Pushing Daisies s02e04 Episode Script

Frescorts

Previously on Pushing Daisies: You're thinking about living here, aren't you? I'm just moving next door.
Is Olive ever gonna come home? She's the closest thing to a sister I have.
- What if I tell the secret to Chuck? - What secret? I'm Charlotte's mother.
My God, Lily is Chuck's mother.
Oh, a weight has been lifted.
- Wanna come home? - My work here is done.
Come on, Pigby.
Are you a parent or guardian, Emerson Cod? I used to be.
You have a daughter? Where is she? Why? Stop.
No.
Scratching an itch only makes it itchier.
I love you, Lil' Gum Shoe.
Emerson Cod was when his mother planned his death.
It would be quick, painless and the easiest way for Private Detective Calista Cod to bust a stock clerk claiming millions in pain and suffering as the result of a forklift accident.
The firm of Cod & Cod dedicated itself to the pursuit of truth at all costs a pursuit young Emerson found "badass.
" Faced with scoundrels, cheats and the havoc they wreaked mother and son made a vow to never let lies come between them.
It was a profitable decision.
The truth is the cornerstone of any successful relationship.
Years later, Private Investigator Emerson Cod was less successful in another venture: Aspiring pop-up book author.
Lil' Gum Shoe was based on the detective's childhood adventures.
More importantly, it was a map designed to bring his missing daughter back.
If he could get it published.
"Complex plot, lack of theme, child endangerment.
" Man, that's cold.
So, at this moment, Emerson Cod, a failure at fatherhood and fiction decided to quit.
Who is she? - I don't know.
She just rolled in like a moody, mean thundercloud.
Know what you want? Yeah.
Nothing, with a side of buzz off.
Ma'am, sorry to bother.
Perhaps you didn't realize this is an eating establishment.
Not a park bench, for example, where one can loiter and smoke and not consume food to one's heart's content.
Got a problem, we can take it outside.
Oh, good.
Someone with a gun.
Rhubarb.
The whole pie'll do.
And, Mama, when you gonna treat yourself and spring for a decent stogy? The next time I trail a white-collar money launderer to Havana.
People, I wanna introduce you to the PI who taught me everything I know.
She's my best bud and my mama to boot.
Calista Cod.
Hi, I'm Ned.
This is Chuck and Olive.
What brings you to our neck of the woods? Fraud case.
And I've been missing my Lil' Gum Shoe.
Can we hit a bar? I'm starving.
Isn't she comforting? The brutal honesty, the sardonic wit and the appetite for hooch.
Add an eye patch, and Calista could be Lily.
How are you doing with that? - What's that? - Living with the fact that the woman you've known your whole life as a favorite aunt is really your mother.
- Oh, that "that.
" I'm happy that I know I have a mother who's alive.
Not so happy she can't know I'm alive.
Oh, suddenly what was comforting is giving way to sadness.
Then I'll be your comforter.
Consider me your king-size duvet ready to wrap you in goose-down goodness.
Tonight.
I'd love to, but I've already made plans with Olive.
You've been hanging out every night since she got back.
Not that I'm counting.
You new best friends or something? No.
Wait.
I guess we are.
A new best friend.
Isn't that superb? The Pie-Maker did not think so.
The more time Chuck spent with her new best friend the less time she had for him.
He felt alone.
But he feared the truth would make him sound needy so instead, he lied.
It sure is.
Superb.
For you.
Both.
- Wanna head home, roomie? - Mm-hm.
Charlotte Charles and Olive Snook's decision to cohabitate was sudden just like Olive's earlier decision to join a nunnery where all her earthly possessions had been given to the poor.
It was a gesture she'd all but forgotten until she arrived home with a new pet pig by her side.
Is this my place? I'm moving out, after having moved in which came organically from missing you and watering your plants as you asked.
Don't worry.
All this will be gone by tomorrow.
- Everything? - I figure you wanna start from scratch.
Truthfully, Olive Snook did not.
What she wanted was a furnished apartment.
Scratch that.
Let's be roommates.
I couldn't impose.
Truthfully, Charlotte Charles could.
Like Olive Snook, she enjoyed her things and the independence they brought.
Although if I were to impose, I'm a morning showerer a heavy sleeper and a dish drier.
And I'm a late-night bath taker, a snorer and a dish scrubber.
Welcome home.
Anything bigger we should discuss? Referring to the time you made me an unwitting drug mule for your aunts? - I wasn't.
- Good.
I done roasted that old chestnut.
And I'm also okay you hid the fact that one aunt was really my mother.
Just like I'm okay with the fact you didn't explain to me why you faked your own death.
- My, look at all those bridges.
- And all that water flowing under them.
I'm proud of us.
- We put it on the table and dealt with it.
- Just move right off of it.
Chuck and Olive had simultaneous and sneaking suspicions that they were fooling themselves.
But they read each other's anxiety as giddy excitement so Olive Snook changed the subject.
Besides, who would've thought they'd hit it off? Which reminds me.
Would you mind if I had the bed by the window? Absolutely.
Not! I knew I should've knitted it larger.
- Wool stretches.
- Well, not to China, sweetheart.
You got a girl somewhere? Emerson Cod had lied to his best friend and mother about two things.
One: That he did have a girl somewhere, age 7.
Two: That he had written a book designed to bring this girl back into his life.
Somebody's been feeding you.
What's her name? - Pie-Maker.
- Damn.
Damn sad, me not knowing more about what's happening in your life.
I know we're both busy, but it ain't right.
Emerson Cod agreed.
It was no longer right to be in his mother's presence without coming clean and cleaning off their cornerstone.
His decision to share his secrets was a noble intent.
All right, Ma.
Here's the dilly.
Mr.
Cod, I'm in desperate need of assistance.
What makes you so desperate, Miss? Villanueva.
Veronica Villanueva.
An unsolved murder.
Namely, that of my best friend, Joe.
- Office is closed.
Family matters.
Scram.
- Please.
I'm opening my heart to you.
Just open that blouse.
You got a description of this Joe? They found his body dumped in an alleyway last night.
He had been missing for two days.
Joe.
He was like a brother.
He meant everything to me.
I want justice at any price.
That's our kind of justice.
We'll be in touch.
I'll be dental damned.
- Girl like that, you certainly should.
- I'm talking about a dentist by the name of Dr.
Eugene Halifax.
Came to see me this morning about the murder of his best friend, Joe.
With Miss Villanueva, he's a cosmo-drinking shopaholic.
- Queer.
- You bet it's odd.
Dr.
Eugene has Joe as some tough guy who's tough on plaque.
Seems Joe was a different friend to different people.
- Meaning both your clients.
- Mm-hm.
Gonna thank Mama for getting you paid twice to solve one murder? That's Joe, all right.
Hey, folks.
- What's going on? - You in the morgue.
Our condolences.
Know how you happened in here? I remember I was getting ready to play ball when there was a doozy of a pain in my back.
Stab wound.
Killer stitched it up.
Poorly.
Let me see.
- Oh! Oh! - Thank you.
- You're welcome.
Is it me, or is that odor strangely reminiscent of eighth-grade biology? Specifically, formaldehyde.
The coroner must've started embalming me.
Coroner don't embalm.
Just looks for cause of death.
Preserving happens after and elsewhere.
- Bless you.
- Bless Downy.
She was my one and only.
I never got a chance to tell her how much I cared.
Now she'll never know.
- Any idea who'd pickle your gherkin? None.
I wonder if this has to do with my best friend.
Veronica, or Dr.
Eugene? You know those two? Small world.
- Keep an eye on them for me? - We plan to.
Well, looks like we gotta get friendly with a couple of best friends.
Oh! Under normal circumstances a PI would question separate clients separately.
However, the presence of one PI's PI mother allowed him to employ a timesaving interrogation technique known as the Kalashni-Cod.
Like the Russian machine gun for which it was named its operation was simple.
The scope was set.
The magazine loaded and the trigger pulled.
Who's Joe's best friend? I got it on good authority Joe's BFF made him R.
I.
P.
Want the title now? Where were you last Friday night? Obsessed? - Buy the formaldehyde? Giving him the stab make you feel good? - I no suspect.
I hired you.
- I think I'd like my money back.
I don't give no damn refunds to people who waste my time.
When you retain my services, I expect the facts.
I mean all of them.
- Looking at your averted eyes - The lowered heads.
- And nibbled lips makes me think you hiding something.
What is it? - Fine.
I'll tell you the truth.
The dirty, humiliating truth.
Joe was a Frescort.
It's short for "friend-escort.
" Basically, a friend for hire.
You pick from the catalog.
They become anyone you want them to.
What's wrong with picking somebody the old way? Walking up and saying, "Hi, my name is Blah-Dee-Blah.
You like bloo-dee-blooing? Me too.
Let's be friends.
" - But I'm shy.
- I get why Dr.
Bashful needs a pay-a-pal.
But back when I had a rack and a couple of sticks like yours I had no trouble making acquaintances.
This attracts all kinds.
But no one wants to know who I am.
Men only see me as a score not yet scored.
- And the women? - This - Yeah, we got it.
- It promotes instant jealousy.
I was all alone.
So I called in the professionals.
As Emerson Cod read the words he was reminded of Frescort Joe's final ones.
- That his murder may've had to do with "My Best Friend, Inc.
"? Everybody know their job? Olive and I are Frescort wannabes.
Our mission: Find Joe's one and only, Downy.
Meanwhile, me and the Pie-Man gonna have a sit-down chat with the CEO.
See who Joe was pretend-friending the night he died.
Any questions? - That was rhetorical.
- My query is not.
What happened to you and your mom working together? She working on her own case.
I might need a diversion.
So you with me.
This isn't a question.
More of a suggestion.
Merely a tiny change of plan where Chuck goes undercover with me, for instance.
The Pie-Maker's intention wasn 't to make waves.
He was just trying to spend time with his beloved Chuck.
Yeah, sure.
It's just that Olive and I had kind of come up with back-stories and aliases.
And a secret incognito-partners' handshake.
Yeah, that's nice.
Plan stays as planned.
Move out.
Welcome to My Best Friend.
Where everyone's in the in-crowd.
I'm a PI.
Less interested in the in-crowd and more in the out.
- As in, murdered.
- You're here about Joe.
Such a devastating loss.
He was our top performer.
That's what you peddle around here? Performers? Truthfully? I'd say it's atonement.
Back in high school, I was a colossal creep.
Math geeks, male cheerleaders, even the pitiful team mascot were just sad, pimply targets for a varsity quarterback like myself.
Until two blitzing linebackers destroyed my knee.
Suddenly, I was no different from all those nerds I put through hell.
From that point on, I swore I'd use my powers for good providing people, for a nominal fee with what everyone deserves, friendship.
Judging by these digs, your nominal fees been adding up.
No matter what the world says about gadgetry bringing us closer together it's driven us further apart.
We're isolated.
All alone.
But once trained, my Frescorts function as the best companions money can buy.
Who was Joe companioning the night he died? No client appointments.
- Mind if I take a gander? - We keep all of our records confidential.
The hug machine.
Our most valuable teaching tool.
How about a demo on my associate? - No, thank you.
- Divert.
Come on, you.
See, proper hugs are a science.
They must be platonic, but not cold.
Firm, but not painful.
The Pie-Maker didn 't want to be hugged by a machine.
He wanted to be hugged by the one he was lonely for.
But for a fleeting moment, the Pie-Maker's aloneness abated.
So he closed his eyes, thought of Chuck, and hugged back.
I like that.
We'll have the models in the gift shop for Christmas.
I'll make sure there's one in your stocking.
Come on.
Emerson Cod had uncovered Joe's home address as Chuck and Olive addressed going undercover.
Barb? Hi, my name is Kitty Pimms.
And this is Patty Boots.
We're two motivated candidates ready to befriend the sad and lonely.
For pay.
Kitty Pimms, Patty Boots.
What wonderfully rhythmic names.
They just scream good humor and bonhomie.
Now.
- Can you Fake It Real? - Wha Wha What? Were you making fun of my stuttering? - No, I was just - I don't stutter, but if I did what you did would put me at ease by saying: "Hey, you're okay.
I'm okay.
We're okay.
" Okay? Now, back to Fake It Real.
On any given day, clients are gonna depend on you to summon up every feeling in the book, even if you're not feeling it.
Show me happy.
Sad.
Surprise.
Consternation.
Constipation.
Know what I'm showing you? Heck, yeah, we are getting you into training.
ASAP.
Except I heard this job can be kind of dangerous.
You're referring to Joe.
It's so horrible.
- Did you know him? - Just by name.
Frescorts are forbidden to fraternize.
You two are friends, aren't you? Don't answer, I can tell.
Thing is, you're awesome, and I only want to bring the best people into this organization, so we'll just keep things on the q.
t.
Shh.
We won't even carpool.
At that moment, another carpool had landed at the apartment of a murder victim.
Frescorts ain't nothing but a bunch of cons hiding behind good intentions.
My experience? People don't appreciate being conned even when they're pathetic losers who signed up for it in the first place.
Gonna go in Joe's place and find that list.
See which one of his clients did him in.
Why are they pathetic losers? Because they're alone? They're paying for something that's free.
There's nothing wrong with needing a little extra help.
A person with a wobbly backhand hires a tennis coach.
You have no clue how to bake a rhubarb-custard pie.
Do I call you pathetic for paying me to? You've had a best friend since birth.
Not all of us are that lucky.
Yeah, well.
Don't be too jealous of my luck.
Ain't but one sorry leaf hanging off that clover.
Mama and me ain't supposed to have no lies between us.
Well, technically, I never lied.
But I never told her I have a daughter.
Mothers consider that splitting hairs.
She spent her whole life teaching me how to collar cons.
I guess I'm just embarrassed to have her know that my ex conned me.
But you know what? I'm chucking my chagrin overboard.
I'm letting loose the truth.
Yep.
I'm gonna sit Mama down take a deep breath and look her straight in the What's the matter? Cat got your eye? Sorry.
It's just glass.
Yeah, it's for a sculpture I'm working on.
We're private investigators, looking into a murder.
- Joe was my roommate.
- Mm-hm.
What's your name, roommate? Randy Mann.
I got some knee-slappers about that.
You wanna hear? In the face of tragedy, I try to keep it light.
It's just weird, not having him around anymore.
Joe had such a big personality.
It's tough.
Share your life with someone.
Suddenly, there's an abyss where a person was.
- You lost a roommate? - And girlfriend.
Same person.
Your roommate-slash-girlfriend died? Yeah.
I mean, no.
She moved out.
Sorry.
Doesn't compare.
Not even remotely.
You're not completely alone, though.
Golden retriever, right? Yeah.
Digby.
Who would be a comfort if he didn't prefer living with my girlfriend her new bestie and their pig.
You aware that Joe worked as a friend for hire, Mann? I thought he was a tutor to special folks or something like that.
- Know who he was with, night he died? - Sure don't, pal.
Wait.
Where do you think you're going? Bedrooms are back here? Wanna see Joe's.
Wish you could, but you can't.
See, I'm late for something.
But seriously, come back anytime.
Randy's a nut job's name.
Randy's a fun guy's name.
You grab a beer with Randy.
Grill a brat with Randy.
Pick up chicks with Randy.
Help stuff them in Randy's freezer with Randy.
Be a little nice.
His roommate died.
See how crazy-behind-the-eyes he got when I tried to get in that back room? People are private.
I've never seen your back room.
- Or your front room.
- Never seen your front door.
- Where do you live? - Your son's secretive.
- He didn't get it from me.
- My hizzy ain't none of y'all's bizzy.
Mann is shady.
Gonna get back into his house as soon as I get him to take that bait.
- What've you got? - Still no news on Downy.
And since company policy dictates Frescorts can't date then it may even be a dead end.
- Hi, Ned.
Hey, bait.
I found your cooking-class coupon, so I brought a lot of offal.
- "Awful"? - "Offal.
" O-F-F-A-L.
Animal organs and innards.
For meat pies.
So "awful," like this idea.
I'm not leaving Ned alone with Backroom Randy.
This place is full of freezers, perfect for body-stuffing.
It's also full of customers.
Come on in, Randy.
All right, girls number one and two, get to Frescorting.
- All right, Ma, let's go.
- Damn it.
My target's on the move.
Well, can't it wait? I thought we gonna catch up and talk while we were tossing that apartment.
Darling, you know what it is to be married to the job.
We'll have time for talking tomorrow.
The weight of the untruths about his missing daughter grew heavier.
So heavy that he felt he'd soon be crushed beneath them.
And so he entered the apartment of a suspected killer with a different death on his mind: That of his and his mother's friendship.
Tutor of some sort, my glue stick.
Freeze.
Holy Noah's nutty-as-a-fruitcake ark.
But the menagerie of taxidermied animals would not be the nuttiest thing Emerson Cod would find.
- Aren't you gonna chow down? - I'm a vegetarian.
This stuff will make you strong.
"Gobbling gizzards makes muscles.
" Least that's what my ma used to say.
- Um Why? - I had loose ligaments as a kid.
Always falling, bruising my tailbone, bumping my head.
A total disaster.
Especially at sports.
All the kids at school made fun but I didn't care.
I just played with my pets.
Because pets are cool with you, no matter what.
Like your dog.
Digby, right? He digs you just the way you are.
Forever will too.
I gotta stop going on about stuff like this.
Makes me seem like a weirdo.
However, the Pie-Maker did not see a weirdo.
I didn't have friends at school either.
Talk about a disaster.
They wouldn't even give me gym clothes.
- I'd sneak off and bake pies.
- That's how I got started in my hobby too.
I don't usually share it, but the minute we met I knew you'd be okay.
So I brought it along and hid it out back.
Wanna see? Sure.
Digby.
Listen.
- He's singing "American Pie.
" - You killed my dog? No.
That's Butterscotch, my dog.
You said your golden retriever was with someone else.
I thought I'd lend you mine.
- He's been my best friend since I was 5.
- This is how you repay him? If you had the chance to hold on to someone you loved, wouldn't you? In fact, the Pie-Maker had.
Twice.
But instead, he said Please leave.
I thought we had something in common.
You a sick man, Randy Mann.
Stuffing all them critters and then posing them in twisted ways.
Well, that's why I don't ever tell people about it.
They don't understand.
You don't think it's twisted, do you? He does.
He was baby-sitting while I gathered evidence against your ass.
- Liar.
Liar.
- Your pants on fire.
You wasn't Joe's roommate.
You were his client.
Why would I tell? It's embarrassing, having to pay someone to hang out.
Even more humiliating to have your Frescort repo'd.
That must have been the final straw before you offed Joe.
- I offered him a deal.
To be my roommate, rent free.
He agreed.
- Said it'd be like a real friendship.
- Is that why you kept a piece of him? Joe's appendix floating in formaldehyde.
- Oh, God.
- Except you found out quick preserving a human is tougher.
You had to dump the body.
That appendix is mine, formerly Joe's.
He gave it to me as a joke.
And to thank me for taking him to the hospital when it burst.
Check his medical records.
Or ask his girlfriend.
- He must've told her.
- What's her name? I don't know, but it was someone at work.
Must have been serious, though.
Joe was even gonna quit so they could be together.
So Ned just paged me at the welcome desk.
He says there's no doubt there's a Downy among us.
Okay.
I'll nose through my "How to Flatter the Profoundly Ugly" symposium.
I've got a "CD Mixes That Matter" lab.
- Maybe someone there will know.
"Kinship.
" Anyone know another word for it? I'm afraid there's a "Q" involved.
- Propinquity.
- Nice.
- Okay.
Give me another.
- Oh, four across is gelding.
Thanks, but I don't do the acrosses.
- I only do the - Downs.
Barb, you're Downy.
- No.
- You sure aren't faking anything to the contrary.
Okay.
It's okay.
We're just trying to help.
Is Downy a nickname that Joe gave you? Tissue.
What? Tissue.
- Tissue.
I can't reach that.
I just Ha! Ahh! - Barb, no.
- Fake that, bitches.
Crap.
Ah-ha! Oh, hell, no.
- Mama? - Yes, dear? - I can't breathe.
- Yeah? I gave you breath and this is the thanks I get? The facts were these.
Missy Scrivner, editorial assistant at Book 'Em Books oversaw all rejected manuscript letters.
Underbite surgery had left the girl shackled to a liquid diet which found its way onto the rejection letter of one Emerson Cod.
Unable to decipher anything but the words "E" and "Cod" Missy phoned directory assistance.
Mistaking her garbled "E" for a "C" the operator gave the address of Calista who read the critiques and assumed her son 's secret book was A thinly disguised tell-all to show the world what kind of horrible mother I am.
- Did you even read it? - Didn't have to.
The cover screams smear.
What's with the main character being a girl? - You saying I turned you gay? - I ain't gay and this ain't about you.
It's about my daughter.
- What daughter? - She's 7.
Her mama ran off with her when she was a baby.
Been looking for her ever since, with no luck.
And that's why I finally wrote Lil' Gum Shoe.
To help her have a way to find me.
Why didn't you tell me? I didn't even tell my friends.
I'm not your friend.
I'm your mother.
- Oh, now you're my mama.
- What's that, Mumbles? I said you only say stuff like that when you want me to feel guilty.
Since you've switched back to Mama mode, I can roll with that.
So tell me, Mama, what kind of mother spies on her own son? It's not like I wanted to.
Damn.
That's shrewd, woman.
You faked a fraud case.
You set off your own beeper.
You even made sure I took two clients at once so I'd be doubly busy.
All so you could poke around in my personal life.
Know what the sad thing is, Mama? I was gonna tell you everything.
What kind of fool do you take me for? You saying you don't believe me? Well, I guess there's nothing else for you and me to talk about, then.
Chuck and Olive haven't checked in yet.
It's like we're trapped in a sachet in the panty drawer of a dead shut-in who was shut in her bedroom by her cats so they wouldn't have to smell the stench of freesia.
- Can't you smell it? - Yep.
That'd be my freesia hair de-tangler that you said smells amazing yesterday.
Wish I hadn't.
- Wish I hadn't told you capris made you look taller.
- Liar.
No, I'm a truth-ar because I came clean unprompted.
You only admitted to lying because you got caught.
Here comes the center of the universe, pulling us into her gravitational orbit of blame.
Oh, well, FYI, there is no center of the universe because our universe is forever expanding.
Like your neediness.
Wah.
"Respect my feelings.
" Wah.
"Don't fence me in.
" Wah.
"Don't treat me like I'm dead.
" Well, if you're so dead, how can you be so needy? Oh, right.
You're selfish.
I am selfish? I've just shared with you every single thing that I own.
Big whoop.
Secondhand stuff.
That's what you're angry about.
The one thing I won't share.
Ned.
I can't believe you said that.
Don't shrug at me in the dark.
That was a low blow.
What do you expect me to do? I'm in a no-win situation.
I can't talk to you about it because that'd be insensitive.
I can't talk to Ned because he's done nothing wrong.
I mean, if I were to have a nickel for every time the three of us are together and unexpectedly, accidentally, I catch you looking at him Stop talking, stop talking.
Help.
Help us.
Anyone, help.
And you have this little sad, pining look on your face of: "Oh, Ned, why can't you love me?" Then I feel like a complete jerk for being in love with my own boyfriend.
A boyfriend you don't touch.
I told you we can't.
That doesn't make any sense.
I'm going home.
To my home.
- What happened? - Roommate squabble.
Brought on by the suspicious actions of Barb, a.
k.
a.
Downy who is a person of interest.
- Got a name and address? No, but I know where I can get one.
Buddy's office.
Oh, no, Barb.
Oh, Kitty.
You got out of the locker.
Sorry.
Thought you were gonna tell.
For what, killing Joe? No, for dating him.
See, I didn't wanna get fired.
This job's the only pla Her lungs are crushed.
Who knows CPR? I do.
Oh, good idea.
Okay, breathe, breathe, breathe.
The only place my encyclopedic knowledge of hair braiding meant something.
I couldn't hurt Joe.
When he was around, I could be myself.
Now I'll never know if it was just our mutual passion for crosswords or if he felt the same way.
You were his one.
He was about to leave the company for you.
He said he had something important to tell me.
The night he died, I waited for his call, but he never made it back from his Frescorting gig.
- Joe didn't work that night.
He was moonlighting.
Sports date.
- Who with? - Joe never said.
The guy sounded tragic.
Two years of playing ball, he was still a spazz.
Some clients lack the jock gene.
Buddy calls them bleacher leechers.
Skip to where you become the main squeeze.
I was having a meltdown.
Came in for a hug.
Pretended those arms were Joe's.
That's when the dial got turned to 11 by the Spartan.
I tried to fight.
Got this from his helmet.
You did good, Barb.
There's no Spartan running around killing the popular kids.
- This ain't Thermopylae High.
- Right.
It's Spartanburg West.
- And Buddy's team mascot.
- Great.
- How we gonna find out who that was? - I'm having unfortunate hunches.
Randy was an uncoordinated bleacher leecher.
He told me the kids at school teased him for it.
Maybe one of those kids was varsity quarterback and self-proclaimed dork menacer Buddy Amicus.
What are you doing here? We're closer to finding Joe's killer.
- With Kitty? - Yeah.
- What's wrong with Barb? She's dead.
- Thanks to your happy hug machine.
- Not Barb.
Sweet, adorable, conciliatory Barb? Who could do something so horrible? Does the name Randy Mann ring a bell? - Should it? - We think he's your old school mascot.
The Spartan you tangled with back in the day, he's back and pissed.
Do you happen to have a high-school yearbook? - Thank you.
- I have to evacuate the building.
Call the police, tell them there's a vindictive person with low self-esteem on the loose.
There's no Randy Mann listed.
Maybe he's using an alias? - The phone's dead.
Ow! Help.
He got Buddy.
Let's move.
Ugh! Watch out.
- That was close.
- Yeah.
Last thing we need is another dead body on our hands.
Too late for that.
Well, hello.
This is a surprise.
For you too, I'm sure.
We're having trouble getting a good look.
There's a mannequin face over yours.
Maybe if you took off your helmet.
- Oh! - Oh! Helmet on.
Helmet on.
Sorry about that.
We weren't expecting such a leathery, mummy-like Can you speak? We would really like to know who you are.
You the Spartanburg West quarterback.
Can you show us? Ares Kostopolous.
- Wow, you were a hottie.
- But Buddy was the quarterback.
Buddy Buddy was the Spartan mascot.
- Oh! - Buddy killed you too.
So the Buddy Amicus legend of being a high-school golden boy is a lie.
And a total horror show.
What kind of person holds on to a dead body? The kind that wants to preserve a friendship.
The facts were these.
As a teen, Buddy Amicus was unknown and invisible.
As varsity quarterback, Ares Kostopolous was admired by all.
In his fragile and obsessed mind Buddy was best friends with the big man on campus.
And he had to get closer, no matter what.
Spartans! The nameless, faceless mascot strove to make his pigskin god proud.
But no one noticed him until the state championships when everyone did.
Spartans.
Spartans.
Spartans.
The Spartan felt the agony of defeat but there was more agony to come.
Total loser, man.
Hey.
Ow.
Guys.
Guys.
Buddy thought Ares, his hero, would save him.
The realization that their friendship was a lie was so painful it drove Buddy mad and murderous.
Years of dermatology, orthodontics and steroid abuse transformed Buddy Amicus into the man he'd always wanted to be.
He founded My Best Friend, Inc and found among his Frescorts Joe, who triggered in him a new, albeit familiar obsession.
This time, Buddy knew things would be different.
Now he was the big man on campus, able to befriend anyone he chose.
Until the day Joe brought it all to an end.
He was quitting to be with fellow Frescort Barb.
Which meant he was also quitting Buddy no matter how much the delusional man offered to pay him to stay.
The realization that another friendship had been another lie drove Buddy mad and murderous yet again.
And so he convinced Joe to meet him for one last game.
- Why'd you heave-ho the body? - I tried to preserve him like Ares.
Sadly, the formaldehyde triggered my asthma.
And Barb.
She took Joe.
So you took her life.
Wanna know the most senseless thing? I started this company to help people.
So the friendless wouldn't suffer as I did.
They suffer.
I've seen it.
First, the bogus friendships you sell seem good, but deep down, clients never stop feeling like weirdos.
So they keep paying.
Hoping that someday those feelings will go away.
But those feelings never go away.
I'm killing you first.
Say goodbye.
Goodbye, friend.
With the Frescort killer behind bars, the Pie-Maker was free to revisit a former Frescort client.
Your meat pies.
I can't eat them, so This is Digby, by the way.
Digby, say hi to Randy.
Aren't you a nice boy? - So unlike your owner.
- I deserve that.
- Like you deserve an apology.
- Apology accepted.
Goodbye.
Wait.
You don't have to pay for it.
Friendship.
The truth is, there are a lot of people like you.
Us.
With strange hobbies or talents, or gifts that we try to hide because we're afraid it makes us seem weird, or turns people off.
But that's a mistake.
What makes me unique has brought every person I love into my life.
And it can be the same for you.
Well, there's nothing wrong with being alone, you know.
Joe taught me that.
Called it the first step.
No good to somebody else unless you're good with being with just you.
Advice an alone Pie-Maker could use as well.
The Pie-Maker obtained Buddy Amicus ' client list and invited those listed to bring their true selves to a low-key mixer.
And while the intention was good, the evening was an unmitigated disaster.
Until the second hour, when everyone started to come out of their shells.
In 10 minutes, I was gonna pull out the tequila shots.
If that didn't work, pull the fire alarm and call it a day.
Can you give Digby another hug? Oh, yeah.
Of course I will.
You want a hug? Tighter.
Give his belly a rub.
You know, if you want, I can hug him all night long when I sleep over at your place.
Permanently.
Did I forget to tell you that I'm moving back in? That squabble with you and Olive is clearly more than a squabble.
Yeah, we let loose with everything we were feeling and flogged our friendship to death with a truth club.
Does that mean when it comes to us, I should keep my truths to myself? No, of course not.
Hang on.
Am I setting myself up for something here? I was setting myself up to tell you, since you moved, I feel like I never see you.
And please don't take that any other way than I miss you.
That's really sweet.
I miss you too.
All the more reason for me moving back in.
Sorry.
You can't.
But you promised me comforting.
You're my king-size duvet of goose-down goodness.
I know.
Selfishly, I want to duvet you right this second.
But I've gotta work on being okay alone.
And you've gotta work on your friendship with Olive.
We might not like it, but it's the truth.
Well, I'm gonna need a pie.
Oh, I'm a sucker for shoofly.
What do you think? We gonna be able to fix this? We should assess.
I'm working on the having-feelings-for-your-boyfriend thing.
I just wish there was a switch I could turn to "off," but there just isn't.
I know.
While you do that, I'm gonna work on the center-of-the-universe thing.
In fact, I'm ready to ditch that role for a new one: Selflessly centered roommate.
You're staying? Was that a good or incredulous question mark at the end? Very good.
Besides, the heavy lifting is behind us.
- We've laid that cornerstone of truth.
- Pounded that sucker into place.
Besides, it'd be such a waste of time and effort if you left.
Agreed.
As Chuck and Olive celebrated their reunion Emerson Cod had a reunion of his own.
Well, finally.
A decent stogy.
I needed some comfort tobacco.
Yeah, I was just about to ring you up, tell you how much I regretted our words.
Was about to get on a plane.
That regret had me turn around, running back here.
You were right.
Our relationship is done.
Meaning how our relationship was.
Being best friends.
I'm your mama, Emmy, and I gotta start acting like it.
That means I can't expect you to be as strong as me or as grown up.
Gotta feel you can be vulnerable.
Make mistakes and still tell me about it.
- Deal? - Yeah.
- Do I get an allowance? - No.
But you do get notes on this from me.
The publisher's right.
The book is stupid.
Book ain't stupid.
Story is.
This is about your childhood with your crazy mother.
You tell that to a kid at bedtime, he'll piss the box springs.
You gotta write about the grown-up Emerson Cod.
How great he'd be as a daddy.
Do that, your little girl'll come running back in no time.
Later, Lil' Gum Shoe.
As Emerson Cod enjoyed a sense of familial peace the Pie-Maker had a peace of a different sort.
The quiet, solitary, bachelor kind.
Until Oh, no.
Disaster with Olive? It went really well.
So well, in fact, I wanted to wrap you in goose-down goodness as a thank-you.
But you know, my duvet was metaphorical.
Yeah? Well, so was mine.
I've really missed you.