We left Carl OOG reminding (warning?) Laura of his killer instinct – something that he averred she shares.
Some time later, presumably …
Alan fills an enormous brandy snifter that he’s about to … snift? He poses a challenge to his former colleagues.
“Best murder. A man gets on the elevator on the tenth floor. He’s all alone. It’s an express. The elevator doesn’t stop again until the third floor. When the doors open, he’s dead. What happened?”
Well! This is indeed a puzzle.
At last! The game is afoot!
OOG begins the interrogation. (Is that a funeral spray in back of Alan?)
“It didn’t go down to the basement and then back up to the third floor?” Carl asks.
“There was no one else on the elevator?” OOD, whose name is apparently Donald. Which still makes him OOD – Obligatory Office Donald. (Now Alan is standing between what appears to be two funeral urns. Whatever can it mean?)
“No,” says Alan.
This, by the way, is an actual OOD. They are servile and irritating … and can be treacherous. Hm. Like another OOD we know?
“But he WAS murdered.”
Um … that’s not really a solution, Laura. We already knew that part. Try to keep up.
“THAT is the name of the game,” Alan says, looking a little creepy.
Okay, a LOT creepy.
Suddenly – actually, not suddenly enough; it looks like the sound effect was slightly off – there’s a knock at the door. “Would someone get that, please?”
Laura, perhaps contemplating a new career as a high-kicking Radio City Music Hall dancer (the girl is nimble!) springs into action, ready to serve. (Interesting how she adopts this role, essentially obeying Alan’s orders … perhaps unconsciously trying to “look good” in his eyes?)
Sandy’s not interested in Alan’s good opinion of her. “Alan, come on. That’s not fair,” she whines. “Now you’re supposed to tell us how the murder was committed.”
“A little self control, Sandy,” he says. “I promise I won’t let you go home without the answer.”
We cut to Laura arriving at the imposing wooden door. Hard knocks are heard from the other side. Oh, look! There’s a tiny little door inside the big door. Laura, apparently fearing a vacuum salesman or Jehovah’s Witness has come to call, decides to take a little peek first.
But she knows he’ll just stand there, with his nose pressed up against the window like a puppy, if she doesn’t shoo him away.
She opens the little door again. “What are you doing here?” she demands.
Can’t argue with that. Laura lets him in.
I think Laura would argue that she IS the only sleuth around here – the only one standing in the foyer, anyway.
“My wastebasket,” she deduces. (Wait. Didn’t we see Mr. Steele pull it out of his desk drawer?)
A little confused, now.
Despite her apparent irritation, she gamely takes his arm.
We hear Alan from the other room: “Laura, who is it?”
“So you know that trick as well, do you?” Mr. Steele goads. Is he reminding her that she is, in her way, as big a con artist as he is? He steps away from her and heads in the direction from whence Alan’s voice came.
Buckle your seatbelt, Laura. It’s going to be a bumpy night!