This is not a drill, people. Not a drill. Det. Jane Rizzoli is wearing a skirt. I repeat, Det. Jane Rizzoli is wearing a skirt. Brace yourselves, we have exposed knees. There are smelling salts in the back for anyone who was stricken with the vapors.
But it’s not women who have gone hysterical at the sight of Jane in her pencil skirt and silky blouse. Frost and Korsak both are in need of the fainting couch as Jane comes in dressed for court. Men, such slaves to their fragile emotions.
Frost tells Jane she won’t even have to testify in court if she shows the judge her knees. Jane looks back with a smile and says, “The judge is a woman. She won’t even have to see my knees. I’ll just say ‘Your honor’ from another room and, boom, case closed.’” Please, like Jane doesn’t know the effect her voice has on gay ladies.
Speaking of gay ladies, back at the Isles Estates Maura is missing one slinky pencil skirt from her closet. You know Jane borrowed that skirt. Sharing clothes is one of the Top 3 perks of being a lesbian. The other perks being the amount of money saved on never having to buy birth control and, of course, other ladies.
Hope arrives at Maura’s doorstep with coffee. Like, not in a cup all warm and ready to drink or anything, but two bags of coffee beans. I hope those are magic beans because last time we saw her weren’t she and Maura on some shaky ground. Something about her accepting Paddy’s drug money to open her medical clinics. But, hey, who hasn’t heard of the magical healing power of coffee beans.
Luckily Maura already has espresso brewing in some fancy contraption I can’t spell and won’t bother to Google. These recaps take time. I can’t go and research every complicated thing that comes out of Maura’s mouth. I’d never get past the first five minutes.
Fine, fine, it’s a La Pavoni machine made by a company founded in 1905 by Desiderio Pavoni. Jesus, now I get what Jane keeps saying about being with the human Wikipedia. But the Wikipedia apple didn’t fall far from the Britannica tree as Maura and Hope exchange obscure factoids about espresso. They then lament Cailin’s unrefined love of goopy syrups. It’s like she was raised by Appalachian hill folk.
Maura claims she loved corn syrup as a child, but no one believes it. We all know she has been drinking Perrier from a straw since kindergarten. Hope says she wishes that she knew little Maura, and that big Maura knew old Paddy. Hope says he was thoughtful, smart and unbelievably kind – except, you know, for all the murdering. Maura stares wistfully at the drawing her biological mobster dad drew of her biological grieving mother over her supposed infant grave. As far as wall art goes, I suppose it’s better than hanging an M.C. Escher reprint, but no less confusing.
Maura admits that sometimes she can see that kind, thoughtful, smart man when Paddy looks at her. Then promptly burns herself on her La Pavoni as penance for saying such a thing about a man who has no problem blowing up women and children so he can get a better price on the street for his cocaine. I’m sorry, did I jump ahead in the story? Whoops, when there’s a crime plotline I actually care about I get a little excited.
Where were we? Oh, Maura burned herself. Hope goes into instant mothering/doctor mode and pulls out some hemostatic trauma gauze she happens to be carrying in her purse. I think my mom has mints and a nail file in her purse, so that seems normal. Maura questions her mother about Paddy. Hope says she won’t go to his trial and won’t talk about that $2.5 million he gave her to start her little international aid organization.