Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

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