my best, as a lover -- I mean, as a lawyer and a friend -- to protect Gustav.
She ruined his life. She's gonna ruin his legacy.
I smell a big ol' "but" heading my direction.
Gustav was robbed the night he died.
I mean, it happens when you have a fortune like his.
What kind of fortune we talkin' about?
The kind built upon your tight balls.
The facts were these -- Gustav Hofer had lived the american dream.
His mechanized yarn-baller not only gave a generation of frustrated grandmothers
the means to make unwanted gifts,
at the age of 19, it was the first of countless inventions that made Gustav Hofer
his first of countless millions.
Before Gustav Hofer could make one penny more, someone arranged for his permanent retirement.
And the lawyer who was in love with him found his retired remains.
He doesn't look like the richest man in town.
They say he had the Midas touch.
Do you ever stop to think you're a little bit like king Midas?
Except substitute "life" for "gold", and, obviously, you don't have donkey ears.
Midas was a miser, like scrooge but hungrier.
I'm a philanthropist.
Just touch the sucker.
Hello, mr. Hofer.
We'd like to ask you a few questions, but we've only have a minute.
I presume I'm dead.
Let's get down to business. First, the matter of my will.
- It's in your lawyer's - Not that will.
I have a new will.
- And you're gonna track it down for me, roger? - Roger.
I like you, kid, but you talk too much.
The will is in my trophy room. Go to the biggest trophy -- center of the wall.
Turn it clockwise. Say it back to me.
Who killed you?
Who are you? Who's he?
Do you know who I am, Elmer?
You about to be the first man ever to be murdered twice.
You want justice?
I don't want my hard-earned money going where it doesn't belong.
Your generation has never understood the value of a dollar.
Trophy room, biggest trophy, turn clockwise.
Smartest one of the bunch.
I like your moxie, sassafras.
Find my will and make sure that no-good, gold-digging wife of mine
doesn't get one damn dime. Got it?
Who killed you?
The bellman did it.
The private investigator, the pie maker,
and Chuck arrived at Gustav Hofer's mansion to question his recent widow
and longtime porter regarding the inventor's death.
All right, me and dead girl are gonna go chat up the bellman.
You go find that trophy room and get a hold of that will.
I can do that.
That said, what's your take on Dwight dating Vivian?
How long before he looks at a picture of Chuck and says,
"Hey, there's that girl from the Pie Hole"?
Come on. When I see an out-of-context picture of a nice-looking young girl, I don't say,
"Ooh, there's that nice-looking young girl who served me cappuccino in that one restaurant".
Oh, my gosh! This wallpaper -- it's vintage Osborne & Little.
You could buy a small island for what this must be worth.
Cool. I never even noticed. Isn't that weird?
I'm like the worst widow ever.
Elise. You must be the PIs.
Yes, thank you so much for agreeing to help us.
Is there a restroom?
Down the hall, second left.
We're very sorry for your loss. You must be devastated.
Crushed. Please, pop a squat.
Thank you.
James-Andrew -- that's the bellman you wanted to see -- is on his way.
I told him to bring some of those awesome champagne-juice drinks he makes.
Mimosas?
James-Andrew!
They want mimosas instead!
James-Andrew!
I'm sure he heard me.
Well, this is a very, um, nice...
Castle that you have, mrs. Hofer.
Thanks. It's a wreck right now, getting it all set up for the wake.
You should totally come.
Everybody who's anybody is gonna be here celebrating Gustav's death.
You mean "life".
Sure, whatever.
Oh, no.
Turn the largest trophy clockwise.
Cheers.
Mm, cheers. Oh, that is the best champagne-juice drink I've ever had.
I know, right?
Mrs. Hofer said you wanted to see me.
I assume it's not just for my mimosa.
How does one become a bellman, anyway?
Bellmen wear monkey suits and work in hotel lobbies.
I am a porter.
Well, what exactly were you porting the night your boss had a close encounter with his light fixture?
I was at a key party. At least 15 people can vouch.
James-Andrew is definitely not the killing type.
Well, mrs. Hofer, excuse me for being blunt,
but you did stand to gain the most from your late husband's death.
Oh, my god.
You think I totally did it!
Well, FYI, I was at a charity ball the night of the murder.
Y'all sure got a big-ass dog.
"Orbis pro vox."
And the safe was empty. No will.
Nothing but a cryptic latin phrase.
Poor Gustav. All he cared about was getting that will into the right hands.
If we find the killer, we'll find that will.
Problem is our case just went from a slam dunk to a badunkadunk.
Is "badunkadunk" bad?
Badunkadunk means "big" as in what our simple, little murder just became.
Whatever happened to "the bellman did it"?
Oh, he's hiding something, but 15 people vouching for him at a key party...
Well, that's an airtight alibi.
Now, what is a key party anyway?
Oh, I love that you don't know that.
It's a kind of raffle.
Of the porno variety.
Back to the case.
So, how does a safe with some cryptic latin phrase scrawled inside change anything?
You know, you need to peel back that pie crust you working under an turn on the news sometime.
Rich people are getting robbed left and right by some happy hooligan
who leaves the same latin calling card at every scene.
So that's why it's a badunkadunk.
I got to go see a buddy at the police station.
Great. Gives us more time to start work on our research project on Dwight.
It seems like the mysterious Dwight didn't exist before checking into the come-and-sleep motel.
Who knows? Maybe he's not such a bad guy. He's very charming.
What do Lily and Vivian think about him?
What you'd expect. Lily hates him, but Vivian's completely ga.
Good news is you're not even on his radar.
How about another cup of coffee, please?
So, we know Dwight's got a strange preoccupation with your father's pocket watch.
Maybe we give it to him, and he goes away.
Or... We could wake my dad and ask him.
Chuck--
I'm just saying that it would be a shortcut to finding out who Dwight is and what he wants.
You just have to touch him and ask him.
But that was an act of charity the pie maker was not willing to commit.
I'm sorry. It's just --
I know you want to say goodbye to your father,
and I know a lifetime of goodbyes can't be condensed into a single minute.
Even if they could...
you'd have to watch him die all over again.
I love you too much to make you suffer like that.
Do you understand?
Well, I got us a good nugget.
The police say that our serial robber always makes a donation to charity the day after he robs someone.
Am interupting something?
- No. - Yep.
Maybe Gustav Hofer was being robbed by a latter-day Robin Hood.
Killed by him.
Call it whatever you want, but I know where we can find a bellman with a charity streak.
It's a new day, friends!
Another opportunity to help the needy.
So, ring those bells, collect spare change, and remember --
Ring for right!
Ring for right. Orbis pro vox.
Which means "your ass is busted" in PI lingo.
Welcome to the Bellmen's Charity headquarters.
Are you here to make a donation? Volunteer?
One of your bell-ringers rang for wrong to the tune of robbery-homicide.
That's outrageous. And impossible.
We screen our bellmen regularly to make sure that all who ring in these hallowed halls follow our motto --
Ring for right.
Which just happens to be written at crime scenes all over the city.
In a dead language, but still.
Friends, I assure you my bellmen have nothing to hide.
I fling my doors open to your investigation.
And if there's anything else that I personally can do, please, don't hesitate --
- to ring? - Absolutely.
Oh, yeah? Well, somewhere a starving street child is chewing off his own fingers
because you're too cheap to give 50 bucks!
Telemarketers. I hate these guys.
I'm Emerson Cod, private investigator.
These are my associates.
Mind if we have a gander at your phone list?
What phone list?
The one you just slid into that folder.
What folder?
There's a comfort in knowing that telemarketers are just as horrible in real life.
Shift change!
- He was very suspect-ish. - Very.
Yeah, well, any of these phone numbers match the one at Gustav's mansion,
he's gonna be very jailbird-ish.
After unearthing the grave of Charlotte Charles in search of a pocket watch
and finding neither girl nor watch, former jailbird Dwight Dixon used his masculine wiles
to determine if Vivian knew the watch's final final resting place.
The clarinet is a lovely instrument.
I always wanted to be a flautist,
but unusually tight tendons in my pinkie finger made hitting d-sharp impossible.
Well, they look just fine to me.
Perfect for holding.
I'm not the kind of woman who slips notes into random men's coat pockets,
but something about you...
and what might that have been?
The charm you force to cover the brutish shell around your damaged heart.
I like layers.
Dwight felt his cold heart warm ever so much.
Lily was under the impression that you're only looking to recover some personal property,
then disappear like a puddle of gasoline in the sunshine.
I was saddened to hear that Charles' watch was buried with your dear late niece.
But what a fine gesture that was.
I imagine the service was magnificent.
It was.
So, others, beside yourself, were able to see poor Charlotte at peace with the watch,
before her dear soul was committed to the ground?
Mary Suddbury leaned in and peeled back Charlotte's eyelids.
Said there was a vigorous black market in stolen corneas, but I thought it was in poor taste.
Charlotte...
I encouraged her to take the pleasure cruise that ended so unpleasantly.
I was tired of being a shut-in, but I couldn't bring myself to leave,
and so I decided to leave vicariously and pushed Charlotte out the door.
Poor Charlotte.
Now, now. You've gone and set those pretty peepers a weeping.
In his search for a brass pocket watch, Dwight Dixon found a heart of gold.
I've carried this with me since the funeral as a reminder
to stop living vicariously and start living living.
You've probably seen her face before.
She was all over the news after she died.
Oh, I have definitely seen her face before.
Do you know if Gustav ever donated to an organization called The Bellmen?
"The Bellmen"?
Every house that's been robbed was called by a bellmen telemarketer named Tam Fong.
So Elise didn't do it?
This Tam Fong killed Gustav?
Well, where is he?
I'm gonna find that malfeas-ass and slam him down --
Inside voice.
I'm not talking about the gavel of justice.
Outside voice.
I'm talking about southern-style, back-alley score settling doled out by me and a couple of homeless --
Conversational patio voice?
Before you get to doling out blind justice, the smoking gun don't always point to the bad guy.
So Tam Fong isn't the guilty party?
Yes. No. Maybe.
All we know is, maybe he had a hand in marking the mark.
The good news is, we have reason to believe that Gustav completed a second will.
A second will?
Hopefully, that tarnished trophy wife of his is excluded.
Wait, wait -- I'm his lawyer.
If there were a second will, I would have drafted it, drawn it up,
and drawn a tidy 20% commission for my troubles.
So how would you know differently?
Let's just say that our procedures would be inadmissible in court.
Either way, the will was taken during the robbery.
Well, you people really mix the good with the bad.
The world would be a better place if everybody dabbed calamine on welts of bad news.
Gustav Hofer deserved better than the wife he had,
and the wife he had didn't deserve the money he earned.
You find that second will, I'll double your fee.
- Oh, we'll find that will. - We'll find that will.
We know Tam's calling the houses to be robbed even if he's not robbing them.
What if we put our names on the do-call list?
No burglar worth his burgles would take the bait if they saw your tiny-ass apartments.
We could use my aunts' house.
Is there a sting! I want to sting. Can I sting?
That's a very bad idea.
It's a good idea. Made doubly-good, because while you're figuring out who brought the lights down on Gustav,
I'll be shining my own light on the true identity of Dwight.
I have an old cigar box with my dad's letters that's hidden in my bedroom.
Now, if dad did know Dwight, there will be something about him inside.
The pie maker considered the wooden box in her old room
a better alternative to the wooden box that contained her father.
So a sting was set.
Mr. Fong, I am so sorry to interrupt.
I'm Tessa Carville, wife of Clarence Carville, who,
I'm sure you are aware, owns Carville Steel.
I believe someone from here called me yesterday?
Ah, mrs. Carville, of course!
Please, take a seat.
I won't be staying long, just long enough to explain
why I hate phone solicitations, almost as much as I hate beggars and panhandlers.
I believe I have the right to a net worth greater than most developing countries
without being hounded by sponging ne'er-do-wells and sanctimonious bleeding hearts like yourself.
So unless you stop calling, I will take a tiny fraction of my immense wealth,
buy this building, knock it down, and turn it into a glue factory so big,
the whole city will be smelling horse.
If you please leave your number, I'll see to it that nobody calls you again.
Psych.
- Did you say, "psych"? - No.
Good, because I'm getting on a hovercraft bound for Saint-Tropez early this evening,
and I expect it to be dealt with before I return tomorrow.
Here is my card.
The trap was set, so the pie maker and Chuck returned to her childhood bedroom --
not to catch a thief, but to uncover Dwight Dixon's true intentions.
They turned my old room into a cheese locker!
Can you smell the flowery overtones of stilton wafting through the air?
It's nice that they filled this room with something you all loved so much.
Oh, it's amazing how a familiar smell can wrap you in its arms
and coddle away any ugly memories between now and the last time you smelled it.
Oh, thank you for letting me come.
I'm glad you came.
Oh, and don't worry about getting caught.
I'll hear anybody coming before they even get to the bottom of the stairs.
Listen.
The other end's hooked up to the victrola in the living room.
I used it to eavesdrop on my aunts when I was a teenager.
- That's very crafty. - Yeah.
Alone in a room that was once hers, Chuck felt, for a moment, like a little girl again.
Thinking of the mementos in the box,
among them the birthday present she was never able to give her father,
Chuck thanked her 8-year-old self.
Thank you, 8-year-old self.
You must be out of your damn minds!
There is no way in tinker bell's tiny butt cheeks
that you are gonna roll out the welcome mat on my front porch for a bunch of thieves!
- We know it's an imposition -- - An imposition is ordering clams at a kosher deli.
Robbers nowadays are multi-hyphenate hoodlums.
They don't just rob. Oh, no.
They strip you naked, lather you in lard,
and slide you into the walls and leave you there.
Then they rob you.
When you put it like that.
Why don't I just get a shovel and start digging my shallow grave now?
I find a dash of danger titillating.
You've certainly made that clear.
I assume that's a passive-aggressive insult directed at my daring sashays into romance.
I choose to ignore it.
You've ignored every other danger sign on the road to abject heartbreak.
I find that interjecting at precisely the right moment often defuses conflict.
Wouldn't you agree?
Lily Charles, you're jealous.
It simply slays you that a man as tender
and as viscerally masculine as Dwight chose me over you.
Missed it by that much.
I am not jealous. I'm -- I'm worried about you.
Damn it, I love you.
I don't want to see this fetish you have for raffish men hurt you the way it has in the past.
- On the topic of Dwight -- - Keep out of this!
Uh, is my patch on the wrong eye, or did it suddenly get very dark in here?
Is it dark? I -- I didn't even notice.
They say that extreme photosensitivity is a sign of rabies.
Or a hangover, or a delicate optical nerve condition --
Yeah, or a bunch of part-time PIs
trying to hoodwink a hoodlum by pretending my house is vacant.
Wait a minute!
We're being robbed tonight!
Ooh, I just got a shiver.
While the bickering downstairs continued,
Chuck decided she had heard all the fighting she cared to
and turned her attention instead to her father's dusty belongings.
Seeing Dwight engaged in male bonding with her father and the pie maker's father,
Chuck still found no indication of Dwight Dixon's true intentions.
The secret behind those intentions remained buried with her father in the grave next to her grave,
a grave she may soon be returning to.
Fear not, madam.
I mean you no harm.
Spectacular throw, by the way.
To be fair, I should tell you that I have a gun in my pocket.
To be fair, I don't really believe you.
To be even more fair, all I have to do is scream, and a whole cadre of big strong men
and sweet middle-aged ladies with shotguns will come running.
Fair enough. And yet, you haven't.
Perhaps because you believe that society has a moral obligation to protect the least fortunate of its ranks.
And where society fails...
You pick up the slack.
Which sounds incredibly noble until you kill someone.
I am no killer, merely a soldier of fortune --
Other people's fortunes, for the underprivileged.
Gustav would say otherwise.
Well, he would if he could speak, but he can't because he's dead.
You and Tam Fong killed Gustav two days ago after you robbed him.
First of all, Tam Fong is but another unwitting victim of my robberies.
I swipe his phone list to choose my targets.
- And Gustav? - I robbed him, it's true.
Not because he was stingy and uncharitable, but because he asked me to.
He asked you to rob him?
He was writing a new will and needed to know whether to name his wife as beneficiary.
I know how this must sound, but the facts were these --
These were the facts --
Gustav was in the midst of a crisis of faith.
His decision to rewrite his will had made him question
whether his wife really loved him and he had any true friendships at all.
And that's when we met.
He wanted to make a contribution, but I wouldn't let him.
He said, "where I come from, people get paid for their services".
But I said, "charity is an impulse, not a return for a friendly act".
So we talked.
He told me his problems, and I offered a solution.
I agreed to rob him.
He would appear to be an innocent victim.
If his wife stayed faithfully by his side, his concerns could be laid to rest.
I'd return half his fortune and keep the other half for charity.
But Gustav's wife intervened, and I had to get out.
I read in the paper the next day what happened to Gustav.
Even if you didn't kill him, you're still a criminal.
My duty is to the downtrodden, the meek,
those unable to reach their own bootstraps, let alone pull them.
I take only what people can afford to lose, and that certainly doesn't include their lives.
Do you like puppies?
Yeah.
The papen county animal shelter is about to be shut down tomorrow,
unless I get them the money to pay their mortgage.
With nowhere to house these animals, the dogcatchers are calling it "the big sleep".
You can save them?
Only if the help outweighs the hurt.
The act of charity always makes sense.
You let him go? What if he's a cold-blooded murderer?
Shut it. Kitchen.
It was an act of charity. There were puppies involved.
And besides, my grueneberg ganglia wasn't activated.
That sounds personal.
Sounds like one of them feminine conversations you need to have with your lady friends.
There's a bundle of nerves at the tip of your nose that detect aggressive pheromones.
As in, you can sniff out danger?
And the only thing I could smell was a swashbuckling do-gooder
who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Smells like puppy crap to me.
You shouldn't have let him go. It was a mistake.
You're really angry at me.
I'm out of counter space, so I'm stress-baking in my head.
It feels like you're stress-baking me.
I'm channeling fear into anger.
Anger leads to hate.
And hate leads to stress-baking the people you love.
Which is bad, but better than stress-releasing, which is what you did for the bellman.
Well, maybe rob was telling the truth.
Maybe it was Gustav's musket-toting wife that dropped the chandelier on his head.
You did say that the bellman/porter was hiding something.
He may have had an alibi, but he may also know who killed Gustav.
Stakeouts are only fun when there are binoculars for everybody.
Stakeouts are only fun if you got a good football game to listen to
and the stake you're outing is next to a hot-dog stand.
They seem like a good time to have weighty conversations.
No, it don't.
If Dwight figures out that I'm not dead, it may be the best thing that ever happened to me.
You talking a lot like a dead girl who wants to go back in the ground.
What's the worst that could happen?
Pie maker becomes a sideshow in the circus of fun, and I earn my wages peddling tickets.
This is a cavalier conversation about a deep, dark, touchy subject for me.
How deep, dark, and touchy is it?
Ever since I was little, I'd have this dream that somebody found out what I could do.
It starts off with lots of ice cream and balloons,
and ends in a small white room where little bits are cut out of me until there's nothing left to cut.
That's awful.
If Dwight finds out about me, then he finds out about you,
and you still won't wake up my dad and find out what Dwight wants.
You're putting my emotional well-being before your fears.
That's so courageous and romantic.
Thank you.
Well, looky, looky.
It's Gustav's widow and the bellman petting.
Hello, motive.
Nice to see you again.
All that remained for Emerson Cod was to confront the bellman and widow.
Across town, all that remained of Charles Charles was a loving box of memories
and a pocket watch.
Although Charles Charles, the man who had set so much in motion, was long gone,
Dwight Dixon, the man who intended to bring it all to a crashing end, was still here.
We're closed. Excuse me.
What I meant to say was, "we're closed."
So you're here all by your lonesome.
No, no. I'm not here all by my lonesome.
Manuel, the big cholo janitor, is in the back.
I think he used to be in one of those, uh, super-dangerous el salvadorean gangs
who murder white older men as a warning to the police to buzz off.
Isn't that right, Manuel?
Oh, he's probably, you know, cleaning the toilet.
I'd like to leave a message for your friends.
Yeah, I'll just grab a pad.
It's around here somewhere.
Boy, look at all this sugar.
Yeah, I hope you don't need an en--
hello?
While Olive Snook was unable to provide the pen and paper she sought,
she'd received the mysterious Dwight's message loud and clear.
1 hour, 23 minutes, and 42 seconds ago,
Olive snook made two alarming discoveries --
first, that in time of duress,
the pie maker's penchant for stress-baking was matched
only by the petite waitress's predilection for stress-binge.
Second, that the dark stranger, Dwight Dixon,
had discovered Chuck, AKA Charlotte Charles', true identity.
It did little to lighten the load in Olive's heart
as she anxiously awaited the pie maker's return.
Having acquired the brass pocket watch he so eagerly sought,
Dwight Dixon set his sights on Vivian's heart of gold.
But sister Lily was not about to let that treasure go so easily.
You can turn your fanny right around and walk away, mister.
We're done buying what you're peddling.
Now, Lily, that's not entirely true.
More accurate would be, "I'm not buying what you're peddling, but Vivian will be right down".
And how long you suppose she'll stay interested in the wares of a two-bit huckster pitching lies?
I didn't think you were so concerned about lies.
Shouldn't you be more worried about the truth?
It's time to nip you in the budding romance
before Vivian convinces herself you really are the second coming.
I assume you're referring to my friend, your lover, Charles Charles.
You're nothing like Charles.
I think you'd find that Charlie and me are more similar than you'd reckon.
Few stark differences, of course, but, uh, we had the same ambitions.
He made bad decisions.
You were a bad decision.
My bad decisions landed me in prison.
His landed him with a baby girl.
I don't think I ever had the opportunity to express my condolences.
You got your thumb on a big, red button you definitely don't want to push.
Vivian said the service was beautiful.
And what a lovely gesture to bury your daughter with her father's watch.
You are such thoughtful women, who have loved and lost so much.
We're gonna lose you right now, before you get one inch closer to my little sister's heart.
Get gone and stay gone.
Lily's encounter with Dwight had stirred the pot of her sentimental soup,
one spoonful of which gave her a terrible case of the yearns to visit her daughter's grave.
What in hell's kitchen...
But when she saw the overturned dirt,
she thought about the pocket watch and the man obsessed with its whereabouts
and wondered whether Dwight Dixon had unearthed more than Vivian's buried emotion.
Meanwhile, the private investigators had unearthed the buried motives of Gustav Hofer's widow.
You bumped off Gustav so you could keep bumping uglies with the bellman while inheriting a fortune.
I told you. Alibi. Key party.
Your alibi never checked out.
You never went to that charity ball.
Why'd you do it, Elise?
Didn't do anything...
except James-Andrew.
Who do you think got his key?
I was still really wrong about what I thought that was.
You two backing up each other's alibis means bubkes.
You were canoodlin' and cahootin', and you were cahootin' to kill.
We cahooted to keep quiet about our affair.
Adulteresses totally get the shaft in estate law.
Besides, I couldn't kill anybody with these hands.
Since I grew these puppies out, my manicure means I'm a mani-can't for manual labor.
Yeah, but you were a mani-can when it came to pointin' a gun at robber rob wright
- and almost pulled the trigger. - As if!
I never even saw the robber. And even if I did...
Why is everybody pointing their gun at me?
There is no way I could pull the trigger on a gun.
I'm too blinged out!
You could have taken off the rings.
With those nails, it'd have taken forever.
Rob wright would have been out of there.
If she's telling the truth and didn't storm in on rob wright robbing the house, then --
our Robbing Hood's had us hoodwinked.
So private investigator, the pie maker, and Chuck sought out their winking hood
at The Bellmen's headquarters.
I'll thank you to keep your sidearm holstered, sir, lest I be forced to lunge.
Well, at least it ain't another gun.
From one gentleman to another, allow me to apologize for our current situation.
Well, I'd be a lot more receptive to that apology if there wasn't a knife pointed at my gullet.
You're a lying liar and a murderer, both of which are bad.
One of which is worse. You slaughtered a senior citizen.
That'll buy you a ringside seat in hell.
But you might be able to get a refund on that ticket if you put the knife down.
Gustav was the victim of a tragic accident.
Born of good deeds, I might add.
Running from the scene of a crime was no accident.
Did you even stop to consider the consequences of your "good deeds"?
Those weren't good deeds for Gustav's wife, his lawyer, or his legacy.
Well, actually, now that you mention it, I think I can make that right.
Gustav's will. It was in his safe.
Now that that's settled,
I trust my quest to rob from the rich and give to the poor may continue unabated.
Oh, hell no, 'cause, see, I plan on being real rich, and I want to see your ass in jail.
I was afraid you might feel that way.
So... Orbis pro vox!
'Bout time I get to do the gun-pointing around here.
The facts were these --
Upon coming to the realization that his young wife may only have married him for his money,
Gustav Hofer found himself questioning whether he should rewrite his will.
Bellman Rob Wright afforded him the perfect plan --
Fake a robbery to learn his wife's true feelings.
But Daniel Hill discovered those feelings first.
He deserves the creme de la creme, not some sugar-stuffed pop-tart
with a helium voice and hooker heels.
One word from me and you are out of the will!
Though his lawyer shielded Gustav from his wife's treachery in order to protect his pride,
Gustav had not only seen her adulterous ways,
but also the way Daniel Hill defended his good name and honor.
The billionaire resolved to leave his estate to his esquire.
When the bellman arrived, Gustav refused to play his role.
Rob Wright insisted Gustav keep his end of the bargain.
Gustav insisted more emphatically that Rob leave his mansion.
It was Gustav who would be the dearly departed
and Daniel Hill who would find the body he left behind and pick up the pieces.
Gustav's revised will.
You get the whole Hofer coffer.
Me? All I ever did was give him my friendship.
It's all he wanted.
Now, let's talk about your next charitable donation.
While Emerson Cod was able to deliver good news,
Lily Charles sought to convince her sister that the mysterious Dwight was bad news.
Holy crap.
Lily knew Dwight dug up her daughter's grave, but she needed more proof than overturned dirt.
Lily had found the proof she sought.
Dwight had in his possession the watch she believed was buried with Chuck.
And Dwight, believing the girl who was not dead stole back the watch he stole from her,
set off to retrieve his stolen, stolen property.
The girl named Chuck, who had not been so lucky with death,
learned that her death had come back to haunt her in the form of Dwight Dixon.
This left the pie maker no choice.
In order to unearth Dwight Dixon's agenda,
he must first unearth Chuck's father.
I keep waiting for a euphoric high to rush through my system,
and instead, I feel really nervous and uncomfortable.
It's gonna be an awkward hello, tender acceptance, and a rushed goodbye.
Euphoric high barely figures in. It's -- it's gonna be hard.
I know. I don't think I realized that until now, and now it's too late to turn back.
It's not too late to turn back.
We have other options. We could leave town.
Even with Dwight knowing who I am,
you're still willing to put my emotional well-being before your deepest fears.
If I knew the consequences, I never would have alive-agained my mother,
and I had her for seven hours.
I'd rather take my chances with Dwight than make you go through this.
When you lost your mother, you were alone.
I -- I have you.
You're the real swashbuckling do-gooder, and I love you.
I hope you still feel that way when this is over.
You ready?
Yeah, I'm ready, I think.