Blind Spots

Mags and Amy follow a thread that leads somewhere they weren’t expecting — into the quiet spaces where Avalon Falls keeps its older stories.

As the girls piece together what the past might be trying to say, the present keeps pressing in. Old alliances shift. New ones arrive. And some people see opportunity where others see danger.

Because in Avalon Falls, the truth rarely hides in darkness.

Most of the time, it’s standing right in front of you.

You just have to notice what everyone else has learned not to see.

Transcript

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Murder Girls is created, written, and produced by Eternal Teenager. Content Warning. This episode contains discussion of murder and an ongoing homicide investigation, themes of institutional corruption and obstruction of justice, alcohol and marijuana use, breaking and entering, references to past physical assault and medical trauma, seizure, disorders, and prescription medication, surveillance and covert monitoring, human remains and disturbing imagery, suspicious death and possible homicide, coercive threats and blackmail, and profanity throughout. The episode also explores themes of grief, loss, emotional manipulation, abandonment, and the long-term effects of growing up in a small town that lies to you. Listener discretion is advised.

Murder Girls, episode 24, Blind Spots.

Amy's still asleep when I leave the shop, which is good, she needs it. Also, because Amy before coffee becomes what medical science calls a situation. So I go to Lula's, because if you're going to start the week with existential dread and unsolved homicide, you should at least do it with a delicious breakfast. Lula's does a breakfast burrito that I'm going to miss when this is all over. Egg, chorizo, charred poblanos, the perfect amount of coutija. The kind of thing that makes you feel like at least some things in the world are structurally sound. I got two for us. And I got Amy fried chicken and Jojo's because, well, Amy. I also got churros for the same reason. Also, and of course, I got coffee. Like a box of coffee. Don't judge. With this morning's fetch quest complete, I headed back to Lucens.

Good morning, Marguerite.

Hello, Sheriff.

I was hoping I'd run into you here. It's nothing to be alarmed about. You know, just following up on the break-in here. If you've got a few minutes.

Sure, come in. He's in plain clothes, not uniform, which means this is unofficial, which means I should probably pay more attention than I normally would to a man asking to follow up on a break-in. Were you following me?

No, I was waiting.

That's only slightly less unsettling. Are you here to arrest me?

What? No, I actually wanted to follow up about the break-in.

Okay, then. You want coffee?

No, thank you. No forced entry?

He picked the lock.

Then came in and fell?

Uh, yes, yeah. That's how it happened, as I mentioned.

You two all right?

We've had better weeks.

Yep, same.

Anything new on the break-in from your end?

Not yet. The suspect remains in custody. He's not talking. You, uh, you ever get the feeling something's moving faster than it should?

Constantly.

I'm gonna say something I probably shouldn't.

Oh, well, that's always a promising start.

And before I do, I want to be very clear about something. This conversation didn't happen.

Uh, okay.

And if anyone asks, I came here to follow up on the break-in.

You did come here to follow up on the break-in.

Right. Look, the truth is, I'm being pressured to make another arrest.

Nora Chen.

I'm not confirming that, but-

You don't think she did it.

I'm not saying that.

You're saying you're not sure.

I'm saying the people telling me she did it are the same people who don't want me looking anywhere else.

The Holtz. That's not great.

Not confirming or denying that. But these people, I've known them a long time. They're powerful. They're careful. But right now, they're acting strange.

How so?

Walls. In places where there shouldn't be walls. Questions that should have easy answers. But don't. It shouldn't be this difficult to get the family of a murder victim to cooperate in the investigation.

You don't like Nora for this?

I don't like the evidence we have at the moment. It's circumstantial. All of it.

Like what?

I shouldn't be telling you any of this. But the truth is, you and Amy seem to notice things. And right now, I can't look everywhere I'd like to.

And you want us to look where you can't, but would like to.

I didn't say that. I'm not asking you to do anything.

But if we did, hypothetically.

Hypothetically?

Yes, hypothetically.

I would know nothing about it.

I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to answer it honestly.

Okay.

Lily Siyaya, you charged her. You put her in a cell. And when she wasn't, you had her sitting in an interrogation room while the people who actually had something to hide were at home. So why should I trust you? Why should I believe that this is you trying to do the right thing and not you trying to manage another outcome that benefits someone it shouldn't?

That's fair. I charged Lily Siyaya because I had pressure from above and evidence that looked clean, and I made a call I shouldn't have made. And when it was shown that I was wrong, I wore every bit of it. Look, I'm not telling you that makes it okay. I'm telling you that's what happened and that I've been living with it since. If you don't trust me, I understand that. You don't have to. But I'm not here to manage anything. I'm here because I'm being asked to do the same thing again and I'm not willing to do it.

Okay, so if someone were to hypothetically be looking into this from a different angle, what would that look like?

Hypothetically?

Yes, hypothetically.

Hypothetically, it might start with Richard Holt.

Whoa, okay, going right to the top. Doesn't he have an alibi?

He does. He says he was at the Lodge the night of Dylan's murder.

And?

Several people confirm it, including Randolph Bergman. But their stories don't line up the way they should.

How so?

The staff all say he was there, but their statements contradict each other in ways that are small enough to overlook if you want to overlook them.

And you don't want to do that.

Then there's the Lodge's valet log. There's no record of his car being there. When I asked him about it, he produced a gas receipt. Said he filled up on the way. It's for the station on the Ridgeline, 1047 PM.

Ridgeline. So something near the Lodge?

Yes. Then told me any further questions go through his lawyers. Plural.

Certainly inspires confidence.

Then there's Thomas. You heard that speech he gave at the funeral, right?

Didn't feel like a eulogy.

Thomas and I played lacrosse against each other in high school.

You played lacrosse?

Bearview High.

Uh, Bears?

Otters.

Oh, uh, weird.

It is what it is. Thomas played for the Wolves. Cedarbrook High.

What?

Yeah.

Thomas Holt, he played for the Cedarbrook High Wolves?

He did.

Why Cedarbrook? Why not Avalon Falls? Or like for some private school on the East Coast or something like that?

No idea. Kind of wish he did. He was a machine. Set county records.

Doesn't seem like the spotlight type.

He wasn't. Still isn't. To that point, though, he's usually cold as ice. But something is off about him.

Right.

Then there's Nora.

The missing girlfriend. The Holt's big suspect.

Right. She reported her gun stolen from the Cedar Brook Gun Club a week before Dylan was killed. Same model as the weapon used in the murder.

That's unfortunate. How's the robbery look?

Clean. Too clean. Either a professional job, which is weird, or it's what everyone suspects she did it.

Cedar Brook Gun Club. New location. New crime scene. And places usually have people, cameras, and someone who forgot to lock a door.

She agreed to come in for an interview. Then she changed her mind. Then she disappeared.

And the Holtz want you to arrest her.

They want the case closed, not necessarily solved.

You don't like it.

Disappearing like that when she did that suspicious behavior, that's suspect behavior. But we don't have any evidence that's a lock, so no, I don't like it.

What about the old man?

Victor? Victor says he and Thomas were together the night Dylan died, watching the game. They're each other's alibis, which normally would be fine, but it's not sitting well with me.

At Holt Manor?

Nope. They were at Victor's hunting lodge at the edge of the Holtwood.

Ah, right, the cabin that is 5,000 square feet.

He's been spending most of his time there lately, which is unusual, but not illegal.

And what about Amber Holt? She wasn't at the funeral, that's...

Suspicious?

Well, yeah.

It is, but the Holt say she's traveling.

Convenient.

Sure, but turns out she is traveling. We checked with TFSA and she left the country on Thursday morning. Headed to Mexico.

Super suspicious. Okay, so the Holt's are acting weird, but you're still supposed to arrest Nora Chen.

I shouldn't be telling you any of this.

You mentioned that.

Because it's true.

Well, as far as I remember it, you didn't tell me anything. We were discussing the break-in at loose ends.

We were.

And given that you didn't discuss anything, then someone couldn't look into things, quietly or hypothetically. You'd deny everything anyway.

Absolutely. Avalon Falls is a small town. People notice things. Sometimes that helps.

See you around, Sheriff.

Watch it out there, Marguerite. Say hello to Amy for me.

I stand in the middle of the shop for a moment, not moving. We're going to find out what happened to Dylan Holt. Not because Carter asked us to. We were already doing it. But now we have a thread from inside the building, and the building is starting to show its walls. Upstairs, I hear Amy moving. The particular rhythm of her, the sound of someone surfacing, I pick up the bag of food. The Jojos are still warm. The coffees are on the edge. The churros are perfect. And fried chicken is always a good idea. I'm going to have to tell her everything, even though I definitely didn't hear anything.

I don't trust him.

I know, I know.

Like, I know you said he wore the lily thing. Admitted he was wrong, ate a six-foot-long crow party sandwich and all that, but Carter is still the person who put her in that cell.

Yes, agreed, and I told him as much.

And now he's using us because he can't use his actual department because the Holtz have it on a leash. Correct, so we're his leash workaround.

That's one way to put it.

Oh, I have other ways, like just off the top of my head. He's being cop-locked.

Nice, actually, that's a solid 8 out of 10.

Oh yeah, sweet. So, do you trust him?

I trust that he wants the case solved properly. I trust that he's genuinely sick of being cornered. And I trust that if we get too close to something and it becomes a problem for him, he will absolutely throw us under the bus without a second thought.

Great, so we're working with someone who will sell us out at any time.

We're working adjacent to someone who will sell us out at any time. There's a difference.

Is there?

We were already doing this.

Yeah, yeah, okay, fine. She's right. We were already doing this. We were always going to keep doing this. Carter just handed us a slightly better map. The destination was never in question. Oh my god. The Jojos at Lula's are incredible. Every time.

You eat the Jojos from Falls Mart.

Yeah, because they are also incredible.

You make it very difficult to deny the raccoon DNA allegations.

Come on, man. It's not like I eat the pizza at Falls Mart.

Amy.

I mean, I don't eat the pepperoni one.

Moving on. Richard Holt, gas station on the Ridgeline. 1047 p.m. Lodge says he was there until about 2. Lodge says. Staff says. Then the valet log says nothing, because his car isn't in it, and we know that it wasn't. So he hands Carter a receipt.

Richard Holt went out for gas the night his son was murdered, and the receipt puts him 20 minutes from the lodge.

Yes, it would be tight, but he would still be able to get to the docks from the gas station within the murder window.

Let's see what Dee Dee has on the ridgeline.

Got it. Scrubbing to 1030.

There. That's his car. And there he is?

Man of his word.

Or man of his receipt.

He's inside for 4 minutes, comes out, gets in the car.

Big question is, which way does he turn?

South.

The lodge is north.

I'm aware.

What's south?

Map says mostly nothing for a few kilometers, some old forestry roads, then there's a lake.

What's at the lake?

Uh, oh, Stillwater Institute Wellness Retreat and Spa. Established 2021. 5 stars. A sanctuary of radical presence and restorative luxury nestled in the Pacific Northwest's most pristine wilderness.

Radical what now?

Radical presence. Oh man, look at this place. Love that design.

Yeah, it's nice for real. Good views too.

Right, but Richard, so what, he went to a spa?

A five-star spa, actually.

The night his son was murdered, yes.

He doesn't know yet at this point, of course. Still lying about being at the lodge though.

Right, so we can't say he went knowing, but he was still not where he said he was.

Do we have cameras there?

Yes, exterior parking lot, one on the main entrance. Of course she had cameras at the spa.

Icon, pull it up. The Stillwater Institute parking lot is exactly what you'd expect from an establishment that uses the phrase radical presence. Timber and glass, warm lighting, the kind of building that costs a lot of money, and looks like it cost a lot of money.

His car arrives at 1058, then he parks.

Doesn't look like anyone else is there. That's weird, like, isn't it?

A little weird, yeah.

Okay, he walks in. Does he walk out?

I'm going to jump to midnight, then 1am. His car doesn't move.

He's there the whole window.

Then he didn't kill Dylan.

No. So when does he leave? He must have heard about the murder at some point in the middle of the night.

Yes, he comes out and beelines for his car. It looks like he leaves at 2.30.

I don't know. Like, this is so much weirder than if he'd done it.

So much weirder.

What was he doing there?

No idea. We put a pin in it and come back, but he's clear for the murder window.

Noted.

Pinned.

Moving on. But we are absolutely coming back to that. And by absolutely coming back, I mean absolutely going to that spa and looking into this.

I mean, obviously. Okay, now let's look into Nora Chen. Her gun was stolen from the Cedarbrook Shooting Club. Let's check in to that.

Didi has cameras there?

Didi has feeds around the Cedarbrook Gun Club, yeah.

Honestly, at this point, I'd be more surprised if she didn't.

So, she filed the report a week before Dylan's murder. Scrubbing back, Carter said it was a clean job. Let's try early morning before the club opens.

Whoa, whoa, wait, stop.

Back door.

Someone coming out.

Is that a gun case?

Yeah, but what the fuck are they wearing?

A mask. A Cedarbrook fucking Wolves mask.

The room gets very still. The kind of still that happens when two people reach the same conclusion at the same time, and neither of them wants to say it first. Follow him.

On it.

He's taking every back road available.

They're cutting across that service road.

There. They're heading east. I think that's east.

Onto the forestry road. And that's it. We lose them.

No coverage past there?

Not continuous. No.

Shit. So someone in a Cedarbrook Wolves mascot mask stole Nora's gun from her shooting club, then walked through the town's blind spots like they had a map of them.

And Nora Chen kind of sort of gets framed for a murder using her own stolen weapon. But not now, I guess. This proves she didn't steal the gun.

And you're saying Thomas Fucking Holt was a Cedarbrook High Lacrosse star?

That's what Carter said, yes.

I mean, that didn't seem to be Tommy based on the body type.

No, but framing Dylan's girlfriend for his murder is something Thomas could 100% do. And he could easily have someone in a mask do it for him.

Yeah. He could have a bunch of someone's in masks try to scare us off, too.

Oh, for sure.

And we saw he was at the docks on that original's Hotline phone during the murder window. That's the closest we've placed anyone to the crime scene in that time frame.

And he gave that weird possibly guilt ridden and just fucking sad sack eulogy.

Yeah, right, right. It's not proof. None of it is proof yet, but it's the shape of something. The way a shadow becomes a silhouette when the light shifts. We're not there yet, but we can see the outline. Okay, we need to.

Oh, my God.

Emergency.

Who does that?

It's a door. People knock on doors.

Oh, no, no, no. Not like that. They don't.

That was a completely normal knock.

That was a cop knock.

Whatever. We have to answer the fucking door, man. Let's go.

For the record, your glasses popped off. That's how scared you were, Mags. Like, you were basically a cartoon character whose eyes popped out.

Oh, my God, dude. You fucking said emergency. Like, you were a 67-year-old divorcee in a feather coat getting mugged in front of her New York City apartment in 1987.

Hey, hey, that's hurtful. And just, like, so specific. And you know I'm afraid of feather coats. Come on. Fair play, okay?

Okay, okay. Let's just answer the door.

Oh, whoa.

Claire?

I need to talk to you. Both of you.

I've known her for 11 years, and one thing I can tell you is, Claire Nichols does not show up unannounced on a Saturday morning because something is fine.

Claire Nichols was the cop who actually listened when we came to her about Osprey Island. Two kids with a theory and no credibility, and she didn't laugh us out of the room. That was rare. That was everything, actually, when you're 12 and nobody takes you seriously. After I left, after my parents pulled me out of this town and I disappeared from Amy's life, Claire was here. She helped Amy and Jonathan and Dee Dee keep pulling threads, watched over Amy after the accident, after the coma, after Jonathan. Claire Nichols is gruff and economical, and she makes everything sound like a weather report. She is also, as far as Amy is concerned, one of the only adults who ever showed up. Which is exactly why this morning feels the way it feels.

How are you two holding up?

Fine.

It's been a week, as you well know.

Yeah, sailing to Osprey Island with you two again was not what I had in mind for the seahorses' maiden voyage.

You're welcome for that.

You both sleep?

Define sleep.

Amy.

Yes, recently we're fine.

There is a version of this where we just let her do it. Let her ease into whatever she came to say through enough small talk that it feels like it arrived naturally. Claire is good at that. She spent 20 years making people feel like they'd had a conversation when what they'd actually had was a very careful interview. Amy has known her for over a decade. Amy clocks it in about 45 seconds.

You're not really the spontaneous Popeye type, Claire Bear. What do you actually need?

You're still looking into the Dillon Holt murder.

Says who?

Listen, you cleared Lily Siaya. That was good work. But the Holt case is still open, and Carter's department is...

Is not able to get the job done.

They definitely can't if you're in the way. It's time to step back, let it run its course.

Its course toward what, exactly?

Toward a resolution, a proper one.

Nora Chen isn't a proper resolution. She's a convenient one.

I'm not saying she did it. I'm saying it's not your case to solve. In the deeper you dig into the Holt family, into Omnia, into everything connected to that deal.

We didn't say anything about Omnia.

Dylan was making noise around that deal for months. It's not a stretch.

No, it isn't. But you didn't come here to warn us off Dylan. You came to warn us off Omnia, which means someone told you we were getting close to something. And whoever told you that thought you'd be the right person to come talk to us.

Amy's voice has changed. It's not cold, exactly. It's level. The way someone sounds when they've decided to stop protecting someone from a conversation and just have it.

You know, the Holtz just have a million ways about them that can piss you off. Victor is just angry at everything all the time, and it's like, why? You have everything. Why are you so mad all the time? Is it a boomer thing?

Okay.

And Richard, he's just so smug. He's like a dude who acts bulletproof, even if he isn't wearing a vest. Thomas, though, he is the most frustrating, at least to me. Thomas is just so fucking polite, and that is infuriating.

What's your point, Amy?

My point is that Thomas can send a Get Well card and make it a threat. After Osprey Island, the sequel, after Walter got hurt, he sent flowers and a card to the hospital. And do you know what it said?

What did it say?

It said you were good at helping people move on. I read it as a threat at the time, a flex. Him telling us he knew exactly how connected everyone was. But then I saw you two at the funeral, talking, not like strangers, like people who were familiar enough to have already agreed on something.

Amy.

And I started thinking about after my dad died, how hard I pushed, how sure I was that it wasn't an accident. And you were behind me on that for a while, until you weren't.

That's not.

I know why I stopped pushing. They got to me. I would never have thought they would get to you, though. But when I look back at it now, you'd already started to pull away before that, gently, gradually, steering me toward things that were safer, away from things that weren't. And I didn't notice because you were also genuinely taking care of me. And those two things were happening at the same time, and I couldn't see the join. I was moving on. And then there's your pension, Marines, the department, which is fine. But that house, Claire, that boat, the seahorse is not a cop pension boat.

Claire doesn't move. She's not going to deny it. She's too honest for a full denial and too careful to confirm anything. She just sits with it, which is its own kind of answer.

I'm not angry at you.

Amy.

I mean it. I know that sounds like something I'd say right before I get angry, but I actually mean it. You showed up for me, after my dad, after the accident, after the coma, when I came home and I couldn't walk straight and I kept having seizures and there was basically no one. You showed up. I know some of that was you managing what I was looking into, and I know some of it was you actually caring about some kid who had nowhere to go. Both of those things were true at the same time, and I've decided I can live with that. But I can't see you for a while.

I understand. You always were smarter than the rest of this town. One thing before I go, people who get in the Holt's way don't get threatened. They get mourned.

Ames?

I'm good. Come on. If Thomas Holt is looking into us, let's look into Thomas Holt.

Are you okay?

Okay? No. But I'm good. I promise.

There's a thing nobody tells you about growing up. They make it sound like a moment, a threshold. You cross it and you're on the other side. But the actual work of it, the real weight of it, is this. Standing in a room watching someone you love figure out that a person who protected them was also using them. And watching them hold both of those things without collapsing, without needing the person to be only a villain or only a hero. And you don't get to be angry about it forever. You just have to pick it up and carry it and keep going. Amy's already halfway down the stairs. Of course she is.

Thomas Holt. We've been circling him since basically day one. He was at the docks the night Dylan died. We just don't know if he was there because he murdered Dylan. We know he used the weird originals hotline payphone we found out about thanks to Dee Dee's machine, or system, or whatever we're calling it now. We have him on camera, we have the time stamp, we have the call. What we don't have is great audio. Also, we still don't know where that payphone actually is, somewhere at the docks, obviously. We just haven't had time to look for it. Maybe we should.

We can hear some of what he's saying.

Nothing incredibly useful.

So, basically, we know he's talking.

To someone, on a payphone, at the docks, the night his nephew was murdered.

Which he told Carter he wasn't at.

Because he was watching football with his father.

Who backed up the alibi.

He lied. This is proof. We can figure out a way to get this to the cops.

Still doesn't prove he was the murderer.

Come on, even if he isn't, he's obviously talking about the murder. He obviously knows something about it.

Sure, but obviously isn't evidence.

Would have been nice if Dee Dee had installed a better mic on that camera.

Good visuals, but I think maybe the damp air might have wore the mic down over time.

Yeah, somewhere out there is a payphone that knows more about this murder than we do. Anyway, let's move on. There's also the wellness initiative.

Right, after hours. Thomas Solo going through offices he had no business being in.

I mean, to be fair, we also were going through the same offices, and we also had no business being in there.

Sure, sure, but we didn't punch a security guard. He did.

Which is so on brand for someone who is supposedly the fixer.

Carter is suspicious of Thomas, but not enough to make him a suspect.

Are any of the Holtz actual suspects in that investigation?

Unlikely at this point. Let's see what the public record has to say about Thomas. Okay, here's something. Looks like the County Gazette ran a family profile on the Holtz about eight years ago.

We skim the article. It's the kind of piece that exists to remind the county who they're dealing with. Flattering lighting, carefully selected quotes, the journalistic equivalent of a family holiday newsletter. Oh, this is sanitized.

Completely.

The Holtz family, pillars of community and commerce. I just rolled my eyes so hard I saw my own brain.

It's written by Andre Whitaker, staff writer.

Does he still work there?

Well, I mean, no one does really. The paper got sold, right? Now it's just a website with feeds from a big news conglomerate or whatever.

Oh yeah, you're a newspaper man's daughter, aren't you?

I mean, he's in communications now, but yeah.

Did he work with this guy?

Andre? You know what? Yeah, actually, he might have.

That's interesting.

If Whitaker had any real access, even if the piece got watered down, he might have things he couldn't print. Dropping my dad's name might get us a conversation.

Put it on the list.

Listed.

Anything in there about Thomas?

Says he went to Annapolis.

Naval Academy?

Then the Marines, short service. No combat deployment, not Afghanistan, not Iraq. Left without issue and came back to the family business.

The family business.

As if they make artisanal cheese.

Holt family generational wealth and land exploitation. Open daily. Cash preferred.

Try our seasonal corruption. Well, his military career sounds like the kind a wealthy kid gets to have.

Yep. And then he comes home and goes to work for the family.

Carter said he played for Cedarbrook, graduated from there, which is unusual for a Holt.

Everything about Thomas Holt is slightly unusual for a Holt. That's what makes him the most dangerous one.

Yeah, but going to a public high school, none of them do.

Huh, I guess you're right.

Here's his record. Oh yeah, he's a big deal in Talaqua County High School lacrosse circles.

Nice. What do we got?

Okay, 157 goals. That's the county record. Stands to this day.

I guess that's a lot.

For around here, I guess. Oh, but here's the interesting part.

Uh-oh.

Thomas only started playing varsity his sophomore year.

Whoa. So he walked onto the field and broke every record the program had in three seasons.

Crazy, right? I'm seriously asking. I have no idea about like 95% of sports.

I mean, I guess. I know basketball, baseball and football, not lacrosse.

That's someone who was doing something else freshman year.

What do you mean?

I can't find anything about him at Cedar Brook before sophomore year. Nothing except lacrosse.

So what was he doing freshman year?

I don't know.

Collecting a bunch of fucking mascot masks?

Hmm. 157.

Yeah.

Oh, shit. Jake's phone.

The number he kept getting texts from. The one that was stressing him out, that he wouldn't tell us about.

157. I always figured it was like drug dealer code for like a customer or connection or whatever. Huh. Is it customer or client? Like drug dealers. Do they have customers or clients? You know what? You know what? Nevermind. Nevermind.

Dylan knew Jake was getting texts from someone he wouldn't name. He had, who is 157 on the Polaroid he took of Jake?

Dylan clocked it just like you did.

Added it to his collection of things that needed answering.

And now Dylan and Jake are both dead.

And Thomas Holt, who holds the county record of 157 goals, was at a payphone at the docks the night Dylan died.

It's not nothing, but is it something?

The obvious connection between Jake and Thomas' Amber.

Amber was using Jake. Jake was texting someone he was scared of. Amber goes missing the day after she sends Muscle to our shop. Jake turns up in the Fern River the night before Dylan's funeral.

And Amber and Thomas were both in that lot on Wednesday morning.

When she tried to blackmail the Holt's.

And within two days, she's on a plane.

And Jake's in a river.

Kenzie said Jake closed the otter early the day he died. Thursday. She didn't know why, but she could tell something was off with him.

Amber hadn't been answering his texts since at least Wednesday.

Which for Jake would have been terrifying. She was his safety net and his leash at the same time.

She leaves. He loses the only leverage he had, and someone who had been texting him as a number instead of a name is still very much in play.

Let's look at the otter. Night of Jake's death. Thursday. Okay. Oh, weird. Camera on the exterior cuts out at 1142 p.m. Cuts out or gets cut? Good question. Let's see. Yeah, yeah, it gets cut.

Expected, I guess. Doesn't make Jake's death feel less like a murder.

Doesn't get fixed until, well, like yesterday, late afternoon.

So we've got nothing in that window. What do we have before it cuts?

Let me rewind. Are there cameras in the otter?

Ha ha ha ha, no. Part of that is on purpose, and part of that is Jake is, Jake was super lazy.

Let me check the surrounding streets if there's cameras. Okay, we got some.

What's the time?

Going back to 2 a.m. Wednesday, night before Jake dies. I want to see if there's anything in the area. Okay, and there's a camera on Constitution and Maple.

Whoa, wait, hey, is that? No, that's not...

No way.

Victor Holt. Victor Holt. On foot. Two in the morning. Walking through the empty downtown of Avalon Falls like he's taking a Sunday stroll. No security, no driver, no entourage. Just a 70-something patriarch in a good coat, hands in his pockets, moving through his town like the concept of threat simply doesn't apply to him. Well, he looks happy.

It's genuinely one of the most unsettling things I've ever seen.

Yeah, and we got chased by a roided-out biker in a hockey mask through a meth lab built in a room that had like a 20-foot-high pile of fish skeletons in the corner, which admittedly was not something I remembered until now, for obvious reasons, I guess.

I'm going to have to just go ahead and ignore what you just said. No offense, babes.

Some offense, but I get it. So where is Old Man Holt going?

Uh, he stops at the hardware store. It's closed, obviously, just looks in the window, like he's thinking about something.

At two in the morning? Sure. Great. Great.

Yeah. Then he moves on, stops at the old bank building. The one that was a Dunkin Donuts for a minute, but has been empty for years.

He knows where he's going.

He just doesn't want to go directly.

Okay. So where does he end up?

The east side, the older commercial strip.

There's like a couple of businesses over there, a few apartments above the shops.

He's stopping. Where? Corner of Aldrich and Maple, standing in front of a, it looks like a nail salon. Okay. Now he's taking out a key.

A key? He has a fucking key?

Look, he's opening the door for the apartment above the salon.

He's heading up.

Yep. Lights on in the apartment.

How long does he stay in there?

93 minutes.

Okay. He comes out and he looks the same.

Exactly the same.

Follow him out.

Got him, but yeah, eventually, he just gets to his car. See? Parked on the north end of town, drives away, heading toward the Holtwood, looks like.

What is in that apartment?

We need to know what's in that apartment.

We need to go look at that building.

Okay, sure. Look at the building. That's it, right?

Yeah. Definitely just, like, look at the building or whatever.

Right. Because we have no way of getting inside the apartment. It's locked.

Yes. Correct. We absolutely have no way of getting inside the apartment. And as you mentioned, it is locked.

Fine. Let's go.

Okay, for context. In less than a week, six days to be exact, we have returned to a genuinely terrifying, ruined cabin in the woods because a murdered heir left us a video message from beyond the grave. Broken into an active illegal warehouse facility for a shady corporation on a sacred island. Been chased by freaks in mascot masks, and it wasn't even the first time that's happened. So when I say that standing across the street from Victor Holt's secret apartment that's above a nail salon called Nailed It, is the most scared I've been this entire investigation, I want you to understand the scale of what I'm saying.

This is so weird.

Well, I'm actually scared, I don't care who knows it.

I mean, you were fucking scared by a door knock like an hour ago, so the bar is low.

Hey, come on man, this is worse than the cabin.

Is that hyperbole?

I wish it was. The cabin was in the woods. I know the woods. Woods are comprehensible. A secret apartment that a 70 year old patriarch visits at two in the morning is not comprehensible.

Fair.

And so I brought a little something to, you know, help with all of the stressy, depressy around this place. Ta-da! It's a cannabis cigarette if that wasn't clear.

It's a crime. That's what's clear.

I mean, technically everything we're about to do is a crime, so.

I meant the weed in broad daylight on a public street. I meant that specifically Amy.

That salon is closed, looks like. There is literally no one on this block.

We're casing the joint. Literally. That was unintentional.

I know. It was still good. Unintentional puns hit different.

Well I don't see any cameras on the building.

Neither do I, which is either because there aren't any or because they're very good.

Oh, uh, huh. Like, what if they're very good though?

Then we're already on them, and worrying about it won't help.

That's not comforting, Amy.

It's okay. We're obviously just a couple of slightly suspicious but highly attractive and naturally super normal young women standing around partaking in what is a very Washingtonian pastime.

Right, right. Yeah, we're just smoking a joint.

Right.

Nothing wrong with that.

Nothing at all. Yeah.

It's a free country.

Uh, well, that's a whole conversation, but...

We're adults. It's daytime. This is a perfectly fine way to spend an afternoon. Or, you know, like a early evening on a Saturday or whatever.

Exactly.

And, hey, if we want to conduct a little, you know, like a little clandestine surveillance operation, what's wrong with that? This is America.

Uh...

We're just gonna look at a building, and that's it. Also, maybe get our nails done. What's the big deal? God.

Well...

Well... What?

Well, what if I told you there was a way we could do a little bit more than just look at the building?

Amy.

I'm glad you asked, Mags. And the answer is, I brought my lockpicks.

Excuse me, I'm sorry. You're what? My lockpicks. I heard you. I just lost blood to my brain.

Oh, come on, Chica. That front door? That's a standard five-pin tumbler. Maybe six. I can do that in under two minutes on a good day.

Under two minutes, you say?

Yeah, for sure. Or, like, I mean, I can open it. I will open it. It'll get open is what I'm saying.

Where did you get lockpicks?

Amazon.

Why do you have lockpicks?

I mean, obviously to pick locks. How stoned are you right now, bud? Anyway, YouTube taught me how to pick locks, and I wanted to practice.

YouTube just teaches that? Yep.

I also learned electrical wiring, car maintenance, how to treat a minor stab wound, a bit of conversational Spanish.

Minor stab wound?

Oh, right, and sourdough. Very big sourdough phase. Don't worry about it.

I am worried about it. I am extremely worried about it.

The stab wound thing is actually really useful knowledge to have. Did you know that many stab wounds are not caused by people or by knives, or are even stab wounds at all? Yes, that's, well, no, actually that's not true.

I am a medical professional.

Almost.

I am an almost medical professional, and I am standing here being unsettled by a 23-year-old with Amazon Lockpicks who learned first aid from YouTube.

Now, you know I will always take an interest, but I cannot be responsible for your life choices, Mags.

Oh, just let's fucking go and fucking pick the fucking lock. Two minutes and 11 seconds, which she informed me later was a bad day by her standards.

There we go.

Oh, my God.

Come on. Up the stairs we go.

There's another door. That means another lock, no?

Oh, that's a Medeco.

Is that bad?

No, it's good. The lock, I mean, the lock is good, like very good. Good brand, high quality.

How good?

Like, I don't know if I can pick it good.

So we came all this way.

I didn't say I wasn't going to try. I'm just saying manage those cute little expectations of yours. We're crouched in a staircase that is approximately the width of one adult person, which means I am picking a lock approximately four inches from my face while I am trying to make myself smaller than I physically am. Mags smells like ginger beer and the joint and something that is just Mags, which is not a useful observation to be making right now. I file it.

Anything?

Just taking a quick look first. You're right on top of me.

Oh, sorry. There's no space.

Wasn't a complaint, but I do need a scooch more space for my elbows.

Oh, okay. No problem. I'll just... Whoa, fuck.

Dude, don't fall down the stairs.

That would be bad.

Very bad.

You would probably be hurt, and it would just be so hard not to laugh.

You know what? Fair. Yes! You did it.

I genuinely did not think that was gonna work.

You're telling me that now?

After you.

Thank you.

Can we just take a second to acknowledge how completely unhinged this is?

I mean, if we must. Although I do feel an intense time pressure is a big component to this situation, we have willingly put ourselves in.

We just broke into a private apartment belonging almost certainly to the most powerful man in the county. We are high. We have no backup, no plan, no backup plan, and no legal standing whatsoever. You are a medical school dropout.

I mean, that feels like an aggressively personal observation.

And I am an unemployed dog walker with lockpicks. We are so in here, though.

Don't touch anything.

I know.

I'm serious.

I won't. I'll try. The apartment is wrong in a way that takes a moment to articulate. Not wrong like scary wrong, but wrong like unsettling wrong, like a diorama, like someone built a very careful replica of a moment in time and has been maintaining it ever since. Everything is late 60s, early 70s. The furniture, the fixtures, the color palette, that particular combination of walnut and burnt orange and olive green, stylish ones, preserved perfectly, like a fly and amber the size of a living room.

So Victor is maintaining this apartment to look exactly like it looked 50 years ago, I guess.

Extremely normal behavior.

Hey, look at this.

Above the living room, framed carefully, is a large map of Avalon Falls and the surrounding coastline. The paper has yellowed to the color of old tea, but the lines are sharp. It's definitely been cared for. That's an old one.

Late 1800s, maybe. Done by hand, for sure.

Huh. Look, Osprey Island isn't called Osprey Island.

Quashene. That's a Nisika name, I would guess.

Same goes with Eagles Creek. Hello.

Look at the Holtwood.

It's divided into two forests, Holtwood and...

Calhoun Forest.

Seems like the Calhouns were a big enough presence to have half a forest named after them.

Amy, look. Bottom edge, near the forest line.

Holy shit. Calhoun Manor.

It's got their salmon sigil and everything.

Okay, we know where it is.

Was.

Right. Maybe something is there still.

I'll take a pic of the map.

Mags photographs the map, then the room, then the furniture, then the doorways. Just in case.

Sometimes you don't know what matters until later.

Oh, foreshadowing. I like it. Whoa. Hey, you okay?

I... I am really freaking out right now.

Oh, no. Really?

Yes. If we get caught...

We won't. Don't worry.

I do worry, Amy. We've discussed this many, many times. I am the worrier of the duo.

I know, but look, you like roller coasters, right?

Yeah, I love them.

They're the best, right? So this is just like a roller coaster. It's out of control, but controlled.

Controlled chaos.

If you must. Look, we're not gonna get caught, and what I said absolutely makes perfect sense.

Yeah, nice try, O'Connell, but it worked, I think. Like, 30%.

30% is something.

It's not nothing. Thank you.

I got you.

You're my girl.

Uh, the kitchen has a lot of Pyrex.

Huh?

Kitchenware. In the kitchen. It's, uh, it's Pyrex.

There's almost no food.

Some whiskey. Instant coffee. It's like Don Draper's fucking apartment.

Instant coffee. Victor Holt drinks instant coffee in his secret apartment.

The cognitive dissonance of that man is genuinely impressive.

Mags, come look at this.

That's Driftwood School.

Three pieces, all small. Don't recognize the artist.

Victor collected these deliberately. These aren't decorations. These are meaningful. Okay, bedroom.

Same era, same preservation. A room kept for something or someone.

Oh, whoa. Is that a portrait?

Yeah, the eyes are following me.

He looks... that's a young man who knows he's going to own everything in the room.

He does own everything in the room. That's Victor Holt.

Holy shit, younger. Maybe 30s.

So he just has a portrait of himself above his own bed.

In his secret apartment.

That he decorates like it's still 1972.

Uh, it's more like 1969 to 1970. But yeah.

This is a lot of shades of a specific kind of unwell.

Wait. The style. Look at the brushwork. The way the light falls on the collar.

No way.

That's a Bella Harper.

Yeah, it's like that portrait she did of her friend.

Georgia Wilkes.

Right. The one in the more restrained style. Victor Holt has a Bella Harper portrait of himself hanging above his bed in his secret apartment. Then I see them. Um, Marguerite.

Is it wrong to be terrified that you're using my full name?

The headboard.

Whoa, are those four of them? Underbell jars.

Four human skulls resting on the flat top of a mid-century cubic headboard like ornaments, each one under its own glass bell jar. Each one clean, deliberate, displayed. Not the kind of thing a person buys at a curiosity shop on a whim. Not a goth affectation. Not a medical school relic. The kind of thing that used to be a person. The kind of thing that Victor Holt has been sleeping beneath.

What?

Why?

Who? When?

How?

I'm photographing this.

Your camera roll is cursed.

We're done. We're leaving.

We make sure we remove any trace of our visit, lock up, and soon we're back on the street. Dude, that was four skulls.

Under bell jars.

Above his bed.

In a secret apartment.

That he preserves like a museum exhibit of his own life.

With a portrait of himself painted by a falsely institutionalized artist who was a descendant of a doomed bloodline.

Victor Holt is not a normal man.

We knew that.

Not like that we fucking didn't. When you discover four human skulls in the secret bedroom of the most powerful man in town, there are really only two responsible choices. Option one, panic. Option two, go home and try to figure out what the hell you just saw. We chose option two. Okay, we need to cross-reference the map photo with an up-to-date one of the Holtwood.

And get in touch with Andre Whitaker.

And the skulls, Mags, the skulls.

Okay, let's do this. Whoa, did the temperature just drop?

Well, well. You two look like you've seen something you can't unsee. Though that may just be your factory settings. I can never tell.

Minerva.

Girls. What a perfectly organic coincidence.

Why are you here, Minerva?

I was at the bookshop around the corner. They finally got in the new ton of French. I'm a simple woman with simple pleasures. Unlike some people, apparently.

Oh my god, oh my god. Why are you here?

I am making transcendent media content. I thought that was established. Which brings us to the point. You two are coming on my show.

We are not.

You are, though. A tell-all. A reveal-all. The old story and the new one. Osprey Island. The murder of Dylan Holt. The return of the Murder Girls. And whatever sad sack mess happened in between.

You can't seriously think we're doing that. Oh.

Well. Then I suppose I'll be making a call to Sheriff Carter.

Why would you do that?

Do keep up, Amy. If you insist on being adversaries, at least make it competitive. As I was saying, my daughter and her very enthusiastic friends are currently assisting two amateur detectives in interfering with an active homicide investigation. You remember Piper?

Pipes?

Yes. Pipes. As she confoundingly insists on being called. You're using three teenagers and a 40-year-old shut-in as investigators. That's not a podcast. That's a child endangerment situation dressed up in Nancy Drew's frumpiest hand-me-downs.

You're blackmailing us.

I'm producing a show. There's a slight, though meaningful, distinction. It's a chance to control the narrative. You didn't get that last time you did this, my little cautionary fails. You come on the show tonight. We talk. You get to tell your story in your own words, with your own framing, to an audience that is already listening. Or I go to Carter and explain exactly what you've been doing with my daughter. In the end, the choice is yours.

They said, work hard and be yourself. So I did both of those things, and now I'm 23 in a parking lot, Eating a sandwich that costs too much next to a drain. I learned cursive for 13 years. I memorized the amendment. I can tell you what mitochondria does. I cannot tell you how to be okay.

I thought by now, I'd feel like something. I thought there'd be a click, like a seatbelt or a door.

Hey y'all, Avalon Falls has a soundtrack.

Yeah, we just keep finding pieces of it.

You can listen to all the music from the show.

On the music from Murder Girls playlist on Spotify.

Headphones recommended.

Emotional preparedness optional. Hello, Mags Park here, just wanted to reach out and say, Avalon Falls thrives on secrets, podcasts do not.

So if you're enjoying Murder Girls, please leave a review.

Or tell a friend.

Or an enemy, especially an enemy.

Uh, why?

Because nothing haunts like a recommendation from someone you hate.

That is a fundamentally flawed perspective.

Yay, you said the thing.