OBITUARY
Format
9:16 vertical
Genre
Murder-Mystery / Psychological thriller
Season
30 episodes
Location
Atlanta
The story
OBITUARY
LOGLINE
SYNOPSIS
MARIANNE LEWIS, 39, thought the worst thing that could happen to her was losing her marriage. After a divorce that destroyed her faith in her own judgment, she is introduced to The Second Chapter Society — an elegant, invitation-only women’s circle whose founder, DENISE PARKER, describes it as women helping women rebuild after divorce, abandonment and loss. Wine nights. Charity events. Job leads. And occasionally, introductions to lonely men. Then Marianne goes back for a forgotten phone and finds Denise reading the obituaries — not the society pages — with men’s names circled. Not the dead women. The phrase “survived by her husband.”
The Society doesn’t search dating apps. It searches death notices. The obituary tells them who just lost a wife, how long they were married, the church, the children, the neighborhood, sometimes the employer — and which men are vulnerable enough to need someone. Members build a profile, engineer an accidental meeting at a grief group or a funeral, become indispensable, and secure the paperwork: marriage, joint accounts, power of attorney, beneficiary changes, deeds. Not every man dies. Some simply lose money. The ones who recognize the scheme have accidents.
THOMAS REED, 58, a commercial contractor whose wife died after thirty-two years, is assigned to PAULA BENNETT — a recruiter who still has a conscience, and it’s killing her. When Thomas resists signing, he is pushed down his own staircase. Police call it an accident. From a hospital bed he tells Marianne: “Someone pushed me.” Marianne starts connecting old obituaries — three Society women, three widowers who remarried and died — and finds Denise’s leather ledger of clippings, assets, assigned women and coded outcomes. Beside Thomas’s $2.4 million estate: PAULA — INCOMPLETE. Beside her own name: a surveillance file that predates her recruitment. Denise has been studying her as a successor. If she refuses, she is to be reclassified as a liability.
JANICE COLE, Denise’s lieutenant, handles “corrections.” A previous survivor, ARTHUR BELL, is found dead the morning after he promises Marianne evidence. Denise tests the membership for a leak and forces Marianne to hunt a newly widowed orthodontist, CHARLES HOLLOWAY, herself. Paula breaks, confesses, and takes Marianne to an archive of funeral programs, deeds and policies spanning years — then vanishes, leaving blood in her apartment and a memory card hidden in the clasp of her necklace. On it, Janice says Thomas should have died on the stairs and Denise orders her to correct the mistake. Then Marianne’s screen reads: WE HAVE RACHEL. And on Denise’s desk is a folder of obituaries already written for people who are still alive. Thomas’s is complete except for the date, and the chapel is booked for tomorrow.
The draft obituary says Thomas died working late at the company he built. Marianne races to the Reed Commercial warehouse — stud walls, plastic sheeting, work lights going out one by one — where Janice is staging his third accident with a hammer. “Denise already wrote the ending.” Paula, alive, bandaged and living in her car, hits Janice from behind with a box cutter; Thomas crawls to the temporary power panel and pulls the fire alarm; Marianne kicks through a plywood wall framed across an exit. Denise invites Marianne to dinner, offers her the Society, offers to blame the murders on Janice, and slides Marianne’s own obituary across the table.
Casting List
The characters.
Age: 39
MARIANNE LEWIS
Role: SERIES LEAD
Age: 46
DENISE PARKER
Role: THE ANTAGONIST — FOUNDER, THE SECOND CHAPTER SOCIETY
Age: 58
THOMAS REED
Role: THE WIDOWER — THE SURVIVOR
Age: 42
PAULA BENNETT
Role: THE RECRUITER
Age: 51
JANICE COLE
Role: DENISE'S LIEUTENANT — THE KNIFE
Age: 35
RACHEL LEWIS
Role: MARIANNE'S SISTER
Age: 40s
DET. LENA OKAFOR
Role: COUNTY DETECTIVE
Age: 72
ARTHUR BELL
Role: THE SURVIVOR BEFORE THOMAS (GUEST)
Age: 66
CHARLES HOLLOWAY
Role: THE ASSIGNED PROSPECT (GUEST)
Age: 50
BRENDA KAYE
Role: THE CLOSER — "THE PILLS"
Featured role · SERIES LEAD
MARIANNE LEWIS
CHARACTER PROFILE
Female, 39. Recently divorced after fifteen years of believing she understood the man beside her. Intelligent, observant, emotionally guarded; mystery novels, black coffee, old houses, puzzles, people-watching. Excellent memory and a logical mind — she notices contradictions other people dismiss. Her mother taught her that commitment meant enduring, so she stayed too long, and the divorce didn’t just end her marriage; it destroyed her faith in her own judgment.
The weakness she cannot overcome: she needs proof before she trusts herself. She sees danger before anyone else and hesitates until she can prove it, and that hesitation costs her — Arthur, the ledger, the drive. The role carries nearly every episode and moves from a woman rebuilding her life to a woman pretending to accept control of a murder network with a microphone under her blouse. Denise’s chosen successor. Her obituary is already written: NOT YET.
SIDES
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Episode 23 — "THE LEVERAGE"
Read for the role of MARIANNE LEWIS.
See The Character Script
OBITUARY
Season One ·Episode 23 — "THE LEVERAGE"
EPISODE 23 — “THE LEVERAGE”
INT. MARIANNE’S CAR — NIGHT (MOVING)
Marianne drives like the road owes her something. Phone on
speaker. Ringing. Ringing.
MARIANNE
Pick up. Pick up. Rachel, pick up—
RACHEL (V.O.)
(shaking)
Mari.
MARIANNE
Where are you? Are the kids—
RACHEL (V.O.)
They’re here. They’re in the car. We’re
in the driveway. I can’t — I can’t go
in.
MARIANNE
Why?
RACHEL (V.O.)
Because the porch light’s on and I
turned it off. And the garage door is
open and I closed it. And there’s —
Mari, there’s a newspaper on the front
step and we don’t get the paper.
MARIANNE
Don’t get out of the car. I’m ten
minutes.
EXT. RACHEL’S HOUSE — DRIVEWAY — NIGHT
The minivan, engine running, Rachel’s hands welded to the
wheel. NORA and BEN asleep in the back, thank God.
Marianne pulls in behind it. Gets out. Walks to the porch.
A newspaper. Folded to the obituary page. Rubber-banded.
Marianne slides the band off. Inside, tucked into the fold:
a printout. Nora’s school schedule. Ben’s pediatrician.
Marcus’s flight number home from Dallas. Rachel’s mother-
in-law’s address in Macon.
Every plan Marianne made. Read back to her.
On the obituary page itself, a small red circle. Around
nothing. Around blank newsprint at the bottom of a column,
where the next notice would go.
Rachel is beside her now. Reads it over her shoulder. Her
hand comes up over her mouth.
RACHEL
That’s — that’s my mother-in-law’s —
how do they have—
Marianne takes something from her pocket. Holds it up.
Nora’s face in a plastic fob.
MARIANNE
Where does this hang?
RACHEL
By the back door. Denise has one too.
For emergencies, she said everyone—
She stops. Hears it.
MARIANNE
She’s been in your kitchen, Rachel. She
read the calendar on your fridge. She
didn’t hack anything. You handed her a
key.
RACHEL
(finally, really)
Mari. What is this.
MARIANNE
It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.
Rachel looks at her sister. Sees her, maybe, for the first
time in a year. Nods once. Small and total.
RACHEL
Okay.
MARIANNE
Okay?
RACHEL
Okay. Tell me where to go. I’ll go.
Then something crosses her face. She’s remembering.
RACHEL (CONT’D)
She knew your name.
MARIANNE
What?
RACHEL
The first time I met her. Nora’s school
auction, last spring. She sat down next
to me and inside five minutes she said,
“How’s your sister holding up?” I
hadn’t said I had a sister.
(beat)
I thought it was a small town. I
thought somebody told her.
MARIANNE
Last spring. Before my divorce was even
filed.
RACHEL
Mari. Where did Denise get us?
Marianne looks at the newspaper on the coffee table. The
obituary page. The empty red circle. And it lands.
MARIANNE
Dad.
INT. RACHEL’S HOUSE — HALL CLOSET — CONTINUOUS
Rachel on her knees, pulling a box off the top shelf.
Sympathy cards. A folded flag. A funeral program: their
father. And a GUEST BOOK, cream leather, embossed WHITCOMB
& SONS.
She flips pages. Signatures. Neighbors. Church. Cousins.
Then, halfway down the third page, a neat, familiar hand:
INSERT — GUEST BOOK: “Denise R. Parker —
‘Survived by his daughters.’ What a blessing. — D.”
RACHEL
She was at Dad’s funeral.
MARIANNE
She read his obituary. “Survived by his
daughters, Marianne and Rachel.” That’s
the whole trick, Rach. That’s how she
found everyone. She found us the exact
same way.
Rachel closes the book. Holds it against her chest.
RACHEL
I’m keeping this.
MARIANNE
Give it to Okafor. Tomorrow. Not me —
her.
RACHEL
Why not you?
MARIANNE
Because I’m the one who’ll want to be sure first.
INT. RACHEL’S HOUSE — LIVING ROOM — LATER
The kids upstairs, doors locked, Marianne’s insistence.
Rachel checks windows. Marianne’s phone rings. UNKNOWN
NUMBER.
She answers. Says nothing.
DENISE (V.O.)
Is everyone all right? I heard there
was some confusion at Rachel’s.
MARIANNE
You put a newspaper on my sister’s
porch.
DENISE (V.O.)
I put a newspaper on a lot of porches.
It’s a public service.
(beat)
You have something of Paula’s. A little
card. It was hers to keep, and she
chose to give it to you, which was very
Paula.
MARIANNE
Where is she.
DENISE (V.O.)
Somewhere quiet, I’d imagine. Marianne,
I’m going to say this once, because I
respect you, and because I think we
understand each other better than
either of us has admitted.
Rachel watches her sister’s face change.
DENISE (V.O.) (CONT’D)
Bring me the card. Tomorrow. My house.
Alone. And then this is over, and
Rachel goes to Macon, and Nora goes to
the fall recital, and you and I have
dinner and talk like adults about what
you actually want.
MARIANNE
And if I don’t.
A pause. When Denise speaks again, it’s tender.
DENISE (V.O.)
Then I’ll have to think about what to write.
(beat)
I’ve never written one for a mother of
two. I’d want to get it right.
The line goes dead.
Marianne lowers the phone. Rachel is staring at her.
RACHEL
What did she say?
Marianne looks at the newspaper on the coffee table. The
empty red circle.
MARIANNE
She said she’d write your obituary.
END OF EPISODE
Featured role · THE ANTAGONIST — FOUNDER, THE SECOND CHAPTER SOCIETY
DENISE PARKER
CHARACTER PROFILE
Female, 46. Elegant, warm, maternal, sophisticated — the woman everyone trusts immediately, which is her greatest weapon. She behaves like someone’s favorite aunt. Expensive wine, order, etiquette, classical music, handwritten thank-you cards, and the obituaries every morning. Grew up poor with a mother who depended on men for survival; married wealthy Richard Parker, who died unexpectedly (“Hearts stop”) and left her everything. That death became the blueprint.
She never raises her voice. Her calm is the horror. She genuinely believes she has built a system where abandoned women finally win: “Men have been inheriting women’s lives for centuries. We simply learned how to inherit theirs.” Cannot allow anyone to walk away. Writes obituaries before people die. Escapes at the end of the season and remains the continuing threat. Likely breakout role.
SIDES
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Episode 29 — "OBITUARY"
Read for the role of DENISE PARKER.
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OBITUARY
Season One ·Episode 29 — "OBITUARY"
EPISODE 29 — “OBITUARY”
INT. DENISE’S HOME — DINING ROOM — CONTINUOUS
Marianne picks up her own obituary. Reads it twice. The way
she reads everything.
Then she folds it, once, and puts it in her purse.
MARIANNE
“Survived by her sister Rachel.”
DENISE
I thought that was rather kind.
MARIANNE
If I do this — if I’m going to do this
— I need to see all of it. Not the
room. The room is paper. Paper burns.
DENISE
You want the ledger.
MARIANNE
I want what the ledger comes from. You
don’t run twenty years on a leather
book. You’d have lost it by now.
Denise regards her. Something like delight.
DENISE
Do you know how long I’ve waited for
someone to ask that?
INT. DENISE’S STUDY — CONTINUOUS
Denise unlocks a cabinet. Not the desk. A false panel
behind the etiquette books. A laptop, old, thick, never
online.
She opens it. A password she types without looking.
A spreadsheet. Not a spreadsheet. A DATABASE.
INSERT — SCREEN, scrolling: thousands of rows.
NAME. OBIT DATE. SOURCE (newspaper, funeral home,
church bulletin). EST. ASSETS. ISOLATION SCORE.
ASSIGNED. CONTACT DATE. PAPERWORK. STATUS. NOTES.
Columns of status: OPEN. PENDING. CLOSED-N. CLOSED-A.
CLOSED-S. And rows and rows and rows.
DENISE
Every obituary in four states for
nineteen years. Every widower over
sixty with a paid-off house. I score
them the morning they print. Most never
hear from us. The best ones—
MARIANNE
Get a casserole.
DENISE
Get a second chapter.
Marianne stares at it. Thousands. It isn’t a society. It
never was. It’s a harvest.
MARIANNE
Where’s the backup?
DENISE
Whitcomb’s office. Encrypted. Mirrors
every night at two.
MARIANNE
Where.
DENISE
Marianne. You sound like a police
officer.
MARIANNE
I sound like someone who’s about to be
responsible for it.
Denise laughs. And, because she has never once in twenty
years been wrong about a woman, she says it.
DENISE
Whitcomb and Sons. Second floor. The
server closet behind the casket
showroom. Nobody looks behind a casket.
Marianne thinks of a cream-colored card, soft at the
corners, in a dead man’s wallet. Arthur was right. Somebody
smarter would know why.
Marianne exhales. Slowly. On the street, in a van, Okafor
says two words into a radio.
Denise hears nothing. But she sees. The exhale. The
shoulders.
She looks at Marianne’s dress. At the place on her ribs
where the fabric lies a fraction less smooth.
DENISE (CONT’D)
Oh, honey.
Her hand comes up. Rests on the wire, through the fabric,
like a mother checking for fever.
DENISE (CONT’D)
You were the one I wanted.
Marianne doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
DENISE (CONT’D)
That’s all right. I’d have done the
same. That’s why it was you.
She closes the laptop. Picks it up. Tucks it under her arm.
MARIANNE
There are police on the street.
DENISE
There’s a door in the wine cellar that
predates the street.
She walks to the study door. Stops. Takes the folded
obituary from Marianne’s purse — the one Marianne put there
herself. Unfolds it. Uncaps her red pen. Writes two words
across the blank date line, and lays it on the desk.
Then she’s gone. Not running. Denise has never run.
Boots in the hall. Okafor’s voice. Officers. The study door
bursts. Lights. Shouting. The panel open. The cellar.
Marianne stands alone at the desk. Looks down at her own
obituary.
INSERT — the blank date line, in red ink:
“NOT YET.”
END OF EPISODE
Featured role · THE WIDOWER — THE SURVIVOR
THOMAS REED
CHARACTER PROFILE
Male, 58. Commercial contractor (Reed Commercial); his wife Margaret died of cancer after thirty-two years; one adult daughter, Emily, in Denver. Woodworking, jazz, fishing, fixing things himself, his daughter’s phone calls. Hates pity and being treated like a helpless old man. Quiet, thoughtful, financially sophisticated, and far more perceptive than Denise realizes — his contractor’s eye and memory make him a credible partner in the investigation.
Pushed down his own stairs after refusing power of attorney; survives; whispers “Someone pushed me” from the hospital bed. His weakness is loneliness: even knowing Paula targeted him, part of him misses the woman he believed she was, and he says so. Taken at his own warehouse in Act V, his obituary already typed with the chapel booked; on his hands and knees he finds the power main and the pull station — “Straight walls.” — and roars “WALL’S WRONG!” from the dark. Not helpless. Reunites with his daughter in the finale.
SIDES
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Episode 17 — "THE PRICE OF GRIEF"
Read for the role of THOMAS REED.
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OBITUARY
Season One ·Episode 17 — "THE PRICE OF GRIEF"
EPISODE 17 — “THE PRICE OF GRIEF”
INT. THOMAS’S HOUSE — KITCHEN — NIGHT
Rain on the windows. The pill organizer is gone from the
counter. So is Paula. Her coffee mug is still in the rack.
Thomas sits at the island with the recorder between them.
He’s heard it three times.
THOMAS
“Get the signature.”
MARIANNE
It’s Janice’s voice. It’s an order.
Okafor can’t call that grief.
THOMAS
It’s a woman telling another woman to
open a bank account. A lawyer eats it
in a minute.
MARIANNE
Then we get more.
Thomas turns the mug over in his hands. Paula’s mug. Sets
it down.
THOMAS
You know what I did Tuesday? Drove to
St. Luke’s. Sat in the lot. Watched the
grief group let out. Just to see if
she’d—
(he can’t finish)
MARIANNE
Thomas.
THOMAS
Six weeks she was in this house. She
listened to me talk about Margaret for
hours. She cried. Real tears, Marianne,
I’ve seen fake ones, I sat through
thirty years of client dinners.
(beat)
I know what she is. And I miss her
every single night. What does that make
me?
MARIANNE
She says she was on the phone with you.
The night of the stairs.
Thomas goes still.
THOMAS
My phone rang. Halfway down. I never
told the police that. I never told you.
(beat)
It was her name on the screen. I
grabbed the rail because I was reaching
for the phone.
MARIANNE
So she called to warn you.
THOMAS
Or she called to make sure I was at the
top of the stairs with my back to the
hall.
(beat)
I’ve had four months to decide which. I
can’t.
MARIANNE
Lonely.
THOMAS
Stupid.
MARIANNE
No. That’s the whole system. Denise
didn’t invent the loneliness. She just
reads the paper every morning to find
out where it’s living.
He looks at her a long moment.
THOMAS
And what do you do every morning?
MARIANNE
I don’t understand.
THOMAS
You had a ledger in your hands. You
didn’t take it. You had a book with
your own name in it. You put it back in
the drawer. Arthur handed you an
envelope and you let him walk out to
get “the originals.” Why?
MARIANNE
Because I needed to be sure.
THOMAS
You were sure. You’ve been sure since
the kitchen. You keep waiting for
permission to believe your own eyes.
MARIANNE
I believed my own eyes for fifteen
years. He had a second phone.
THOMAS
So one liar gets to run your life
forever?
Silence. Rain.
MARIANNE
(quiet)
He didn’t just lie. He made me the kind
of person who couldn’t tell.
THOMAS
No. He made you the kind of person who
checks. That’s not the same thing.
Arthur’s dead because you checked
politely.
It hurts because it’s true. She doesn’t argue.
Her phone buzzes on the counter. UNKNOWN NUMBER. She almost
ignores it.
MARIANNE
(answering, wary)
Yes.
PAULA (V.O.)
(barely audible;
crying)
Don’t say my name.
Marianne’s eyes go to Thomas. He knows the voice before she
does. Stands.
PAULA (V.O.) (CONT’D)
I’m at a pay phone. I have maybe two
minutes. I can’t do it anymore.
Marianne, I can’t.
MARIANNE
Where are you?
PAULA (V.O.)
It doesn’t matter. Listen. The stairs.
It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a scare.
(beat)
Thomas wasn’t supposed to survive.
END OF EPISODE
Featured role · THE RECRUITER
PAULA BENNETT
CHARACTER PROFILE
Female, 42. Beautiful, charming, emotionally intuitive — she can make almost anyone feel understood. Divorced mother of a teenage son, Caleb; her ex left her financially devastated and Denise helped her when nobody else did, which created enormous loyalty. Fashion, dancing, romance, cooking. Assigned to Thomas. Within months she is discussing marriage and asking for estate access.
Whenever conscience and survival collide, Paula chooses survival — until Thomas. She remains a live suspect for the push through Ep 18. Confesses the whole method to Marianne, leads her to the archive, vanishes with blood in her apartment, hides a memory card in her necklace clasp, and comes back gray-faced with a bloodied bandage to put a box cutter in Janice’s shoulder — “not like a person who’s used one before. Like a mother.” Morally compromised to the end; her love for Thomas does not erase what she helped do. Agrees to testify.
SIDES
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Episode 18 — "PAULA'S CONFESSION"
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OBITUARY
Season One ·Episode 18 — "PAULA'S CONFESSION"
EPISODE 18 — “PAULA’S CONFESSION”
EXT. HIGHWAY REST STOP — NIGHT
Sodium lights. A vending machine hum. Paula’s sedan, engine
running, parked as far from the building as the lot allows.
Marianne gets in the passenger side. Paula’s mascara has
run and dried. She holds the wheel like it’s the only solid
thing left.
PAULA
He’s alive?
MARIANNE
He’s home.
PAULA
Don’t tell him I asked.
MARIANNE
Start from the beginning.
Paula laughs, ugly.
PAULA
The beginning is a woman who read the
obituaries every morning because her
husband did, and one morning she
noticed that every dead wife left a man
with a house and nobody to cook for
him. That’s all it was. Six of us.
Divorced, broke, angry. Denise said,
“Why should some stranger get them?”
MARIANNE
Get them.
PAULA
Not kill. God. Not then. You met a man
at a funeral, you were kind, he was
grateful, in a year there was a ring
and a joint account. Nobody died.
Nobody was even lying, really. We were
company.
MARIANNE
And then.
PAULA
And then Gene Prescott read a bank
statement. Called Lorraine a whore in
front of his lawyer. Said he was going
to the police.
She stares at the windshield.
PAULA (CONT’D)
Denise didn’t say a word for three
days. Then somebody drove to Gene’s
house on a Saturday, and on Sunday
there was an obituary, and on Monday
Denise made a rule. Any man who says
the word “police” is a correction.
MARIANNE
Correction.
PAULA
That’s the word. Somebody does them.
Denise never touches it. Denise brings
flowers.
MARIANNE
Who’s somebody.
PAULA
I told you. I don’t ask.
MARIANNE
Harold.
PAULA
(breaking)
Harold saw a wire transfer. Just one.
Asked me about it at breakfast. I told
Denise because we told Denise
everything. I thought she’d fix the
paperwork.
(beat)
Two weeks later he had a heart attack
in his sleep. He was sixty-one. He ran
four miles every morning.
MARIANNE
And Thomas.
PAULA
Thomas said “give me a week.” Denise
heard “police.” I told her he didn’t
mean it. I told her I could get him
there.
(beat)
I was at my “sister’s” because Denise
told me to be somewhere with a receipt.
I knew what that meant. I went anyway.
MARIANNE
And you called him. From the car. At
midnight.
PAULA
Yes.
MARIANNE
Why?
Paula looks at her hands on the wheel. When she answers
it’s barely a voice.
PAULA
I don’t know.
(beat)
I’ve asked myself every night. I don’t
know which one of me was holding the
phone.
She turns to Marianne, wrecked.
PAULA (CONT’D)
You wanted a confession. That’s it. I’m
not a good person. I was going to be a
good person after one more, and then
one more.
MARIANNE
Why now?
PAULA
Because she circled my son’s school. In
my file. I’ve seen the files. There’s a
room.
MARIANNE
A room.
PAULA
A storage unit. Everything. Every
program, every deed, every policy,
every obituary, going back before there
was a society. She keeps everything
because she’s proud of it. That’s how
you get her. Not with what she hides.
With what she saves.
MARIANNE
Take me there.
PAULA
Tomorrow. She’s at the bishop’s
luncheon until two.
Headlights swing across the lot. Both women flinch. A
truck. Just a truck. It parks by the building.
Paula watches it. Watches it too long.
PAULA (CONT’D)
She knows I’m talking.
MARIANNE
You said she was at a luncheon—
PAULA
Not now. In general. She always knows.
(beat)
The way she looked at me Tuesday. It
was the way she looked at Harold.
END OF EPISODE
ACT IV — THE BETRAYAL
Featured role · DENISE'S LIEUTENANT — THE KNIFE
JANICE COLE
CHARACTER PROFILE
Female, 51. If Denise is the smile, Janice is the knife. Twice divorced, estranged adult daughter, believes love is simply another form of leverage. Schedules, expensive handbags, true-crime television, gambling, knowing secrets. Denise found her sleeping in a car. Fearless, practical, efficient; handles “corrections.” Unlike Denise she needs no philosophy — she knows exactly what they are.
The physical threat of the series, but never so obviously criminal that Denise’s deniability collapses early. “Then we close him.” Attacks Paula, walks the framed corridor of Thomas’s warehouse with a hammer in both hands, killing the work lights as she goes: “Two accidents on one job site is a coincidence. Three is an inspection.” Cannot tolerate humiliation, and it is the thing Denise dismisses her for: “too emotional.” Arrested in the finale and left holding the murders.
SIDES
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Episode 26 — "THE JOB SITE"
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OBITUARY
Season One ·Episode 26 — "THE JOB SITE"
EPISODE 26 — “THE JOB SITE”
EXT. REED COMMERCIAL CONSTRUCTION — YARD — DUSK
An industrial road. A fenced yard, a steel-sided warehouse
with REED COMMERCIAL in fading letters over a roll-up door.
The gate’s chain hangs open.
Marianne’s car, engine off, hidden behind a stack of
pallets.
A silver Lexus parked nose-out by the loading bay. Thomas’s
work truck backed up to the roll-up. Staged.
INT. REED COMMERCIAL — WAREHOUSE — CONTINUOUS
Marianne eases through a side door. Concrete. Work lights
on stands, half of them off. Plastic sheeting hangs from
the trusses in long curtains, dividing the space into rooms
that aren’t rooms yet. A partially framed wall. Ladders. A
workbench. Extension cords like veins across the floor.
It’s very quiet.
She moves through a plastic curtain. Then another.
Thomas on the floor against a stack of drywall. Half-
conscious. Jacket on. A hard hat beside him, upside down. A
bandage on his temple, fresh, professional. Someone patched
him so the coroner would see a man who fell and hit his
head.
And around him, arranged: an extension ladder on its side.
A scattering of tools. A half-empty bottle of bourbon, cap
off, tipped so the label reads. A pill organizer, the days
labeled. Every detail from his file, laid out like a still
life.
MARIANNE
(whisper)
Thomas. Thomas, it’s me.
His eyes find her. Take a while to focus.
THOMAS
(thick)
Coffee. Something in the— she made
coffee. I’m so stupid.
MARIANNE
Who?
THOMAS
Janice. In my kitchen. Said Paula sent
her. Said Paula was alive and wanted to
—
He tries to sit up. Can’t.
MARIANNE
Don’t. Can you walk?
THOMAS
Ask me in an hour.
MARIANNE
We don’t have an hour.
She gets his arm over her shoulder. Hauls. He’s dead
weight. They make it four steps.
A CLANG behind them. The roll-up door, coming down. It hits
the concrete like a judge’s gavel. A padlock snaps through
the hasp.
JANICE (O.S.)
Well.
INT. REED COMMERCIAL — WAREHOUSE — CONTINUOUS
Janice steps through a plastic curtain. Work gloves. Safety
vest. Hard hat. Steel-toed boots. She looks absurdly
legitimate. Dressed for the story. In her hand, a framing
hammer.
JANICE
Denise said you’d come. I said you’d
call the police like a normal person. I
owe her twenty dollars.
MARIANNE
The police are on the way.
JANICE
Then I’d better hurry.
She steps in. Marianne lowers Thomas onto the floor. Stands
between.
Janice looks around at her own work. Almost proud.
JANICE (CONT’D)
Fifty-eight. Works too much. Works
alone. Bad knee — that’s in his file.
Blood pressure medication — that’s in
his file. A drink after dark, up a
ladder, nobody to call.
(beat)
Nobody is going to ask why a contractor
fell off a ladder in his own shop.
MARIANNE
You’re building his obituary.
JANICE
Denise wrote it. I’m just framing it.
MARIANNE
You pushed him.
JANICE
I did. I felt his shirt. I felt him go.
Clean. And then his phone rang.
MARIANNE
Paula.
JANICE
Paula. Who couldn’t stand to have him
die without a goodbye. Who called him
from the driveway of her fake sister’s
house, and he grabbed the rail on the
way down like a man reaching for his
wife.
(beat)
Sentiment. It kills more of us than it
saves.
MARIANNE
Is she dead?
JANICE
Paula bleeds like a faucet and runs
like a rabbit. I hit her once. She was
gone before I got the door shut. Took
the boy. I’ll find them after.
Marianne’s hand is in her coat pocket. Her phone. Screen
- Red dot. Recording.
Janice sees it. Smiles for the first time all season.
JANICE (CONT’D)
Oh, honey. You still need it to be on
tape.
She swings the hammer.
Marianne ducks; the hammer punches through drywall where
her head was. She rolls. Thomas, on the floor, grabs
Janice’s ankle. She kicks him off. Easy.
Marianne is up and through the plastic, because there’s
nowhere else.
INT. REED COMMERCIAL — FRAMED CORRIDOR — CONTINUOUS
Stud walls without drywall. A hallway that’s only bones.
Plastic sheeting breathing in a draft. Marianne runs it,
turns, and it dead-ends at a temporary wall — a sheet of
plywood screwed across the framing.
She turns.
At the far end, Janice walks toward her. Unhurried. Hammer
in both hands. Behind Janice, the main work lights go out
one by one as she passes their switches. Click. Click.
Click.
Only the caged emergency lights remain. Yellow. Sick.
JANICE
Two accidents on one job site is a
coincidence. Three is an inspection.
(beat)
Denise already wrote the ending.
Marianne backs up. Her shoulders hit the plywood.
END OF EPISODE
Featured role · MARIANNE'S SISTER
RACHEL LEWIS
CHARACTER PROFILE
Female, 35. Married to Marcus, two children (Nora and Ben). Protective, practical, dismissive of anything she can’t immediately prove; believes her sister’s obsession with the Society is another consequence of the divorce. A surveillance photo of her children appears on Marianne’s windshield in Ep 11; in Ep 23 Denise uses stolen family details to frighten her and her kids without touching them, and Rachel finally believes. Then she finds the guest book. The story’s emotional ground — and, once she’s in, its most vulnerable person.
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Episode 23 — "THE LEVERAGE"
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OBITUARY
Season One ·Episode 23 — "THE LEVERAGE"
EPISODE 23 — “THE LEVERAGE”
INT. MARIANNE’S CAR — NIGHT (MOVING)
Marianne drives like the road owes her something. Phone on
speaker. Ringing. Ringing.
MARIANNE
Pick up. Pick up. Rachel, pick up—
RACHEL (V.O.)
(shaking)
Mari.
MARIANNE
Where are you? Are the kids—
RACHEL (V.O.)
They’re here. They’re in the car. We’re
in the driveway. I can’t — I can’t go
in.
MARIANNE
Why?
RACHEL (V.O.)
Because the porch light’s on and I
turned it off. And the garage door is
open and I closed it. And there’s —
Mari, there’s a newspaper on the front
step and we don’t get the paper.
MARIANNE
Don’t get out of the car. I’m ten
minutes.
EXT. RACHEL’S HOUSE — DRIVEWAY — NIGHT
The minivan, engine running, Rachel’s hands welded to the
wheel. NORA and BEN asleep in the back, thank God.
Marianne pulls in behind it. Gets out. Walks to the porch.
A newspaper. Folded to the obituary page. Rubber-banded.
Marianne slides the band off. Inside, tucked into the fold:
a printout. Nora’s school schedule. Ben’s pediatrician.
Marcus’s flight number home from Dallas. Rachel’s mother-
in-law’s address in Macon.
Every plan Marianne made. Read back to her.
On the obituary page itself, a small red circle. Around
nothing. Around blank newsprint at the bottom of a column,
where the next notice would go.
Rachel is beside her now. Reads it over her shoulder. Her
hand comes up over her mouth.
RACHEL
That’s — that’s my mother-in-law’s —
how do they have—
Marianne takes something from her pocket. Holds it up.
Nora’s face in a plastic fob.
MARIANNE
Where does this hang?
RACHEL
By the back door. Denise has one too.
For emergencies, she said everyone—
She stops. Hears it.
MARIANNE
She’s been in your kitchen, Rachel. She
read the calendar on your fridge. She
didn’t hack anything. You handed her a
key.
RACHEL
(finally, really)
Mari. What is this.
MARIANNE
It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.
Rachel looks at her sister. Sees her, maybe, for the first
time in a year. Nods once. Small and total.
RACHEL
Okay.
MARIANNE
Okay?
RACHEL
Okay. Tell me where to go. I’ll go.
Then something crosses her face. She’s remembering.
RACHEL (CONT’D)
She knew your name.
MARIANNE
What?
RACHEL
The first time I met her. Nora’s school
auction, last spring. She sat down next
to me and inside five minutes she said,
“How’s your sister holding up?” I
hadn’t said I had a sister.
(beat)
I thought it was a small town. I
thought somebody told her.
MARIANNE
Last spring. Before my divorce was even
filed.
RACHEL
Mari. Where did Denise get us?
Marianne looks at the newspaper on the coffee table. The
obituary page. The empty red circle. And it lands.
MARIANNE
Dad.
INT. RACHEL’S HOUSE — HALL CLOSET — CONTINUOUS
Rachel on her knees, pulling a box off the top shelf.
Sympathy cards. A folded flag. A funeral program: their
father. And a GUEST BOOK, cream leather, embossed WHITCOMB
& SONS.
She flips pages. Signatures. Neighbors. Church. Cousins.
Then, halfway down the third page, a neat, familiar hand:
INSERT — GUEST BOOK: “Denise R. Parker —
‘Survived by his daughters.’ What a blessing. —
D.”
RACHEL
She was at Dad’s funeral.
MARIANNE
She read his obituary. “Survived by his
daughters, Marianne and Rachel.” That’s
the whole trick, Rach. That’s how she
found everyone. She found us the exact
same way.
Rachel closes the book. Holds it against her chest.
RACHEL
I’m keeping this.
MARIANNE
Give it to Okafor. Tomorrow. Not me —
her.
RACHEL
Why not you?
MARIANNE
Because I’m the one who’ll want to be
sure first.
INT. RACHEL’S HOUSE — LIVING ROOM — LATER
The kids upstairs, doors locked, Marianne’s insistence.
Rachel checks windows. Marianne’s phone rings. UNKNOWN
NUMBER.
She answers. Says nothing.
DENISE (V.O.)
Is everyone all right? I heard there
was some confusion at Rachel’s.
MARIANNE
You put a newspaper on my sister’s
porch.
DENISE (V.O.)
I put a newspaper on a lot of porches.
It’s a public service.
(beat)
You have something of Paula’s. A little
card. It was hers to keep, and she
chose to give it to you, which was very
Paula.
MARIANNE
Where is she.
DENISE (V.O.)
Somewhere quiet, I’d imagine. Marianne,
I’m going to say this once, because I
respect you, and because I think we
understand each other better than
either of us has admitted.
Rachel watches her sister’s face change.
DENISE (V.O.) (CONT’D)
Bring me the card. Tomorrow. My house.
Alone. And then this is over, and
Rachel goes to Macon, and Nora goes to
the fall recital, and you and I have
dinner and talk like adults about what
you actually want.
MARIANNE
And if I don’t.
A pause. When Denise speaks again, it’s tender.
DENISE (V.O.)
Then I’ll have to think about what to
write.
(beat)
I’ve never written one for a mother of
two. I’d want to get it right.
The line goes dead.
Marianne lowers the phone. Rachel is staring at her.
RACHEL
What did she say?
Marianne looks at the newspaper on the coffee table. The
empty red circle.
MARIANNE
She said she’d write your obituary.
END OF EPISODE
Featured role · COUNTY DETECTIVE
DET. LENA OKAFOR
CHARACTER PROFILE
Black female, 40s. County, plain clothes, tired in the way of someone who has closed too many accidents. Meets Thomas at the hospital in Ep 5 and hears “someone pushed me” without a shred of evidence to act on. Drives ninety miles for Arthur in Ep 13 and arrives to an overdose. Finds the Whitcomb funeral-home pattern herself in Ep 21 — she counts. The one institutional character who is not useless, and it takes her twenty episodes to get there. Steady, unsentimental, quietly relentless.
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Episode 14 — "CLEANUP"
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OBITUARY
Season One ·Episode 14 — "CLEANUP"
EPISODE 14 — “CLEANUP”
INT. COUNTY DETECTIVE’S OFFICE — DAY
Small office. Okafor reads a one-page report while Marianne
sits across from her.
OKAFOR
History of depression. Prior attempt,
two years ago. Same method. Note in his
handwriting. There’s not much here to
work with.
MARIANNE
He told me the prior attempt was
staged. He told me a woman named
Lorraine drugged him for months. He was
going to give me wire transfers—
OKAFOR
Did he?
MARIANNE
He was going to. Today.
Okafor sets the report down. Not unkind.
OKAFOR
Ms. Lewis. I’ll take a statement. I’ll
write your name in this file. But a
dead man’s story, told to you, about a
company you’ve heard of — I need
something I can put in front of a
judge.
MARIANNE
I have a ledger. Photographs.
OKAFOR
Of what?
MARIANNE
(realizing)
Of a notebook. With names and dollar
amounts. In a woman’s house.
OKAFOR
And the notebook?
Marianne says nothing. She hadn’t taken it. She’d needed to
be sure before she stole.
She sets Arthur’s card on the desk. Okafor picks it up.
Reads both sides.
OKAFOR (CONT’D)
A sympathy card from a funeral home.
MARIANNE
In her handwriting. Dated before she
claims she knew him.
OKAFOR
It’s a kind woman being kind at a
funeral. That’s what a defense lawyer
says in one sentence.
(hands it back)
Keep it. Get me something that isn’t in
your head.
INT. FUNERAL HOME — VIEWING ROOM — DAY
A small service. Twelve people. A closed casket. ARTHUR
BELL on an easel.
Front row, in charcoal, dabbing tears: Denise.
Marianne stops in the doorway. Thomas beside her.
THOMAS
(low)
She’s here.
MARIANNE
She’s telling everyone she knew him.
That’s the point. If she’d stayed away,
it would look strange. This way, she’s
just a friend of the family.
Denise rises. Speaks to the room, hand on the casket.
DENISE
Arthur was in so much pain. Some of us
tried. God knows we tried.
She sits. Wipes her eyes. Believes it, or has decided to.
EXT. FUNERAL HOME — PORCH — LATER
Marianne alone. Denise emerges beside her, gloves,
sunglasses.
DENISE
Terrible business. He’d lost his way
for years.
MARIANNE
You knew him well?
DENISE
I know everyone. It’s a small town
wearing a big coat.
She takes off her sunglasses. Studies Marianne.
DENISE (CONT’D)
You drove ninety miles for his service.
That’s loyal. Rachel’s right about you.
MARIANNE
I’d met him once.
DENISE
Once was enough for Arthur. He talked.
Lord, he talked.
She puts the glasses back on. Gentle as a pat on the cheek:
DENISE (CONT’D)
Did Arthur tell you anything useful?
END OF EPISODE
Featured role · THE SURVIVOR BEFORE THOMAS (GUEST)
ARTHUR BELL
CHARACTER PROFILE
Male, 72. A former target who survived an alleged suicide attempt years earlier. Drugged, isolated, pressured to change his will; kept evidence linking Denise to a shell company. Agrees to meet Marianne and warns her: “If Denise learns you found me, I’m dead.” “I’m already dead.” Found dead of an apparent overdose the next morning. Eps 12–13. His Whitcomb & Sons sympathy card outlives him. Frail, sharp, frightened, and right.
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Episode 13 — "THE SURVIVOR"
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See The Character Script
OBITUARY
Season One ·Episode 13 — "THE SURVIVOR"
EPISODE 13 — “THE SURVIVOR”
INT. INTERSTATE DINER — BOOTH — DAY
Vinyl seats. Trucker coffee. ARTHUR BELL (72) sits with his
back to the wall, a ball cap pulled low, a hand that shakes
around his cup. Once a big man. Now a coat on a hanger.
Marianne slides in across from him.
ARTHUR
You weren’t followed.
MARIANNE
I checked.
ARTHUR
You checked. That’s cute.
He looks at her a long moment. Decides.
ARTHUR (CONT’D)
Lorraine. Met her at Ann’s funeral.
Said she’d known Ann from a book club
Ann never went to. Six weeks later
she’s in my kitchen every night. Ten
weeks, my pills are in a plastic box
with the days on it.
MARIANNE
Sound familiar.
ARTHUR
I started sleeping fourteen hours.
Couldn’t hold a thought. My son came
out from Tucson and I couldn’t remember
his wife’s name. Lorraine said it was
grief. The doctor said it was grief.
Everybody agreed but me.
MARIANNE
The will.
ARTHUR
The will, the house, a life policy I
never bought with a beneficiary I’d
never heard of. I signed things. I
don’t remember signing them. I have the
signatures.
He slides a manila envelope across the table. Keeps his
hand on it.
ARTHUR (CONT’D)
The night I “tried to kill myself,” I’d
stopped taking anything she gave me for
four days. Clearest my head had been in
months. I heard her on the phone in the
yard. She said, “He’s not going down.
Send Janice.”
Marianne stops breathing.
ARTHUR (CONT’D)
I woke up in a hospital with a stomach
full of pills I never swallowed and a
note in my handwriting I never wrote.
MARIANNE
Why are you alive?
ARTHUR
Because my son walked in at eleven-
fifteen instead of morning. Luck.
That’s it. That’s the whole system,
honey. It runs on nobody walking in.
He lifts his hand off the envelope.
ARTHUR (CONT’D)
Wire transfers. The policy went through
a company called SECOND CHAPTER
HOLDINGS LLC. Registered agent is a
lawyer named Dale Whitcomb. His only
other client is Denise Parker.
MARIANNE
This is enough. Arthur, this is—
ARTHUR
It’s paper. It’s not enough until
somebody with a badge says it is. Which
they didn’t. Twice.
(beat)
Tomorrow. I’ll give you the originals.
I have to get them from a place.
MARIANNE
Tomorrow.
He reaches into his coat. Takes out a small cream-colored
card, soft at the corners from years in a wallet. Slides it
to her.
INSERT — CARD: A funeral sympathy card. Embossed:
“WHITCOMB & SONS — Funeral Directors, Est. 1961.”
On the back, in a neat, familiar hand: “Arthur —
Ann would want you to let people in. Call me
anytime. — D.”
ARTHUR
She gave me that at Ann’s service.
Before I’d ever met Lorraine. Before
anybody “happened” to sit next to me at
anything.
(beat)
Keep it somewhere she can’t get to.
That’s her handwriting, and that’s the
funeral home, and someday somebody
smarter than me will know why those two
things are on the same card.
Marianne closes her hand around it.
He stands. Drops cash on the table. Looks down at her.
ARTHUR
You’ve got her eyes, you know. The ones
that see too much. She’ll have noticed
that about you first.
EXT. ARTHUR’S RENTAL HOUSE — MORNING
Marianne pulls up. Flashing lights already there. An
AMBULANCE. Neighbors on a lawn.
And, on the porch, out of her county and out of her
jurisdiction, Okafor. Coffee in one hand. Her face says
she’s been here an hour.
MARIANNE
You came.
OKAFOR
You called me last night and said the
words “living witness.” I don’t get
many of those. I drove up at five to
take his statement before you could
coach it.
(beat)
I was twenty minutes late.
Through the open front door, on the kitchen table: an
orange pill bottle on its side. A sheet of paper. A hand
she can’t see, being zipped into a bag.
OKAFOR (CONT’D)
Note’s in his handwriting. Same as two
years ago.
MARIANNE
He told me he didn’t write that one
either.
Okafor looks at her. Says nothing. Which is not the same as
disagreeing.
Arthur Bell is dead.
END OF EPISODE
Featured role · THE ASSIGNED PROSPECT (GUEST)
CHARLES HOLLOWAY
CHARACTER PROFILE
Male, 66. Retired orthodontist, silver-haired, newly widowed (Patricia, 31 years). Marianne watches him get an engineered introduction at his wife’s funeral in Ep 8, and in Ep 15 Denise assigns him to Marianne as a loyalty test — forcing her to run the hunt she’s trying to expose. “Denise told me you’d be coming.” Marianne warns him; he agrees to play along and wears a wire while Brenda works him. His son Greg lands Sunday — the ticking clock. Eps 8, 15–16.
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Episode 16 — "THE WIDOWER"
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OBITUARY
Season One ·Episode 16 — "THE WIDOWER"
EPISODE 16 — “THE WIDOWER”
INT. GRACE CHAPEL — SIDE CHAPEL — CONTINUOUS
Empty pews. Candles. Marianne pulls Charles into the quiet.
MARIANNE
What exactly did she tell you?
CHARLES
That a new member had lost her husband
and might need a friend. That you were
shy. That I should be kind.
(beat)
Same thing Brenda said about herself.
MARIANNE
Charles. I’m divorced. I never lost
anyone. Brenda never sang in a choir.
Brenda’s last husband died of his own
heart pills six weeks after he made her
his beneficiary. I need you to look at
something and I need you not to react.
She hands him a folded page. The profile. His own life
reduced to a sheet.
INSERT — PAGE: “HOLLOWAY, CHARLES — 66. Retired
(orthodontics; practice sold, $3.1M). Church:
Grace Chapel. Son GREG, Chicago, departs Sunday.
Isolation: MEDIUM. Assigned: BRENDA K. — reassign
MARIANNE.”
Charles reads. His face doesn’t move. The paper does.
CHARLES
Where did they get Greg’s flight?
MARIANNE
They get everything. They start with
the obituary.
CHARLES
I wrote that obituary.
MARIANNE
I know.
He reads the page again. Something in it stops him.
CHARLES
“Isolation: medium.”
(beat)
I wrote that Patricia handled
everything. Our home, our books, our
whole life. I wrote it because it was
true and I wanted people to know what
she was.
MARIANNE
That’s how they knew you didn’t handle
the money.
Charles is quiet for a long moment.
CHARLES
I put it in the paper. I wrote my wife
a love letter and they read it as a
listing.
He folds the page. Very small. Puts it in his breast
pocket, over his heart.
CHARLES (CONT’D)
Brenda offered to help. Just for a
while.
MARIANNE
Did you sign anything?
CHARLES
Not yet.
(beat)
What do you need?
MARIANNE
I need you to keep saying “not yet.”
INT. CHARLES HOLLOWAY’S HOUSE — LIVING ROOM — EVENING
Nice house. Photographs of Patricia everywhere. Brenda on
the sofa with a laptop, showing Charles a spreadsheet.
BRENDA
— and if we consolidate these into one
account, it’s just easier. One
statement. One password.
CHARLES
Greg thinks I should wait until he’s
back at Thanksgiving.
BRENDA
Of course. Greg’s protective. That’s
lovely.
Her smile holds. Her eyes do a small arithmetic.
INT. CHARLES’S HOUSE — HALL BATHROOM — CONTINUOUS
Brenda, door locked, phone to her ear. Whispering. Beneath
the sink, taped to the underside, a small VOICE RECORDER
blinks red. Marianne’s. Placed that afternoon.
BRENDA
He’s stalling. The son’s in his ear.
JANICE (V.O.)
Then get it done before the son lands.
I don’t care what it is. Joint account,
a card, anything with two names on it.
BRENDA
He’s not like the others, he asks
questions—
JANICE (V.O.)
They all ask questions. The trick is
answering the small ones so they stop
asking the big one.
(beat)
Brenda. You did Walter in five weeks.
Before Sunday.
BRENDA
And if he won’t—
JANICE (V.O.)
Get the signature.
The recorder’s light blinks. Blinks.
END OF EPISODE
Featured role · THE CLOSER — "THE PILLS"
BRENDA KAYE
CHARACTER PROFILE
Female, 50. The Society’s experienced closer, assigned to Charles Holloway. Warm at the funeral, efficient at the kitchen table, and the one Janice orders to “get the signature” before the son returns. A pill organizer is her instrument. Eps 2, 8–9, 15–16. Should read as an ordinary, likable woman who has done this many times.
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Episode 16 — "THE WIDOWER"
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See The Character Script
OBITUARY
Season One ·Episode 16 — "THE WIDOWER"
EPISODE 16 — “THE WIDOWER”
INT. GRACE CHAPEL — SIDE CHAPEL — CONTINUOUS
Empty pews. Candles. Marianne pulls Charles into the quiet.
MARIANNE
What exactly did she tell you?
CHARLES
That a new member had lost her husband
and might need a friend. That you were
shy. That I should be kind.
(beat)
Same thing Brenda said about herself.
MARIANNE
Charles. I’m divorced. I never lost
anyone. Brenda never sang in a choir.
Brenda’s last husband died of his own
heart pills six weeks after he made her
his beneficiary. I need you to look at
something and I need you not to react.
She hands him a folded page. The profile. His own life
reduced to a sheet.
INSERT — PAGE: “HOLLOWAY, CHARLES — 66. Retired
(orthodontics; practice sold, $3.1M). Church:
Grace Chapel. Son GREG, Chicago, departs Sunday.
Isolation: MEDIUM. Assigned: BRENDA K. — reassign
MARIANNE.”
Charles reads. His face doesn’t move. The paper does.
CHARLES
Where did they get Greg’s flight?
MARIANNE
They get everything. They start with
the obituary.
CHARLES
I wrote that obituary.
MARIANNE
I know.
He reads the page again. Something in it stops him.
CHARLES
“Isolation: medium.”
(beat)
I wrote that Patricia handled
everything. Our home, our books, our
whole life. I wrote it because it was
true and I wanted people to know what
she was.
MARIANNE
That’s how they knew you didn’t handle
the money.
Charles is quiet for a long moment.
CHARLES
I put it in the paper. I wrote my wife
a love letter and they read it as a
listing.
He folds the page. Very small. Puts it in his breast
pocket, over his heart.
CHARLES (CONT’D)
Brenda offered to help. Just for a
while.
MARIANNE
Did you sign anything?
CHARLES
Not yet.
(beat)
What do you need?
MARIANNE
I need you to keep saying “not yet.”
INT. CHARLES HOLLOWAY’S HOUSE — LIVING ROOM — EVENING
Nice house. Photographs of Patricia everywhere. Brenda on
the sofa with a laptop, showing Charles a spreadsheet.
BRENDA
— and if we consolidate these into one
account, it’s just easier. One
statement. One password.
CHARLES
Greg thinks I should wait until he’s
back at Thanksgiving.
BRENDA
Of course. Greg’s protective. That’s
lovely.
Her smile holds. Her eyes do a small arithmetic.
INT. CHARLES’S HOUSE — HALL BATHROOM — CONTINUOUS
Brenda, door locked, phone to her ear. Whispering. Beneath
the sink, taped to the underside, a small VOICE RECORDER
blinks red. Marianne’s. Placed that afternoon.
BRENDA
He’s stalling. The son’s in his ear.
JANICE (V.O.)
Then get it done before the son lands.
I don’t care what it is. Joint account,
a card, anything with two names on it.
BRENDA
He’s not like the others, he asks
questions—
JANICE (V.O.)
They all ask questions. The trick is
answering the small ones so they stop
asking the big one.
(beat)
Brenda. You did Walter in five weeks.
Before Sunday.
BRENDA
And if he won’t—
JANICE (V.O.)
Get the signature.
The recorder’s light blinks. Blinks.
END OF EPISODE