And that strategy fails almost before it even begins, because Darling Sammy's sporting his Sunday Go-To-Meetin' coif and his shoulders are working his own goddamned dark overcoat to death, so let's just stick to the facts, shall we? The store's manager exposits for Sam's benefit, "Helena was our head buyer -- she was family, you know? She said it herself, every year at the Christmas party, she said we were the only family she had." "So there were never any signs she'd do something like this?" Sam leads. The manager confirms that and adds that he can't believe it even now before finally revealing what "it" is. On the night in question, Helena returned to the store after closing and cleared out all of the display cases, as well as the safe. When the store's veteran and aged night watchman caught her in the act, Helena somehow stripped him of his gun and shot him in the face. "And why were we not witness to that?!" Raoul shrieks, feeling cheated. "We haven't seen anybody getting shot in the face in months on this show, and even then it was only a zombie!" I sympathize with your disappointment, Raoul, but please. There's exposition I must attend to, here. "Fine!" Raoul harrumphs. "But let the record show that I am not happy with this development!" Gotcha. In any event, Sam asks for a possible motive, eliciting a perplexed, "What motive?" from the store's manager. "It makes no sense," he elaborates. "Why steal all those diamonds -- all that jewelry -- and then, what? Just dump it somewhere? Just hide it, and then go home and..."
"...she killed herself?" Dean eyebrows at the brunette back in their section of the shop. "Well, the cops said she dropped the hairdryer into the bathtub and fried herself," the brunette gossips, far less concerned over her coworkers' untimely and violent deaths than her boss is. "They should know, right?" "And we'd know as well, if the heartless miscreants responsible for this show had actually allowed us to see it!" Raoul! Exposition! Now! "Pffft!" Raoul snorts, two perfectly round rings of smoke bursting from his nostrils, currently flared with righteous indignation. Oh, now, stop it. We'll get to the good part soon, okay? Just, I don't know, go back to filing your claws, or maybe work on that sweater you've been knitting for your husband Jack Bauer, or something. "Ooooh! Excellent idea! I'm having such a time recreating that delightful scene from the fifth season for the front of it -- you know, the one where my husband Jack Bauer presses a box cutter up against the terrified eye of the president's faithless Chief Of Staff!" Sounds fabulous, Raoul. Now may I continue? "By all means!"