Loose Ends (Part Two)

Murder Girls Episode 2 - TRANSCRIPT

Murder Girls is created, written and produced by Eternal Teenager. Content Warning. This episode contains depictions of a seizure, recreational drug use, references to past violence and injury, strong language, discussion of death, and the discovery of a dead body. Listener discretion is advised.

Previously, on Murder Girls.

I'm back in my hometown after over a decade because my recently departed Aunt Dee Dee left me her curiosity shop. When I left Avalon Falls with my family, I didn't exactly leave on a high note. That's what I was, I guess. I was a sleuth, part of a team. And we solved our first case and Amy was my sleuthing partner, my best friend. I haven't spoken to her since I left here. I'm not here to dwell on the past, meet with the estate lawyer, deal with the shop, leave again. Turns out some big tech company called Omnia is seriously considering building a huge campus here.

Now, your aunt was very specific about the shop going to you. It was important to her that you'd come back to look through things yourself. Should probably introduce myself, Amy, Amy O'Connell, professional town disappointment. I'm just the weird one who stayed. The angry weird one who talks to dead people. Okay, just one dead person. That's my dad in the passenger seat. Not really. My dad's been dead for 10 years. My brain likes to conjure him up when I skip my meds. The doctors call it a complex neurological manifestation due to traumatic brain injury. I'm waiting for Dylan, the son and heir of the Holt dynasty, and to emerge from his lair.

Hey, I heard Mags Park is back in town.

Mags will get in, deal with the shop, get out. Clean break, no complications.

I feel like I'm standing in the middle of someone's whole life because that's what this shop is. Dee Dee's life, her legacy.

Hey, Holt, what are you doing here, Dylan?

I have actual business in this town.

Business like covering up what happened to my dad? You think I haven't noticed your dad swooping in every time someone in this town can't make rent? Like, you're doing us all some big fucking favor? I'm not, I don't...

Amy is having a seizure. It's okay, Amy, I've got you, I'm here. Let's get you home. Murder Girls. Episode Two, Loose Ends. Part Two. So this is definitely not how I imagined seeing Amy again after 10 years. Me. Standing awkwardly in my dead aunt's curiosity shop, watching her unconscious on the vintage fainting couch that I'm pretty sure Dee Dee bought specifically for dramatic effect. Medical school dropout or not, I knew what to do when she seized. Clear space, protect her head, turn her on her side. The familiar routines kicked in. Clinical, detached. But there was nothing clinical about the way my heart was racing, or how seeing her face again, even twisted in pain, felt like someone had reached inside my chest and squeezed. Ten years of silence between us, and somehow we're right back where we started. In this shop, among these curiosities. Except we're not kids anymore. And whatever's happening with Amy isn't something we can solve with magnifying glasses and detective notebooks. She's going to wake up any minute. And then what? I have absolutely no idea what to say to her. Sorry I abandoned you when your dad died and you were in a coma. Sorry I never called or texted or sent so much as a postcard. Sorry I'm only here because my aunt died and left me this weird shop that I'll probably sell anyway. I wonder if she still hates me. I wouldn't blame her if she does. Maybe that seizure was the universe's way of forcing us to finally face each other. Or maybe it's just another terrible coincidence in a town that seems to specialize in them. Wait, her eyes are fluttering. She's waking up.

Ah, where? What?

Oh, don't get up. Just relax.

Oh, right. I can't imagine there would be anyone as beautiful as you where I'm gonna end up when I die, Mags. So I guess that means I'm alive. And given the alarmingly high amount of taxidermy, I'm assuming I'm in Dee Dee's shop. Love the pink hair, by the way.

Yeah. What happened? You had a seizure.

Don't worry about it. I'm all good, doc.

Oh, I, yeah. Yes.

Should I call you doctor now? Yeah, but I stalked you a little. But honestly, Dee Dee didn't shut up about you, actually, even when I told her to stop. Fucking Dee Dee. But yeah, Dr. Mags. Didn't see that plot twist coming. Gotta say, it fits your Dana Scully vibes, though.

Says the person who was just screaming at someone in front of my aunt's shop, so.

Screaming? Come on, now. I was hardly yelling.

Screaming or no screaming, that discussion seemed like a tense affair. We can both agree.

Nah, nah, nah, come on. Just catching up with Dylan Holt. You know how she goes.

That was Dylan Holt? Like, the Holt?

Yeah, who else? Baby boy Dylan. All grown up into daddy's perfectly fucked up little heir. I tell you, I'm giving away free talks on how the Holt's are a cancer on this town, but for whatever reasons, you know, no one's interested.

Uh-huh. Yeah, yeah. So what was that about? With Dylan.

Just keeping, you know, tabs on our local royalty, but hey, and of course, I also wanted to touch base on a couple of things, pitch him some app ideas. I just feel like I would make a good disruptor, you know, maybe get some of that big, fat, sweaty tech money that's going around, right? Right? Yeah.

Huh. Why was he here though? Amy, you said you followed him, right?

I mean, he's the one who said I was following him. I admit to nothing.

Right. So he was coming here. Why?

My guess. Probably looking to razzle dazzle you out of this place with the old one, two of a skeevy Holt smile and a fat Holt check.

He seems a little young to be closing important, major real estate deals, no?

Okay. Well, for starters, number one, why don't we do a wee little circle back after and discuss your definition of important and major real estate deals in this town? Because this, Loose Ends? Definitely not on those lists right now. Point number two, old man Holt and daddy Holt want to see him out there more, shaking hands, making deals, representing the family. So they're giving him some easy wins, you know, fucking training wheels, right? Looks like you're low hanging fruit, sweetheart.

That's pretty much what I assumed, but any money would be welcome, right? Low hanging or, you know, non-low hanging.

Yeah, yeah, definitely. So you'll be taking the money then?

You know, I should probably take another check of your vitals just to make sure of things.

Yeah, don't worry about it, for real.

Amy, you had a seizure. I have to make sure you're okay.

And I said, don't worry about it. I've been managing just fine without anyone's help for years.

Managing? Managing what? Is this something ongoing?

It's nothing. Hypoglycemia. I just didn't eat anything yet today. You got a Snickers or some Turkey Jerky or some shit in here?

It is not hypoglycemia. Look, whatever it is, you need to take care of yourself. Or what? Whoa, what is happening? Right now, even. A wall of singing fish. It's a wall of singing fish.

Oh yeah, wait until that old chuckle head the Christmas bass kicks in with Silent Night. Just tugs on the old barf strings.

There is absolutely no universe where I can imagine my dear Aunt Dee Dee actually being a fan of this. Like at all.

Oh please, your aunt hated these things. She just loved watching other people hating them more.

That tracks, yeah. Maybe it's Dee Dee's ghost. Making sure we don't kill each other.

Maybe.

No, but for real, you know. Yeah. I just wanted to say that, you know, yeah, I'm glad to see you. Really, I am, yeah, yes.

Glad to see me? Right. You know, it's not like you even let me know you were coming back to town. Radio silence. That's kind of your style, though, huh?

Look, I know, I know. It's just it's good to see you're okay.

Okay. You you think this is okay? What about any of this looks fucking okay?

Amy, look, it was complicated.

Right, right.

I don't know.

From my 13 year old perspective, it seemed pretty simple. Simon, to me, when I woke up from a two week coma, my dad was fucking dead. And where were you? Hey, look, I get that your family moved away, but no emails, no replies to my pathetic fucking Facebook messages on your birthday or fucking New Year's. The crazy thing, you never even said you were sorry my dad died. Not to me, you just signed some fucking card your family sent. What the fuck?

I get it, all right? I know I just bailed on you.

When I needed you the most, you were just fucking gone. Gone for 10 fucking years. Not a word. That's insane. Who does that?

Everything happened so fast. I couldn't deal with it. We moved away. I lost my best friend, my only friend. I was scared, and then the accident happened, and your dad died. Jonathan died. Amy, I thought you were going to die. I just... After everything, I just shut down. I was 13 and scared, and I just... Oh, God. I'm sorry, Amy. I'm so sorry.

Hey. Hey. Mags. Come here. Okay? Look, uh, yeah. I know it wasn't something you did to hurt me, okay? I get that. But it did hurt me, okay? It wasn't right. You shouldn't have done that to me, especially after what we went through. If my- if my best friend isn't there for me on my- on my darkest fucking day, then what is the point, right? But we were just kids, weren't we? It was- it was a fucked up time.

I should have- I should have done something- anything to reach out, but-

Hey, look, I get it. I know I am absolutely terrifying when I get angry.

You are. That was definitely a huge part of why.

It's- it's probably going to take some time, you know? But still, I really wanted to remain fucking furious with you, Chica, but it's really impossible to stay mad at you in person. I hate this.

Oh, well, thank you. I guess.

Hey, look at us. We survived our big reunion. I gotta say, though, it seems probably too convenient and tidy, but whatever. I'll take it. None the worse for wear, I guess.

Yes. Yeah, although I get puffy when I cry. Come on.

You know you look amazing. Just stand over there in the light. That's it.

Hey! Truly, that is an atrocity. Hey, would you mind, like...

Mind what?

Would you mind smoking this with me? I got it for anxiety and I definitely have an assortment of various anxiety right now.

Mags, just fucking marry me. Wait, an assortment of anxiety? Is that like an assortment of cheeses or something? Or like a flight of fucking ass tasting IPAs or some shit?

Yeah, yeah, right. You got it. It's like an assortment of, or rather a sampler of... So like on a little wooden charcuterie board with tastes of various anxieties, obviously, and neuroses as well, like brought here from across the globe to try. Oh, and then pair it all maybe with some local wines or even that flight of fucking ass tasting IPAs you mentioned earlier, that all sounded hella dope. Go IPAs.

Fucking funny. And that's why I think Hamburglar is like some kind of hidden Marxist symbol or icon, okay? But more on that later, because like what the fuck even is Grimace? And why would you want grimacing in any way associated with your food product at all? Like aren't you always promoting some level of product satisfaction since you're selling fast food? So given that then, like what even is his role? What is Grimace's role? Is he like associated with milkshakes somehow, right? Because that's kind of what it feels like. That's totally what it feels like. I mean, right? Is Grimace the dude they, you know, dust off whenever they're trying to sell some kind of new shake or like when they roll out the green Irish one?

Yes, so for like St. Patrick's Day.

Also, though, why is he purple? Answer me right now, Mags! Why is Grimace purple?

Because Grimace is a giant chode. What's that?

Holy shit, Mags, what is this stuff?

Seattle's Finest.

Yeah, we don't have good shit like this here in our poor little rural dispensaries. What's it called? Let me guess. Rogue Jedi. How about I Hate Your Podcast? No, no, no, wait, Smeagol's First Kiss.

Yeah, yeah, no, it's called Seattle's Finest. That's actually its name. Yep.

Lame. Oh, man. If I had that job, cannabis namer or like the person who names the different cannabis is or whatever, right? Like, seriously, how fucking great would I be at that job? Think about it. You know I'm right. When have all my particular particulars ever aligned in such a way where I could bring such joy to the world?

My dear amethyst, Emily O'Connell, I am saying this without even a quark or lepton of irony. You should probably research if that job is a thing. And if it is real, which I truly believe it is, then you should make it your eternal, like, quest to apply for that job and ultimately secure that job that is yours by destiny and by right.

I am shaking. Do you see this? Chills. These are real chills.

It's surreal. So much of this. Maybe all of this. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of Loose Ends with Amy in our early twenties, smoke drifting between us like no time has passed. Like we didn't just have whatever that was an hour ago. Like I didn't just help her through a seizure before that. Maybe even like I didn't ghost her for a decade. The weed helps, smoothing the jagged edges that time and silence left behind.

Didi's collection has gotten so much weirder since we were kids. Like, sure, there are now 23 Mexican Spider-Men, but there is also just like, you know, too many buttons. I feel like that's when you've entered into the realm of hoarding a bit, you know? Like, when the boxes bursting with buttons take to the stage, right? Like, no offense, babes.

Some offense, yeah, yes.

Hey, you know I'm neon Genesis ride or die with Didi, but like, look at these. It's a whole box. They're just buttons, dude. Like hundreds of them. Slightly different, but all black buttons. Well, mostly black. It looks like, yeah. There are some navy blue ones in there too.

I wonder what she saw in them. Like what made her keep them?

Yeah, that's the weird thing about dying, isn't it? People dig through all your stuff, then go off and judge it without any context.

And you can't explain. Like, no, those aren't just buttons. They're from my first boyfriend's coat, or that's from the suit I wore to my sister's wedding or whatever. Or even just people buy random stray buttons for stuff so I have a box of them.

Uh-huh, uh-huh. No doubt, no doubt. I definitely think it's of the latter category. There are just too damn many buttons to be from special occasions or whatever the fuck.

And here we are. Two girls, two very high girls, passing judgment on Dee Dee's life's work without her to defend it.

Um, shit. That's actually pretty sad. Yeah, damn.

We stand there in silence for a moment. Amy looks smaller somehow, her black hair falling across her face as she carefully puts the button box back exactly where she found it.

So, Mags, fearless feedback time, okay? Time for those hard questions, yeah? I'll go first. You always said you wanted to be a photographer. So how'd you end up in medical school?

Photography was the plan until it wasn't.

What happened?

I don't know. It just didn't feel right anymore after everything.

After what?

After the, after the attack, I guess.

Attack?

Oh, oh, I guess I thought, I thought maybe, yeah, yeah. I figured Dee Dee would have told you, you know, about that.

No, no, she didn't.

Oh, well.

Hey, what fucking attack?

It was my second year in Seattle. Some person got into the school somehow.

Oh my God.

Found me alone in the dark room after hours.

Jesus, Mags.

Broken ribs, fractured wrist, concussion. The weird thing is, yeah.

What?

They never took anything. My camera was right there, worth at least $1,000. My wallet, phone, everything just left behind. And they kept saying something about leaving it alone over and over, which made no sense.

Did they catch who did it?

Police said it was probably some homeless person who wandered in. School had a fit about security protocols after that, but I don't know. The school cameras malfunctioned that day. The person knew exactly when I'd be there alone. It all felt...

Targeted?

Yes, yeah, yes, yes. That's the word, targeted.

What did Dee Dee do? You know, when she found out?

That's the weird part. She drove up to Seattle immediately, but when she got there, I've never seen her and my parents fight like that. Dee Dee was convinced it wasn't random, kept saying she wanted to look into it properly. Mom and dad shut her down hard, said she was paranoid, making things worse, reminding me of Avalon Falls.

Reminding you of what happened here?

Yeah, that night, Dee Dee stormed out, didn't talk to my parents for almost a year after that. Even when she started emailing me again, it was different. Like she was holding something back.

And that's when you stopped with the photography and what got into science and shit?

Yeah, couldn't take photos anymore. Kept seeing, I don't know, shadows, threats that weren't there. Thought maybe if I could fix people, I'd stop seeing the ways they could be broken.

Whoa, whoa, okay, whoa. Great speech, Keanu. Holy shit. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love Keanu Reeves. Who doesn't? He is a treasure. Yeah. Untesoro, right? But that was Bleak Girl, right? Come on. Like John Wick telling you which Joy Division song is his favorite. Like that shade of Bleak. Oh, you know what? I do that. I use humor to deflect from emotions. I'm Chandler fucking Bing. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. You know, deflect from, well, your thing. We should talk more about your thing.

It's okay. Turns out medicine doesn't cure anything. It just shows you all the different ways you're powerless. There's something in Amy's expression I can't quite read. A guardedness that wasn't there a moment ago. But before I can ask about it, she's moving across the shop, picking up a wooden figure from a shelf.

Oh shit, Mags, look, it's your raven.

My, my what?

This, don't you remember?

It's the carved wooden raven I found earlier. The one that fell when I first entered the shop. Yeah, I mean, I saw it today, but.

You seriously don't remember? During that summer, we were obsessed with whittling when we were like 10 or whatever. I carved this for you. Or, like, whittled it. Fuck, I still don't know if there's a difference or not.

Oh my god, with that pocket knife your dad gave us.

Yeah, with the old man's Swiss army knife. You were so much better at it than me. Whoa, and here's the wolf you carved for me. Dang, this is really good, dude. You should be a fucking whittler, not a doctor. I mean, right? Look at this.

Yes, yeah, the wolf looks so much, like, so much better than the raven. I mean, thank you for the raven, but it looks, it's, you know, it looks like straight up trash. You know, especially in comparison to this wolf I carved. I was only 10 years old when I did it. Hard to believe, huh? Look at that detailing. The fur and yeah, the paws even like, when you see that, huh? That sparkle in the eye. My God, I'm sorry. It's just so, so majestic, right? It is majestic. I can't believe Dee Dee kept these all these years.

Of course she did. She kept everything that mattered. And obviously stuff that doesn't matter too, right? Like, fuck! Dee Dee had a real fucking hard time throwing stuff out, right? Like even her business revolved around that. That's actually smart. Make your passion your job, and you will never work again. Whoa, did you hear that? I gotta write that down or dictate it. I have an app. Usually I just dictate ideas for other apps into that app. But this time, huh, I can't find the app on here. What? That's okay. It's okay. I'll just, you know what? I'll set a reminder to dictate an idea about the app into the app.

It seemed like he recognized me. Dylan, I mean.

Yeah, I mean, makes sense, but why do you say that?

Yeah, like right before you showed up, he looked at me like... Like he was looking for me specifically, and that he had, you know, he had found me.

That's weird. Unless, like, I don't know, maybe he heard you were back. News travels fast in this burg, right? Especially news about a local celebrity, yeah?

Celebrity? Yeah, yeah. Let's relax. Still not sure why Dylan Holt would care, though.

Maybe Dilly's always had a crush on you, and he's been secretly pining for the mysterious Mags Park all these years?

Gross, dude.

Honestly, yeah. Yeah, I really think it's the real estate angle, though. No offense, babes.

Some offense.

It's a chance for the Holt's or any of the fucking originals to scoop up something that wasn't on the board until now, right? I mean, obviously, obviously, Dee Dee would never sell to them, no matter what they offered.

I guess that seems the most logical explanation for his behavior.

Sure. Makes sense. And, you know, he'll probably come back. Dylan will probably come back, and you can find out what he wants then, and like how much he's going to offer for Loose Ends.

I mean, that's, um, well, uh, uh, yes, yeah. Um, yeah, uh, is every- is everything okay? You seem, um-

Mags. Can you see what I am seeing?

Stairs going down? Did not notice that earlier. But, yeah. I guess that makes sense. There is very obviously a basement floor to this place. You can see it when you're outside. It is not hidden at all. I mean, I mean, haven't we been down there before as kids?

Mags, Mags, Mags. Do you know what this means? Exactly. If the main floor is this weird, imagine what Dee Dee kept in the basement.

Oh, uh, yeah, yes. Um, do you, like, do you think, do you think there are, um, like, maybe, maybe snacks down there?

Take my hand. Let's find out. Related follow-up question. Y'all got any more of those giant spliffs to ease anxiety? We could probably use one.

We descend into the darkness side by side, just like when we were kids. And I can't shake the feeling that this is exactly what Dee Dee wanted, the two of us, Mags and Amy, together again, following the trail of breadcrumbs she left behind.

Holy fucking shit, that's wow.

Whoa, what is all this? The basement of Loose Ends isn't at all what I expected. I was expecting dusty boxes of unsold merchandise or forgotten antiques, a milk crate full of rare vinyl, a mint-conditioned Golden Age Wonder Woman comic, weird erotic soap dishes from 1800s Delaware. I don't know. Instead, it's like I walked into an episode of fucking Severance or something. Monitors, servers, hard drives stacked neatly on industrial racks. Filing cabinets? Many filing cabinets. Hundreds of videotape boxes neatly lined up over several library shelves. Everything meticulously labeled in Dee Dee's looping handwriting. And there is just so much of it all. And, at the other side of it all, a five monitor computer rig setup that is still on, showing various CCTV feeds. Live ones, apparently, from all across Avalon Falls.

I mean, this... This is some serious shit, Mags. Your aunt was like fucking Batman. Oh my god.

I don't understand. Why would Dee Dee need all this? Why would Dee Dee need all this, Amy?

Are you kidding? After what happened with the Osprey Island case? After what happened to my dad? Dee Dee knew something wasn't right in this town. Shit. Dee Dee fucking rules again. Upstairs is the fucking Gilmore Girls, and downstairs is Person of Interest. Amazing. I mean, dated references, but you get my point, right?

These feeds? They're from all over AF. And it... It looks like this is an index of all of them, and wow. Okay? There are way more than I was thinking.

Yeah. Yeah. Look. Look. Lula's, the Harbor, Main Street, Outlet Mall. Wait, wait, wait. Is that inside the fucking Holt building? No way. Holy shittles.

Wait, Dee Dee has cameras inside private businesses? Even inside the Holt's private businesses?

And not just the obvious places. Look.

The cannery, it's been abandoned for years since.

Since we got it shut down with all of our pesky meddling.

Yes. Yeah.

Canneries deep in the woods near Osprey Point and the abandoned railroad tunnel.

Places no one would think to look. Places where you could do things without being seen.

Dee Dee wasn't just nosy. She was methodical. These feeds seem to be from different sources too.

Like she's piggybacking on different signals. I mean, I suppose that isn't too difficult in theory, especially around here. Look at the dates on these files. Some go back almost 10 years.

Right after my dad died.

Oh, yes.

Uh, yeah. There's a calendar with scheduled recordings. Looks like she was monitoring specific locations at specific times.

It's almost seven. There's one scheduled for the docs right about now.

The docs, huh? Oh, and there's the feed number too. Okay, let's see. And there it is, the docs.

The screen shows the docs, specifically a part of the docs that's been mostly abandoned since the fishing industry collapsed just over a decade ago. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the weathered planks. And for a moment, nothing happens. Nothing save an occasional seabird landing and strolling its way out of frame. Then a car pulls into view.

Whoa, wait, is that is that a fucking Tesla?

Yeah, yes. Yeah, that's that's Dylan Holt.

It's gotta be something juicy if Dilly is taking some random clandestine meeting at the abandoned docks, right?

Seems likely. Huh, what could it be?

Get your popcorn ready. Oh, maybe he's meeting a lover, huh? You jealous Mags?

Are you?

Wait, wait, I'm betting this is all part of a secret surprise for his mom. Like, it's her birthday soon. Don't ask how I know that. Just do not. Oh, oh, he's meeting a clown to buy some balloons. Like, a lot of balloons, right?

Wait, what?

For her surprise party? I mean, everyone knows you call a clown when you need balloons in that kind of volume. That's just like the Circus Maximus, man. You know, the ancient laws of the carnival. Yeah.

Have you bought balloons or anything from clowns, Amy?

Nope. Never needed that many balloons before.

Right, right. Oh, look, he's getting out of his car. We watch as Dylan gets out, checks his phone, looks around nervously. I mean, it seems like maybe it's nervously, but honestly, it's not easy to tell given the low quality of the feeds.

He's pacing, waiting. Guess he's meeting someone. Huh.

Looks like someone is actually standing up. Dylan Holt. Interesting. After a few minutes, Dylan gets back in his car and drives away.

That's it. He just leaves?

He definitely didn't seem cool with being left hanging.

Oh, oh, wait. Let me check other cameras in that area. Man. Yeah. I could totally get used to this. This is like, we're like fucking Overwatch here.

While Amy hunts through the surveillance system like she was born to it, I find myself looking around the room more carefully. A row of filing cabinets lines one wall, each drawer meticulously labeled Holt, Warren, Handler, Bergman, all of the town's original families. But there are other cabinets with other names for both civilians and businesses. There are even some cabinets devoted to different locations and landmarks in the area. Osprey Island, the old paper mill, Holtwood, the sloppy otter. Yes, yeah, that's Avalon Falls favorite. And a historic dive bar. There are also many, many other locations from town and around town that Didi kept files on here. It's all a lot. And there is even more of this arranged throughout the basement. There are cabinets and boxes and drawers and more and more of this, whatever this is that Didi was doing here. It is so vast in scope, so enormous an implication that I stopped processing how much there is here. So, Amy? So, Marguerite? There is just kind of too much here. Not in a good way, but more, sort of more in, you know, like, in a, well, overwhelming and scary way.

I know. It's awesome, right? Oh, oh, like overwhelming in a bad way.

Okay, okay.

Got it. Why don't we take ourselves a wee little break to regroup and, you know, just chill, smoke another of those Seattle city joints you have, and like, figure out a game plan, right? Yeah.

Uh, what, what do you mean, what game plan?

You know, like what we're gonna do with all of this? Like, well, for starters, we need to take stock of everything down here. Go through it, catalog it, start following leads. Also figure out what Dee Dee was onto and follow that trail, right? Mags, think about it, okay? This, whatever this is, this system, it's incredible. We could track anyone in town with this. Oh my God, is this what motivation feels like? It's, holy shit, it's fucking electric. I can't feel my fingers.

Oh, um, well, so look, um, uh, Amy, I, like, I came here to sell a curiosity shop, not inherit, like, the Batcave or whatever.

Is that really all you came back for? To fucking sell this place and leave?

That was, that was the plan. Yes, um, yeah.

And now?

I can't give Amy an answer. The basement hums around us. Dee Dee's years of careful surveillance and research waiting to be explored. Look, I, can we just, just head back upstairs, process all this?

Yeah, Mags, I, okay.

The main floor of the shop feels different now, knowing what lies beneath it. Every curiosity, every oddity Dee Dee collected takes on new meaning. What else was she hiding in plain sight? All units, we have a 10-54 at the harbor. Pier three, repeat, 10-54 at pier three. Requesting additional units and CSI over.

10-54, whoa, whoa, whoa, that's a body, like a murdered body.

Ugh, what time is it?

Almost midnight, dude, murder at the harbor, harbor murder, all hands on deck, come on.

Come on where?

Come on, Eileen. Where, seriously, Mags? Fucking where? Downstairs, that's where. Dee Dee's got cameras all over the harbor.

Amy, wait, should we really be doing this?

You want to fucking drive down to the harbor and explain to all the cops why we're so interested in their little midnight harbor homicide?

Huh, good point.

Okay, harbor feeds, Pier 3. Yeah, got it.

On the monitor, we see the docs bathed in red and blue police lights, officers mill around setting up crime scene tape. The camera isn't super close and the angle isn't perfect, but we can see the outline of something on the weathered planks, something covered with a sheet. That's a body. Whoa.

I found this other feed that's on the opposite end of all that. Look at the vehicles. That's the sheriff's SUV, some patrol cars.

And that's a Tesla. That's Dylan Holt's fucking Tesla. Holy, holy shit.

So does that mean maybe he just witnessed something? Hmm. Let me try to get a better view. Oh, dang.

The new angle shows medical examiner personnel dealing with the body. As they shift the sheet, we catch a glimpse of a familiar designer track suit in a light shade of purple. Dylan.

Yup.

So we need to call the police.

What? No, no, no, no, no. Bad idea, man. Bad idea.

Amy, we can't just think Mags.

We're sitting on an illegal and just fucking terrifying surveillance system that was watching the exact spot where a murder victim was last seen. How does that look?

So what? We just pretend we don't know anything?

No, we don't just pretend. We investigate, like we used to. Small town tween detective powers activate, right? You know, except like we're like old now or whatever.

Are you serious? This isn't finding out who stole the school mascot, Amy. Someone was murdered. Dylan Holt was murdered. He's the heir to a fortune that is in the hundreds of millions, if not billions of dollars. This is going to be huge, like possibly a national level thing.

Fucking right. And if it's connected to everything else, the old case, my dad, your attack, the originals, then we might be the only ones who can actually solve it.

I, I don't know.

After everything that's happened today, the shop, you saving my life, our reunion, Dee Dee's fucking CIA basement. And now this? A murder? Come on, Mags, you feel it too. That hunger, right? That need to know?

And the worst part is, she's right. Beneath the shock and fear, there's something else. Curiosity. The same feeling that drove us to solve the Osprey Island case all those years ago. Look, if we look into this, we have to be smart and we have to be careful.

Of course. Woohoo! Murder Girls, back in action.

Please don't call us that.

I'm taking the slur back. Yes, back to being small town sleuths. I am liking, no, loving this for us, bud.

I'm loving it too, but I feel like it's my solemn duty to remind us that someone was murdered in order for this heartwarming second chance to take place.

Oh yeah, that's true.

Standing in Dee Dee's shop, my shop, surrounded by curiosities and secrets with Amy's eyes lit up with the thrill of investigation, I realized something. I'm not going to be selling this place, not now anyway. I mean, I suppose we could do some preliminary poking around and, you know, see if we end up turning anything up, right? What's the harm in that, right? Yeah, there's no harm in poking and turning, right?

Right.

All right, so where do we start?

I thought you'd never ask.

And just like that, the Murder Girls are back in business. God help us all.