iZombie

Previously on iZombie...

what are you?

There are zombies in the world, Peyton.

And I'm one of them.

Once Super Max hits shelves, you'll be untouchable.

Assuming we're not mid-zombie apocalypse.

Our surveillance has paid off.

Hey, roomie. - We've solved the zombie problem.

And how's that?

We've located the instrument of their destruction.

So I showed up to train a new client today, and he was a zombie.

I knew. My hair stood on end.

Those 322 people are suspected zombies.

You want me to kill them? - Yes.

You've got the wrong man for the job.

We do know of one zombie, Liv Moore.

I've got you over a barrel, big guy.

Utopium. We need to get more of this.

Major? It's me. - Kinda busy.

Remember at the Botox party,

how she was going around behind my back,

telling everyone I was a bitch?

So I called her on it.

Today at lunch. Ha! She flat-out denied it. Can you believe it?

Oh, my God! What did you do?

I threw my drink in her face and I walked out.

I mean, I love that woman, but she is just too much drama.

Hold on, sweetie.

Hi. I'm Alex Towne, with Montlake Realty.

Are you the owner?

Because I have a client who is looking for a home just like this.

I'm sorry, Mr. Towne, my husband and I aren't looking to sell.

That's too bad.

For the right property,

my client is willing to make an all-cash offer of $10 million.

May I see the view?

Spectacular, isn't it? And private.

Which is rare, even in this neighbor...

Taylor, honey? Hello?

Did he say 10 million?

She must have taken quite a fall.

The other implant burst on impact.

German. Top of the line.

DOA's name is Taylor Fowler, age 38.

Wife number two of Terrence Fowler.

He started the warehouse liquor chain Booze of the World.

Taylor married well.

And died hard.

The fall fractured her C3 and C4 cervical vertebrae,

resulting in spinal shock.

Pretty amazing the guy she took down with her is still alive.

Technically. He's in a coma.

The hospital's not optimistic he'll ever come out of it.

What?

Carpal tunnel. Sorry.

I also learned our coma guy's name is not Alex Towne,

realtor, despite the business card we found in his front pocket.

He's Joe Fricano, a small-time mope with a history of larceny.

Hmm. A thief posing as a realtor. Seems like a lateral move.

Unless he was trying to case a house from the inside.

We found a printout of Taylor's Facebook page

with a profile photo in Joe's pocket.

He wrote her Pilates schedule on it.

I think we're looking at a murder-for-hire.

All we have to do is figure out who did the hiring.

If only contract killers filed W-4s.

It's the spouse.

We know that's your default theory.

I'm trying to bring him in for an interview,

but Terrence Fowler is a very busy man

with a very fancy lawyer.

While he tries to find a mutually agreeable time,

I've got the real Alex Towne coming in later.

Want to see if that sparks anything?

Sure.

Hey, later-later, like Friday,

I was thinking we could all

grab a drink after work, maybe get a bite to eat?

I mean, if you guys are free.

It's just been a while since we got together.

Friday's tricky, yeah.

I've been seeing Stephanie.

You know, the girl I met at the club.

Been seeing a lot of her, actually.

She's trying to get Friday night off work

so she can fix me a home-cooked meal.

Turns out, right,

she's got this whole Martha Stewart side to her.

Which, combined with her raw honesty

and lack of intellectual pretense

is giving me a sense of emotional intimacy

I've not felt in a long time, you know?

Can't. Busy.

God, I thought he'd never shut up.

Moving on to your more immediate dining plans...

I've never had a lady-who-lunches for lunch.

She looks as tasty as she was tasteful.

Shouldn't you be working on something

other than your pectoralis majors, Major?

You just missed my lower body circuit.

You know what? I think of you every time I squat.

Oh, you mean the list.

Don't worry, I'm on it.

I crossed another name off this morning.

Not a zombie? - Not a zombie.

Just a normal human being.

I'm allowed to not kill those, right?

You're cute.

But Vaughn Du Clark expects results.

Does a patient man invent an energy drink?

I'd be happy to let him take over the zombie eradication detail.

Just say the word.

Let me tell you a story.

When we first came up with the Suspected Zombie List,

Vaughn's idea was to send them all letters,

zombies and non-zombies alike,

informing them they'd won an all-expense-paid Hawaiian cruise.

And then scuttle the ship in the middle of the Pacific.

Your work,

distasteful as you find it,

saves lives.

Move too slow, he'll happily revisit plan B.

To think that some criminal would use my card

and my reputation as a specialist in luxury properties...

He probably picked it up at one of your open houses.

Well, I host four or five of them each weekend.

I'm happy to help.

But I doubt I'll be able to remember one looky-loo.

Liv, anything you want to ask?

Yes.

Your bag. Is it a Stella?

Timeless, isn't it? - I can't even...

I wasn't sure if it would be appropriate for a police interview.

It's perfect.

It's businesslike, but with an informality

that says, I am not a suspect.

Here's our killer.

He's the one who used your card. You recognize him?

Actually, I do.

He came to my showing of a Mercer Island contemporary.

Oh, 4,000 square feet.

Chef's kitchen.

Great flow.

I found him poking around in a night stand in the master bedroom

and I asked him to leave.

Any idea what was he looking for?

A souvenir, I assumed.

The owner is one of Seattle's most eligible bachelors.

Vaughn Du Clark.

Max Rager CEO, Vaughn Du Clark?

He's Seattle's most eligible bachelor?

You need to rethink your ranking.

Just hearing his name makes me need a full body detox wrap

and an ear canal flush.

Once more around the park, James? No?

Let me out, please!

I won't press charges!

Just take me to an ATM!

I'll give you as much as you want! Please!

Don't hurt me. Don't hurt my dog.

I never saw your face.

I can't identify you, I promise.

Let me out!

I'm confused. Is this the Seattle morgue or a Milan catwalk?

You like?

It's my roommate's.

I literally had nothing to wear

until she gave me a free pass to raid her closet.

I thought this was a good look for work

because I wear this dress like someone's paying me to.

Oh, as do I with this.

Ready to go hang Vaughn Du Clark's ass

from the highest tree?

When rich wives get killed, it's either about money or sex.

Vaughn has no motive.

That we know of, yet.

Don't forget he offed a reporter

who dug too deep into Max Rager business.

We couldn't prove that. - Prove-schmove.

Arranging a murder is well within his skill set.

You know it. I know it.

I know it. - It's known.

The spouse is still our number one suspect.

Terrence agreed to come in later for an interview.

It turns out he sits on the Max Rager board, so maybe...

Are you kidding with this? The Max Rager board.

Hello? That's our Taylor-Vaughn connection.

Vaughn's our guy.

What I was going to say is,

maybe Vaughn can tell us something that'll incriminate Terrence.

You ever think about a pocket square,

a little splash of color?

Every time I get dressed.

Of course I knew Taylor.

Terrence brought her to board functions from time to time.

The woman was a real hoot, let me tell ya.

Always keeping waiters on their toes, always getting her way.

You know what would be great? If I could get a sparkling water

with a little lime, s'il vous plait.

Thank you.