Small Town Murder Story

This episode, Murder Girls takes a different shape.

At Minerva Maddox’s invitation, Mags and Amy sit down for a recorded interview on 'Small Town Murder Story' — her podcast built on versions, narratives, and the quiet power of who gets to tell them. What follows is less a conversation than a negotiation: of memory, of truth, and of the story that has followed them for the past ten years.

As Minerva revisits the original case that made the “Murder Girls” infamous, old wounds resurface — along with new questions about Dylan Holt, the town of Avalon Falls, and the version of events that’s beginning to take hold.

This episode unfolds largely through Minerva’s lens, complete with her edit, her framing… and her interruptions.

Because once a story is recorded, it doesn’t just reflect what happened.

It decides what matters.

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 media exploitation and the ethics of true crime storytelling, coercive interviewing techniques and psychological pressure, references to past trauma presented as narrative content, the repackaging of real people's pain for public consumption, alcohol use, references to seizure disorders and prescription medication, discussions of grief, loss and abandonment, strained and complicated relationships, profanity throughout, and the long-term consequences of having your story told by someone who was very good at it and knew exactly what they were doing. Listener discretion is advised. Although if you've made it this far, you probably already know what you're getting into.

Murder Girls.

Episode 25, Small Town Murder Story. Okay, we're rolling. So, tell me about the first time you saw the lights over Osprey Island.

We were camping. Yeah, at Osprey Point.

Just on your own.

Uh, yeah.

Well, Amy's dog Cheese was with us.

Cheese.

Yes, Cheese.

It was just overnight.

That's great. And what did you see?

Uh, lights.

Okay.

Uh, yeah, there were lights in the sky, but they weren't like, they were coming from the island.

Yeah, not like how they sometimes come from town or the lighthouse, but like, different.

Different how?

Hmm, I don't know, just wrong.

And you thought it might be something else, at first?

I wanted it to be aliens.

Ah, aliens.

Right.

But it wasn't.

No, it was just bikers who were making drugs. Yeah.

And they were doing this on the island?

Yeah, on the island.

And you went out there by yourselves? Across the sound.

I mean, she's came along for that, too. We stole a boat.

We are not dealing with a random act.

Sounded like it was down at the docks.

The old part.

Blood everywhere.

Yeah, like, I heard gunshots.

At some point, you have to say the police do not have this under control.

You're listening to Small Town Murder Story, a podcast about what really happened and the versions of events people can live with. I'm Minerva Maddox. If you live in Avalon Falls, these docks are a part of you. The ocean is a part of you. These days, it can be quiet here. Sometimes it's just the waves and the gulls. Hard times have brought a kind of stillness to what used to be the center of the county's fishing industry. The docks weren't built all at once. They sort of accumulated. Layers of wood lay down over decades until it starts to feel like one continuous thing, something inherited. But it's not. Some of it dates back to the old fishing cooperatives. Some of it was expanded when the Holt family started moving shipments through the bay. You can still see the differences if you look closely, the way the boards are cut, the way they've aged. Dylan Holt grew up around here. People remember seeing him on the docks with Richard, his father, not playing, watching, learning how things moved. What went where?

Who signed off on what? Places like this don't really change. They just add. And after a while, it becomes hard to tell where one version of the story ends and the next one begins. You know one version of the story already. On a cold October night in Avalon Falls, Dylan Holt went down to the docks. We don't know exactly why. We don't know who he expected to meet, only that sometime between then and morning, he became a story. Not the kind you tell right away, the kind that settles in, that waits, that gathers details like Driftwood. Dylan was easy to understand, at least on paper, a name that carried weight, a future that felt predetermined. The kind of life a town can point to and say, see, this is how it's supposed to work.

Until it doesn't.

Because when something like this happens, a town doesn't just look for answers. It looks for a version of events it can live with. A shape the story can take. Something clean. Something contained. But Avalon Falls has always been a place that resists simple explanations. A town defined as much by what it remembers, as what it chooses to forget. Ten years ago, it found itself telling one version of a story, while something else entirely was happening underneath. And at the center of it all were two twelve-year-old girls, Marguerite Park and Amy O'Connell. Names you may remember, or names you've already made up your mind about.

I wrote a book about them.

You may have read it. A surprising number of people did. And like most stories that get told enough times, the version that remains isn't always the version that happened. It's the one people remember. So, this very week when Dylan Holt was murdered, and those same two names began to surface again, quietly at first, and then less so, it raised a question. Not just about what happened at the docks, but about what happens when a story comes back, and the people inside it never left. Marguerite Park, once described as the more methodical of the two, detail-oriented, observant, prone to following threads others might overlook. Shortly after closing the Osprey Island case, Marguerite left Avalon Falls with her family for Seattle, and did not return for ten years. Amy remained. In Seattle, Marguerite pursued a career in medicine, though she did not complete her training. She has since returned to manage her late aunt's curiosity shop, Loose Ends, a name that feels apt. Amy O'Connell remained in Avalon Falls followi ng the death of her father, Jonathan, a figure whose presence loomed large in the events surrounding Osprey Island. In the years since, she has been living on her own terms, impulsive, intuitive, willing to act where others might hesitate, often characterized as the more instinctive of the pair. While Marguerite left Avalon Falls for the city, Amy remained, a constant presence in a town that has never fully decided what to do with her. In the years since Osprey Island, Amy has become something of a local fixture, or cautionary tale, depending on who you ask. Together, they were known affectionately at first, as the Murder Girls. A name that has aged differently over time. And now they are back in Avalon Falls, and seemingly back in the story. I sat down with both of them, just six days after the murder of Dylan Holt, and six days after Marguerite returned to Avalon Falls after a decade away, to talk about what happened then, and what may be happening now. So, it's been 10 years since Osprey Island.

Yes, sounds about right.

10 years since two girls, you, solved a murder, and in so doing uncovered a drug operation that, depending on who you ask, either exposed a system or destabilized one. And now, you're both back in Avalon Falls.

Yes, that's right, never left.

And on the same day, you, Marguerite, returned to the town, and you both reunite for the first time in 10 years. Dylan Holt is murdered.

Uh, we didn't.

I'm not suggesting causation, but people are noticing the timing.

Yeah, people always notice the timing, but they almost never notice the context.

No, they often don't notice that, do they? Context is interesting. Let's use yours. When you heard about Dylan's murder, what was your first thought?

That it was awful.

I guess that it didn't make sense.

Did it feel familiar?

No, never had to deal with murdered heirs before.

What do you even mean?

A closed system, a visible disruption, something hidden suddenly not.

That's kind of your thing, right?

Patterns tend to repeat.

Or people just keep telling the same story.

Sometimes those are the same thing. When you were younger, you didn't wait.

For what? Permission.

We were kids.

You were.

Yes. Children tend to ask for permission.

We didn't know better. You knew enough.

We knew something was wrong.

And you acted.

Yeah. And now?

Something is wrong again.

Are you going to act? We're not kids anymore.

No, you're not.

You said something is wrong again. But you haven't said what?

Actually, we said we're not kids anymore.

You did.

Twice. Which is interesting.

Is it?

People repeat things when they're reminding themselves of something, not their audience.

You're the one with the audience. We're just agreeing with each other. Of course.

Let's go back to Dylan.

You both knew him to varying degrees.

I mean, everyone in the town, in the county, in the county knows who he is.

Who he was.

Knowing and knowing of.

That's not the same thing.

No, it isn't. And that's my point.

Amy, you'd interacted with him before the murder.

Sure. Avalon Falls is a small town. You interact with everyone eventually.

Some more than others.

On that, we can agree, Minerva.

Actually, there were several occasions where witnesses describe your interactions as confrontational. They used words like aggressive, angry, even screaming.

Screaming? I was hardly yelling.

So you don't deny it.

I don't think I'm the first person in this county to vent frustration at a member of the Holt family.

Perhaps. Marguerite, Dylan came to loose ends. The day you returned. The day he was murdered.

Yes, but we didn't speak.

Look, I know where you're going with this, and yes. It was another one of those confrontations where I was aggressive and angry and could even be described as screaming.

On his last day alive, Dylan Holt came to loose ends.

That's not nothing.

He probably just wanted to make an offer on the place, like the Holt's are doing all over town.

So you confronted him. I yelled at him.

She didn't want them to get loose ends.

And a few hours later, he was murdered.

Hey, we didn't...

No, of course not. So Dylan Holt comes by the shop. Amy, you confront him about his family buying up the town. And then he, what, just leaves? Tail between his legs? Why not? The Holt's don't seem like leave money on the table types, especially if they didn't speak to the money. That's you, Marguerite.

I'm sure he felt he had time to return at some other point. Why wouldn't he?

So Dylan leaves. And then you two have your little reunion. Ten years. That's a long time to not speak.

We didn't, you know, look, we're here now.

Yes, you are. And how is that going?

Fine. Thanks for asking.

Fine.

That's a very specific word.

It's an accurate one.

Is it? Because from the outside, it doesn't look like a reunion. It looks like two people standing in the same room, trying not to touch the same memory.

Look, we're more than fine.

That's not what people in town are saying, though.

People in town? Yeah, that sounds so journalistic.

It is. I spoke to someone who lives near the standpipe. I spoke to them about something that happened on Tuesday night. Let's listen.

It was late, maybe around 2 a.m. on Tuesday night or Wednesday morning. I heard yelling and arguing outside, screaming, really angry and aggressive.

Oh my god. Are you kidding me?

And you looked outside to see what all the noise was? The fighting?

Yes.

And what did you see?

It was foggy, but I could see them clearly because they were just under the water tower.

You mean the standpipe on Main?

I guess. Yes. Two young women, by the road, at the edge of my property. I recognized them. They're those kids. Well, not kids anymore, I guess. But you know, the...

The Murder Girls?

Yes. Them.

Okay. So what happened after that?

They kept yelling.

It got louder and louder.

It sounded bad. It sounded like it wasn't going to stop.

Did you do anything?

Yes.

I told them to keep it down.

Then what happened?

The shorter one screamed at me.

Screamed at you?

Yes. Even louder than she was screaming at the other one.

And what did she say? Or scream, rather.

I can... Can I just say it?

It's some...

It's some swears. Pretty bad ones.

Yes. It's fine.

Okay. So... She screamed. And I will never forget this.

you! Fucking die!

That's interesting. He doesn't sound confused.

That was me. I was the one who... I was the one who screamed that.

Oh, please. We were clearing the air. We were kids. Now we're not. We made mistakes. Both of us were all good.

Yes.

You may be good with each other. But a lot happened after Osprey Island. Things that didn't get answers. Things that didn't get... resolved. And now you're here, together again. At the exact moment something goes wrong.

Are you making an accusation based on me yelling at Dylan?

Sheriff Carter spoke with you about that, though, didn't he, Amy? He brought you in for an interview.

Yes, that's right.

The night after the murder.

Yeah.

And what did you tell him?

Whatever she did or didn't tell him is irrelevant at this point since the town has already wrongfully arrested and released someone else in the meantime.

Yes, someone else. Lily Siaya. Arrested. Released.

A correction.

You mentioned the town. Let's talk about how it chooses who to blame. A murder happens. People get nervous. The town doesn't ask what's true. It asks what will make things feel stable again.

So, what? It goes off and falsely arrest someone?

It selects someone.

Lily didn't do anything.

Maybe not. But she fits. Local. But an outsider. Visible. Connected to Dylan just enough. Someone the town can point to and say, There. That's the problem.

That's insane.

Is it?

It worked last time.

That's not what happened.

No. A system was exposed. People lost money. Power shifted. The story changed. And the town never really decided whether to thank you for that or blame you. And then right after it all, something tragic happened, something that didn't get answers. So now we have a murder, a confrontation, an arrest that doesn't hold, and the two people who disrupted things last time back in town. You can understand why people might start looking in your direction.

That's a fundamentally flawed perspective.

Is it? Perhaps. Let's try another perspective then. Blame isn't just about a need for stability. Sometimes it's about proximity. Who was there? Who was seen? Who was loud? And sometimes it's about connection. What does that mean?

You tell me.

You knew Dylan. You confronted him. You were brought in by Sheriff Carter. And you have a history with the Holt family.

That's... that's not...

Eleanor Holt.

You dated. Clandestinely, yes. But not so well it went completely unnoticed. That was... A while ago. Yes. And now Eleanor is involved with Lily Siaya, who you've been helping. So from the outside, it doesn't look like coincidence. It looks like alignment.

That's insane.

Is it? You dated Eleanor. Not because you like the Holt family, but because she was away in. And now you're helping Lily. Someone the Holt's would very clearly consider an enemy. Someone connected to Eleanor. Again. You don't seem to avoid the Holt family. You seem to approach them. So from the outside, it doesn't look like contradiction. It looks like a pattern. You get close to the same people for the same reason, to get at the same thing, the same system you disrupted before. You can understand why someone might wonder if you're doing it again.

Who Amy decides to date or help isn't anyone else's business.

Of course. But that's not how it works. Not here. Not when people are paying attention. And they are. And you're right. It shouldn't be anyone else's business. But the moment something goes wrong, it becomes everyone's explanation. And right now, you're a very compelling explanation.

And what exactly are we the explanation for, Minerva? Not even you believe we killed Dylan Holt. No.

I don't think you killed him. I think you understood what his death would do. But Dylan Holt wasn't just a victim. He was a problem for the wrong people. Or the right ones, depending on your perspective. So the question isn't whether you killed Dylan Holt. It's whether you saw an opportunity and decided not to waste it.

And what does that mean?

Yeah. Because it really feels like you're ramping up for a commercial right now or, you know, whatever podcasts call commercials now, because we all just decided branding is more important than clarity or whatever.

What it means is that Avalon Falls is standing in a fork in the road. Two futures, two outcomes. And once again, it's the two of you standing in the way of where it's supposed to go.

And they're called mid-rolls.

I miss my brother, not the problems he caused.

Get that out of my face. I don't think I'm built for the version of this they have in mind.

Small Town Murder Story will return after these messages from our friends and sponsors.

Most of reality is unknown. Not because the information isn't available, but because knowing things, really knowing them, requires a certain orientation toward curiosity, toward depth, toward the willingness to sit with a concept until it opens. Most people don't do that. I do. You might. I'm Tavian Echo, and this is You Wouldn't Know This, a podcast about what most people miss, including you. Each week, I go somewhere most people haven't thought to go. I talk to people the average person hasn't conceived of speaking with. I ask questions most people don't even understand are questions, let alone ones that need answers. We've covered Blat music, the sound revolutionizing the West Sheffield Oshuary scene, its origins, its 17 distinct sub-genres, and the three producers in East London who are quietly doing the most important work in contemporary sound that nobody is talking about. We've spent time with Sigrins Fyborgunsdottir, Crowrug architect, Reykjavik, a woman who is redesigning the way humans experience th e interior of a building as a philosophical position using only mouth-chewed cardboard and artisanal styrofoam. We've discussed the Rise and Fall and Rise and Fall of Zebulon Rising, the British science fiction series that aired for 11 episodes in 1973, was canceled, was rediscovered by a very specific community in 2004, and revived as a web series, was canceled again, was briefly revived by Guillermo del Toro in 2014 as a tweet where he said he would remake it in a dark and gritty fashion, which was then deleted by del Toro, and is currently being revived for the third time by a streaming platform that will almost certainly cancel it again. Coming up on future episodes, a meditation and mushroom retreat in the Dolomites that I attended and remember only partially, but only a sense that are experienced out of sequence and even then, only painfully. The strange and tragic underbelly of the sordid world of garbage-pale kids' cosplayers, and an extended look at the Lattices of Heaven, a monastery at the bottom o f a sinkhole at the top of a mountain in Tibet. It's just a monastery but where it's located is unique. You Wouldn't Know This is brought to you by Scheherazade Colloidal Vitamin Dust. Scheherazade Colloidal Vitamin Dust is a mineral supplement derived from ethically sourced geological sediments. It supports clarity, focus, a general sense that you are operating at the correct frequency, and hair. It helps with hair.

Been crafting audio dramas for 17 years. I know the sound of a footstep on gravel. Versus compacted sand. Versus wet leaves. I know the difference between a door closing in a kitchen and a door closing in a church. I know what rain sounds like on a tin roof, on a slate roof, on the surface of still water at 3 a.m. When nothing else is alive. I recorded all of these myself. I know every sound in my work. I knew every sound in my work. And then, it appeared. Episode 34. At 37 minutes and 12 seconds. There is a sound. A fragment of something. I did not put it there. I have listened to it 416 times. It is getting clearer, closer.

Tell me you can hear it.

This is either a story about a man losing his mind, or it is a story about something that has been waiting in the frequencies between frequencies, in the spaces between sounds where human ears aren't supposed to reach.

The Audio Dramatist A new audio drama about audio drama, from the audio dramatists who brought you the audio dramas, The Somewhere's Beyond, Dossiers of the Black Staircase Files, and Magillicuttie's Mysterious Magic Cafe and Sad Sack Emporium for abnormal supernatural creatures and regular shut-in types. Featuring binaural recording, 17 distinct categories of ambient sound, and one man's descent into either madness or something considerably worse. Available wherever you listen to your audio dramas. Reel to reel, UD-1S vinyl, Dictabelt and tinfoil phonograph versions available. Of course.

You're listening to Small Town Murder Story. Dylan Holt, what did you make of him? As a person, not as a name.

He seemed like someone carrying something he didn't know how to put down.

That's a very specific impression from a very brief interaction.

I'm observant.

You are. It's documented.

Amy? I thought he was trying.

Trying to what?

Just trying, in general, which is harder than it sounds when your whole life has been decided for you in advance. That's almost sympathetic. It's accurate.

Accuracy can be generous. So we have someone carrying something he couldn't put down and someone trying inside a life that had already been decided for him. That doesn't sound like a person in control. It sounds like a liability. For a family like the Holt's, for a deal like Omnia, that kind of instability doesn't stay contained. People like you notice things like that. Patterns, pressure points, moments where something is about to give. So when you saw him six days ago, did you see a person, or did you see what he was about to become?

A person.

Both. Both.

That's the honest answer. That's the answer people usually avoid. People are rarely just one thing, especially when they're under pressure. They become... consequential. And if you could see that, then you could see what his death would do.

Seeing something isn't the same as causing it.

No. But it's also not nothing. The Holt family has been very present in this town for a very long time.

Present. Yeah, that's one way to put it.

There are others.

There usually are.

Families like that don't tend to lose control of things easily. Not without... intervention. Do you think the Holt's had anything to do with Dylan's murder?

We think a lot of things about a lot of things.

That's not an answer.

No, it isn't. You're being careful.

We're being accurate.

Those aren't the same thing either.

Maybe.

Let me ask it differently. When you look at the Holt family's response to Dylan's death, the cooperation with the investigation, the funeral, the public statements, does anything strike you as... unusual?

We're not investigators.

You're really going to sit there and say that?

No, I'm saying you don't have to cooperate if you already control how things are seen.

That's a very compelling way to describe power. Not force, not violence, just... influence. Narrative. Framing. The ability to decide what something looks like without ever touching it. Which makes something else interesting. Because that's not just how families like the Holt's operate. It's also how stories operate. And both of you, whether you like it or not, have become part of the story of this town. People are listening to you again. They're deciding what things look like based on what you say. So let me ask you something a little less hypothetical. When you talk about Dylan, when you describe him the way you just did, are you trying to understand what happened to him? Or are you deciding what his story is now that he can't tell it himself?

We're trying to be careful with it.

Yeah, we know what it feels like when someone else decides it for you.

That's not what I...

You told a version of what happened. People believed it.

And once they did, that was the version that stuck. It didn't matter what was missing. I told the version that could be told.

But let's talk about that, the book, because it's been ten years. When it came out, it was positioned as a record, an account of what happened in this town and the role the two of you played in it.

Do you think it was wrong?

I think it was incomplete.

I think it made things easier. Easier for whom? Everyone who wasn't us.

Stories have to be understood to matter. Complexity doesn't always survive that process.

Great. So glad to learn how the sausage gets made.

How did it feel? Reading your own story told by someone else.

Like listening to a cover version of a song.

Good cover or bad cover?

The notes were right. The feeling was someone else's.

That's the most honest thing either of you has said so far.

We've been honest the whole time.

You've been accurate.

There's that distinction again. The book changed how this town saw you. You know that.

The town had already decided how it saw us. The book made it permanent. Yeah, books tend to do that.

But all that means is that you changed the way the town saw us. You know that, right? It gave everyone a permission slip to decide who we were. To pick the version of us that made the most sense to them and treat that version like fact.

And when we didn't match the version, when I was too angry or too loud or Mags was gone for ten years, we weren't real people who changed. We were a story that wasn't matching its own ending. You don't get to do that to people. Even if the book is good, even if it's sold, you don't get to do that.

No, you're right.

Uh, what?

I said you're right. I'm not going to apologize. That's not... I'm not built for that, and you'd both see through it anyway. But you're right. I told your story before you could. Because I knew it was a good story, and I knew if I didn't, someone else would, and that someone else would do it worse, which is what people in my position tell themselves. And it's even true sometimes, but it's not the whole truth. The whole truth is that I wanted to be the one who told it. And I was.

You got there first.

That doesn't make it final.

For the record, and for what it's worth. That all stays in.

Of course it does.

It's the most honest 60 seconds of the episode.

Everything we've said has been honest.

It's been accurate. We've had this conversation.

So, are you angry about it, then?

I think anger would be simpler.

And it isn't.

It's just strange to have something that happened to you turn into something that belongs to everyone else.

It's not the story part. What is it, then? It's the part where people think they understand you, because they read about you, and then they act like that version is the real one.

While simultaneously getting it completely wrong.

That's what stories do. Yeah, that's the problem.

And now, do you think you get to tell it differently?

I think I'd like to. I just don't think that's how it works.

No, it isn't. Stories don't end cleanly. They accumulate. Versions layer on top of each other. Some louder than others. Some more convenient. But none of them disappear. The question isn't whether you get to walk away from it clean. It's whether you're willing to live with a version that stays. And in Dylan's case, we don't have a version yet. Not one that holds. You saw him a few hours before he died. You've both described him as someone under pressure. Someone trying. So I'll ask you one last thing. When you think back to that afternoon, do you think you actually saw him?

No. I didn't really see him at all.

I thought I did. I thought he was exactly what I expected him to be. Turns out, I wasn't really looking at him.

That happens more often than people think. Especially when the version is convenient. That's different. Not just accurate.

Honest.

Thank you. We'll leave it there. Marguerite Park and Amy O'Connell have spent the last decade living inside a version of themselves they didn't choose. A version that was understood, repeated, fixed in place. Today, they offered something else. Not a correction, not exactly, but a complication. And in Avalon Falls, complications don't replace the story, they layer on top of it. Dylan Holt doesn't have that yet, and that's a problem, because this town doesn't do well with uncertainty. Not anymore. The industry that built Avalon Falls is gone. What replaced it hasn't quite arrived yet, which means people are waiting for something stable, something that makes sense, and a story that doesn't settle threatens that. And when that happens in this town, the answers tend to stay where things began, down by the water. The older docks, past the original Holt Shipping Buildings. Places like that don't just move goods. They hold on to things, even after everyone else has decided what they mean. I'm Minerva Maddox, and thi s is Small Town Murder Story. This episode was produced by Frida Delgado and me. Additional field recording captured at the Avalon Falls docks. If you have information relevant to this case, you can reach us at smalltownmurderstory-info at maddoxmedia.com. Hard times have brought a kind of stillness to what-

Okay, I hate that she's good at this.

She's been doing it a long time.

Yeah, well, so have we.

Okay, here's the ramyun, serve yourself. Kimchi is there too.

I'm loving the big pot, big spoon situation.

Yeah, communal pot makes it feel like an event. And here's your rice.

Yes, adding rice is the only way.

Obviously.

Dee Dee called that one a pro tip, said the rice was non-negotiable.

I mean, that's a Korean thing, not a Dee Dee thing, but yeah, Dee Dee always had some crazy hack she learned from Instagram or wherever to take Ramyeon up a notch. Did you ever try that version where you don't make broth and you add mayo instead?

Yeah, that was ridiculous. I still make it that way when I feel like treating myself right. And like when I, you know, when I actually have some mayonnaise.

So yummy.

For real, for real. This tastes like her a little, which is the best and worst thing about it.

Yeah. How do you feel about yesterday, about this podcast thing?

Like I ran a race I didn't train for and somehow didn't die. How about you?

Strange. Good strange, I think. But yeah, strange.

Man, we just, we just said it all, huh? And out loud too.

I know. I kind of can't believe it.

You know what the weird part is? When the book came out, we weren't talking. We went through all of that separately. Whatever it did to the town's perception of us, we each just, like, absorbed it alone.

I know.

And yesterday was the first time we got to be angry about it together, even if we weren't exactly angry.

Even if it was more like...

Tired.

Tired and clear.

Minerva said it.

She almost said it.

Yeah, well, for her, that's basically...

An apology. Yeah, and it's on the record.

She can't take that back.

Wait.

What is it? Shh.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, did you hear that?

Yeah, what was...

Let me go back. Holy shit!

That's a payphone. That's a fucking payphone. She's recording at the docks, and there's a payphone.

The hotline.

She's near the old Holt Shipping Buildings. She said it. It's gotta be nearby.

That actually narrows it down.

Narrows it down a lot.

Minerva just handed us the location. We should go down there now. Poke around the Holt Shipping Building. Find the phone.

Today?

You know, the Holt Shipping Building's not far from where Dylan was found. Close enough to start drawing lines. We can see how the hotline fits into all of it. Figure out what Thomas was really doing there.

Okay, yes, yeah, let's go. Whoa, fuck!

You gonna answer, dude?

There's no number. Ugh, fine, fine.

Put it on speaker. Hello?

You're late.

Oh, whoa, it's the caller.

Shh, shh.

Late? What do you mean, late?

She's already in danger.

Who is?

Nora Ken.

Nora, what do you mean?

If they get to her first, you don't just lose her. You lose everything. Moved away.

Like some Small Town Murder Story.

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 everyone, Mags Park here, just wanted to let you all know, we're getting close.

Close, close to what?

Close to the part where everything we thought we knew stops making sense.

Dude, weren't we just at that part, two episodes ago or whatever?

Hmm, well, yeah, but this time it's, you know, it's just really gonna stop making sense. You'll see.

Unsettling. Not gonna lie, I kinda like it. But also, I am just so tired right now. Oh my lord.

Murder Girls, catch up now.

Yeah, before it just stops making fucking sense altogether.