Programa de TV: Pushing Daisies - 2x10
Pushing Daisies - Season 02 Episode 10 "The Norwegians" Subtitle (2HD v.1.00): A�S Team --==All-about-Subs.fr==-- At this very moment at the Longborough school for boys, young Ned had convinced Eugene Mulchandani to go to war.
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 hill-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.
He rationalized that, if he solved the hunter's murder, 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 murderer 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, 8 days, 4 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 mine left a forwarding address to a new house, with a new family.
Now I know how you feel.
Losing your dad because he die is horrible enough, but losing him because he chooses to leave is just really horrible.
Basically 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.
It's my fault.
I'm the reason he left after you risked everything to bring him back.
I risked you.
I used you to bring him back.
It was wrong and selfish, and we're in this mess because of me.
What if dad goes and 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 want to hold your hand.
Me too.
I am done with this by-proxy hand jive.
What's the matter?
You two are acting all lovey-dovey when you ought to be squawking mad.
You screwed up when you used his witchin' finger to conjure up a corpse and then not tell him.
You screwed up by not tapping her pops when you had the chance and I screwed up by cahooting and colluding and covering up and ended up having another dead body in dear, old ghost dad's empty grave.
And both of you ladies ought to be mad as hell at dear, old dead dad for stealing your car and stealing off into the night with a corpse face that ain't gonna do no favors for nobody.
Now that you mention it, I am mad.
I'm furious.
Get over it, fool.
Bitchin' and whinin' time has gotten the boot.
We need to fix this.
Fix what, chitchatters?
What you fixing?
Fixin' to tell you to mind yours.
You working a case?
Well, break it down.
Are there dead bodies?
Murder?
Missing persons?
Who are the players?
Lay it on me.
It's 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 � la mode.
Golden cherry crimson pear, also � 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 "today let's include her, tomorrow let's not" whim.
'cause 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?
You know what?
I hate this.
Olive is my friend.
We can't make her our depository of secrets one minute, and then...
not include her the next.
Why can't we just 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 then snap it off by telling little big mouth all our problems.
Maybe little big mouth has earned it.
All she does is trust us and help us and all we do is lie to her.
We can't afford to tell her.
With everything that's happening, we don't need another variable.
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!
Well, 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 rendez-vous 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, lonely tourist 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 kill 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.
What makes you think something happened to Dwight Dixon?
Because he cared about me.
He wouldn't leave without explanation.
Even worse, he could be dead.
Well, let's not jump to conclusions.
Let's just start with the facts.
You say he was your gentleman caller.
How many times he call on you?
Three.
He call you his girlfriend?
Give you a sock drawer?
Offer you bling?
No!
Well, did you two have...
intimate relations?
Very.
Long walks, clarinet concer...
I meant in the biblical sense.
Well, then allow me to put this to you delicately.
You see, men are dogs.
They come, you know, sniffin' around, barking up your tree, but if they don't see a kitty cat up in that tree, 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 find him for me so I don't have to.
Now, you listen to me.
You have no idea what kind of man Dwight Dixon is.
He's a bad man, a sociopath, a man who'd stab a friend in the neck or shoot 'em in the back with a long-range, high-powered rifle.
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 bomb on Vivian Charles' heart, but a shock-and-awe campaign was the only way to stop her search for Dwight.
Slice me up something fresh and expensive and it better be on the house, 'cause I just saved both of 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?
Oh, I said, "no need to pay me". "
I know damn well where Dwight Dixon is.
Buried in the ground where I put him."
What you think I said?
I said no.
Poor Vivian.
She's carrying a torch for a flame I extinguished.
With my finger.
Don't worry.
I gave her plenty of reasons to forget all about 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 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 crack forensic team from discovering she was infamous murder 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 murder 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.
Today 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 his disappearance 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 1: 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.
It was nothing personal.
Fact 2: When discussing Dwight Dixon with Ms.
Charles, you referred to him as a... "
Bad man, a sociopath," "the kind of man who'd stab a friend or shoot 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 3: 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 Dixon's credit-card statements.
He was a frequent eater at this very eatery.
Therefore, establishing a reasonable link?
Not reasonable.
Unreasonable and purely circumstantial.
And a little rude.
Not for all.
For I believe we will soon prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're hiding something of importance to this case.
How you plan to do?
With help from our Mother, the most sophisticated mobile investigative laboratory facility of its kind, providing instantaneous evidence collection, inspection and documentation.
If there's a shred of evidence connecting you to Dixon's disappearance, Mother will find it.
Run on home to your Mother because you're not welcome here.
This is my Pie Hole.
No clues, no dirt, no service.
Now go!
You'll find us at the Come and Sleep hotel!
Big Mother is watching.
Any last words?
Thank you.
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 bucks on hold.
We need to cut these Norse fools off at the source.
But what if these Norse fools find Chuck's dad?
Or worse, he finds them and tells them what happened.
And then there's the waking and baking.
If he wants me to stay out of Chuck's life, that's one way to do it.
Okay, fine, you look for daddy dead bucks.
But I still need somebody to take a second crack at Vivian to call off the hounds while I find out what these Norwegians dig up.
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, we are gonna be in a lot of trouble.
What did you do, kill Dwight?
I'm just kidding.
You didn't, did you?
No, but...
But what?
I still can't tell you what happened.
Oh, hells bells!
The least you could is lie.
What hurts the most is the total lack of effort.
None of you even seem to care or mind the fact that you won't let me in on your super-secret pow-wows.
I promise you, it is not out of spite.
We're just trying to protect you.
But I don't need protection.
That's what I have several 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 PI palooza.
So you'll do it?
Yes.
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, but she's hired a team of Norwegian PIs to find him.
Right now, they're running a couple of those bright-blue body-fluid lights all over his motel room, looking for evidence of foul play.
There's been foul play?
Says...
says who?
And who are these Norwegians?
They came highly recommended.
In their home country, they're the most decorated figures since Thor Bjorklund, inventor of the hand-held cheese slicer.
Lily's sudden spike in body temperature stemmed, not from hearing Thor Bjorklund's name, but from the fear that if Dwight Dixon was the victim of foul play, amongst his possessions, the Norwegians would discover a trail of 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 in to 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.
And I've heard enough to know when people say, "I can't tell you.
It's for your own good", what they really mean is "I won't tell you 'cause I don't trust you".
Because they don't think that you're responsible enough to handle the truth.
So they have these private chitchats in corners and in booths.
And when you shimmy on over to just say a simple, "top o' the mornin' to ya"!
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 want to enlist a crack team of PIs 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.
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 and/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 crudit�s 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 Coeur d'Coeurs 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 want to 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 want to be right...
I knew I was gonna be, but I didn't want to 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.
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 and that tiny glimmer of hope and just hold onto it.
Wait.
What's that?
It's another button, a big brass button.
It's placed conspicuously on the windowsill.
It might have popped off my dad's sweater 21 years, 2 months, and 24 days ago...
The day he moved out and abandoned me.
Or maybe it's a sign from my dad.
He'd always give me a button to hold onto on long journeys to summer camp, or he'd sneak one in my pocket on the first day of school to let me know that he was there and he was watching me and that everything would be okay.
Chuck, it's...
Maybe the reason that I can't believe that 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 died...
and then I was alive again.
And so was my dad, and it's something that we both share that nobody else can, which is why I know.
Ned, I know, and I feel it deep, deep down inside of me that he wouldn't abandon me.
He's here.
He's here somewhere.
You can't hang all that on a button.
Yes, I can.
I'm his button-button.
While Chuck hoped the old 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 bread crumbs 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 threat.
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 to count the secrets that they flaunt in my face.
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...
'cause they have things in their mouth and in their hands that they do not want spread around.
The kinds of things that would lead them to kill a man, perhaps?
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, I figured it was about 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.
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.
Skal!
Skal!
Skal.
Thank you.
Thank you!
You too.
Which goes without saying since you're so obviously from the land of Norwegia.
And, as it turns out, so am I, so it makes it swell to be home, don't ya know.
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.
And how he vanished probably wasn't pretty like you.
He had enough weapons in his room to arm the Norwegian militia.
All evidence points to a dangerous man with a destructive agenda who most likely met with a violent end.
All in all, a bad man.
Can you handle more?
It's getting hotter from here.
We also find a shovel under Dwight's bed.
The mineral content of the caked-on dirt matches that of the local cemetery exactly.
More importantly, what Dwight Dixon was doing by Charles Charles' and Charlotte Charles' graves with the shovel, we can only speculate.
For now.
An exhumation order.
You don't mean...
you're gonna dig 'em up?
Ja.
Ja.
Ja.
No.
Olive's a Norwegian.
Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome.
They've lured her in, and 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 into their clubhouse.
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 that pushy, and you're not to blame.
Olive betrayed us because we can't let her in and we can't because of my magic finger.
Somehow or other, it always comes back to my magic finger.
Maybe so, but in about five minutes, the Norwegians are gonna have the coffins of dead girl and her pops exhumed.
And when they open them up, they're gonna find hers empty and Dwight's dead ass in the other one and enough forensic evidence to lead them right 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 Coeur d'Coeurs, 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 is empty.
Why is the other one empty?
You're sure?
I made friendly with the ground's keeper by way of a few benjamins.
The Norwegians popped the tops on them coffins, saw they were nobody, loaded 'em up in the mama-mobile and took off.
But how could my dad's coffin be empty?
It's supposed to be full of Dixon.
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? "
Button-Button".
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 industrial bleach, do you?
'cause that's the only way there isn't gonna be some trace of some forensic tiddly-bit that's gonna lead everybody back to every somebody at this table.
They're gonna find my DNA, aren't they?
I should have worn a hairnet.
You can say that your DNA got there at my dad's funeral, but, Emerson, your DNA is all over the grave.
And with no real reason for it to be there, you're gonna look guilty.
I am guilty.
It wasn't my hand that touched Charles Charles and put Dwight Dixon in the grave.
And it definitely 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 firing squad...
It's me.
Don't put on your blindfold or smoke your last stogie 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?
Well, confession is good for the soul.
When you look at a case through a lens of 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 "I 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 for bringing him back.
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!
You!
This isn't what it looks like.
You're not trying to hot-wire Mother so you can drive away with the evidence they have on you?
Okay.
It is what it looks like.
I'm sorry we shut you out, Olive.
The last thing I ever wanted to do was shut you out of my life and open you up to the Norwegians.
Is that what you think this is all about?
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?
A reversible jacket.
I wouldn't turncoat on you.
I was working deep cover to dismantle this operation from the inside out.
I know they have dirt on you, but I don't know what they did to make you look so dirty.
I got myself dirty.
Well, allow me to soap up those hard-to-reach places.
By helping me destroy the evidence?
A simple "thank you" would suffice.
Oh, thank you.
This itty-bitty's always on your side, no questions asked.
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 questions?
Can you ask the questions while we steal the RV?
That's a yes-or-no question, and the answer is yes.
Go, go, go!
Poor, heartbroken Vivian Charles.
Well, I admit I was insensitive about the sensitivities of Ms.
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.
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
Mother!
Mother!
Mother.
Stop.
Mother.
Do you know why Charles Charles' grave is empty?
Yes.
Was his grave robbed?
No one took the body?
No.
Then what'd he do, just get up and walk away?
Yes.
Chuck's father's alive?
Yes.
Hold on.
When Chuck faked her death and her father faked his death, was Dwight onto them?
Yes.
Okay.
Then he disappeared.
You have anything to do with his disappearance?
I didn't mean to but I did.
And when you inadvertently, unintentionally and without malice or forethought disappeared Dwight, did you disappear him in a permanent sense?
I don't understand.
You kill him?
Dead end!
Is that an admission?
No.
Dead end!
Thank God for my naturally clingy nature.
Olive, I'm sorry I got you into this.
I'm sorry you felt 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.
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 rape 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 the news that'll 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 explain why or 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 her 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.
I told Olive all about your dad and how he...
faked his own death.
It must have been your father.
Although, I say that having never met him and not getting a good look at who pulled us up from that cliff.
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 Jehosaphat!
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, aka...
dead, aka murdered.
Olive, murder is a very big word.
Did he die of natural causes?
Yes.
Are either of you referring to "murder" as a natural cause?
We are officially non-referential starting now.
What's stopping now are the questions.
So that's how it is.
You want to roll army style... "
don't ask, don't tell."
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 killed our Mother!
I am the victim here.
I was Mother-jacked.
Can you identify the perpetrators?
Just their fists as they pummeled my eyes.
And the bottom of their...
boots as they kicked me out of your mobile crime lab...
our mobile crime lab.
Okay, your mobile crime lab.
Then they beat 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 would imply that I'm protecting the people who killed Dwight Dixon.
And why would I protect killers?
I'm not protecting killers!
She's telling the truth.
There's activity on Dixon's credit card.
He just checked back in to the Come and Sleep hotel.
Yes!
He's alive!
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.
We
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 hill-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.
He rationalized that, if he solved the hunter's murder, 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 murderer 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, 8 days, 4 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 mine left a forwarding address to a new house, with a new family.
Now I know how you feel.
Losing your dad because he die is horrible enough, but losing him because he chooses to leave is just really horrible.
Basically 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.
It's my fault.
I'm the reason he left after you risked everything to bring him back.
I risked you.
I used you to bring him back.
It was wrong and selfish, and we're in this mess because of me.
What if dad goes and 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 want to hold your hand.
Me too.
I am done with this by-proxy hand jive.
What's the matter?
You two are acting all lovey-dovey when you ought to be squawking mad.
You screwed up when you used his witchin' finger to conjure up a corpse and then not tell him.
You screwed up by not tapping her pops when you had the chance and I screwed up by cahooting and colluding and covering up and ended up having another dead body in dear, old ghost dad's empty grave.
And both of you ladies ought to be mad as hell at dear, old dead dad for stealing your car and stealing off into the night with a corpse face that ain't gonna do no favors for nobody.
Now that you mention it, I am mad.
I'm furious.
Get over it, fool.
Bitchin' and whinin' time has gotten the boot.
We need to fix this.
Fix what, chitchatters?
What you fixing?
Fixin' to tell you to mind yours.
You working a case?
Well, break it down.
Are there dead bodies?
Murder?
Missing persons?
Who are the players?
Lay it on me.
It's 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 � la mode.
Golden cherry crimson pear, also � 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 "today let's include her, tomorrow let's not" whim.
'cause 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?
You know what?
I hate this.
Olive is my friend.
We can't make her our depository of secrets one minute, and then...
not include her the next.
Why can't we just 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 then snap it off by telling little big mouth all our problems.
Maybe little big mouth has earned it.
All she does is trust us and help us and all we do is lie to her.
We can't afford to tell her.
With everything that's happening, we don't need another variable.
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!
Well, 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 rendez-vous 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, lonely tourist 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 kill 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.
What makes you think something happened to Dwight Dixon?
Because he cared about me.
He wouldn't leave without explanation.
Even worse, he could be dead.
Well, let's not jump to conclusions.
Let's just start with the facts.
You say he was your gentleman caller.
How many times he call on you?
Three.
He call you his girlfriend?
Give you a sock drawer?
Offer you bling?
No!
Well, did you two have...
intimate relations?
Very.
Long walks, clarinet concer...
I meant in the biblical sense.
Well, then allow me to put this to you delicately.
You see, men are dogs.
They come, you know, sniffin' around, barking up your tree, but if they don't see a kitty cat up in that tree, 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 find him for me so I don't have to.
Now, you listen to me.
You have no idea what kind of man Dwight Dixon is.
He's a bad man, a sociopath, a man who'd stab a friend in the neck or shoot 'em in the back with a long-range, high-powered rifle.
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 bomb on Vivian Charles' heart, but a shock-and-awe campaign was the only way to stop her search for Dwight.
Slice me up something fresh and expensive and it better be on the house, 'cause I just saved both of 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?
Oh, I said, "no need to pay me". "
I know damn well where Dwight Dixon is.
Buried in the ground where I put him."
What you think I said?
I said no.
Poor Vivian.
She's carrying a torch for a flame I extinguished.
With my finger.
Don't worry.
I gave her plenty of reasons to forget all about 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 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 crack forensic team from discovering she was infamous murder 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 murder 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.
Today 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 his disappearance 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 1: 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.
It was nothing personal.
Fact 2: When discussing Dwight Dixon with Ms.
Charles, you referred to him as a... "
Bad man, a sociopath," "the kind of man who'd stab a friend or shoot 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 3: 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 Dixon's credit-card statements.
He was a frequent eater at this very eatery.
Therefore, establishing a reasonable link?
Not reasonable.
Unreasonable and purely circumstantial.
And a little rude.
Not for all.
For I believe we will soon prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're hiding something of importance to this case.
How you plan to do?
With help from our Mother, the most sophisticated mobile investigative laboratory facility of its kind, providing instantaneous evidence collection, inspection and documentation.
If there's a shred of evidence connecting you to Dixon's disappearance, Mother will find it.
Run on home to your Mother because you're not welcome here.
This is my Pie Hole.
No clues, no dirt, no service.
Now go!
You'll find us at the Come and Sleep hotel!
Big Mother is watching.
Any last words?
Thank you.
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 bucks on hold.
We need to cut these Norse fools off at the source.
But what if these Norse fools find Chuck's dad?
Or worse, he finds them and tells them what happened.
And then there's the waking and baking.
If he wants me to stay out of Chuck's life, that's one way to do it.
Okay, fine, you look for daddy dead bucks.
But I still need somebody to take a second crack at Vivian to call off the hounds while I find out what these Norwegians dig up.
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, we are gonna be in a lot of trouble.
What did you do, kill Dwight?
I'm just kidding.
You didn't, did you?
No, but...
But what?
I still can't tell you what happened.
Oh, hells bells!
The least you could is lie.
What hurts the most is the total lack of effort.
None of you even seem to care or mind the fact that you won't let me in on your super-secret pow-wows.
I promise you, it is not out of spite.
We're just trying to protect you.
But I don't need protection.
That's what I have several 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 PI palooza.
So you'll do it?
Yes.
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, but she's hired a team of Norwegian PIs to find him.
Right now, they're running a couple of those bright-blue body-fluid lights all over his motel room, looking for evidence of foul play.
There's been foul play?
Says...
says who?
And who are these Norwegians?
They came highly recommended.
In their home country, they're the most decorated figures since Thor Bjorklund, inventor of the hand-held cheese slicer.
Lily's sudden spike in body temperature stemmed, not from hearing Thor Bjorklund's name, but from the fear that if Dwight Dixon was the victim of foul play, amongst his possessions, the Norwegians would discover a trail of 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 in to 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.
And I've heard enough to know when people say, "I can't tell you.
It's for your own good", what they really mean is "I won't tell you 'cause I don't trust you".
Because they don't think that you're responsible enough to handle the truth.
So they have these private chitchats in corners and in booths.
And when you shimmy on over to just say a simple, "top o' the mornin' to ya"!
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 want to enlist a crack team of PIs 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.
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 and/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 crudit�s 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 Coeur d'Coeurs 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 want to 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 want to be right...
I knew I was gonna be, but I didn't want to 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.
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 and that tiny glimmer of hope and just hold onto it.
Wait.
What's that?
It's another button, a big brass button.
It's placed conspicuously on the windowsill.
It might have popped off my dad's sweater 21 years, 2 months, and 24 days ago...
The day he moved out and abandoned me.
Or maybe it's a sign from my dad.
He'd always give me a button to hold onto on long journeys to summer camp, or he'd sneak one in my pocket on the first day of school to let me know that he was there and he was watching me and that everything would be okay.
Chuck, it's...
Maybe the reason that I can't believe that 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 died...
and then I was alive again.
And so was my dad, and it's something that we both share that nobody else can, which is why I know.
Ned, I know, and I feel it deep, deep down inside of me that he wouldn't abandon me.
He's here.
He's here somewhere.
You can't hang all that on a button.
Yes, I can.
I'm his button-button.
While Chuck hoped the old 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 bread crumbs 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 threat.
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 to count the secrets that they flaunt in my face.
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...
'cause they have things in their mouth and in their hands that they do not want spread around.
The kinds of things that would lead them to kill a man, perhaps?
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, I figured it was about 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.
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.
Skal!
Skal!
Skal.
Thank you.
Thank you!
You too.
Which goes without saying since you're so obviously from the land of Norwegia.
And, as it turns out, so am I, so it makes it swell to be home, don't ya know.
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.
And how he vanished probably wasn't pretty like you.
He had enough weapons in his room to arm the Norwegian militia.
All evidence points to a dangerous man with a destructive agenda who most likely met with a violent end.
All in all, a bad man.
Can you handle more?
It's getting hotter from here.
We also find a shovel under Dwight's bed.
The mineral content of the caked-on dirt matches that of the local cemetery exactly.
More importantly, what Dwight Dixon was doing by Charles Charles' and Charlotte Charles' graves with the shovel, we can only speculate.
For now.
An exhumation order.
You don't mean...
you're gonna dig 'em up?
Ja.
Ja.
Ja.
No.
Olive's a Norwegian.
Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome.
They've lured her in, and 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 into their clubhouse.
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 that pushy, and you're not to blame.
Olive betrayed us because we can't let her in and we can't because of my magic finger.
Somehow or other, it always comes back to my magic finger.
Maybe so, but in about five minutes, the Norwegians are gonna have the coffins of dead girl and her pops exhumed.
And when they open them up, they're gonna find hers empty and Dwight's dead ass in the other one and enough forensic evidence to lead them right 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 Coeur d'Coeurs, 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 is empty.
Why is the other one empty?
You're sure?
I made friendly with the ground's keeper by way of a few benjamins.
The Norwegians popped the tops on them coffins, saw they were nobody, loaded 'em up in the mama-mobile and took off.
But how could my dad's coffin be empty?
It's supposed to be full of Dixon.
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? "
Button-Button".
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 industrial bleach, do you?
'cause that's the only way there isn't gonna be some trace of some forensic tiddly-bit that's gonna lead everybody back to every somebody at this table.
They're gonna find my DNA, aren't they?
I should have worn a hairnet.
You can say that your DNA got there at my dad's funeral, but, Emerson, your DNA is all over the grave.
And with no real reason for it to be there, you're gonna look guilty.
I am guilty.
It wasn't my hand that touched Charles Charles and put Dwight Dixon in the grave.
And it definitely 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 firing squad...
It's me.
Don't put on your blindfold or smoke your last stogie 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?
Well, confession is good for the soul.
When you look at a case through a lens of 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 "I 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 for bringing him back.
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!
You!
This isn't what it looks like.
You're not trying to hot-wire Mother so you can drive away with the evidence they have on you?
Okay.
It is what it looks like.
I'm sorry we shut you out, Olive.
The last thing I ever wanted to do was shut you out of my life and open you up to the Norwegians.
Is that what you think this is all about?
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?
A reversible jacket.
I wouldn't turncoat on you.
I was working deep cover to dismantle this operation from the inside out.
I know they have dirt on you, but I don't know what they did to make you look so dirty.
I got myself dirty.
Well, allow me to soap up those hard-to-reach places.
By helping me destroy the evidence?
A simple "thank you" would suffice.
Oh, thank you.
This itty-bitty's always on your side, no questions asked.
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 questions?
Can you ask the questions while we steal the RV?
That's a yes-or-no question, and the answer is yes.
Go, go, go!
Poor, heartbroken Vivian Charles.
Well, I admit I was insensitive about the sensitivities of Ms.
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.
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
Mother!
Mother!
Mother.
Stop.
Mother.
Do you know why Charles Charles' grave is empty?
Yes.
Was his grave robbed?
No one took the body?
No.
Then what'd he do, just get up and walk away?
Yes.
Chuck's father's alive?
Yes.
Hold on.
When Chuck faked her death and her father faked his death, was Dwight onto them?
Yes.
Okay.
Then he disappeared.
You have anything to do with his disappearance?
I didn't mean to but I did.
And when you inadvertently, unintentionally and without malice or forethought disappeared Dwight, did you disappear him in a permanent sense?
I don't understand.
You kill him?
Dead end!
Is that an admission?
No.
Dead end!
Thank God for my naturally clingy nature.
Olive, I'm sorry I got you into this.
I'm sorry you felt 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.
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 rape 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 the news that'll 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 explain why or 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 her 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.
I told Olive all about your dad and how he...
faked his own death.
It must have been your father.
Although, I say that having never met him and not getting a good look at who pulled us up from that cliff.
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 Jehosaphat!
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, aka...
dead, aka murdered.
Olive, murder is a very big word.
Did he die of natural causes?
Yes.
Are either of you referring to "murder" as a natural cause?
We are officially non-referential starting now.
What's stopping now are the questions.
So that's how it is.
You want to roll army style... "
don't ask, don't tell."
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 killed our Mother!
I am the victim here.
I was Mother-jacked.
Can you identify the perpetrators?
Just their fists as they pummeled my eyes.
And the bottom of their...
boots as they kicked me out of your mobile crime lab...
our mobile crime lab.
Okay, your mobile crime lab.
Then they beat 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 would imply that I'm protecting the people who killed Dwight Dixon.
And why would I protect killers?
I'm not protecting killers!
She's telling the truth.
There's activity on Dixon's credit card.
He just checked back in to the Come and Sleep hotel.
Yes!
He's alive!
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.
We