Elsewhere, today's Mystery Vagrant newspaper is serving as a coaster for a gun clip. The paper and clip are sitting on a desk in a darkened Sam Spade kind of office, and Hey! It's That Guy Michael Ironside is there, packing a duffle bag full of gun paraphernalia. Ironside asks a scruffy-looking guy sitting across from his desk where the handcuffs are, and Scruffy tells him they're in the bottom drawer. As Ironside continues to pack, Scruffy asks him how long he's going to be gone, and Ironside tells him, "A couple, maybe three days." Ironside sorts through his duffle and discovers a ball-gag. "What the hell is this?" he asks Scruffy. Scruffy: "It's a ball-gag." Ironside: "We do not. Recycle. Ball-gags." Which, coincidentally, is exactly what it says on my license plate holder. Ironside throws the ball-gag at Scruffy, and tells him to take a look at the teeth marks, which he describes as "gross." Ironside is so upset about the used ball-gag mix-up that he is overcome with an asthma attack and has to take a puff on his inhaler. Hmm, I wonder if this asthma weakness is going to be significant in some not-so-distant scene? Scruffy offers to accompany Ironside on this mystery trip, reminding him that "this guy's dangerous." Ironside: "He's a half-wit, Jerry. If I can handle you, I can handle him." And scene. Who? What? Where? Huh?
The ladies (minus Edie, oh-so-sadly) are having coffee out on someone's (Susan's?) white wicker wonderland terrace. Lynette: "So he poisoned Rex?" Gabby, amazed: "Sweet little George Williams." Bree says something bitter about how unsweetened George turned out to be, and then she informs the ladies that there's a chance that all the sordid details will turn up in the paper, which is why she's prepping them now. And I have a feeling she wouldn't have told them otherwise, which is kind of sad; Bree felt comfortable enough to have a spectacularly unflattering meltdown in front of these women at her husband's second funeral, but she didn't even tell them about her awkward, awkward engagement? Though maybe "random acts of secrecy" is just the way Bree rolls, I don't know. In any case, the ladies are now very supportive and sympathetic. Lynette: "Like you haven't been through enough!" Gabby, wearing her silver leather space blazer: "God, and he's our pharmacist. It's enough to turn you holistic!" Susan says she's "kind of glad the guy's dead," and Gabby says that she hopes he suffered. Bree gives them the uneasy look of someone who has first-hand knowledge of George's last moments, and then she ducks her head into her coffee cup and quietly tells them, "Well, we'll never know." Across the street, a Camp Cognac SUV drives up, and Andrew gets out. The ladies ask Bree if Andrew knows about George yet, and Bree tells them that "he hasn't got a clue." Just as Susan finishes asking Bree how she thinks her son might react to the news, Andrew yells from across the street, "All right! What the hell's going on!? I know didn't take me out of kid jail for my health." The ladies look at Bree like "uh oh," and Bree tells them that she'll check back with them later.