02x10 - The Norwegians

[bunniefuu]

At this very moment, at the Longborough School for Boys young Ned had convinced Eugene Mulchandani to go to w*r.

For not only was it proof of his undying patriotism it was also a much

-needed escape from an advanced geometry lesson in proofs of the Pythagorean kind.

However, like all ill

-advised troop deployments it did not come without its share of unexpected casualties.

As they approached their first combat fatality Eugene's emotional radar was overcome, forcing a hasty retreat.

Young Ned, on the other hand, stood his ground.

Rationalized that if he solved the hunter's m*rder the acclaim would bring his father back into his life.

But the hunter revealed his cause of death was accidental and self

-inflicted.

There was no m*rder*r to be caught though the park ranger would believe otherwise.

Waking the dead had landed young Ned in jail.

Both boys were perceived by Papen County Juvenile Correction officers as anything but heroes.

And while his comrade secured an honorable discharge through the strength of his parental allies young Ned realized that his father was not going to fight his battles for him.

For in jail, as in life, he needed to take responsibility for his actions.

Dad.

It's 20 years, 10 months, eight days four hours and 17 minutes later.

Once again, waking the dead was a cause for concern.

The dead in this instance was Chuck's father, Charles Charles who had chosen to flee.

What's he doing? Where's he going? That's my car.

He stole my car.

He's not supposed to leave.

He's my dad.

This is really bad.

This is really bad.

Really.



- Really, really, really, really bad.



- He just left.

No explanation, no apology, no forwarding address.

At least my dad left a forwarding address to a house with a new family.

Now I know how you feel.

Losing your dad because he dies is horrible enough but losing him because he chooses to leave is just really horrible.

I've been dumped by my own dad.

You haven't been dad

-dumped.

I'm the one he's mad at.

He asked you to choose, me or him.

I'm the reason he left after you risked everything to bring him back.

I risked you.

I used you to bring him back and it was wrong and we're in this mess because of me.

What if Dad tells people there's a pie

-maker who has a knack for baking and waking dead people? Change of career? No more waking and/or baking? I just wanna hold your hand.

Me too.

I am done with this by

-proxy hand jive.

What's the matter with you? You're acting all lovey when you ought to be mad.

You screwed up when you used his finger to conjure up a corpse and then not tell him.

You screwed up by not tapping her pops.

And I screwed up by cahooting and colluding and covering up and ended up having another dead body in ghost dad's empty grave.

And both of you ought to be mad at dead dad for stealing your car and stealing off into the night with a corpse face.

Now that you mention it, I am mad.

I'm furious.

Oh, get over it, fool.

Bitching time has gotten the boot.



- We need to fix this.



- Fix what? What you fixing?

- Fixing to tell you to mind yours.



- Working a case? Well, break it down.

Are there dead somebodies? Is it m*rder? Lay it on me.

This is one of them need

-to

-know cases.

And you do not need, therefore you shall not know.

No casual case chitchat to pass the time whilst perusing the menu? We don't chitchat where we eat.

But I'm your itty

-bitty.

I'm helpful.

Strawberry kiwi crumble à la mode.

Golden cherry crimson pear.

Also à la mode.

Just coffee for me, thanks.

Hold up, yo.

Oh, boy.

I'm not some yo

-yo you can jerk up and down on a let's

-include

-her

-let's

-not whim.

Because if I am, there are only so many knots I can tie in my yo

-yo string before it snaps.

For good.



- Please, Olive.



- Please, Olive, my ass.

Where's my pie? Olive is my friend.

We can't make her a depository of secrets one minute and then not include her the next.



- Why can't we tell her everything?

- Oh, look at that.

A dumb idea just found a friend.

Think again.

We ain't gonna poke a stick in our business and snap it by telling big mouth.

Well, maybe big mouth has earned it.

All she does is trust us and help us.



- All we do is lie to her.



- We can't afford to tell Olive.

With everything that's happening, we don't need another unfortunate variable.

Ugh.

Little did they know, another unfortunate variable was already on its way in the form of one half of a renowned synchronized

-swimming duo and sister neurotics who was called Miss Vivian.

To what do I owe the pleasure? I need you to find someone for me.

Dwight Dixon, my gentleman caller.

He hasn't come calling since our last rendezvous went awry.

Something horrible has happened.

The facts, as Emerson Cod knew them and Vivian did not, were these: Dwight Dixon romanced Vivian to get what he wanted.

And what he wanted was a watch.

I have a small confession about Charles' pocket watch.

We buried it with our niece, Charlotte Charles.

Dwight dug up her niece's grave but found the watch missing

- and Chuck still alive.



- Very nice to meet you.

So Dwight Dixon stole the watch from Chuck and Lily stole the watch from Dwight.

But she didn 't stop with one watch.

She stole Dwight's watch too.

Believing Chuck and the Pie

-Maker to be the thieves Dwight Dixon set about to k*ll them both.

But Dwight failed to realize his murderous plan made him the target of a cosmic exchange that allowed Chuck to keep her father alive while taking Dwight's life in trade.

An accidental, inadvertent death that Emerson Cod hid in order to protect his friends.

And so Dwight Dixon, villain and thief, was buried in the grave once occupied by Charles Charles.

Eh, what makes you think something happened to Dwight Dixon? Because he cared about me.

He wouldn't just leave without explanation.

Even worse, he could be dead.

Well, let's not jump to conclusions.

Let's just start with the facts.

Hm? You say he was your gentleman caller.

How many times he call?

- Three.



- He call you his girlfriend?

- Give you a sock drawer?

- Mm

-mm.



- Offer you bling?

- No.

Well, did you two have, uh, intimate relations? Very.

Long walks.

Clarinet concer I meant in the Biblical sense.

No.

Well, then allow me to put this to you delicately.

You see, men are dogs.

They come barking up your tree, but if they don't see a kitty cat pretty soon they just stop barking.

Dwight ain't missing.

He's barking up somebody else's tree.

Dwight wouldn't do that.

He's a romantic.

A romantic who may need help.

I'm advising you to not look for Dwight Dixon.

Then you find him for me.

So I don't have to.

Listen to me.

You have no idea what kind of man Dwight is.

He's a sociopath.

A man who'd just as soon s*ab a friend or sh**t him in the back with a sn*per r*fle.

Dwight Dixon's gone away.

Now, you just accept that and stop trying to bring him back.

Thank you for your time.

Emerson Cod hated dropping the b*mb on Vivian Charles ' heart but a shock

-and

-awe campaign was the only way to stop her search for Dwight.

Slice me up something expensive.

It better be on the house because I just saved your asses a whole pile of grief.



- Why? What happened?

- Your Aunt Vivian came to visit me.

She tried to hire me to find her missing paramour, Dwight Dixon.



- What did you tell her?

- I said, "No need to pay me.

I know damn well where Dwight Dixon is.

In the ground where I put him.

"

- I said no.



- Poor Vivian.

Carrying a torch for a flame I extinguished.



- With my finger.

Well, don't worry.

I gave her plenty of reasons to forget him.

The last thing we need is somebody investigating the disappearance of Dwight Dixon.

Good day, Emerson Cod.

Hide.

Hello, Magnus.

We've been consigned to investigate the disappearance of Dwight Dixon.

Hello, Magnus.

If it isn't Papen County's most surprisingly successful private detective.

And his pie

-baking pretty

-boy sidekick.

As flattering as that is, you're not welcome here.

You either, Hedda.

Stay out of my kitchen.

I'm still mad, so ignore my caring tone.

But why are we hiding? Chuck was hiding to avoid a cr*ck forensic team from discovering she was infamous m*rder victim "Lonely Tourist" Charlotte Charles.

As proud members of the Norwegian Ministry of Justice and Police lead detective Magnus Olsdatter, his trusted criminalist Nils Nilsen and loyal profiler Hedda Lillihammer were an investigative trio without equal.

Until their beloved homeland ranked an astonishing 37th in the world of homicides no longer deemed their services necessary.

They abandoned their motherland when reports of a small place with a big m*rder rate halfway around the world caught their eye.

Positive their forensic know

-how and advanced skill set would make them a big fish in a small

-but

-lucrative pond only to find themselves consistently trumped by a large fish of another kind by the name of Cod.

Emerson Cod.

Our services were commissioned by Vivian Charles to locate a man by the name of Dwight Dixon.

Imagine our surprise when during our debriefing of our client we began to suspect that you knew something about this that you were not telling.

Tell us now and save yourself the humiliation.

I don't know diddly or squat.

Unfortunately for you, the facts say the opposite.

Nils, refresh Mr.

Cod's memory.

Fact one: Vivian Charles claims you refused her case.

History shows Emerson Cod never turns down easy money.

History shows I had a full docket, just like my pocketbook.



- Nothing personal.



- Fact two: When discussing Dwight with Ms.

Charles, you referred to him as a Bad man.

A sociopath.

The kind of man who'd s*ab a friend or sh**t him in the back.

I was merely trying to talk her out of a bad relationship.

I didn't even know the man.

It's pure conjecture.

Fact three: It wasn't conjecture.

You and Dwight hobnobbed in the same circles.

The hell I did.

We didn't nob no hobs.

And certainly not in no damn circle.

We have copies of credit

-card statements.

He was a frequent eater at this very eatery.

Therefore establishing a reasonable link.

Not reasonable.

Unreasonable.

Purely circumstantial.

And a little rude.

Not for long.

I believe we will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're hiding something of importance.



- How you plan to do that?

- With help from Mother.

The most sophisticated mobile laboratory of its kind.

Providing instantaneous evidence collection, inspection and documentation.

If there's evidence connecting you to Dwight's disappearance Mother will find it.



- Run home to Mother.

You're not welcome here.

This is my Pie Hole.

No clues.

No dirt.

No service.

Go.

You'll find us at the Come and Sleep Motel.

Big Mother is watching.

Any last words? Thank you.

Ow.

What just happened?

- Nothing.



- Nothing.

We are in a crisis, people.

We need to shut down these Norwegians, pronto

-mundo.

Also pronto

-mundo, we need to find my dad.

Put daddy dead bugs on hold.

We need to cut these Norse fools off.

But what if these Norse fools find Chuck's dad? Or he finds them and tells them what happened to Dwight? There's the waking and baking.

If he wants me out of Chuck's life that's one way to do it.

Okay.

Fine.

You look for daddy dead bugs.

I still need somebody to take a cr*ck at Vivian to call off the hounds while I find out what these Norwegians dig up.

Here.

Oh, itty

-bitty.

I'm itty

-bitty again? You mean it? All I can tell you is if you don't convince Vivian to call off her investigation into Dwight's disappearance, then we are gonna be in a lot of trouble.

What'd you do, k*ll Dwight? I'm just kidding.

You didn't, did you?

- No, but

- But what?

- I still can't tell you what happened.



- Oh, hell's bells.

The least you could do is lie.

What hurts the most is the total lack of effort.

None of you even seem to care that you won't let me in on your super

-secret powwows.

It is not out of spite.

We're just trying to protect you.

But I don't need protection.

That's what I have long

-standing restraining orders for.

I need to feel like I belong.

I need to feel appreciated, Chuck.

I want a full

-fledged membership and an all

-access pass to the Pl

-palooza.

So you'll do it?

- Yes.

Oh.



- Thank you.

Thank you.



- You're welcome.

You're welcome.

I will not call them off.

Not until they find Dwight.

Are you still mooning over that creep? Moons wax and wane.

I am steadfast in my investigation of Dwight's disappearance.

I don't know if Vivian's told you.

She's hired a team of Norwegians to find him.

They're running a couple of those body

-fluid lights all over his room for evidence of foul play.

There's been foul play? Says Says who?

- And who are these Norwegians?

- They came highly recommended.

In their country, they're the most decorated figure since Thor Bjorklin.



- Inventor of the hand

-held cheese slicer.



- Oh.

Lily's sudden spike in body temperature stemmed not from hearing Thor Bjorklin 's name but from the fear that if Dwight Dixon was the victim of foul play amongst his possessions the Norwegians would discover evidence leading them to Lily herself.



- Call off the Norwegians.

Let well enough alone.

Not until I find out what happened.



- Nothing happened to Dwight.



- You don't know that.

What I do know is Dwight was menacing.

He even snuck into the Pie Hole once after hours and menaced me right to my face.



- See? It's a good thing he's gone.

Why on earth would he menace you? It's on a need

-to

-know basis.

Well, then, I need to know.

I'm tired of being a pushover.

I deserve the truth.

And I don't need anyone to protect me from it.

Yes, you do.

Why? I can't tell you.

This gives me pause.

A manicure might help.

No.

"Pause" like one step past "play" and not quite to "stop.

" Because I've been hearing this conversation on repeat all day and I'm finally hearing the music.

I've heard enough to know when people say, "I can't tell you for your own good," they mean, "I don't trust you.

" Because they don't think you're responsible enough to hear the truth so they have these private chitchats in corners and booths and when you shimmy on over to say "top of the morning" they clam up and avoid you like you got the Ebola.

Aren't you tired of feeling like you have to live your life from the outside? You deserve to have those answers.

And if you wanna enlist a cr*ck team of Pls from the land of Norwegia you go, girl.

Because maybe then you'll finally get the respect trust and honesty you deserve from your so

-called best friends.

As Olive Snook broke ranks with Lily and came to the defense of Vivian she began to wonder if there were other alliances in her life she should be breaking.

Emerson Cod hoped that any evidence the Norwegians gathered from Dwight Dixon 's motel room was of no significance at all.

That's Lily's handwriting.

Oh.

Hello, Lily.

Vivian.

Lily, I'm afraid this is going to be a confrontation.

Is it, now? Would you like to tell me what happened at the cemetery between you and Dwight? Nothing happened at the cemetery between me and Dwight.

He stood me up.

Just like he did you.

I wasn't stood up.

You ran him off with both barrels cocked at his manhood.

Then invited or lured him to the cemetery for heaven knows why.

I won't call you a liar.

If you say he didn't show, then I believe you.

He didn't show.

I don't believe you.

I can't protect you from the Norwegians if you don't tell me the truth.



- Protect me? What?

- What is it you think I did?

- Something rash.

Honestly, and this is a petty accusation therefore I'm not proud but I don't think you like that he made me happy.

Dwight Dixon is trouble.

Dwight Dixon lavished me with courtly blandishments and picnics complete with crudités and soup.

There may have been involvement with a criminal element in his past but that's behind him now.

It ain't behind him, it's right on top of him, if not inside him.

His motel room had enough buckshot to blow Couer d'Couers to Timbuktu.

What were you doing in his motel room? Looking for this.

Charles' pocket watch.

Your kind Dwight stole it from Charlotte's grave right after you told him where it was.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

He He dug her up? He dug her up and took it from her.

So I took it back and took his watch too.

You wanna know what was gonna happen between me and Dwight at the cemetery if he showed? Me and both barrels were gonna convince him to dig Charlotte's grave right up again and put that watch back exactly where he found it.

And your intentions after that? That was gonna be up to Dwight.

Congratulations, Lily.

I know how you like being right.

I didn't wanna be right.

L I knew I was gonna be but I didn't wanna be.

I don't get any satisfaction from seeing you hurt.

Now I really don't believe you.

As the cold snap between the aunts grew colder the Pie

-Maker and Chuck were investigating the equally serious matter of the missing Charles Charles.

How bringing back the dead is always complicated.

Sometimes you have to focus on the tree instead of the forest.

You have to find that one thing that tiny glimmer of hope and just hold onto it.

Wait.

What's that? It's another button.

A big brass button he's placed conspicuously on the windowsill.

Might have popped off my dad's sweater The day he moved out and abandoned me.

Maybe it's a sign from my dad.

He'd give me a button to hold on journeys to summer camp or one in my pocket on the first day of school to let me know that he was there, watching me and that everything would be okay.



- Chuck Maybe the reason that I can't believe he just left is because he didn't.

Maybe he's keeping a safe distance.

Is that realistic? My life has been so unreal, I don't know what realistic is.

I d*ed, and then I was alive again, and so was my dad and it's something we both share that nobody else can, which is why I know.

Ned, I know, and I feel it deep down inside of me that he wouldn't abandon me.

He's here.

He's here somewhere.

Um You can't hang all that on a button.

Yes, I can.

I'm his button

-button.

While Chuck hoped the brass button was significant evidence of her father's comforting presence 131 miles due north the Norwegians continued their investigation all the while keeping a watchful eye on Emerson Cod who they believed knew more than he was willing to say.

Meanwhile, Emerson Cod was once again keeping his eye on them in the hope that the forensic breadcrumbs from Dwight's motel room would not lead the Norwegians back his way.

Using the gumshoe skills that made him great the number

-one detective in Papen County took the fight to his opponent.

His plan was this: First, assess the true nature of the thr*at.

Two, find and exploit their weaknesses.



- And three Shut your mouth.

I can't believe you guys think my former friends are up to no good too.

Oh, hell, no.



- Damn you, you itty

-bitty traitor.



- I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the secrets that they flaunt in my face.

Oh.

And that Dwight Dixon? He did hang around the Pie Hole.

A lot.

Until he didn't.

And then you guys show up and they're jumpier than a bunch of kangaroos on a pogo stick.

So I come bearing gifts: The Pie

-Maker's saliva.

They have things in their mouth and hands that they do not want spread around.

The kinds of things that would lead them to k*ll a man, perhaps, mm? Well, that's why I'm here.

You tell me.

There's plenty of somethin'

- somethin' going on with those dirty birds and since you're all about getting answers and so am I it was time I joined the A

-team.

Which is why we were excited to receive your inquiry about joining our organization.

The DNA analysis that I performed on your hair told us everything we needed to know.

Oh, I was under the impression that penicillin would clear that up.

No, what he means is that you're of good, strong shapely Norwegian stock.

Oh.

Ah.

Thank you, thank you.

You too which goes without saying, since you're obviously from Norwegia and as it turns out, so am I, so it makes it swell to be home.

Don't you know? Ha, ha.

I must say, you guys have seriously pimped this ride.

This is fancier than Liberace's camper.

Mother is the heart and soul of what we do.



- Without her, we'd be just another

- Emerson "Clod"? So, what do you think happened to Dwight Dixon? He appears to have vanished.

How he vanished probably wasn't pretty, like you.

He had enough weapons to arm the Norwegian militia.

All evidence points to a dangerous man with a destructive agenda.

Most likely he met with a violent end.

All in all, a bad man.

Can you handle more? It's getting hotter from here.

We also find this shovel under Dwight's bed.

The mineral content of the caked

-on dirt matches that of the local cemetery.

More importantly, what Dwight was doing by Charles Charles' and Charlotte Charles' grave with the shovel, we can only speculate for now.

An exhumation order.

You don't mean you're gonna dig them up?

- No.

Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome.



- Olive's Norwegian.

They lured her in.

She doesn't know what she's doing.

Chitty

-Chatty Boo

-Hoo knew exactly what she was doing.

She was sufficiently lubed and ready to spit tacks.

She even gave them your saliva swab to get in.



- What would they want with my saliva?

- It's my fault.

She warned us not to push her, and then I pushed her away and I pushed her to talk to Vivian, and that pushed her to switch teams.

You're not to blame.

Olive betrayed us because we can't let her in.

We can't let her in because of my magic finger.

It always comes back to my magic finger.

Maybe so, but in about five minutes the Norwegians are gonna have the coffins exhumed.

When they open them, they're gonna find hers empty, Dwight in the other and enough forensic evidence to lead them back here to us.

Stunned by what they heard, the Pie

-Maker and the girl named Chuck prepared for the worst while in a graveyard in Couer d'Couers the Norwegians found themselves unprepared for the shocking discovery that Emerson Cod's prediction was only half right.

Both coffins were empty.

Empty? Why are they empty? I understand why one of them's empty.

Why the other? Are you sure? I made friendly with the groundskeeper by way of a few Benjamins.

The Norwegians popped them coffins saw they were full of nobody, loaded them up, and took off.

How could my dad's coffin be empty? It's supposed to be full of Dwight.

Oh, God, we buried him alive.

Should I feel worse about you burying him alive or him getting out? Ain't nobody buried alive.

Dwight Dixon is deader than a doornail.

Somebody moved the body.

Who else knew he was in that coffin? My dad.

Who else could it be? Don't you see? He moved the body to protect us.

What a good dad.

You don't suppose he wiped down both the caskets with bleach, do you? That's the only way there isn't gonna be some trace that's gonna lead everybody back to every somebody at this table.

They're gonna find my DNA.

I should've worn a hairnet.

You can say your DNA got there at my dad's funeral but Emerson, your DNA's all over the grave.

And with no real reason, you're gonna look guilty.

I am guilty.

It wasn't my hand that touched Charles Charles and put Dwight in the grave.

And it wasn't my hand that forced the magic finger to wake dear, dead dad.

But none of your hands would be dirty if it wasn't for me.

Hell, you were just a pie

-maker, and she was grass fertilizer.

I brought you into my PI organization.

It was my job to keep you in line, and I didn't so if anybody deserves to face the Norwegian f*ring squad it's me.

Don't put on your blindfold or smoke your last stogy yet.

I got a plan.

You're gonna tell the Norwegians everything you know.



- Let me tell you everything I know.



- There's nothing you can tell us that Mother can't, once she finishes her analysis.

Although we don't wish to look a gift whore in the mouth, Mr.

Cod why would you tell us everything you know? Confession is good for the soul.

When you look at a case through a microscope you tend to really miss on what matters.

It's the people, people.

People you work with, clients you work for Clients like Vivian Charles? You certainly didn't people

-people

-person her.

True.

When you make a mess, clean it up! It's your responsibility.

Detective work is a lot like money: It don't really come with instructions.

I learned that from the greatest detective in the world.

Of course, I'm talking about Shaft.

You can dig it.

Meanwhile, as Emerson Cod served as decoy on the street, the Pie

-Maker and Chuck prepared to enter Mother's empty nest.

I love l

-Have

-a

-Plan Ned.

Who says spontaneous is sexy? Sexy is a man with a to

-do list, some schematics and the right tools to hot

-wire a Norwegian RV.



- Shall we?

- We shan't.

At least, you shan't.

I shall steal Mother alone, and you shall stay here as a lookout.

I shan't do any such thing.

We're in this jam because I brought my dad back.

I don't blame you.

I couldn't stop myself from bringing back the person I loved either and Emerson never forced me or my finger to join his PI team.

I poked of my own free will and so if there's anyone to blame, it's me.

My finger, my fallout.

I'm driving solo this time.



- You!

- This isn't what it looks like.

You're not trying to hot

-wire Mother so you can drive away with the evidence? Okay, it is what it looks like.

I'm sorry we shut you out, Olive.

The last thing I wanted to do was shut you out and open you up to Norwegians.

Is that what you think this is?

- You gave them my swab.



- Pig spit.



- Don't deny it.

Emerson saw you.



- No, dummy, pig spit.

The swab I gave them came from Pigby, not you.



- So you're not a turncoat?

- I wouldn't turncoat on you.

I was working deep cover to dismantle this operation from the inside out.

I know they have dirt.

I don't know what they did to make you look so dirty.

I got myself dirty.

Allow me to soap those hard

-to

-reach places.



- By helping me destroy the evidence?

- "Thank you" would suffice.



- Oh, thank you.



- This itty

-bitty's always on your side.



- What if I guessed?

- Olive.

Are we talking about Dwight and those empty coffins?

- I'm not supposed to tell you.



- Can you answer yes or no if I ask the right question?

- Can you ask while we steal? That's a yes

-or

-no question, and the answer is yes.

Ho.



- Go.



- Okay.

Poor, heartbroken Vivian Charles.

I admit I was insensitive about the sensitivities of Miss Vivian and her missing Mr.

Goodbar but I intend to right that wrong, coming right up.



- Would this be your confession?

- There ain't gonna be any confession.

We don't need your confession to solve this case not when we have Mother.

Where's Mother going? Looks like you about to become orphans.

Ha, ha.

Stop! Stop! Stop! Mother!

- Mother.



- Stop.

Mother.

You know why Charles' grave was empty? Yes.



- Was his grave robbed?

- No.



- No one took the body?

- No.



- What'd he do, get up and walk away?

- Yes.



- Chuck's father's alive? Yes.

Hold on.

Chuck faked her death.

Her father faked his.



- Was Dwight onto them?

- Yes.

Okay.

Did you have anything to do with his disappearance? Yes.

I didn't mean to.

When you inadvertently, without malice disappeared Dwight did you disappear him in a permanent sense?

- I don't understand.



- Did you k*ll him?

- Dead end!

- Is that an admission? No, dead end.

Uh.

Oh, ah, ah, Ned.

Ah! Ah! Thank God for my naturally clingy nature.



- Ah, Ned, Ned!

- Olive, I'm sorry I got you into this.

I'm sorry you thought you had to prove yourself.

I'm sorry about so many things.



- I'm not.

Well, maybe one thing.

I'm sorry you never looked at me the same way you look at Chuck.

I wouldn't say never.

Of all the secrets untold this was the one Olive Snook wanted to hear most.

Hold on, Ned.

Hold on, I got you.

If you've got me, who's got you? The mysterious masked man who rescued the Pie

-Maker and Olive would remain a mysterious loose string.

Regretting his previous bad behavior Emerson Cod sought to tie up another loose string.

Mr.

Cod, I'm here against my better judgment considering the callous braggadocio with which you previously gave me the heave

-ho.

Well, if I did do any ho

-heaving, it was for your own good.

There's a time for callous braggadocio and a time for sensitivity.

To the Norwegians, that time is never.

I suppose it's a holdover from their Viking ancestry.

It would be difficult to r*pe and pillage with the subtlety of a humanist.

Well, that's why I called you up here.

I didn't want the Vikings to give you news that's gonna break your heart.

That sort of thing ought to come from a friend.

When the Norwegians exhumed the body of your niece and her father their coffins were empty.

What? Our Charlotte? Dwight stole her? I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better but I do know this: You can't steal someone's soul by robbing their coffin.

The Charlotte that you knew wasn't in that box.

She's right here, with you and although you can't see or talk to her anymore you have to believe that whatever was taken from that grave that wasn't your niece.

Thank you, Mr.

Cod.

It seems my sister was right.

Dwight was indeed a bad man only now it appears he was more of a monster than she or I ever knew.

Oh, my sweet, sweet Charlotte.

Knowing this will surely shatter Lily's heart.

As Vivian contemplated the emotional damage yet to come in Olive's apartment, a girl named Chuck tended to the physical damage already done.

He knew your name? We think our masked man was your pops.

Uh, I told Olive all about your dad and how he faked his own death.



- Oh.



- It must've been your father although I say that having never met him and not getting a good look at who pulled us up.



- He was covered from head to toe.



- He has a very delicate skin condition.



- Like your allergy to Ned.



- Yes, exactly like that.

A hereditary link.

So our masked man is your father.

Yes, it certainly seems that way.

I'm sorry I thought you were being unrealistic before.

My reality is that dads don't come back, they move on.



- But your dad didn't move on.

He

- Hovered like a guardian angel.



- What's he guarding you from? Oh, jiminy Jehoshaphat.

I went out on a limb for you people.

A tree limb jutting from a cliff with my limbs dangling over certain death.

So don't leave me dangling with Dwight's disappearance unless he's permanently disappeared a.

k.

a.

Dead, a.

k.

a.

m*rder*d.



- Olive, m*rder is a very big word.



- Did he die of natural causes?

- Yes.

Are either of you referring to m*rder as a natural cause? We are officially nonreferential, starting now.

What's stopping now are the questions.

So that's how it is.

You wanna roll Army

-style: Don't ask, don't tell.

Well guess what works in the foxhole works in the Pie Hole.

Unfortunately for Olive Snook what worked in the Pie Hole did not work for the Norwegians who adhered to a strict "do ask, do tell" policy.

I see you're back to playing for the other team.

Hello, Hedda.

You're looking lovely tonight.

You k*lled our Mother! I am the victim here.



- I was Motherjacked.



- Can you identify the perpetrators? Just their fists as they pummeled my eyes and their boots as they kicked me out of your mobile crime lab.

Our mobile crime lab.

Ha.

Okay, your mobile crime lab.

Then they b*at me with a blue

-and

-yellow sock as they got high on ABBA and tiny little meatballs.



- Swedes.



- Swedes.

That's them.

Should I believe you? Your pulse races.

Only because you're standing so close.

She's lying.



- Who are you protecting?

- I'm not protecting anybody.

That implies I'm protecting the people who k*lled Dwight.

Why would I protect K*llers? I'm not protecting K*llers! She's telling the truth.

There's activity on Dixon's credit card.

He checked back into the Come and Sleep Motel.

Yes, he's alive! Ouch.

That's good, huh? Right? Yeah, that's something.

Racing to the site of Dwight Dixon 's credit

-card hit the PI and Pie

-Maker found themselves in a jam.

Listen, we're all professionals, people.

This doesn't have to get ugly.

Your shirt suggests otherwise.

Once we find Dwight, all will be illuminated.

Or not.

We will soon get to the bottom of this.

The bottom of this keeps dropping.

Well, when they get to the bottom, what exactly are they gonna be scraping? Dead men don't run up credit cards checking into motels they never checked out of.

You think Chuck's dad could've done this? Whatever ridiculous speculations you have are moot.



- The details speak loud and clear.



- Come, details, speak to us.

The details in the case did speak loud and clear but the story they told was a lie, for the facts were not these: Every item scrutinized in the room told a story precisely crafted for, despite the fact that Dwight Dixon 's life had simply gotten up and left him the lack of visible signs of trauma told a far more logical tale of a man who had simply d*ed of natural causes.

The hidden booty of heirlooms and gold crowns stashed under the mattress implied a seasoned grave robber, and the can of fuel accelerant indicated the two bodies robbed had gone up in flames.

In the end, all the evidence pointed to Dwight acting and dying alone with nobody else responsible because that's what they were supposed to find.

And Vivian Charles found herself buoying her sister Lily's spirits after learning that their beloved Charlotte's body was gone.

Meanwhile, the Pie

-Maker meditated on his own responsibilities.



- Any sign of your dad?

- Nope.

No hide, nor hair, nor button, but he's out there somewhere.

I don't know if I like the idea of Charles as my guardian.

He hasn't told anyone that there's a pie

-maker baking and waking the dead.

Oh.

You're You're using fresh fruit.

I am now.

I mean, from now on.

Touching dead things has only gotten me into trouble, so no more.

Besides, I've already got the best thing I'm gonna get from it: You.

No more dead fruit? No more dead people? Yeah, I'm going cold turkey.

From now on, investigating crime is Emerson's business and baking pie is mine.



- This is all my fault.



- I'm not looking to blame anyone.

Waking the dead creates too many unfortunate variables.

I'm just taking myself out of the equation.

But my dad, he already fixed everything.

I don't want your dad or anyone else's to fight my battles or clean up my messes.

- So that's it?

- That's it.

While the Pie

-Maker took responsibility for his actions he was wrong about the dad who fought his battles.

It wasn 't Chuck's father who cleaned up this particular mess: It was the Pie

-Maker's father.