We're back at Susan's place; my mother looks up from her book at this point, and we have the following conversation:
Mom: I thought CSI took place in Las Vegas.
Me: It does.
Mom: Well, why is that yard so green?
Me: Because this is not Las Vegas as we --
Mom: No, really. Las Vegas is in a desert. It's environmentally unsound to be using that much water on landscaping. Put that in your recap.
Me: Okay. Now would you hand --
Mom: And another thing. That garden should have indigenous plants.
Me: Ma, don't push it. Now hand me that corkscrew.
Nicky checks out the pool, then crouches in the grass to take a sample of Simba's scat. Warrick wanders among the tasteful decor in the living room, poking through the drawers. Gil goes into the kitchen, which is really quite nice, all premium appliances and gigantic freezers. Gil asks, in his own unique I'm-trying-to-be-nonthreatening-here way, "Would you mind if I looked in your freezer?" Susan minds, but there's not a whole lot she can do. She snipes that she's not going to let Gil and his merry men run her out of her place of business, and Gil replies, "No one's asked you to." Susan gives him a dirty look. Gil opens the freezer, and I nearly fall out of my chair in recognition: she does the same thing I do, using an elaborate system of labeled Tupperware to keep the contents neatly organized. Only difference is, I do it because I have a weird passion for organization; she does it because she's a nutritionist, and probably has several different patients' diets to track. Still, Gil looks nonplussed. I don't blame him; anyone who looks in my freezer (or in the cabinets) probably has a similar reaction. "You're very organized, Dr. Hillridge. I imagine you're very upset about your dog and having to put him down." What being organized has to do with killing your pet is a connection I fail to see, but whatever. Susan disabuses him of the idea that she might be upset: "I don't hold on to things. I accept the evolution of change: we live, we die, we replenish the earth." "Man's best friend, but not yours?" Gil asks. "None of us gets out alive," she replies. Thank you, Lizard Queen. She then seizes a large, particularly menacing knife and waves it in front of Gil's face, purring, "If we treat our bodies like a temple, we can cheat time." Okay -- can I just say that between Dr. Strangelove and Jerry Lee Lewis a few paragraphs back, I'm about to call in the grammar police and have them beat subject-verb agreement and tense consistency into whomever scripted this craptacular episode? Quoting this stuff is making me cranky, and not even the wine is helping any more. Susan gets up in Gil's face and tells him he's deficient in folic acid, then advises him to eat his beets. Um, no -- stick with the supplements. Beets are icky. She then slinks over to the counter and expertly chops some beets to put in the blender. We learn that she became a doctor after a stint in the CIA -- that would be the Culinary Institute of America, for those of you who are not addicted to the Food Channel -- and Susan tries to turn the inquisition back on Gil, asking, "How does a man choose death as his profession?" "It chose me, actually," Gil replies. "I guess one man's corpse is another man's candy," she replies, pouring herself a shake and offering Gil a sip. He declines. I would too -- she stuck in a few beets.
Just then, Warrick pops in and asks Gil to check something out. The something is an extremely well-maintained set of antique surgical tools, kept near the door. Warrick deadpans that it's kind of convenient for the doctor on the run. Just then, a rather muscular young man enters the foyer; Gil asks pissily, "May we help you?" Kind of overstepping your boundaries, aren't you? The guy replies that he's Dr. Hillridge's 4 p.m., and she comes in to usher him back into what is presumably her office. As she saunters by Gil and Warrick, she gives them a look designed to creep them out. It works.