Our next scene opens on Murphy, who seems to have stepped up his wardrobe. Trying to be more like a certain smooth operator you claim to despise, Murph?
Bernice (long time no see, Miss … Wolf? Fox? OMG, even I can’t remember any more!) directs the associate investigator into the executive office.
Finances must be tight this month, as we find Laura and Mr. S doing some light housekeeping. They’re dusting the many photos of the illustrious detective with his grateful admirers. Murphy, having just come from the coroner’s office, natch, has some information for them:
“I’ve got a preliminary background check on our … almost client.”
See? This is why you get a credit card number before you start the work so you can at least recoup the cost of the drive across town. You kids need a good financial manager
Murphy makes a rather startling (to any classic TV fan) announcement: “Arthur Bellows was a cosmetic surgeon.
You’re slipping Murphy. I’m pretty sure Dr. Bellows was an Air Force psychiatrist.
But apparently he relocated from Cape Canaveral to LA and began a new practice.
“You know, lift this, tuck that.”
Guess I missed that season.
Sounds like Dr. Bellows was as lousy a cosmetic surgeon as he was a shrink; Murphy reports he’s recently lost three malpractice suits and drinks like a fish.
Laura wants to know if Murphy’s found out what this Devil’s Playground is.
Hm. This is the only island I found off Baja, California: Isla San Martin. Looks a little bleak for a resort.
Sorry, Mr. Steele. It’s not this island.
Mr. Steele is offended by Murphy’s callous disregard for the late Dr. Bellows. “How cold, Murphy. How callous. Perhaps you’ve been at this too long.”
Mr. Steele, having learned a thing or two about how to pique Laura’s interest, continues: “You’re asking yourself – could that invitation have triggered his death?”
“And you know- the only place to find the answer is in the Devil’s Playground.” He heads for the door.
Mr. Steele briskly commands Bernice to “run out and get me one of those little black bags Robert Young used to carry around.”
Wait. I thought Jim Anderson was an insurance salesman?
Oh, THIS Robert Young. Steele also wants medical paraphernalia.
Laura declares herself clueless. “Appropriate props are the key to any convincing characterization,” the master of disguise explains.
Murphy is all appalled again. “You’re going to IMPERSONATE Dr. Bellows?”
Steele declares this is the only way to get to the bottom of the tragedy. A man of compassion, is our Mr. Steele.
“Laura, it’s getting away from us again,” Murphy warns.
“Laura, you’re as curious about this as I am,” Steele persists.
“He has us there, Murph,” she admits.
Steele-1, Murphy-0. Par for the course, I’d say. Poor Murphy.
“Give me an hour to pack,” Miss Holt says, with a fair amount of enthusiasm.
Oh, ho! Laura is going to accompany him to this sordid soiree? I didn’t think she was the type!
Perhaps sensing Murphy’s disapproval, Laura explains. “If I allow him to go out there on his own, impersonating Remington Steele IMPERSONATING Arthur Bellows, can you imagine the outcome? Give me twenty minutes,” she explains.
Steele is pleased. Murphy is NOT.
“I know why you’re so hot to pursue this nonexistent mystery,” Mr. Michaels accuses.
“You want to get Laura alone on that island, don’t you?”
“You know what I most admire about you, Murphy?” Steele says.
Is it possible for Mr. Steele to be any more smug? Yes! It is!
Oh, Murphy. You can dress like the master, but that doesn’t make you the master.
Murphy throws down his coroner’s report in disgust.
Game, set and match to Steele!
And STILL no opening credits …