We left Laura in temporarily eternal repose.
However, it appears she has forgotten that corpses don’t move.
I stand corrected. Anyway … we hear Madge at the piano as Laura dozes.
Suddenly we see the handle of the door turning. Could it be Mr. Steele, sneaking in for a tryst?
Laura stirs. Presumably she also assumes it’s Mr. Steele, as she makes not move to resume her funereal pose.
The door opens a crack …
Is that a gun, Mr. Steele, or are you just glad to see her?
Sorry, Bruce. It was a lame joke.
Laura is aroused (tee hee) by the sight of the long barrel of the gun.
She rolls out of the way just as a shot rings out!
And the killer claims another victim. RIP, satin pillow.
Hearing the shot, Steele races to the rescue.
He meets an undead Laura in the hallway. “Somebody else saw the movie!” she informs him.
“Did I hear a shot?” Steele wants to know.
Either that, or that franks and beans dinner has affected someone’s digestive system in a big way.
Hey. It’s perfectly natural. But that’s not it.
She’s joined by Dominic, who is surprisingly fastidious about his hygiene for a pornographer.”Miss Groggins!” Randi says. “You’re not dead!”
Mr. Steele concedes the lady is very much alive. Then he drops a bombshell: “In fact, Miss Groggins is not Miss Groggins.”
“She’s Laura Holt, my most able assistant, from the detective agency which bears my name:”
“Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”
“Oh. Well, it is a bit far south for us.”
Just then, our hero Feldman appears, coyly revealing a hint of his brawny chest in a plunging bathrobe. What a man!
“I heard a shot!” the amateur sleuth declares. Then he spots another clue: NotDeadNotMyrtle!
“What the HELL’S going on here?” he demands.
Laura’s got this. “We’re private detectives, Mr. Feldman, investigating the death of our client, Dr. Arthur Bellows.”
“You mean I bared my soul to a … peeper?” Randi exclaims.
Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?
“And a delightful soul it was, Miss Russell,” Steele smirks. “Surgically speaking.” I expect the pepper is rather delightful in its own way as well.
Hey! I resemble that remark.
She raises a hand (rather languidly, actually) to strike Steele. But he parries the blow.
“Just a moment, Miss Russell,” he says sternly.
“Someone attempted to kill Miss Holt just now.”
He suggests it’s time to search everybody’s room for a weapon. Randi and Feldi seem … open to the idea.
But Laura can save them all some time.
“Unless Mr. Dominic cares to show us his friend.”
(How grim Mr. Steele looks here! I think he doesn’t take kindly to anyone trying to hurt his inamorata.)
Dominic plays dummy. He don’t know nothing about no gun.
“The one you carry in your inside coat pocket,” she reminds him.
“I’m not showing you anything, lady.”
You won’t make it very far in the pornography game with that kind of attitude, Silent Partner. In any case, Steele begs to differ. He makes a grab for the man in white.
“Hold it!” Dominic says.
Now THAT’S more like I would expect from a porn king.
Apparently eager to prove his XXX movie cred, Dominic begins to disrobe.
“Where is it?” Laura asks.
You’re even more innocent than I thought, Miss Holt!
“Where you’ll never find it,” he says.
I should think not. She’s a nice girl.
Steele’s had enough of my sophomoric humor. “I’ll find it.”
Oh, now you’re just egging me on.
Just then, Randi remembers that someone is missing. Our gal Madge.
“She was downstairs playing,” Feldman reminds them.
“But she stopped,” Steele remarks, “right before the shot.”
That’s all the info Silent Partner needs to solve the case. “It was here. That dippy broad always hated Ambrose. She’s probably downstairs, waiting to pop us off, one by one.”
He leads the group off to get popped.
Away they go again!
Once again Laura is in the lead as they arrive at the darkened living room.
Apparently possessing keen night vision, Laura rushes toward something she sees across the room.
Looks like we won’t be hearing any more piano music his episode.
Mr. Steele, who isn’t interested in things like “contaminating the crime scene” or “fingerprints on the murder weapon,” Steele picks up a long, cylindrical object next to Madeline. (You may insert your own dirty joke here.)
“Ivory,” he declares. “For someone who tickled the ivories. Another grim piece of poetry.”
I think that’s a bit of a stretch, Mr. Steele. It doesn’t even rhyme.
“Well,” Laura points out. “We’re down to four possible victims, … and one definite murderer.”
But who can it be?