01x07 - Smell of Success

[bunniefuu]

Previously on Pushing Daisies: Young Ned had a special gift.

He could touch dead things and bring them back to life.

But he could only bring the dead back to life for one minute.

Any longer, and someone else had to die.

And there was one more thing he had to learn: First touch, life.

Second touch, dead again forever.

But as young Ned grew into the Pie-Maker this gift proved to be most useful in the death of his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte Charles.

Are you in love with her?

- You only got a minute.

I know.

What if you didn't have to be dead?

You can't touch me.

- A kiss is out of the question?

You touch m*rder victims.

You ask who k*lled them.

Touch them, they go back to being dead and then you collect the reward?

That's it in a nutshell.

Oh! You saved me.

It was a friendly expression of innocent gratitude.

- Ha! Hi-hi.

- What's gotten into you?

What's gotten into you?

At this very moment, at the Longburrow School for Boys young Ned was nine years, 41 weeks, And exhausted.

For, despite the endless waking hours spent assuring himself that his heart was on the mend, Ned discovered the truth in his sleep.

Sadly, not a single night had passed since the death of his mother that he didn't dream of her coming back to him.

Realizing he couldn't rush his heart into healing, he concocted a plan.

To reconnect with his mother in a way that only he could.

For young Ned wasn't like the other children.

Or the other adults for that matter.

Which, in this case, delighted him, briefly.

Although young Ned knew he couldn't taste the pie lest the fruit rot again, he didn't care.

The mere smell of it made him feel, if only for an hour exactly like he wanted to feel: Safe and warm and loved.

Which is why he became the Pie-Maker.

Who, at this very moment, was planting flowers to make Chuck feel as safe and warm and loved as he once did.

Sue Bee.

- Who bee?

- I'm referring to the honey.

The store-bought kind.

The kind I will purchase by the gallon for you.

Honey don't work for us.

Never as sweet.

Oh, look.

There's a fantastic rooftop for the honey harvesting expansion.

Let's not plant flowers way over there.

- You don't even know which building.

- I know it's not this one.

In interest of Operation Urban Honey Pioneer I think we should keep the operation contained.

Comfortably contained.

Comfortable in a good way, like it's usually used.

I'm concerned for the bees.

Keep the flowers close so they'll feel safe.

Actually, bees have an incredible sense of smell.

So if we do our job planting the flowers, bees'll do theirs and find them.

Why do we need so much honey anyway?

Mm-hm.

It's a surprise.

- Surprise has never been a good word.

- You'll like this one.

You know, the honeybee has to visit hundreds of blossoms before it has nectar to take to the hive.

So the more flowers, the merrier the bees.

A broken-hearted Olive Snook found herself navigating a minefield of her own making.

Oh! - This is what it is, isn't it?

Unless that's not a rolling pin under your apron.

- Sorry.

- Oh! Heh.

Isn't it great we can joke?

Now that we know there's nothing going on between us and never was.

I bet this happens all the time between adults mixed romantic messages.

We'll be looking back and laughing till we wet the rug.

- Yeah.

- Which we'll then shampoo.

A couple times.

Three, depending on what we've been drinking.

Yeah.

Oh! Maybe I should wear a bell.

- Actually - I'm not wearing a bell.

Ahem.

Chuck continued to keep the secret ingredient of her pies secret.

Not even Olive Snook knew the baked goods she delivered contained homeopathic mood-enhancers meant to pry Chuck's aunts out of their funk.

So have they been in a good mood?

My aunts?

Moods, plural.

And not all of them good.

Okay, maybe it's time to go to Phase 2.

Have we been in Phase 1 this whole time?

- Mm-hm.

- How many phases are there?

- Four that I know of, but maybe five.

We're at Phase 2, which means we need to get them back in the water.

- It's like oxygen for them.

- Because they're former mermaids.

Professionally, not mythologically speaking.

- I know all about their mermaidness.

Ahem.

- What are these?

Cupcake pans?

- Surprise.

Huh?

- It's the Pie Hole, not the Cupcake Hole.

- It's not a cupcake.

It's a cup-pie.

A single-serve pie with honey.

My honey baked into the crust.

And since it's a pie, it could be served in the Pie Hole.

I'm a purist.

I like that we serve traditional pies in the Pie Hole not these hybrids.

- You could do with loosening up.

- I don't do loose.

I prefer tightly wound.

Not shapeless with extra room for surprises.

I was a surprise.

You made room for me.

Some.

Yeah, I made room.

A whole rooftop full of room for you and your bees.

I know and I love it.

But I'm not Quasimodo in the bell tower.

Quasimodo would have been better off in his tower where it was safe and comfortable and he had his bell.

I'm not sure Quasi would agree.

Quasi wanted adventure.

Quasi wanted to see the world.

Quasi wanted cup-pies.

Whew.

Private Investigator Emerson Cod was enjoying the latest issue of Knit-Wit magazine his literary outlet for knitting humor when he received a phone call from the mother of one Anita Gray.

Ugh The facts were these: Anita Gray, 22 years, nine hours, and 33 minutes old was taking a private tutorial in olfactory science when she experienced an epiphany.

The epiphany was that her instructor, Napoleon LeNez, was a genius.

It was an epiphany Napoleon LeNez had himself experienced many, many years earlier.

He showed her how olfactory cues could trigger memories release floods of endorphins and pheromones and cause biological and psychological reactions that deeply impacted the way people behave and feel.

Using the smell of unfiltered cigarettes to evoke fond memories of her grandmother he opened her eyes and heart through her nose.

So she devoted her life to his work.

With his new apprentice, Anita, by his side LeNez created a self-help guide for those who wish to not only harness their past but to inspire and mold their future via the power of smell.

Anita didn't live to see the book published.

While working alone she was k*lled by a mysterious expl*si*n in LeNez's lab.

Exactly what caused that expl*si*n seemed to be a question only Anita Gray could answer.

Whoa! Oh! Oh, that is pungent.

Pungent like fried chicken grilled on a bed of hair.

Well, what you waiting on?

Mm.

- Who's smoking?

- You.

How rude of me.

I'm dreadfully sorry.

This can't be good for your lungs.

Anita, you have less than a minute to impart any last words On what caused that expl*si*n.

An expl*si*n?

That's what that flash was.

Do you remember anything before the flash?

The smell of my grandma's unfiltered cigarettes.

Unfortunately, Anita's desire to experience another olfactory-induced memory of her beloved grandmother dead from cancer, led her to sneak a look at the one and only advanced copy of LeNez's book.

A book that was meant for his nose only.

This was clearly a case of Death by scratch-and-sniff?

LeNez didn't want you looking at that book?

He didn't want anyone looking at it yet.

Was I being punished for peeking?

Is God mad at me?

- No.

No, God is not mad at you.

- Somebody's mad at somebody.

Somebody's mad at Napoleon LeNez.

That damn book was booby-trapped.

- Five seconds.

- Will I see my grandma?

- As far as you know.

- That's a yes.

Death by scratch-and-sniff.

What the hell happened to people sh**ting each other with g*ns?

Anxious to sniff out more information our heroes sought out Napoleon LeNez scratch-and-sniff author, in his suite above the city.

And immediately found themselves in an alarming situation.

Ahem.

Do not be alarmed by this situation.

Hey.

You better open up these doors.

Please excuse my decontamination procedure.

My nasal glands are extremely delicate.

- Napoleon LeNez?

- Felicitations.

Felici What?

- We're here about your assistant Don't speak.

A smell tells so much more.

Cigars, after-shave, antacids, cash, and yarn.

- You're a knitting detective.

- Hmm.

And you.

Huh.

Hmm, mm.

Flour, fruit, and the subtle waft of musky pheromones.

- Triggered by - Mm-mm.

You.

A girl smelling of honey and death.

Which doesn't surprise me.

The atomalic-charged molecules used in your perfume are found in decomposing bodies and feces.

Oh, I'm not wearing any perfume.

- I am not wearing just any perfume.

- Precisely my point.

Why settle for less?

In all aspects of life, we strive for perfection.

Why not apply those principles to what we smell?

Yeah, LeNez, look, we're here about that scratch-and-sniff.

Your book was a b*mb.

Who are you to criticize my life's work?

Your book was a b*mb.

It exploded.

The k*ller had used a unique expl*sive on LeNez's advanced copy of the book.

A chemical mixed with an oxidizing agent to create a fiery chain reaction.

- Are they still gonna publish your book?

- Anita would have wanted it that way.

Although I'm sure she would have preferred a version where she lived.

She was thrilled when my publisher bumped up the release of Smell of Success.

- When did they bump up your smell?

- Two weeks ago.

Follow your nose, Mr.

Cod, and it will lead you to this deviant's doorstep.

When we harness the power of smell, we become bloodhounds of our desires.

Smell it.

Crave it.

Own it.

I can wear them?

You mean it?

On my feet?

Unless you're cursed with a sixth toe.

- You're not, are you?

- No, no.

Five fingers, five toes.

Us Snooks are boring that way.

Heh.

Oh, had a cousin with a third nipple.

He'd let you see it for a dollar.

- How fascinating.

- And a bargain too.

This is a dream come true.

I hope this doesn't freak you out but I used to be a big Darling Mermaid Darlings enthusiast.

I had the tail and the clamshell bra.

Oh.

Just like this one.

- Did you show that off for a dollar?

- Oh.

I bet you miss your fans.

I know I would.

All the adoration, all the love.

Doesn't this paraphernalia make you wanna get back in the pool?

No reason to.

We canceled our comeback tour.

But look at all this stuff.

Imagine the money you'll make from merchandizing alone.

Mm.

What's this?

- That belonged to Charlotte.

- It was her mother's.

Whatever happened to Charlotte's mother?

She d*ed.

And with that, Lily went to her dark place.

You want it?

Take it.

I don't care if I ever get in the water again.

Now, for the love of Kukla, Fran and Ollie rent the girl a hand truck and get this crap out of here.

I need a piece of pie.

Do you really think people can change their lives by smelling the right smell?

If so, I'm gonna get me some cash potpourri.

I talked to that publisher.

LeNez's book was bumped up the release schedule prior to Anita Gray's m*rder.

- So?

If LeNez's book got moved up the schedule somebody else's book got moved off.

Find the book that was on this schedule, that is no longer on this schedule.

You'll find an author with a motive to k*ll Look, a slice of pie is too much for some customers.

- A cup-pie would be perfect.

- See that?

See what you did just now?

You interrupted our conversation with your chatter.

I don't know what a cup-pie is.

I don't give a damn what a cup-pie is.

I'm sorry.

A cup-pie is a single-serve pie with a honey-baked crust.

- Doesn't that sound good?

- Sounds delicious but we don't serve them.

Am I seriously the first person to question your aversion to change?

What about your ex-girlfriends?

Emerson doesn't wanna hear about any of this.

I must admit, I am curious.

Before dead girl came along, I didn't know what you liked.

Or if you liked or if you had anything to like with.

You could have been one of those people born with both but didn't use either.

I've had girlfriends but there were always extraneous factors.

What kind of extraneous factors?

You know, we grew apart and lost interest.

Had intimate relations on a bearskin rug.

- Oh, no, did it?

- It did enough to be upsetting.

Psst.

- Come on.

- Wait, wait, what's all this?

Girl business.

Bonding.

Huh?

Hey, Phase 2 has experienced a hiccup.

The kind of hiccup that goes away if you hold your breath?

The kind of hiccup that keeps you up till you go crazy and you give away all your mermaid mementos and refuse to get back in the pool again.

Oh, no.

Have they been eating their pie?

Chuck, a slice of pie can't solve all their problems.

We need to get them stronger pie and give them a push.

Into the water.

- But I have been pushing.

- You gotta push harder.

The Pie-Maker feared Chuck and Olive bonding was like a chemical accelerant bonding with an oxidizing agent.

An expl*si*n was bound to pop up.

- Ooh! Pop-ups.

- What?

Pop-up books.

I love pop-up books.

And if the sacred cash cow that I worship is mooing down on us our k*ller likes pop-ups too.

Emerson and Ned pursued the pop-up author.

Ahem.

Are you Chas Spielman, author of Pop-Up Pin-Up?

That's me.

Are you here for a sneak peek or should I say "peep" of my latest book?

This book was canceled.

Only temporarily.

I'm still working on that.

This don't look like no pop-up book I had as a child.

Pop-ups aren't just for children.

My pop-ups are designed for their original audience.

- Perverts?

- Mature connoisseurs of art.

And homicidal maniacs with rudimentary reading skills.

"The New Patriots Pop-Up Book: A Three-Dimensional Instructional Telling You Everything You Wanted to Know About Building Bombs of all Shapes and Sizes.

" Pop-Up Palace appeals to an unusual demographic.

Any instructions in here on how to build a scratch-and-sniff b*mb?

Is this about the attempt on Napoleon LeNez?

- Word travels fast in literary circles.

- His book did bump Pop-Up Pin-Up off the schedule.

Seems like a good motive to blow somebody up.

- Clearly, you have the means.

- Hmm.

Who would publish a book on how to k*ll somebody then k*ll somebody they knew using the method they published in the book?

- Oooh.

- Ahem.

Yeah, well, I'm keeping this book as evidence.

Mm-hm.

- Ooh.

And these too.

- So you didn't want LeNez dead.

- I may be petty but I'm not that petty.

Besides, the publisher moved LeNez's book from a prime holiday spot to no man's land.

If you ask me, his book wasn't bumped.

It was dumped.

Huh.

Oh, it smells like family hour at the public pool.

Oh, no.

That's not the pie.

It's chlorine tablets.

Aunt Lily used to say it smelled like bottled sunshine.

If it came in a bottle, Lily would like it.

I've been reading this good self-help book.

It's about the power of smell.

I thought we'd try it, see what happens when you combine pie happiness with the happiness of chlorine.

You know, I read a self-help book once.

Samsonized: How To Grow Your Hair To Become A More Powerful You.

Two weeks later and I was bald as a baby's behind.

Looks like I'm not the only one who read it.

What's the haps, paps?

Any luck on the case?

First of all, I ain't your paps.

Paps has a lady connotation.

And second of all, this ain't none of your business.

Oh.

Yuck.

Something Something's stuck in there.

- Oh! Aah! - Oh! - Oh! - Oh! - Ugh.

- Oh, no, they didn't.

The intent of the warning was obvious.

Someone wanted to make a stink.

- Blech.

- Ooh! Decay.

A tinge of rusted iron.

Harsh but spiky with a sulfuric edge.

This loathsome omen came up from the sewer.

Which means it could have only come from one man.

Oscar Vibenius.

Oscar Vibenius and Napoleon LeNez were lab partners and the best of friends until their divergent olfaction theories tore them apart.

Oscar favored the wild, unfettered smells of the natural world believing that people couldn't appreciate the good smells in life without smelling the bad.

LeNez believed that because smell has a powerful effect on human behavior humans should surround themselves with only good, carefully controlled odors.

Over time, their rivalry grew until neither man could stand the other.

Each retreated to the worlds they found most comfortable.

One above ground and one below.

There was really nothing I could do.

It's sad.

Oscar would do anything to prevent my theories from being published.

Do you have any idea where he could be?

There were rumors.

Some claim that he committed su1c1de.

Others were convinced that he ended up in a mental institution only to be put back on the street by the Reagan administration.

I heard tales of Oscar roaming the sewers.

Haunting them.

A soured husk of who he once was.

Then someone recently told me he worked for the DWP.

So that might explain where some of those rumors came from.

Hoo! Look carefully, ladies.

This is your future.

Is it vodka?

Water.

- Hmm.

As in, Russian for vodka?

- As in, English for H20.

Lily doesn't believe in water anymore.

She thinks it's a waste of a perfectly good tumbler.

How about now?

Chlorine.

Lily used to say it reminded her of bottled sunshine.

Now it reminds me of children without bladder control.

Why, Lily, is that a smile?

Hmm.

Just gas.

So she swallowed her happiness and retreated to the safety of her usual despondency.

As Lily's gas passed our determined heroes followed the tube sock to its own foul origin.

Oscar Vibenius.

- We're really walking around down here.

This is where he roams and haunts.

Now, see, you all gonna make me get my shoes wet.

There's his toolbox.

Looks like he's working on this thick yellow hose.

- Well, let's follow the yellow thick hose.

- Follow the yellow thick hose.

I sure hope there's methane down here because the skinny ones are first to go.

Hello?

He ain't down here.

Ain't nobody down here.

We been walking around here for hours following dead girl and now we lost.

We're not lost.

We're following the yellow thick hose.

What about all of those rumors about Oscar ending up in a mental institution?

Or worse, becoming a modern-day monster?

There are no such thing as monsters.

- What about CHUD?

- CHUD?

Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers.

They feed on the homeless and helpless passersby.

I hear they're pack hunters.

Yeah, well, in that case, I sure hope they like white meat.

Oh, thanks.

- Where are we exactly?

- We should be in LeNez's neighborhood.

In fact, we're right underneath his apartment building.

Mm.

Ah! Oscar?

Ahem.

Oscar Vibenius?

You better run.

Department of Water and Power employee Oscar Vibenius is wanted for questioning in the attempted m*rder of Napoleon LeNez author of upcoming self-help opus, Smell of Success.

Presales of the book have skyrocketed since the first expl*si*n which caused the death of Anita Gray, a former associate of Mr.

LeNez.

I may be clean but my mind is in the gutter.

What?

Dirty thoughts?

Lascivious pinings?

In the sewer gutter with Oscar Vibenius.

Oh, that gutter.

He keeps blowing things up but never who he wants to blow up.

Yeah, he's certainly no sharpsh**ter.

Maybe he just likes the attention.

I bet he's real pissy that Napoleon LeNez's getting the attention.

Oscar's about to get all the attention he wants.

Oh.

Sorry, I didn't know that you were here.

How'd you get cleaned up so quick?

I got cleaned up in an amount of time it takes to get cleaned up.

You just slow.

So why's Oscar getting all the attention?

LeNez's about to make a statement.

And as witnesses to the most recent attempt on his life we also have to make a statement.

And that "we" don't include you.

Why?

I witnessed the latest attempt.

That don't change the fact that there's a grave you're supposed to be in.

What'll you say when they ask who you are?

- I'll say that I'm somebody I'm not.

- Oh.

"Hey, somebody.

Can I see some ID?

" Well, I'll smile and I'll be polite and I'll say: "Oh, I'm sorry.

I forgot my purse and I got no pockets.

" Uh-huh.

"Well, somebody.

See, now I'm gonna need to see some ID on account of you look like that dead girl that got k*lled on that cruise.

" Okay.

If that happens, I'll say something like: "What is this, a police state?

" If I say that, it means I'm having a panic att*ck.

No need to panic because she ain't going.

- Huh?

- You ain't going.

Just wanted to try it on before I gave it back.

While I have you here, would you take my photo?

Yeah, sure.

You should know that Operation Femme Follies is up and flapping.

- The mermaids are singing.

- But are they swimming?

They're thinking about swimming.

But their hearts are singing.

At least one of their hearts.

The other one's stalling.

Psychologically, not cardiologically.

Lily.

That's the one.

Man, her nut don't cr*ck.

Let's do one for Fourth of July.

Her nut does cr*ck.

I know it does.

- I cracked it before.

- Yeah, I've seen that cr*ck.

Thought maybe you'd want this.

- My aunts gave it to you?

- Practically forced it on me.

I think it's a big first step for them, emotionally.

What are the stages of death?

Something, something, something, acceptance.

Yeah, those are the stages.

No, no.

We're not at that stage of our friendship yet.

Please don't cry in front of me.

- Don't do it.

Don't you do it.

- I'm not going to.

- You better not.

- I won't.

You did it.

Um, tsk Would like a piece of pie?

What can smell do for you?

If you're Napoleon LeNez, author of Smell of Success the controversial new guide to satisfaction through olfaction smell can get you k*lled.

Napoleon, how many attempts have there been on your life?

Right now, there's only been two, Carol.

- Then you're anticipating more?

I don't know.

Seems like somebody out there doesn't want my book touching the world.

Purging your life of the bad smells and focusing on the good.

- It's all there in Smell of Success.

But it's not just somebody.

You know the man who made two attempts on your life.

Yes, I do.

His name is Oscar Vibenius.

Here with us now is an eyewitness to Oscar Vibenius's attempt on your life earlier today.

- Sir, tell us what you saw.

- Good evening, Carol.

Let me preface my statement by saying that my name is Emerson Cod.

I'm a private investigator.

If you need to reach me, my telephone number is Klondike 5-0155.

That's Klondike 5-0155.

I've been investigating the Anita Gray m*rder.

She was taken much too soon - Get a load of Muggy McHambone.

- Hawking his wares.

He just gave out his phone number on national television.

Look, there's the k*ller.

What makes somebody like Oscar?

Look, there's the k*ller.

Oh, Lord.

Don't make me cut a bitch.

Hey, I'm just here for pie and conversation.

Neither of which are cause to call a man a bitch.

- You're trying to k*ll Napoleon LeNez.

- Lf I am, I'm not a very good k*ller.

I keep blowing things up but never who I wanna blow up?

I said that.

Have you been spying on me?

You'd be surprised what you hear when you press your ear to the pipe.

If it wasn't you, who's trying to k*ll LeNez?

I have theories.

You've been conducting your investigation I've been conducting mine.

We should talk, compare notes.

Come to conclusions.

How about you put that Kn*fe to use and cut me off a piece of persimmon pie?

Let's compare notes.

Why were you in the sewer with your hands on a booby trap?

Why Oscar Vibenius had his hands on a booby trap was this: After learning of the attempt on LeNez's life Mr.

Vibenius trailed his former colleague to a sewer mane where he lost track of him.

But what he found in his stead was a mysterious yellow thick hose.

Which he quickly realized was part of a plot to blow up Napoleon LeNez's car.

He worked quickly to disable the thr*at.

But couldn't dismantle the b*mb before he was startled in the dark.

Fearing said b*mb was about to blow he chose to run for cover rather than explain his actions.

How do we know you're telling the truth?

LeNez said you were a CHUD.

A Cannibal I know what a CHUD is.

And I know Napoleon LeNez.

Did he tell you what you smelled like?

He thinks people like that.

- He said I smelled like honey.

- Like you've been dipped in it.

There's something else you smell like.

- I know.

Death.

It's my perfume.

- You're not wearing perfume.

No, this isn't death.

This is something else altogether.

I've never smelled anything like it.

- Do me.

Do me.

What do I smell like?

- Dog.

We need proof.

We're not gonna believe you because you say so.

Would you believe your noses?

Smells like rotten eggs.

Well, it was incinerated in an exploding ball of methane gas.

- What else would it smell like?

- Nothing.

- Oh.

Methane is odorless.

- I cook with gas.

It smells like eggs.

Companies add a chemical smell to it before it's pumped into our houses.

But a methane expl*si*n in the sewer wouldn't have a smell.

Unless someone thought an ignorant public expected it to.

Someone elitist.

Someone like LeNez.

With a book about to be published he has the most to gain by an attempt on his life.

Nothing sells books like a little m*rder and mayhem.

I already preordered my copy.

As Napoleon LeNez's star appeared to rise Lily and Vivian's star continued to fall as they made their way through a box of slides documenting happier times.

Ohh Look, Lily.

It's when we went to the Hebrew Feta Fete.

I miss my eye.

- Peculiar.

- What?

You said you miss your eye before you said you miss Charlotte.

The first thing I thought of was I miss Charlotte.

Good God, Vivian.

It was the first thing I thought of too.

It just so happens, I don't always say everything I think.

Fancy that.

It wasn't your eye, why we stopped swimming.

We told people it was, but it wasn't.

We've been stopped swimming long enough for it not to matter why we stopped swimming.

It used to make you so happy, the water.

I think it's brave to try to be happy.

You've gotten so comfortable being unhappy.

Wouldn't it be wonderful to wake up in the morning and choose to be happy?

To let the water wash everything away?

Eh.

Ah You forgot your chlorine tablets.

Her olfactory glands stimulated with the smells of synchronized swimming Lily experienced a flood of endorphins from the scent of bottled sunshine.

As Napoleon LeNez experienced a flood of endorphins from his media blitz which left the Pie-Maker to carry out a blindside blitz of his own.

Emerson.

- Where did you go?

- I was bored and snooping.

Maybe ipso facto snooping.

It wasn't my goal to snoop to entertain myself.

When you're bored, go into the bathroom rummage through the cabinet look in the closets, under the bed, find something you were never meant to see.

Get to the point.

- Damn.

Well.

That couldn't have gone better if I'd planned it.

Smell it.

Crave it.

Own it.

That's the spirit.

So once you smell it and then you crave it how far are you willing to go before you own it?

You can't scratch and sniff and make a wish, you gotta have a plan.

According to you, this thing couldn't have gone better if you planned it yourself.

- Which leads me to believe - You planned it yourself.

You set Oscar up.

After you figured out the correct spacing.

This is ridic How dare?

You planted that sock.

I am not going to stand here and be accused.

- I think it's best if you both leave.

- I concur.

- Oh! - When I suggested you leave I didn't mean the penthouse.

I meant this mortal coil.

Congratulations you're about to fall victim to attempt number three on my life.

But don't worry.

I'll mention you in the acknowledgments of the second printing of my book.

Oh, hell, no.

Hey.

You got exactly three seconds to open this damn door.

Wait.

What's that?

That smell is the chamber filling with an amalgamation of expl*sive gases which will erupt on my mark.

So please, if you're in a hurry to die fire your g*n and set the chamber ablaze.

But k*lling us isn't gonna change anything.

Says you.

Imagine the outcry when the press releases photos of my charred decontamination chamber the corpses of two private detectives unfortunate enough to trigger my nemesis's third attempt on my life.

How tragic but how perfectly titillating.

Boy, Anita sure made a big mistake hitching her horse to your wagon.

Don't say that.

I never meant to hurt her.

- You k*lled her.

- But I didn't mean to.

Her death was an accident.

When it became clear his publisher was going to bury his life's work LeNez concocted an expl*sive marketing strategy of his very own.

He would boost interest in his book by pretending to be the target of a murderous rival's att*ck.

His discovery of the booby-trapped tome would create a publicity whirlwind his publisher could not ignore.

But there were variables he couldn't control.

Including the utter devotion of his most dedicated student, Anita Gray who couldn't resist a quick sniff.

Still, Anita's death only fueled the fire increasing his book's presales exponentially.

So without further ado, LeNez set the rest of his plot in motion.

He pinned the crime on Oscar as planned and further capitalized on the growing publicity by staging a second, more spectacular attempt on his life.

An attempt that Oscar himself mistakenly helped legitimize by appearing on the scene to stop it.

Goodbye, gentlemen.

Please give Anita my felicitations.

And again, tell her I'm sorry.

- Ned.

- Chuck.

- Oscar.

- Napoleon.

- Hi, Emerson.

- Hey, Olive.

- Wait, no, no, no.

- It's okay.

Oscar reversed the pumps.

He what?

Using his expert knowledge of the city's underground electrical grid Oscar had reprogrammed LeNez's entire decontamination system just prior to entering the building.

Repurposed and rejiggered it no longer protected him from the outside world.

Instead, it did just the opposite.

No, no, no.

No.

No! No! As the system purged itself the man who demanded purity was branded a filthy m*rder*r.

And the man who embraced filth rejoiced that his sullied reputation had been cleansed.

I'm canceling my preorder.

Satisfied that another case had been closed our heroes returned home.

Elsewhere, a tentative breeze of hope signaled a new beginning.

Ugh.

What are you doing?

Another case closed.

Emerson temporarily set aside his knitting needles to pursue a new hobby.

One that magnified his happiness tenfold.

I love pop-up books.

Hey, you haven't seen my old sweater, have you?

- No, have you seen my new menus?

- No.

For me?

For you.

Cup-pies.

The mere sight of each other left the Pie-Maker and the girl named Chuck feeling exactly like they wanted to feel: Safe and warm and loved.

Meanwhile, Oscar Vibenius embraced an obsession of his own.

Chuck and her secret were in danger.

And this time, it wasn't so much about the telling as it was the smelling.