Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

I checked the coffee table, no sign of it there.
I stitched a K on his shirt so everybody would know he's a knucklehead.
-What are you doing? -Wait a second.
It means, this is the '80s, Maddie...
-Well, I'm sorry anyway. -You want to tell me how it happened?
...and giggle about the damn thing all night long.
Like he took a bath once in a while.
Can you blame her? Those envelopes limit the possibilities.
It could be anyone.
...you still got your apartheid, down there in South Africa.
An idea, an original thought. You've heard of them.
What's the scheme, team? Fire drill?
Why do you come in every day?
But I go on writing, and she goes on writing.
When it didn't arrive after a few weeks, I figured it was lost. I gave it up.
...just as he was on his way out the door to his wife's funeral.
You frighten her.
Miss DiPesto, what is it?
My will. This place is making me suicidal.
...all the way across town to kill Gail Woodley.
-No! -No, you do.
Message number one, stop writing her.
I called the police, the hospitals, every temp agency in town.
-We'll never make it to this funeral. -Mr. Addison isn't in yet.
So...
-So, what are you saying? -I'm saying maybe he didn't kill Gail...
You'll buzz me when Mr. Addison arrives?
...and I would never do anything to harm him. Never.
Take the majority of your murder-suicides...
It doesn't matter what I think.
Things were getting a little dull back at the ranch.
-I don't know, how long? -How many days?
Yes? Mr. Addison? Put him on.