Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Like he took a bath once in a while.
So...
It doesn't matter what I think.
My will. This place is making me suicidal.
Yes? Mr. Addison? Put him on.
...you still got your apartheid, down there in South Africa.
I checked the coffee table, no sign of it there.
You frighten her.
But I go on writing, and she goes on writing.
Why do you come in every day?
-I don't know, how long? -How many days?
An idea, an original thought. You've heard of them.
When it didn't arrive after a few weeks, I figured it was lost. I gave it up.
-Well, I'm sorry anyway. -You want to tell me how it happened?
...and giggle about the damn thing all night long.
...just as he was on his way out the door to his wife's funeral.
-What are you doing? -Wait a second.
It means, this is the '80s, Maddie...
Message number one, stop writing her.
Miss DiPesto, what is it?
What's the scheme, team? Fire drill?
...and I would never do anything to harm him. Never.
-No! -No, you do.
I called the police, the hospitals, every temp agency in town.
...all the way across town to kill Gail Woodley.
Can you blame her? Those envelopes limit the possibilities.
You'll buzz me when Mr. Addison arrives?
Take the majority of your murder-suicides...
-We'll never make it to this funeral. -Mr. Addison isn't in yet.
I stitched a K on his shirt so everybody would know he's a knucklehead.
-So, what are you saying? -I'm saying maybe he didn't kill Gail...
It could be anyone.
Things were getting a little dull back at the ranch.