Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

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