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“Rizzoli & Isles” Subtext Recap (3.12): Say hello to your new captains

A steampunk murder? Fetch me my monocle and combat boots, I need to dress ironically vintage while solving crime! But wait, before we get to that, I need some nonironic coffee. What is this? No coffee? Not even instant? Wait, is this communist Russia after all? The detectives have been called in early, but the truly distressing part is this lack of coffee. Det. Jane Rizzoli simply cannot understand it. No coffee, why don’t you just take away her sarcasm and gun, too. Shall there be nothing left of her? If you take away her Ponytail of Righteous Justice the angels will weep.

Maura helpfully chimes in with suggestions of green tea and Mama Rizzoli has the accompanying mint. Yes, as we all suspected, a conspiracy is afoot. Lt. Cavanaugh is making the homicide squad participate in “Week of Health.” Why it’s not just called “Health Week,” eliminating the need for that pesky preposition is beyond me. But enough about grammar. Dr. Maura Isles’ hand shoot up in participatory excitement as she spouts of statistics about how on average police officers only live two to five years after retiring. You see, Maura is very worried about being able to spend her post-retirement years traveling the world with Jane. How can they enjoy their golden years together if Jane’s dead. Unacceptable. No more coffee.

Maura, Mama R and Jane have all been tapped as “Wellness Captains,” which means they are now glorified food cops. But we all know that really means they’ve finally, officially been named captains of the good ship Gayzzoli. Jane is, obviously, thrilled. But, just in time, there’s murder afoot. Well, right now it looks like a suicide, but we all know better. Jane is actually thrilled now, because it means she can get coffee. But before the dark, rich nectar of the caffeine gods can touch her lips, Frost is stopped in the lobby by a rich man with silver hair and his son, Bradley. We know something is up because snooty fake Roger Sterling gives Frost a $25,000 check made out to a police charity in his name for helping put underprivileged black kid at an exclusive prep school behind bars for murder. Don’t worry, there will be plenty on Subplot B later. At the suicide which we all know is really a murder, Jane asks if the victim is Jules Verne. This gets Maura hot because who doesn’t get hot at 19th Century literary references? Maura adds her own Dickens reference because why have one 19th Century literary reference when you can have two?

The dead guy in the Victorian vest is the famous author of the memoir Suicide Boy, so this predicament really shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. But Maura knows better and says the rope marks on his neck are inconsistent with a suicide, though she won’t outright call it a homicide because making Jane a little frustrated also gets her hot. Also suspicious is the lack of the manuscript for his latest book, which his editor was trying to pick up when she discovered him swinging from the rafters. Though, if I was his editor I’m kill him myself for writing the whole damn thing on a manual typewriter and not keeping a backup.

Back at the Division One Café, Angela is collecting unhealthy snacks at the door. Everyone realizes these are all adults with guns, right? No one is taking away my Cheetos, no one. Maura turns over some breath mints, which Jane is going to wish she still had after they are handed quinoa wraps instead. No fun having secret make out sessions in the morgue with quinoa breath. And just to get the point across about the perils of eating healthy, Jane’s wrap comes with a frownie face. Back to Subplot B, Frost is accosted by yet another person in the lobby, this time the accused killer’s mother. She never believed her son murdered the girl, and deep down in his heart neither does Frost. I can solve Subplot B right here and now for everyone. Bradley did it and framed the school’s only black kid, because of course he did, his name is Bradley and he goes to a prep school. Glad we got that out of the way.

Back in the autopsy room, Maura’s cellphone alert goes off announcing a mandatory meditation break. She threatens to report Jane if she doesn’t, because rules help control the fun. So Jane pulls rank and tells her to drop and give her 50. But mostly this is so she can see Maura’s arm candy, which we all know is honed and lovely and fully capable of changing a tire. Then senior criminalist Susie Chang walks in and ruins everything. I’m going to start calling her Susie Blocker. As we all suspected, Suicide Boy was murdered. And Frost is still upset about his old case. But never mind that because it’s physical activity time and Jane, under the watchful eye of Lt. Cavanaugh, leads everyone in the department in a quick session of jogging in place. Jane Rizzoli and her lustrous black hair — and other stuff — bouncing up and down? All of a sudden I am the world’s biggest supporter of Week of Health. Now that calisthenics are over, Maura is doing her part by meditating. She agrees to look over some Subplot B files for Frost to ease his worries. Meanwhile Jane and Frankie have their own worries. Mama Rizzoli is suddenly growing herbs, inquiring about lip balm and asking if pants make her look fat. Looks like somebody is back in the dating pool.

Blah blah blah, red herring. Blah blah blah, Subplot B. Finally, back at the Isles Estates, Maura is leading Jane in a meditation session. There are candles and tank tops and adoring glances at Maura when Jane should be clearing her mind. Jane asks how much longer and Maura calls her insufferable. The Adorable Bickersons are back! Then Maura tells Jane to quite the chatter in her monkey mind. Listen, lady, if this is some sort of foreplay you’re gonna want to keep Jane’s monkey mind chatting for a little while longer. It’s where she gets all her best ideas, if you know what I mean.

But before our pair can reach nirvana, Mama R comes running, her slip all disheveled, screaming, “He fell!” Mama R tries to shut Jane out as they run to attend to the “he” in question — Lt. Cavanaugh. Jane pulls an “ewwwww” face and asks for someone to retrieve his pants. But no one does, and instead he’s on Maura’s couch in his boxers talking out how he went out to get air and got light headed. Jane is much more worried about how his pants fell off around her mom.

Maura helpfully adds that his dizziness could have been caused by sexual arousal and the sudden rush of blood to his genitals. This causes a sudden rush of Jane’s dinner to come back up her esophagus. Mama R insists they were just making out. With their pants off. This doesn’t help Jane’s queasiness. After they leave, Jane begs Maura to tell her she was asleep and that was all a dream. Which is a perfectly natural thing to ask seeing as she sleeps over at Maura’s place pretty much every night. I don’t see why this has to be awkward. Mama R has no problems living with Maura, even though she’s clearly dating Jane. Everyone is adults here. Now get busy with that monkey mind, people.

The next morning, Lt. Cavanaugh gives Mama R the “let’s be friends” talk within earshot of Frankie. And then being the good son that he is, Frankie offers to punch Cavanaugh’s lights out for her. Point for loyalty, though probably not the best idea for his career advancement. You know things have gotten serious on a case when Jane busts out the Ponytail of Righteous Justice. They track down Suicide Boy’s doctor, who is found dead in a construction site. Could be suicide, but we all know better.

In the autopsy room, Jane and Maura are doing their bicker thing, when Maura gives her yet another fun fact. While police may have a high early death rate after retirement, physicians apparently have the highest suicide rate. OK, you two, am I going to have to put you both on 24-hour watch? Seriously, I want you two to grow old and gray together bickering over the quinoa wraps and monkey minds. Maura begs Jane to meditate with her to “greatly improve the quality of my life.” Aw, see, Maura wants to do the growing old together thing too. Jane asks Maura if she was the kind of girl who asked other girls to go with her to the bathroom in seventh grade. Maura says of course not. Which is true, Maura is the kind of girl who asks her girlfriend to go to the bathroom with her now. And then pulls out a shaving kit.

As the detectives puzzle over Suicide Boy and Subplot B cases, Korsak gets a text from Angela imploring him to come to the cafeteria and not tell Jane. Maybe this is seventh grade after all. Mama R asks him for dating advice about Cavanaugh. Turns out he lost his wife and baby son in a fire years ago. But then Susie Blocker shows up to break up the emotional moment.

And then comes the moment in the episode when everything comes together. I can only assume it is with the help of one H.G. Wells because he walks in with a grappling hook which helps crack the case. The sticky substance on both murder victims was also found in the murdered woman’s room in Subplot B. Meaning the killer was an experienced climber. And, shazaam, everything is Mainplot A because Bradley, the rich kid, was an experienced climber and yadda yadda yadda. Case pretty much solved.

But why would richie Bradley kill the girl, the steampunk and the doctor? Because the steampunk was going to reveal that Bradley confessed to killing his ex-girlfriend in a fit of jealous rage and the doctor was a loose end to be tied up. And the check fake Roger Sterling gave Frost is the same kind they found a piece of in the dead doctor’s hand. Busted, 1 percenters.

Three murders solved, an innocent man freed — that deserves a round of drinks at the Dirty Robber, right? Of course it does. Jane, Maura, Frost and Korsak sit down for a couple of cold ones. And as Maura passes around the frosty mugs a red wine appears. She’s all, but I didn’t order red wine. I ordered a brewski because, man, is my tomboy detective girlfriend rubbing off on me. But seems the rubbing, off and otherwise, goes both ways. Because Jane ordered the red wine. She says it’s because Maura always says the reversitol in red wine is good for one’s health. And then Maura swings her head around all, ‘Aw, baby. You actually listen to me? Forget this meditation crap, you’re totally getting laid tonight.” The eye sex doesn’t lie. Go monkey minds, go. And now, let’s all raise a glass of wine or beer or whatever your girlfriend usually drinks and and enjoy your #gayzzoli tweets of the week.

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