Chapter Seventeen #3
“I never considered doing much else, to be honest with you. I fell in love with Dread’s Cove my first summer.
Always had a real sense of peace here. It was more home than my own home.
So when the old guy who preceded me retired, it made too much sense not to raise my hand.
I may have been biting off more than I could chew, but there was a good support system here, you know.
Kind of like a family. Friends can be like that sometimes. ”
No one could ignore the low, almost guttural sound that came out of Margo’s mouth. She cleared her throat, trying to cover it up as some kind of cough. “Allergies,” she said in a low monotone, and gave Rig a look that clearly meant, You were saying?
She almost always had such a bulletproof shell, but then it would fracture for just a moment, and we’d see a glimmer of pain, like a raw nerve, pulsing just beneath her skin.
“Everyone here felt like family to me. And I met—ah, Chelsea’s mom—not long after I started, and, well. The rest is history, I guess you could say.”
“And when was that?” Silence, for a long beat. “When you met Chelsea’s mom?”
Rig swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Must have been fall of…” He trailed off, caught in another memory. “Thirty or so years ago, I guess.”
“And her name was?”
I tried to catch Margo’s eye, but she was still ignoring me. I could almost hear her salivating, like she was feeding off the discomfort in the room.
“Hope,” came Chelsea’s voice, the first she’d spoken since the interview had started. It was more of a choke than anything. My stomach lurched; Hope had died giving birth to Chelsea.
Rig only nodded, then sighed gruffly. “Then Chelsea was born, and—” He took a deep breath, not finishing his thought and not needing to. “And we’ve both been here ever since.” He said it like he hadn’t just distilled decades into one sentence.
“What was your community like here, back in the nineties? You had a lot of friends around, I’d guess?”
I found myself holding my breath, nervous, though I wasn’t fully sure why.
“Sure did,” Rig agreed, voice mild. He was growing wary, though; I could see the lines forming between his eyes. “This was a great place to be a kid and a young man.”
Margo’s pen was flying across the page, even though she had the recorder going. “Tell me about Winona Hayes. Did you know her?”
Rig stared at Margo, unblinking for a long, pregnant moment. Maybe I was imagining it, but the room felt charged now. Awake.
“Winona Hayes?” Rig said back to her, slowly, like he’d misheard her.
Margo gave a curt nod, encouraging him to go on. “She used to work here. Tell me about her.”
“Lots of people have worked here,” he said mildly. “I’d have to be a real genius to remember all of ’em.” But Rig was no longer meeting Margo’s eye, or mine, or even Chelsea’s. He was staring intently at the ceiling like it was very important that he count the tiles.
“She was a friend of my mother’s,” I cut in. I wanted Rig to know that this wasn’t a wild-goose chase of Margo’s. “My dad told me about her yesterday. He said she was married to Frankie.”
Rig’s eyes snapped to mine, wide and bright blue. “Sure. That sounds right.”
She was Steph’s mom, I wanted to say. But Rig was acting strange, and I didn’t want to bring Steph into this just yet.
She’d kept her research about her mother a secret that summer. Even from Margo. Even from me. For the first time, I wondered if she may have had a genuine reason for doing so, other than her own pride.
“Well, I just have a few more questions,” Margo said brusquely, clearly sensing that the tide had turned. “Let’s fast-forward to the summer of the fire. What did you think about the appearance of the Phantom?”
My jaw fell open. We hadn’t talked about this—she was going rogue.
Rig gripped the edge of the table with both hands, as if needing it to keep him steady. “I don’t really have a lot of thoughts about it. It was some kids goofing around, playing dumb pranks to stir things up. Nothing anyone needs to worry about, especially now.”
Margo leaned forward, pen poised over her notepad. “So, you’re saying that the fire that killed Stephanie Bennett was a prank? Isn’t the official story that it was a wildfire, caused by a summer storm?”
After an excruciating silence, Rig scratched at his beard. “I wasn’t talking about the fire,” he said carefully. “I meant all the other stuff. But yes, the fire was caused by a surge of lightning on the other side of the lake.”
These were the same words that my mother had said so many times that they sounded stale, rehearsed. I almost cringed, hearing them back now.
“So, all the other stuff, then,” Margo said, undeterred. “Like those boys who almost died, and the vandalism down by the lake. All of that was just pranks? That’s your official statement?”
Rig opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
Margo pushed her pen aside, all pretense of taking notes gone. “Who do you think was the Phantom of Dread’s Cove? What do you think they were looking for?”
His eyes flicked to mine for a fraction of a second, looking for an out. I felt terrible, I did; but I wasn’t ready for this to be done yet.
The Phantom of Dread’s Cove had remained a mystery, for so many years. I needed to know what he thought. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized just how badly.
“I don’t know who it was, and they weren’t looking for anything, far as I know,” he said finally, crossing his weatherworn hands on the table. “Not really sure what you mean by that.”
Margo narrowed her eyes and leaned so far forward that she was practically flush against the table. “All those break-ins and ransacked cabins? Someone skulking around the property in the middle of the night? You really think that was all random, just for fun? Surely, you must have a theory.”
“For God’s sake,” Chelsea said.
I gripped the arms of my chair, bracing for impact.
“This is supposed to be a puff piece, isn’t it? I thought you did profiles, not police work.”
“Oh, that’s so cute, you’ve been keeping track of me,” Margo quipped without even glancing at her, and the tops of Chelsea’s cheeks turned pink.
“Stop it,” I said, slightly too loudly, and their gazes all landed on me. “Whether you like it or not, Margo is here, and she’s writing this story. She’s the only person I trust to do this right.”
Chelsea’s eyes were wild. “Are you forgetting everything she said to us? She told us that she wanted us to die. She called us fucking murderers. Don’t you remember that?”
“The fire had barely stopped burning, tensions were high for all of us, for you, too—”
“No, no, no, that’s not good enough. She’s playing games. Don’t you get it? Spinning her web. You’re falling for it hook, line and sinker, just like you did with Steph. It’s pathetic.”
“Please, Chelsea,” I said at the same time Margo slammed her hand hard against the table.
“Don’t you dare talk about her, you have no idea—”
“That’s enough.” Rig was still sitting, his hands in a steeple in front of him.
Gone was the low thrum of anxiety I was sure I’d felt from him when Winona was mentioned.
Now, there was a cold undercurrent of anger.
“I think this interview is over. I’ll be happy to answer any follow-up questions over email once Margo returns to Atlanta.
But right now, I’ve got a camp full of guests that I need to tend to. If you’ll excuse me.”
Both he and Chelsea rose swiftly from their chairs. Rig stopped in the doorway, looked back at Margo and me like he might say one more thing. After a long beat, he just patted the doorframe and left without another word.
It was deathly quiet as Margo and I watched each other from opposite ends of the table.
“What are you doing?” I asked her, trying not to sound as frustrated as I felt. “I thought we were trying to figure out what happened to Winona Hayes. What does she have to do with the Phantom, or the fire?”
“I have a process,” she said, pressing a finger to her eyelashes as if to curl them. “You just said you trusted me to do this. Was that another lie?”
I blinked at her, caught off guard. “No. No, it wasn’t.”
“Good. Then I think we’re done here.” She glanced at the clock, started gathering her things. “I’ve got to go check in with my editor. Is there anywhere else you think we might find some information about Winona?”
I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers catching on a knot. “I mean, I can try to catch up to Rig—”
She snorted, tucking her highlighter behind her ear. “I’m not dumb, Little G. He just totally stonewalled us. No, if there’s anything left here, it’s going to be without his help.”
“I’ll ask Val, then.”
She leaned forward. “No way. Val’s off-limits. If her husband’s got secrets, you know she’s keeping them, too.”
I wanted to argue. I did. But her point was valid. And that was terrifying.
As I watched her go, I pictured the Margo I’d met all those summers ago. Vicious, when she wanted to be. Sneaking up on you like a snake in the grass. Taking a bite. Refusing to let go.
She scared me, yes. But I was starting to wonder if there was anyone else here who should scare me more.