Chapter Thirteen
───── ? ────
Lily sat at the interview table, fingers lightly drumming against her notepad, her gaze fixed on the door as if willing Margo to appear.
It had been nearly an hour since Rhett had stormed out of the station, and the fallout was already in motion.
Everything—his admission, the hush money trail, the lack of a clear alibi—had been packaged and turned over to the district attorney.
In a day or two, Rhett Hale might be facing criminal charges.
Not for murder.
Not yet.
But the possibility was real.
Rhett had the means to have killed Catherine and orchestrated the attacks against Griff and her. He’d carried a weapon for most of his adult life. He had tactical knowledge, investigative experience, and he knew how to avoid leaving evidence behind. He also had a motive. Or maybe motives.
For Hannah, it could have been rage. He could have been in love with her himself. There were still gaps in that timeline, still things he hadn’t said.
And for Catherine…
If she’d threatened to expose him for accepting hush money, or if their relationship had soured in some darker, more dangerous way, she could have become a liability. Maybe she was done paying him. Maybe she wanted to cut ties. Maybe she’d finally had enough.
And Rhett didn’t like loose ends.
Lily glanced at the empty chair across from her. Margo was next. Another knot in this twisted tangle of secrets, lies, and lives lost.
She felt Griff’s presence beside her, quiet, steady, and she took some comfort in it. But the weight pressing down on her chest hadn’t eased. Not with so many questions still unanswered.
Not with a killer still out there.
The silence in the interview room wasn’t uncomfortable, not with Griff beside her—but it was charged. Tense. Like the calm before a storm they both knew was still rolling in.
Lily leaned back slightly in her chair, exhaling slowly.
Her gaze slid toward Griff, drawn to him as it always was when her thoughts got too heavy.
He wasn’t even looking at her, just going over the notes in their interview file.
His jaw was tight, his thumb tapping a slow rhythm against his coffee cup.
When he finally looked up, their eyes locked.
And there it was.
The storm behind his eyes, fury at what had been done to Catherine, to Hannah, to Bobby Ray. Frustration that they were so close and still chasing shadows. But beneath all that, just beneath, was the simmering heat that hadn’t let up since that first kiss. Maybe even before that.
Lily felt it crackling through her chest.
“I’m not great at relationships,” she said quietly, surprising herself. “I’ve always been all in on the job. And most people… don’t wait around for that.”
Griff didn’t hesitate. He gave her a small smile, wry and knowing. “Same here.”
She didn’t smile back—but her lips twitched. It was good to hear it. Even better to believe it.
“But,” he added, shifting just slightly toward her, “that probably won’t cool down the heat.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but the door creaked open, halting the moment.
Margo stepped in, her face pale but composed, followed by a man in a dark suit and rimless glasses. Her attorney, no doubt.
The emotional spell between Lily and Griff snapped into something sharper, professional. Focused. It was time to get answers.
Margo slid into the seat across from Lily, her arms folding loosely, shoulders tight beneath a slate-gray sweater. Her lawyer took the chair beside her, setting a sleek leather folder on the table without a word. Lily didn’t recognize him. Definitely not local.
The man was composed, maybe early forties. Polished in that out-of-town way that screamed big firm, bigger retainer.
Lily clicked on the recorder. “This is Deputy Lily Oliver, joined by Deputy Griff Abrams. We’re conducting a recorded interview with Margo Cole regarding the homicide of Catherine Langston and the cold case involving Hannah Cole.
Also present is Ms. Cole’s legal counsel.
” She glanced at the attorney. “Please state your name for the recording.”
“David Kellerman,” he said smoothly. “Representing Ms. Cole.”
Lily gave a small nod and turned her attention back to Margo. “You were previously advised of your Miranda rights,” she said. “Do you need me to repeat them?”
Margo shook her head quickly, voice low. “No.”
“Then let’s get started.” Lily pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and uncapped her pen, her tone even but firm. “Margo, we need your whereabouts for the day before yesterday between 5:00 and 5:45 p.m.—when someone fired multiple rounds at Deputy Abrams and me at my burned-out home.”
Griff remained quiet beside her, but she could feel the tension building in him, same as it was building in her.
Margo looked from Lily to Griff, then back again. “I didn’t shoot at anyone,” she said quickly. “And I didn’t kill Catherine.”
“Then tell us where you were,” Lily said, not blinking.
Kellerman leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “My client is willing to answer that, but I’d like to clarify that this is a voluntary statement.”
“It is,” Lily said. “For now.”
Margo let out a slow breath and finally spoke. “I was at the house. My mother’s. Going through boxes in the garage. I’ve been cleaning out the property so I can sell it.”
“Alone?” Lily asked.
Margo hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
Lily pressed. “Can anyone verify that?”
“No. I didn’t have anyone with me. I didn’t call anyone. No deliveries. No visitors.”
“And during the earlier time frame—2:30 to 3:15?”
Margo blinked. “I… I was at the house then too. I’ve got receipts from the hardware store that morning, and I stopped for lunch around one. But after that, I was home.”
Lily jotted the details down but kept her gaze locked on Margo. No alibi. No witnesses. Just Margo, alone, near the murder scene.
And with motive to spare.
Griff reached into the folder and withdrew a single photo, sliding it across the table until it rested just in front of Margo. Caleb Davidson, age fourteen. Fresh haircut. Slightly forced smile.
Margo’s reaction was instant.
A soft gasp broke from her throat, barely audible, but unmistakable. Her hand trembled as she reached for the picture, stopping just shy of touching it. Her eyes welled with something fierce and raw before she quickly turned and whispered something frantic to her attorney.
David Kellerman glanced at her, then shifted his focus to Griff. “Where did you get this?”
Griff’s voice was calm, cool. “School records. The photo is from last fall. Standard class portrait.”
Margo stared at the photo, her mouth pressed into a line, but the damage was done.
Lily leaned forward slightly, her voice low but firm. “You never mentioned him before. He’s fourteen, born about seven months after your sister’s death.”
Margo said nothing, but her knuckles were white on the edge of the table.
Griff picked up where Lily left off. “And he looks like Bobby Ray. Enough to turn heads. Enough to raise questions.”
The silence that followed wasn’t denial. It was confirmation.
Margo’s hand hovered near the photo, trembling just slightly. Her lips parted, but it took a moment before she found her voice. “He has nothing to do with this,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Griff didn’t flinch. “He could if he’s Bobby Ray’s son.”
With her defiance flaring, Margo’s eyes snapped up to his.
“Is he?” Griff asked, calm but unrelenting. “Is Bobby Ray the father?”
“And before you answer,” Lily added, “we can get a court order for a DNA test.”
The silence stretched.
Then, Margo’s breath hitched, and the words rushed out of her in a single, pained exhale. “Yes. His father is Bobby Ray. But that still has nothing to do with what happened to Hannah. Or Catherine.”
Lily studied her, but it was hard to see anything in Margo’s expression now except a storm of panic and exhaustion.
But across the table, her lawyer didn’t look nearly as confident.
Kellerman’s forehead creased, his eyes narrowing in concern.
He leaned in close, whispered something low in Margo’s ear.
Margo didn’t respond. She just kept staring at the photo of her son as if it might vanish if she wished hard enough.
Lily leaned in just slightly, keeping her tone careful and even.
“Tell us about your relationship with Bobby Ray,” she said. She left it wide open—no assumptions, no leading.
Margo sat still for a long moment, her jaw tight, the school photo of Caleb still sitting between them like a ghost. Then she let out a long, shaky breath.
“He was my lover,” Margo said quietly. “Not Hannah’s. No matter what everyone said back then, about him being obsessed with Hannah, about him stalking her. It wasn’t true. He was with me.”
Lily didn’t respond right away. She watched the way Margo’s eyes flicked to the photo, then back to the table. The way her hands twisted together. There was pain there, and something else. Something murkier. Like even now, Margo wasn’t sure what had been real.
Lily couldn’t help but wonder if Bobby Ray truly had been with Margo? Had there been a relationship? Or had it just been sex? Something fleeting and secret that Margo had clung to while Bobby Ray’s attention drifted elsewhere?
Lily kept her voice gentle but firm. “If you and Bobby Ray were together… why keep it a secret?”
Margo’s eyes lifted to hers then, dark and tired. “Because no one would’ve believed it. Because I was the smart sister. The nothing special, plain one. Hannah was the one everyone looked at. I didn’t want the gossip. And Bobby Ray didn’t want the drama.”
Lily made a small note, but her mind was racing now through timelines, through motives, through everything Margo hadn’t yet said. Because secrets like that didn’t stay buried forever.
And this one had already started to rise.
Griff’s voice cut through the thick silence. “Did Hannah know about the pregnancy?”