Hart to Hart: Old Friends Never Die Page #4

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Hi. Glad to see you're

feeling better, Jonathan.

Oh, thank you very much.

Do you mind if I ask

what you had for lunch?

- Why?

- Just curious.

Well, I had the shrimp

salad sandwich, right?

Shrimp, right.

Well, then I'm afraid I owe

you a tremendous apology.

I've just spoken

with one of my staff people.

I don't know how this happened,

but it seems as if

the shrimp salad was spoiled.

Now, I'm told we had a few people

fall ill back here at the house, too,

same thing that happened to you.

Convenient.

Excuse me?

Oh, it's, uh... It's just a little

something between the two of us.

Sorry.

Well, once again,

my apologies to both of you.

And now, I have a chef to fire.

Well, what do you think?

Interesting story, huh?

There you are.

I'm so sorry I missed the boat.

Not that it would be

the first time.

Catch anything?

Shrimp salad.

I beg your pardon?

Frank, uh, there's something

we want to talk to you about.

Shoot.

Yesterday, when Jennifer was

standing over there on the bridge,

she overheard you.

Talking about what?

About killing someone.

Killing someone on this weekend.

On a fishing boat.

Drugs, fire.

Everything that just happened

to Jonathan.

Could we have a drink?

Jennifer,

you're absolutely right.

Everything you said you heard,

you heard.

Until you put it together,

I never even thought about it,

but you did

hear me plotting a murder.

None of that was real.

It was fiction.

Hypothesis.

I was helping someone

plot out a murder mystery.

Really?

Why would I make

something like that up?

A fellow came up to me,

right over here,

as a matter of fact.

Started praising my books

and before I knew it,

he was asking me to help him

with a book

he was trying to write.

Just like that?

Just like that.

He was stuck trying to figure

out how to pull off the murder

among all these people,

and still get away with it.

It's just a story.

Do you always give away

your ideas for free?

Well, I'm a writer.

I carry ideas

around in my pocket.

Besides, they were only

a couple of thoughts,

it wasn't as though

it was a complex scenario.

And he was so flattering,

I guess I couldn't resist.

I admit it, I was showing off.

Who is this man, Frank?

I was afraid you were

gonna ask that question.

I don't know.

I never saw him before. I

certainly haven't seen him since.

It isn't exactly

the strongest story.

Maybe so, but it's the truth.

Jonathan, I'm a writer.

If I were trying to think up

a way to kill you,

don't you think I'd come up

with a better story than that?

What do I have to do

to convince you?

Well, uh...

Finding the man might be a

step in the right direction.

Okay. We'll do it tonight.

Everyone will gather for dinner.

We'll just cruise the room and check

out the faces. It should be a snap.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I

have your attention, please?

I have an announcement to make.

The masquerade party, which was

scheduled for tomorrow night,

will be held tonight.

Wonderful.

There goes your snap.

- Any luck?

- Not so far.

These costumes

aren't helping either.

We'll keep looking.

Okay.

Once more into the breach.

Ooh. Champagne and pizza.

Ooh, full of calories,

cholesterol and fat.

What do you think?

It is a masquerade, Ollie.

We should keep up appearances.

Hi there.

You didn't see that.

I didn't?

And if you say anything,

I'll just deny it.

Well,

if it's good enough for him,

it's good enough for us, Ollie.

Mmm.

Mmm, so good.

Jonathan, Jennifer.

I see you got your

appetite back, Jonathan.

Good as new.

Thank God.

I thought

this might be the right time

to have that little talk

with Jennifer.

- Oh.

- It's your party.

"Publish or perish."

Right this way.

Now, just remember,

no more shrimp salad.

Word of honor.

- Have a seat, Jennifer.

- Ah.

Now, I could talk and talk, but

it would be just that. Talk.

A picture is worth

a thousand words.

- A contract?

- Your contract.

Your proposed contract.

Most of what you need to

know is on the first page.

Oh.

Very generous.

I'm a publisher.

I know what's important

to writers

and I think I know

what's important to you.

There's a lot of creative

support in that paper.

It's a very good deal.

It's one of the best

I've ever offered.

You are serious.

Very.

What's going on?

What happened?

Someone's been shot!

Oh, my God! Jonathan!

Jonathan.

That's him, Jonathan.

That's the man who asked me

to help him plot the murder.

I thought that was you.

I have a feeling, darling,

someone else was thinking

exactly the same thing.

His name was Harold Simpson.

Is, Mr. Raine.

His name is Harold Simpson.

Because a man has died doesn't

mean his name has changed.

Fine.

And I understand he was one

of your invited guests?

Yes. Yes, he was...

Is an aspiring author.

Was an aspiring author,

Mr. Raine.

Being dead, it seems unlikely

he'll write many more books.

I understand you were not present

at the time of the shooting.

Yes, that's correct. I was

in my office at the time.

Well, so you were present.

You were not at

the scene of the crime.

Right.

Thank you.

I hope you understand.

It helps to be precise.

Of course.

And now, with your permission,

perhaps some of your other guests can

shed some more light on this tragedy.

You know, you might start with

Mr. and Mrs. Hart.

They seemed quite anxious

to speak to the police.

Then I'll suppose

they still are.

Thank you.

There's no doubt about it,

Detective Woo.

- Whoo.

- Who?

Whoever killed that man

was trying to kill my husband.

I'm here only for the facts

of the case, Mrs. Hart.

- That's what I'm trying to tell you.

- No.

You're giving me conjecture.

Your opinions, fascinating as

they are, they are not facts.

Well...

Isn't it a fact that that man

was dressed in the same costume

as my husband,

and he wound up shot to death?

It is. But what you're concluding

may be mere coincidence.

Coincidence?

Is it a coincidence that

that was the very man

who was talking about murder

with Frank Culver

and everything that Frank suggested

wound up happening to my husband?

As we sit here, Mrs. Hart,

your husband seems to be

in perfect health

while another man is dead,

and those are the facts.

You can't tell me

that you know for sure

that my husband wasn't

the intended victim.

Now, that's a fact, isn't it?

I'm afraid not.

- Detective Woo.

- Whoo.

Whoo.

How can you say that?

What happened last night,

Mrs. Hart, was not a murder.

It was a suicide.

Suicide?

I don't believe it.

Perhaps this will help.

It's a note. It was written

on his letterhead.

Harold Simpson.

In it, he talks a little about his

business, his family problems,

and he ends with,

"I realize that I will be considered a

coward for taking the easy way out.

"I prefer to see my death

as an act of courage.

"I've done everything I could, and

though I had all my pieces on the board,

"I find myself in checkmate."

You see, the facts

can be useful.

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