Back at the Pie Hole, the crew goes through all the Schatz hate mail. I...have no idea why, really, even though they try to explain it -- some convoluted reason about how they now realize that Louis hired Emerson to make himself look innocent. They are convinced that Louis knew all along where the dead people treasure was buried. "Hmm. That's a'ight, though," Emerson says. "I'm gonna follow his lying, fat ass until he leads me right to it. Then I'm gonna take it." Chuck is upset -- she says Emerson can't go stealing dead people's stuff. He insists, however, that he's not the one who stole it. "I don't condone what they did, but it's once removed now," he says. "I'm not the pirate; I'm just looking for treasure." Chuck says the pirate metaphor is weak. "It's apt," Emerson spits, managing to convey two tons of disdain in three little letters. Chuck argues on, waving her watch -- it's not a doubloon, she says, it's a thing that was important to people. Emerson rightly points out that it couldn't have been all that important to the people who buried it with someone who couldn't use it. The man makes a good point, but this scene is not about good points. I loved this episode, but it hangs loose right here as they patch together a reason the team would be reading through these hundreds of letters. Chuck says maybe someone was intending to kill Lawrence anyway, before Ned got to him. "Why do you have to say it like that?" Ned asks, all sad. Chuck rambles on, saying that any one of the people who wrote the letters could be the killer. Emerson somehow refrains from asking whether or not Chuck has had some kind of senility episode, since we've just spent half an hour watching her come to terms with how Lawrence actually died. Instead, he reminds her, again, that there is no killer.
Ah, but what does Jim Dale spy with his beady little eye? Some creepy person rolling down Main Street in a redneck-mobile, watching the Pie Hole with ominous interest. (Speaking of my dad, he once was trying to fix up a truck just like that, except the front of his was blue, and the back was black. We called it The Bruise.) Some time later, Chuck is still sitting in the booth, cataloguing the letters of the angry relatives of the dead. It causes her to think of her aunts and all the things they have lost as a result of her death. "This is depressing," she says aloud, and immediately she is joined by Alfredo with his case of happy juice. He gives her the rundown on his goods. "Herbs for depression sounds so much more civilized than anti-depressants," Chuck says. I pause to wonder if we have diverged into some sort of anti-Pfizer campaign. The upshot is that Alfredo gives her an herb sample pack, and she uses it to bake the pie equivalent of pot brownies for her aunts, even grating cheese into the crust, and packing it up for the next day's delivery. Even after she was dead and gone, JD tells us, Chuck found a way to care for her aunts.
Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12Next