Dolores Claiborne

No, Dolores!

Leave me be!

Let go of me!

Let go of me, Dolores!

Let me go!

Please, Dolores.

Got a certified letter here.

Never believe what happened

down at the dock.

Dolores Claiborne, what the hell are you...

Oh, my God.

What have you done?

Put it down. Do you hear me?

Just put it down.

Jesus, Dolores.

Oh, God.

Oh, my God.

You killed her.

-So you lose the picture.

-Not happening.

It's half a page.

I'll let you write the caption.

-Come on, Peter. It's crucial.

-It's salad.

I'm setting up the whole campaign.

It's a better piece without it.

You already said it was brilliant.

I said it was wonderful.

-There's a difference?

-Yeah.

Half a page.

Fine.

I only left it in so you'd cut it out anyway.

I'm ready for Arizona.

You should see what I have

for the malpractice piece.

-The surgeon's ex-wife...

-Wait a minute.

Had her on the phone

for 20 minutes last night.

-I haven't assigned you that story.

-You will.

Slow down.

Come on, Peter. There's a book here.

I deserve this.

Why does every story have to be do or die

with you?

You're not the only writer here, okay?

I've got a dozen people out there

to keep happy. You know that.

Great.

So now you're not only not fucking me

anymore, you're fucking me.

What is it, Helen?

There's a fax here for Selena.

From Phoenix?

No, it's a clipping

from the Bangor Daily News.

'"Socialite Dead,

Housekeeper Held for Questioning.

-'"Mrs. Dolores St. George of...'"

-Where's the cover sheet?

Fax?

Forget it.

They're hardly out of the 19th century

up here.

Are you kidding?

No, there's no motel. One restaurant.

They've got me sleeping

on a cot in the town hall.

Tell him to relax. This is no vacation.

I'll be back on the mainland

as soon as I wrap this up.

-Can I help you?

-Yes. I'm looking for Dolores Claiborne.

And you are?

I'm her daughter.

I'm John Mackey.

-Detective, Maine State Police.

-Hello.

Would you please call

Constable Stamshaw?

-Get him to come right out.

-Yes, sir.

I'm sorry.

No smoking. Public building.

We've met before, Miss St. George.

Have we?

You were about 13.

What year was that, the eclipse?

Must have been, what, '75?

I was the investigator...

...when your father died.

We met at the hearing.

What's up, John?

Miss St. George is here.

Selena?

Oh, my gravy.

Frank Stamshaw.

Marshall's brother.

-Right.

-Jonesport High.

-Of course. How are you?

-It's been quite a while, I guess.

Certainly has.

To be honest,

I'm surprised to see you here.

Your mom's been pretty firm

about us not trying to contact you.

-I didn't know Dolores made any calls.

-She didn't call.

I saw the Bangor paper.

It was faxed to my office.

And where's that?

I came up from New York.

Look, is she here or not?

-Yeah. She's right upstairs.

-Thank you.

But...

John?

Is she under arrest?

Technically, no.

Detective Mackey came last night,

and we're just starting.

On what?

We've scheduled an inquest

for Monday morning.

We'll sort things out over the weekend.

If she's not under arrest

why is she in custody?

Right, okay. Vera Donovan is dead.

There's an autopsy in Machais

this morning.

And, you know...

...she died from a fall.

Your mother was the only person

with Mrs. Donovan at the time.

That was her job, wasn't it?

I'm afraid, Miss St. George...

...there's a little more to this

than what you may have read in the paper.

What are you doing?

Straightening up this friggin' mess,

is what I'm doing.

Gorry, but this place is a dump.

Jesus. You're a suspect, you're not a maid.

Just leave that be.

There's someone to see you here.

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