Miller says, "When the Lord cleaned up my life, I promised him I'd always remember the man I used to be, so I'd never be that man again. I dedicated 20 years of my life to playing football -- and I pawned my championship ring for a $50 parlay." Miller then pulls out the ticket, which he's evidently kept as a reminder of how low he sank before he began rising again. Brass tells Miller that they've got the ring now, and he can file a claim, and Miller tells him, still unruffled, "I don't need trophies now, Captain. Good luck on your case." And that's it for him. I have to say, it's refreshing to see a Christian on television who's not a Camden. Or very possibly evil. Or symbolic shorthand for "sanctimonious hypocrite." Would that off-screen morals squads took their cues from the Christian depicted on this degenerate show.

Anyway, we go to commercial and come back, and now we're in the lab with Sara and Hodges. He's inviting her to check out the purple fiber in the scope, saying, "Based on birefringence, your product's the product of a bivoltine moth." Bivoltine sounds like something you'd drink. "Mmm! It's lemon-y, lepidopteric goodness!" Anyway, Sara straightens up and tells Hodges, "You could just say it's silk." Hodges is, "Um. Yeah. Moving on...the color's unique, not found in our database or the Fed's." And then he's quiet. Sara asks, "That's it?" "That's it," he assures her. Sara says suspiciously, "That's not like you to get down to business." "Even I have off days, Sara," Hodges sniffs. I LOVE HIM. If that is wrong, I don't ever want to be right.

Some disco tune flares up as Vartann, Gil, and his Number Three Adopted Son, Grasshopper, all ride down the escalator in the Tangiers. Vartann says there's only one convention in town this week. As a rather overweight young woman wearing a t-shirt that reads "If my body disgusts you...keep it to yourself" rides up the escalator in the opposite direction, we quickly figure out which sole convention is in town for the weekend.

Hey, it turns out the tune is "I'm Every Woman." And every woman on the pool deck is at least a size 20. We see a synchronized swim team wearing some truly jubilant bloom-covered caps doing their routine, and lots of people dancing on the pool deck. Vartann explains, "It's a Hogs and Heifers convention. Hudson wasn't fat. What was he doing here?" Accepting the Supreme Court ruling Sprat v. Sprat's order to "mingle among different weight classes with all due haste"? Expressing an aesthetic preference echoed in several different cultures at several different points in human history? "Maybe he used to be [fat]," Gil suggests, instinctively looking for a motive that would give Maurice an outsider-passing-for-normal mentality. "Maybe he's a chubby chaser," Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three suggests brightly. Gil gives him a glare, and Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three's sunny look stays in place as he shrugs, "Some men like curves." Vartann sneers, "There's curves and there's rolls. Look, have tons of fun. I've got a murder-suicide to cover." Both Gil's and Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three's expressions suggest that they won't really be missing the special ingredient he brings to the investigation.