Previously on Velma...
It's Sheriff Cogburn!
What do you mean you need to exhume my mother's body?
Seriously? I don't know what that means.
It means I wanna dig her up and make sure she's truly dead.
Wait, is that my mom's cold case file? Why is that evidence?
And where are Dr. Perdue's journals?
They were in the file when I gave it back to Cogburn.
Could that be why he was killed?
- So, are we good? - Good? No, we're not good.
You killed me, Norville, and I'll never let you forget it.
Hello?
Not gonna lie. Being popular doesn't suck.
People finally laugh at my hilarious jokes.
I get Moses privileges during sporting events.
People even copy my style.
But you do occasionally have to get behind some pretty dumb shit.
Velma! Why did I just find a whole stack of Creaky Friday flyers
you were supposed to hand out, in the trash?
Yeah. I don't know. I handed out all of mine.
Okay, look. I just think this town has so many problems.
Homelessness, a missing murdered sheriff,
and not one decent Thai place.
Why focus on oiling Crystal Cove's famously spooky creaking doors?
Well, because it's a tradition.
And when else do popular girls get to make losers do their bidding
in the name of charity?
This is our Christmas. So, promise us you handed out your other flyers.
I promise.
Hey, Daph, guess what? After biology class,
Mr. S is gonna tell me what he knows
about Dr. Perdue's missing journals,
and if they're tied to Sheriff Cogburn's murder.
Cool. Maybe Cogburn and Dr. Perdue were soul mates.
And I'm not just saying soul mates because you hate the word soul mates.
Soul mates.
Hey, Lola, I was wondering if...
You'll never escape me, Norville. Never!
Well, that was weird. Usually men don't stop hitting on me
until I bring up astrology.
Where's Mr. S?
Sure, he's handsome, but only cool people are late.
And he has four graphic tees about mitosis.
He's not here yet.
And I'm sensing strong, negative forces are at play. Or wait.
Maybe traffic.
Attention, students. I have some sensitive information.
Mr. S is missing. And we know he didn't quit,
because teachers really make a meal out of it when they do.
Oh, God! Who will write my college recommendation letter?
And only a week after Cogburn was killed.
Another middle-aged white guy.
Is someone targeting smartwatch users?
- Now, for those of you... - Fred!
You think Mr. S's disappearance is connected to Cogburn's murder, too.
Leave me alone, Velma.
What's that picture of? Your mom?
And that's not just a classic burn. I'm serious.
I still think she's somehow alive and out for revenge.
Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint, but this picture proves
my mom didn't kill Cogburn, because she's dead.
And finally, we know Mr. S is your teacher,
but this is official police business. We don't need your help.
So, if we catch any of you investigating,
you'll be in cuffs faster than a startup founder with a weird voice.
"But in the end, was I kid-napped, or adult-found?"
Wow. I am finally hitting my stride.
Which means, I've earned a break and can text Mr. S.
He can't even heart one text?
Jerk!
Oh, damn it!
Fred. Mr. S is now missing. If you really want me to think
your mom hasn't returned to kill more people, show me the picture.
No! The police don't want us investigating.
And if the church has taught me anything, it's to question nothing.
I have to see that picture. But how?
LOCKSMITH Locked out of a locker?
No. Stupid.
Need answers? Sometimes they're in front of you!
Useless.
Creaky Friday. That's it.
I need to be partnered with Fred for Creaky Friday tomorrow.
He has evidence, and I can only make him show it to me
if we're stuck together all day.
Velma, I get it. But we can't just violate
Creaky Friday's sacred random pairing traditions.
Sacred traditions?
This is oiling hinges, not some old legend worthy of a montage.
What are you talking about, Velma?
Creaky Friday began in the 1890s,
when our whole town was on edge from breathing crystal mining dust.
Thirty-seven people died that year.
To avoid further tragedy,
Crystal Cove's first popular girl, Helen Creaky,
paid the schoolchildren to oil all the door hinges in town.
And to ensure they didn't goof off,
Helen used balls of lead to pair them randomly.
The pairings were so awkward, the students oiled hinges
to avoid conversation.
And yes, that year, 20 people still died,
but only from lead poisoning.
And so, the sacred tradition of populars randomly pairing students
for Creaky Friday, was born.
And we will not tempt fate by pairing you with Fred.
Brenda merely thought about rigging Creaky Friday
so she could win it last year. And look at her now.
Cursed with late lunch.
Norville, why do you keep looking at me?
You could at least help me open my textbook.
No. I wanted to know if you'd wanna hang out sometime.
I thought, maybe, I could make your life a little easier
by building you a transport device.
Awesome. We'd love a transport device.
"We"? Who is "we"?
We are, four limbs. And you'd travel in a pack, too,
if people kept trying to recycle you.
Hey, I'm glass, not plastic, idiot.
Why are we breaking into the yearbook office again?
You know I can't edit the sneeze out of your yearbook photo.
- And it's cute. - I know.
I'm putting metal shavings in my and Fred's Ping-Pong balls,
so I can use a magnet to pair us up.
You're rigging Creaky Friday?
- That is a bad idea. - Wait.
Please tell me that in addition to believing in soulmates,
you're not also superstitious.
It's bad enough our town just started allowing women onto ships.
A little. But I'm upset because if you're rigging it,
there's no way for fate to pair us up and prove to you that we're...
You know.
Daphne, I don't need Creaky Friday to tell me what we have is special.
Really?
Yes. It's a godless universe, so just help me cheat.
And now, the traditional picking of the partners will begin.
The first selection will be made
by a young woman who believes in the sanctity of Creaky Friday.
- Right? - You know it.
Oh, wow. I picked myself and Fred. Am I saying this right?
Jonez? Joannas?
Fred Jones.
- What? - Oh, come on.
I'm not ready to be bossed around by another short-haired, angry woman.
Mother just died.
Velma, did you really pick the exact person you wanted to be paired with?
See? We told you to trust the tradition.
The next pair is...
Daphne and Amber!
- Wait, what? - And so it was written.
Yeah, give me one sec.
See, I told you not to mess with Creaky Friday.
Now I'm spending all day with your nemesis.
Amber's not my nemesis, Daphne.
I just think occult stuff is weird.
Your pairing is merely a coincidence.
Because I promise you the universe does not punish people
for messing with tradition.
I know you rigged this, Velma.
If there's one thing rich people know, it's cheating.
So what if I did? There are more important things than tradition.
No, there aren't. Look at the Catholics.
We used to control the world.
But then, Martin Luther was all, like... "Let's ignore traditions."
And now, we only control Boston and the Supreme Court.
Exactly. Tradition, religion, superstition.
When you remove the fun hats and free wine,
they're just about controlling people with fear.
So, you don't believe in anything?
I believe in proving your mom is still alive
and looking through people's medicine cabinets.
Which is why we're going to ignore Daphne's moms
and break into Mr. S's apartment to look for clues on his disappearance.
What? Police tape? Coroners?
A detective needlessly squatting and shaking her head?
Mr. S isn't missing. I think he's dead!
Velma, we can't be here. We'll be arrested for investigating.
And I'm already gonna have trouble
explaining why I went to prison for murder to colleges.
Well, too bad.
Because the only way I'm not telling the cops we're investigating right now,
is if you show me that picture in your file.
- Advertisement! - Ad-ver-tisement!
I told Velma it was dangerous to mess up the pairing ritual.
Now, it's too random and everyone's fighting
instead of oiling hinges.
I agree that larger forces are at play,
but I actually manifested us being paired together.
Amber, please. Superstition is one thing,
but believing in things like manifesting
is what makes Velma think you're weird.
Also your "I'm weird" tattoo.
I see.
Well then, you leave me no choice but to enlighten you
by manifesting us winning Creaky Friday.
Oh, God! I mean, that is a really nice,
not at all totally messed up shrine to your mom on a dog crate.
Yeah, or employee crate, depending on Mother's mood.
Regardless, a real upside to being Catholic now,
is knowing she's in a better place.
- Fred! What are you doing? - What? It's my hiding place.
And I don't want this picture falling into the wrong hands. Here.
What? Either they stopped cleaning the public pools again or that's...
A ghost. But the Church thinks it's a demon,
which is why they sold me this relic for only 10,000 dollars.
It's the toe of a saint. This little piggy is holy!
Fred, where did you get this picture?
The person who hired me to solve Cogburn's death sent it.
And don't ask who hired me.
They insist on doing everything anonymously over email.
Wait, I've seen this ghost before!
They're okay, which is pretty lucky
since they listed their health care provider as the wind.
Amber, what were you thinking?
You never throw your body at a car worth less than $75,000!
Listen.
- The squeaking hinges. - I told you manifesting isn't weird.
Now, let's go win this thing.
All right, here's your old typewriter as requested,
and a bottle of idea juice from your old stash in the toy bin.
What? That's not mine. I always get my liquor inside my body.
Diya, I know you. Laptops don't just break.
I bet your life you're self-sabotaging again to keep from writing.
And this was the only thing that ever helped you.
Self-sabotage? How dare you?
No. You're right. This is what I need to finish my book.
Okay. So, to ensure these are properly reading brain activity,
I need to make some light, small talk.
Brenda, you sleep okay? You look a little tired.
I knew it. My lobe has crow's feet.
And Krista? I hear your parents' marriage is in trouble?
How could it be in trouble?
They barely talk to each other. What are these questions?
Yeah, what's the deal?
I'm getting major "frat guys invite us to a sex party,"
"but then fill our jars with goldfish" vibes.
What? I'm just asking questions, cause I'm interested in your lives.
But are they causing you anxiety?
See? I told you it wasn't a ghost.
So, put your relic away before someone develops
yet another TV show about a believer and a smoking hot skeptic.
Are you kidding? This only makes my faith stronger.
Real faith is knowing something's true even when it's verifiably false.
Excuse me?
I need to know the last person who rented this costume.
Was their name Victoria Jones?
So sorry. Customer lists are private.
People's role playing fantasies are meant to be kept between them
and me.
Stop that. Halloween is coming,
and I need the place as creaky as possible.
Fred! The computer!
Norville?
Oh, my God, that's where I remember the costume from.
Norville?
Fred, we have to go now!
That's over 50 doors, but it's not enough to win.
I guess I was only powerful enough to manifest an "I told you so".
If you really wanna win, you'll have to help me manifest it, Daphne.
Me? Manifest? Mm, okay.
But only to win.
Not because I'm desperate to prove to Velma
there's more to the universe than she thinks.
Okay, now, deep breaths.
And...
How would you two like to come to the basement with me?
I have some things that need lubricating.
We did it!
Wait. Are we in a morgue?
Yes. Welcome to your final resting place.
Eventually! He meant to say,
"Your final resting place, eventually."
I'm so sorry. Everything he says is so unintentionally creepy.
Anyway, are you here to oil the hinges?
It did work!
Norville, this is amazing!
We'll never question a guy's motives again.
We know you wore the ghost costume on the night of Cogburn's death.
You killed him.
An innocent old man with a whole week or two ahead of him.
What? No, I didn't!
Oh, God!
You didn't kill Cogburn. But you did kill me.
And I'll never let your brain forget it, Norville.
Help! I'm hallucinating!
I need a snack!
- Are you okay? - Yes.
Okay. Well, in that case,
why were you at the police station in a ghost costume?
- Did you kill Cogburn? - Of course I didn't kill him.
I was just there to get my grandmother's journals.
So, that's why her journals were missing from my mom's cold case file.
Yes! I used the costume to hide my identity
from the security cameras, and stole the journals
when Cogburn went to the bathroom.
I knew her research could help me isolate the anxiety in my brain
and hopefully get rid of it.
But I needed to experiment on the brains first.
What? I knew it.
Men are only nice when they're also being creepy.
A likely story. Call the cops, Velma.
And he'll need a lawyer. Not your dad. A good one.
What? No. There's no way Norville did this.
If he was gonna snap and kill anyone, it would obviously be me.
Interesting.
Despite all the physical evidence saying one thing,
you still believe in something else.
So, you let Norville walk,
but I'm the fanatic for using a saint's toe
to protect us from demons.
Fred, believing Norville is innocent, is not the same as believing in ghosts
or a God that dictates who wins our top music awards.
How? Your baseless belief is shaping your judgment.
My belief is not baseless. We know Norville.
Would a murderer be a children's party clown?
Or know every sign of the zodiac?
Or give hitchhikers rides? Okay, not great examples.
Norville was at the scene of Cogburn's murder.
Fact, he lied about it.
Fact, his grandmother's ghost possessed my mother.
- Fact. - No, not a fact.
Your mother wasn't possessed, Norville's innocent,
and your saint's toe is clearly just an old caramel.
Well, I hope you didn't plan on winning any country music awards this year
because you just blew it.
No, no, no. Not those two. Those two are off limits.
Promise you won't open them.
- Okay. - We promise.
Thank you. Because Vincent and I are late for our couples' therapy.
Yes. Today we are going to kill
our fears of being vulnerable.
It's Sheriff Cogburn!
- And this is Mr. S! - What?
But how'd they die?
Velma, thank God you came. We found Cogburn and Mr. S,
and they're not only dead...
Their dongs were removed?
This is almost as bad as girls having their brains removed. Almost.
TMI! Cannot unsee that.
Are you done masking your fear with performative overreaction?
Yeah, yeah, wait.
- I'm good. - But who would do that?
And why would someone with a photo of Norville in a ghost costume
hire Fred to figure it out?
- Where'd you get this? - It's a still.
From a police station surveillance camera.
It is? Then we have to go there. Come on, Daph.
And Amber, too, I guess.
Actually, Velma,
Amber and I are really close to winning Creaky Friday.
I know you think it's dumb, but I think you're dumb
for not believing in different moisturizers for different body parts.
- Or soul mates. - Oh, my God.
Do you really wanna have a deep conversation about our feelings now?
- Yes. - Fine.
Punch it, Fred.
Thanks so much for meeting with me, William.
It's nice to be out of the house.
Even if it is, I assume, to be shamed for something my wife did.
Wouldn't be the first time today.
I actually have something for you.
I assume from your clothes, breath, and bursts of anger, you drink Scotch?
Yes!
I wanna interview you for my book. It's a memoir about my kidnapping.
And recipes. Going for an early Nora Ephron vibe.
Well, then, I accept your Scotch.
But if this isn't adversarial,
we really should be drinking Burgundy, don't you think?
I don't drink anymore.
Well, what do you do for fun, then, Diya Dinkley?
My favorite part of police work is the crafting.
Gonna crochet handcuffs next.
This photo was taken the night of Cogburn's murder.
One of your officers sent it to Fred.
Fred, a child, with the mind and body of a younger child.
What? Where did you get that?
No one has access to that footage except us.
And the North Korean teen who sent me a fake link to some puppy pics.
Unless...
I'm sorry. I sent the photo to Fred,
but only because we have no leads and he's a supernatural expert.
Look at his saint's toe.
No, Velma's right. It's a caramel.
Wait. No, that was bone.
Linda, we've got an election coming up.
If people find out we're still letting kids solve our cases,
we're ruined. How could you?
It's because Linda's more worried about how voters will react
if they learned that a dong-removing serial killer
is running wild on their watch.
Yes. But wait.
How do you know about their missing dongs?
Daphne and Amber found their bodies, while oiling hinges.
Meaning, my decision to violate the rules of Creaky Friday
are even more validated. Yeah, boy.
- Two men are dead, Velma. - Yes, of course. I'm sorry.
Now, please, promise you'll tell no one.
Busy, Dad. You and Mom just do date night without me.
Lola? What are you doing here?
Has skateboarding caused you to smoke and be shitty to women?
I can't reverse that, I'm afraid.
No, I deserve an apology.
Just because you're hot doesn't mean you can treat me like you did.
Got it?
Got what? After you said you think I'm hot everything got fuzzy.
Well, the point is, I deserve better.
Not much better. I did just ram some loser's shin,
and I'm totes fine with it.
- But, still... - I'm sorry.
What I did was wrong.
I'm just so desperate to stop my hallucinations.
Okay, well, then you leave me no choice but to help you cure them.
And you should hope I still wanna jump your bones
once you're damage free.
So, someone is now killing men associated with Dr. Perdue's journals,
and removing their dongs.
Sorry, reflex. But I still think Norville is the killer.
You do? But you didn't even mention him
as a potential suspect to Linda and Donna,
even when they gave you that honorary sheriff sticker.
Yeah, well, what can I say?
I realized your faith in Norville is good enough for me.
Damn it! This is why religious people are so maddening.
You act nuts, but then do good stuff no one else will do.
Like feed the poor and entertain old people.
Whoa, wait. What? We do? Well, this is not that.
I don't expect you to believe my mom was possessed.
But I'll continue to believe you about Norville,
if you at least believe me that my mom is dead.
Fine. And I'm sorry I mocked your religion.
If it brings you peace to think that bitch is in a better place,
who am I to judge?
I mean, it's no crazier than Daphne believing in soul mates,
and I've been very accepting of that.
- Wait. - Thanks, Velma.
That means a lot.
As we learned in my favorite passage from Genesis,
"There's too many men, too many people making too many problems
"and not much love to go around."
Fred! Please do more research on the Catholic Church!
Fine. This'll be good.
Oh, my God!
I have to give them 10% of my gross income?
What a scam! I am out!
And the Creaky Friday team who oiled the most doors today
were Daphne Blake and this new kid
who people are still forming an opinion about.
Amber, it worked! Thank you!
Those college admissions committee shills are gonna eat this shit up.
And now, to the steps of the Police Department
where Merle Cogburn is making a special announcement.
As you know,
my beloved brother and voice twin, Earl, passed away.
What you don't know is that the two women hoping to replace him
have outsourced the investigation of his death to kids!
Which leaves me no choice but to enter the race myself.
What?
Velma?
I'm sorry for being so closed-minded about the soul mates thing.
I care for you more than anyone.
And if you wanna call that being soul mates, I'm all for it.
Thank you. I appreciate that.
I learned a lot today, too.
Have you heard of manifesting?
It doesn't just help beautiful women at auditions,
it could probably help with your investigation.
Yeah, maybe. Thanks.
But as tolerant as I've become, I still find that stuff a little silly.
I mean, I messed with Creaky Friday's sacred tradition
and absolutely nothing bad happened to me.
Oh, God!
We would have covered up if we'd heard the door, but it was just oiled!
I hate Creaky Friday!
I forgot you had a kid.
Vincent. I saw the door was open to the body room.
Are you using them to practice your ballroom dancing again?
Vincent?