Margene goes over to stand across the table from Barb and declares, "I want to tell you that I'm strong. And you can lean on me." Margene really seems to be trying to act more grown-up -- even if it is only acting, which it might not entirely be. But Barb doesn't see it, and she just smiles up at Margene with a dismissive "Sweetie," before going back to her puzzle. Margene is at least mature enough to be hurt by this. And hey, as long as the subject of Pam and Carl has come up, Margene announces that she thinks it was them what sold them out. She admits that she didn't know how to say it before, but she tells the story of her break-up with Pam, which she suspects may have set events into motion. "And I think it's all my fault," she finishes emotionally. At least she has Barb's attention now. "I'm sure that's not true," Barb says, wishing she could go back to just being dismissive.
And then Barb's back in the pool, looking like she's training for the Olympics. Except I think Olympic swimmers take a breath at least every five laps or so. If nothing else, Barb is developing stronger lung capacity to allow her to more effectively yell at Bill later. Nicki watches from the kitchen window, looking sneaky.
A news reporter is telling the folks at home about the ongoing manhunt for a polygamist fugitive, name of Orlean Abbott. "Honey, it's on again," Adaleen tells Roman, and he comes out to the front office to gaze at the screen wearily. The report goes on to say that Abbott is wanted for "trafficking in underage girls across state lines...the other sects in Utah are reportedly nervous about these developments." As if in confirmation, Roman spits, "Stupid, greedy perverts. They're going to ruin it for the rest of us." Yeah, if only all polygamist prophets could be as scrupulous and chaste as Roman Grant.
Later, outside the Juniper Creek meeting hall, an even-more-addled-than-most Creeker is ranting at the gathering people about Roman Grant being the one true prophet. Which is rather lucky for everyone there, really. On her way into the building, Lois makes a brief detour to snap, "Shut up, Patsy." Needless to say, Patsy doesn't, going on street-preacher style about "wicked poo poo." Lady, if you'll pardon the expression, it seems to me you're preaching to the already-beaten-down, brainwashed, enthralled, controlled, Stockholm-syndrome-suffering cultists. Wait, that wasn't an expression.
We join the meeting in progress, where Roman is sitting up on a platform with Wanda standing before him as everyone watches, Roman backed up by a couple of uniformed Juniper Creek rent-a-cops. Roman asks Wanda to answer the questions on the written questionnaire, and Wanda just sticks to her story: Alby stopped by on the day in question and asked about Joey. "I tried to call Joey, couldn't get him, told that to Alby, and then he left." Roman would rather she stuck to the questionnaire. "It was in the morning," Wanda says, consulting her printed sheet. Everyone else in the hall has got their own copy to follow along with the questioning, like twisted prayer missals or something. Roman tries to throw Wanda off track by saying that people passed their cabin and saw Alby's truck parked outside in the afternoon. Unrattled, Wanda just shrugs that she doesn't know anything about that. "Lies!" bellows a voice from the back of the hall. It's Alby, of course, wheeling himself up the aisle in a wheelchair and a suit, going on about witnesses who saw Alby's truck parked outside Wanda and Joey's place for six hours, and other witnesses who later saw Wanda and Lois driving Alby's truck. "You didn't know that, did you?" Alby smirks. Roman sighs wearily at his son's heavy-handedness and wonders how they're ever going to get back to the printed questionnaire after this grandstanding interruption. Wanda isn't any more shaken by this development than she was before and refuses to change her story. Alby gets to his feet, clamping his hands over his kidneys as he accuses Wanda of conspiring with Lois to kill him. He turns to the hall at large, asking, "Who orchestrated the attempted murder of me?" Surprisingly, nobody in the silent hall seems won over by Alby's blanket accusation.