"Gee Mr. Lizard," the eager young dinosaur in the striped shirt on the TV screen said, "How is this nuclear pile supposed to work?"

"Why don't you experiment to find out, Timmy?" said the dinosaur in the lab coat hovering over him, "In the meantime, I'll stand behind this protective lead shield."

He stepped behind it as Timmy pulled a couple of control rods from the pile…and was promptly blown to bits by a huge nuclear reaction. Once it was over, Mr. Lizard stuck his head out, examined the mess before him, turned to the camera, and said with just a tinge of sadism, "We're going to need another Timmy!"

On the floor, Fozzie broke up into laughter. "I just love this show!" he confided in the large green dinosaur in the red plaid shirt seated on the couch behind him, "I watch it every chance I get. I hope to use some of the experiments here as jokes."

"It would be better than the rest of your acts," the elderly female dinosaur in the motorized wheelchair cracked as she rode by, "I've been down at the theater a lot; you haven't gotten any better at all lately."

Fozzie looked insulted. Sam walked out of the kitchen, a sandwich and soda can in hand. "Thanks again for letting us stay here, Earl," he told the dinosaur on the sofa.

"It was the least I could do for Kermit," Earl Sinclair patted the frog on the back, "He got us such a high-profile TV job in the first place."

"I still think we should have gone to a movie theater," Gonzo commented from the kitchen.

"What good would a movie theater be?" Robbie Sinclair argued over a slurp of soda, "There's hundreds of people in there."

"Yeah, but I just have this gut feeling we should be in a movie theater," the whatever said.

Sam, meanwhile, wasn't paying attention to anyone. He was keeping watch over the window. No one was aware of their presence in the Sinclair house, and he intended for it to stay that way. Technically the Sinclairs weren't eligible to be living in the jungle section of the city, but local authorities had granted special permits. They were still forced to more or less keep their identities secret, though, which was the reason a robotic human slid by the window on a track, saying, "I love your suit today, honey." Sam was rather annoyed by these, but he knew they were essential to the ruse.

There was a knock on the door at that moment. Drawing his gun, he threw himself flat against it. "Nine, nine, nine, let's sing a song of nine," he spoke up the first line of the password.

"How many is nine?" came Scooter's voice.

"Nine noodles," Sam added his next line.

"Nine nails."

"Nine lights."

"Nine mice."

"Nine quarters."

"Nine…uh…WHHHOOOOOOOOOOAAAAA!" Scooter fell down the front steps.

"Close enough," Sam unlocked the door and let him in. "Here's the fly omelet platter you ordered, Kermit," Scooter handed it to the frog.

"They even added the lily pad sauce," Kermit licked his lips in delight, "Thanks Scooter, good work."

"That's why you hired me as a gofer," Scooter said with pride.

"And because his uncle owned the theater," Rizzo snorted from the coffee table. Scooter paid no attention. "Hey little guy," he bent down and made a big false grin at the Baby in Earl's lap, "You know who I am?"

"Not the mamma!" the Baby hit him over the head with a frying pan that just happened to be nearby. "Ask a dumb question," a dazed Scooter groaned as he staggered away.

"Nothing for me?" Earl leafed through the bag that had contained Kermit's dinner, a disappointed look on his face.

"Earl, you know I'm making dinner in just a half hour," Fran took the bag out of his hand and shook a finger at him, "If you'll just wait a little longer…"

"Oh boy, here we go again!" the Baby pointed at the screen. Mr. Lizard now had the latest "Timmy" strapped to a large ICBM missile. "You'll be able to judge the schematics of aeronautics when I push this button, Timmy," he told his young attendee, "Ready?"

"Ready, Mr. Lizard!" Timmy said enthusiastically. Mr. Lizard pressed the launch button, and the missile took off—only to immediately lurch around and fall straight into the ground, exploding in a massive fireball.

"Say it!" Fozzie and the Baby yelled excitedly at the screen.

"We're going to need another Timmy!" Mr. Lizard said at the camera right on cue. "Wokka wokka wokka!" Fozzie hit himself in the head with his hat, "Now this is a reality show I like! How about you, Detective Klubb?"

He turned to the detective, who had been watching the program, but hadn't cracked the smallest smile. "Boy, you're a really tough nut to crack," the bear mused, "Wait, I know."

He ran into the kitchen. "Let me have one of those old pies, Fran," he could be heard asking the Sinclair matriarch. Running back in with an expired whipped cream pie, he abruptly threw it in Sam's face. "If that doesn't make you laugh, nothing will," he said with conviction. Instead of laughing, however, Sam grabbed him by the necktie again. "Are you trying to get me to consider choking you to death?" he warned Fozzie.

"Uh, would you prefer if I used a lemon meringue?" Fozzie asked weakly.

"Uh, Fozzie, how about I talk things over with Detective Klubb?" Kermit interceded. Taking Sam's hand, he led him toward the broom closet and knocked on the door. "Mind if we take up the closet for a little bit, Charlene?" he called in, "You have had it for a half hour or so."

There was a sigh as the Sinclair's daughter reluctantly opened the door. "I knew I'd get no privacy with guests here!" she said to herself as she walked out, phone in hand.

"You can have it back when we're done," Kermit told her. Closing the door behind him, he told Sam in the dim light, "So, something's got to be bothering you to make so burned out and nihilistic toward us."

"And you really think I'm going to tell you?" Sam said.

"Well, call me loco, but I just think that people can ease any pain if they bring out what's bothering them," Kermit said.

Sam sighed, having the distinct feeling Kermit was going to keep him there until he brought it out. "OK, if you really want to know, a Muppet killed my family," he said, pain in his voice at the unpleasant memories, "About four years ago, we were investigating the big robbery at the Muppetville Last National Bank. It was some big evil Muppet, the one that had murdered Mr. Hooper. He was so powerful he took the entire bank with him, so he was easy to follow. But we didn't know that was what he wanted us to do. He lured us to the business district, then dropped a giant boulder on us from thirty stories. Broke just about every bone in my body. I was just conscious enough to watch him laughing at us with each of his two heads. I'll never forget him, with those burning red eyes, those flapping wings, and that sick laugh. Then I passed out. When I woke up I learned Dad and Kate died instantly, and Jimmy went in the operating room. I crawled into the soda bottles and I've stayed there ever since."

"They never caught the guy, did they?" Kermit asked, a horrific look on his face at the thought of one of his fellow Muppets committing such cold-blooded murder.

"Nope," Sam shook his head, "Nobody's heard from him since then. I keep petitioning the cops to keep up the watch for them, but they've considered it a cold case for years now." He sighed deeply. "There was once a time I enjoyed working Muppetville, but that jerk ruined every chance of that."

"Now don't say never," Kermit put a sympathetic hand on the detective's shoulder, "You can't blame all the Muppets for an act of one, Detective Klubb. Sure, there are some that are anarchical…well, actually, most of us are…but there's as many good ones out there as bad. That's what Jim always said, to believe in the better part of humanity. You can't look at the bad, or you'll be consumed by it."

"Do you just happen to model every facet of your life after everything Henson said?" Sam had to ask.

"As a matter of fact yes," Kermit said, a look of high reverence on his face for his former boss, "Jim was the exact model for my life. I owe a lot to him. He cared for me and everyone else like we were his own children."

"Ah, give me a break," snorted Grandma Ethyl, who had apparently been eavesdropping outside. Kermit frowned. "But anyway," he told Sam, "I owe it to Jim to find that will by tonight. If not, it'll be the end of everything he tried to build."

"Well, I'm on your side now, Kermit, but I don't know where else to start," Sam admitted, "There's no more leads I can see."

There was a hard knocking on the closet door. "Are you done yet?" Charlene sounded rather impatient.

"Yeah, yeah, it's all yours again," Sam opened the door and let her back in.

"Dinner's ready," Fran walked out of the kitchen with a tray of food for everyone else, "Who asked for the fried cheesecake?"

"That's me," Rizzo grabbed it and began eagerly devouring it.

"Six o'clock, kids," one of the fake human robots looked up at the clock, "Time for the evening news."

The fake robotic kids cheered. "You know, this is a really dumb system," Sam couldn't help confiding in Earl as he turned to Channel 10 and the news.

"It works for me," Earl shrugged between bites of a steak sandwich, the meat of which didn't look at all cooked to Sam. "Seventy million years of evolution, and the brain power…" he muttered under his breath.

"Hey, I love this show," Gonzo pointed at the promo for Tricera-Cops on the screen, "Freeze!" one of the titular characters was yelling at a suspect on the screen, "Up with the hands, buddy!"

'I can't! I'm a brontosaurus!" the suspect protested. The other Tricera-Cop produced a bazooka and blew the brontosaurus away. "Yeesh," Kermit grimaced at the sight, "I swear, TV's just getting more and more violent these days."

"Compared to the things you used to do?" Grandma Ethyl inquired.

"Shhh!" Sam hissed as the news started. "Good evening fellow dinosaurs, I'm John Fossil," the stegosaurus anchor told the viewing public, "Tonight's top story, accused murderer Kermit the Frog is still at large tonight. Muppetville High Judge Lord Jareth has upped the bounty for the alleged killer of Rachel Bitterman to five billion dollars. If you have any information as to his whereabouts, please call 1-800-SQUEALER; all calls are not confidential."

"He's really getting desperate," Robbie commented, leaning over the sofa, "Ever he doesn't have that much money."

"Nope," Earl agreed with his son, "Mr. Richfield was ranked five slots ahead of him on the latest Forbes 5,000,000,000 list of…"

"Quiet!" Sam held up his hand. John Fossil was relating the next piece of news, "…Fred Golderman, chairman of Golderman pictures, has placed a formal bid for the Bitterman empire. Golderman, whose latest Frogbo picture is reported as being in financial and creative trouble, is rumored to be heavily in debt from gambling bills incurred during…"

"That's it!" Sam snapped his fingers, "That's his motive!"

He grabbed his coat. "I'm going to have a talk with our friend Golderman," he announced to everyone, "Keep an eye on Kermit while I'm…wait, on second thought, Kermit better come with me."

"Why?" Kermit had to inquire.

"I'd like to know for sure you'll be safe," Sam told him.

"You don't trust anyone?" Kermit gestured at the Sinclairs, "Detective Klubb, if you want to start living again, you're going to have to accept that you can trust people."

"Normally, I would, Kermit, but with circumstances being what they are, I'd rather play it safe," Sam scooped him up.

"So I guess we stay here, then?" Scooter asked, walking out of the kitchen with a large icepack of his forehead where the Baby had struck him.

"Yes. While I'm gone, Earl," Sam looked the dinosaur right in the eye, "Do not, under ANY circumstances, let anyone in. I want this place to stay an option until Kermit's cleared, got it?"

"Got it," Earl gave Sam a powerful high five that sent the detective sprawling. "He fall for you, Daddy," the Baby laughed at his father.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Sam picked himself up and left with Kermit firmly in hand. Everyone left turned back to the news. "I want the TV at eight," Fozzie announced to Earl, "I never miss Mr. Ugh..."