We left Laura staring in shock at the corpse of the weekend’s host, lodged in his own elevator.
Looks like the rest of the Scooby gang is finally up and at ‘em.
“It’s a joke, right?” Sandy (who DOESN’T wear a robe) asks.
“His neck was broken,” says OOD.
“How poetic,” notes Carl. How so? OOD’s line didn’t even rhyme!
“Snapped in two,” Laura agrees. I wonder how she determined that. Did she jiggle his head from side to side?
Sandy is relieved to hear this. She points out that delicate little gals like herself and Laura aren’t the neck-snapping type.
OOD’s not buyin’ it. “Even a ninety pound weakling can break somebody’s neck if they know how.” Speaking from experience, Donald?
Donald’s mention of a “97-lb. weakling” is a reference to the famous Charles Atlas comic book ads of the 1940s, in which the weakling in question gets sand kicked in his face at the beach, then uses Charles Atlas’s fitness regimen to become a REAL man.
Killer instincts maybe, Carl, But smarts? Not so much.
“I’m moving the body out of the elevator,” Murphy explains.
“You’re tampering with physical evidence,” Carl points out.
“I’m NOT tampering with it. I’m MOVING it.”
“Yeah? Well, I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Well, we can’t very well leave the body where it is, can we?”
Now, boys. Can’t we all be nice? There’s enough body here for everybody to play with!
Carl’s not into sharing.
“MURPHY! All of you. There’s been a murder committed here. Apparently by one of us. That body just might be our biggest and best clue. I for one think it’s bad form to have your best piece of evidence moved by a potential suspect.”
Hot-blooded Murphy isn’t going to take that kneeling down! He lunges for Carl, perhaps to demonstrate that even though he’s no 97-pound weakling, he still knows how to break a(nother) neck.
Donald intervenes. “How about if I move the body?” he suggests.
“Don’t you get it, Sherlock? We’re ALL suspects,” says Carl with a snarl.
“I think that’s for the police to decide, don’t you?” Laura suggests.
Uh, oh. Don doesn’t dig that idea.
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit precipitous, Laura?” Donald asks.
“Precipitous?” Murphy repeats, probably not having any idea what that word means and assuming Donald has just impugned Laura’s virtue. “The man’s DEAD!”
Donald points out that the police will want to question all of them as suspects in the murder. Laura doesn’t care. “That’s only a problem if you’re guilty.”
“Oh, that’s a lot of garbage,” Donald counters. He reminds them that a detective being a suspect in a murder is bad for business.
Sandy’s got other concerns.
“Robin and the kids don’t know where I am. I didn’t tell them I was coming here.” It’s a “marital thing,” she says, and she’s not eager to phone hubby from the police station.
Fortunately, Donald has a plan!
The others detect a potential problem here. “US investigate US? That’s NEVER gonna work!” Murphy blusters.
“Murphy’s right,” Laura agrees. “We can’t even decide who’s going to move the body! How are we going to investigate a murder with the murderer still running around, probably planting false clues, destroying evidence?”
Well, there is ONE possibility …
“Now, the only way this would ever work would be if there was somebody on the outside, somebody with no axe to grind. Didn’t know Alan, somebody we could trust. Somebody …”
Murphy, sensing where she’s going with this, isn’t pleased.
Oops. “Forget that last thought-.” Laura backtracks.
“Mr. Steele?” Sandy suggests.
Murphy and Laura are doubtful, but the rest of the gang seems to think that’s a fine idea!
Well, speak of the devil! You’re looking particularly natty this morning, Mr. Steele.
“Morning! Morning, morning, morning!” Perhaps assuming everyone has been waiting for him to go down to breakfast, Mr. S heads for the elevator. “My goodness, did I sleep soundly,” he blathers. “Country air, I’ll wager. Sound sleep like that always makes me feel hungry. You know what I could go for? Large country breakfast. Hot cakes, sausages …”
What’s this? It seems the elevator car is already occupied.
Steele takes a closer look.
“The man has been murdered,” Laura explains.
Even an apprentice master detective can see that. And a good con man knows when to put distance between himself and the scene of the crime.
“I think I’ll take the stairs.”
I wonder why everyone assumes Mr. Steele can’t be the murderer? As an “outsider,” one might think he’d be the most suspicious. However, Laura’s comment about Alan’s former coworkers having axes to grind suggests it isn’t only Carl who had a beef with the dead man. I wonder what the others’ complaints are against good ‘ol Alan?