[A/N: Super short chapter but I promise to make up for it later! Let me know what you think!]

Arnold and Helga woke up late the following morning after spending the better part of the night scouring every piece of evidence they had for some indication as to who B.J. was. A loud, incessant knocking at the front door, however, startled them from their much needed slumber.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Helga grumbled irritably as she trudged up to the door in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, peering through the window to see the the cop who'd assisted them at the local precinct yesterday waiting impatiently. He was a thin man with a close blonde buzzcut and lines in his face from years of seeing things he wished he could forget.

"Lenny?" She said, recalling the name he'd asked them to call him as she opened the door.

"I think I may have found what you're looking for," Lenny said excitedly as he stepped over the threshold.

"Well, good morning to you, too," Helga said sarcastically as she closed the door and Arnold came out into the living room, his blonde hair unruly from sleep and dark circles under his eyes.

"'B.J.' was the initials, right?" The detective verified, barely giving Helga or Arnold the chance to respond. "Check this out," He said, handing a police report to her and as Helga skimmed its contents, it all started to make sense. "Rebecca Jacobbson," Lenny said, pointing to the name on the page. "Look at the nickname - 'Bea',"

"B.J.," Arnold breathed, looking over Helga's shoulder at the report.

"I didn't make the connection at first but it fits," Lenny continued. "They found her body out near the bridge. She had claimed to be a medium, you know, talkin' to ghosts and spirits and stuff like that. Even had her own little side business on the mainland. But you wanna know the crazy part?" Helga and Arnold looked up at the man whose energy and pace were more than either of them were prepared for this morning. "She was working as a secretary for the Bauers when she died,"

Helga's eyes widened, suddenly completely awake. "Shit,"

. . . . . . . .

Flashback

"I have to get out of here," A young woman with dark, soft locks and a gentle face said as she dug through her dresser drawers. "I thought it was just me but… I'm really scared, Brooke"

Brooke watched her frantic friend as she threw various articles of clothing into an open suitcase beside her. "But where will you go? What are you gonna do?" The raven-haired beauty asked, her eyebrows stitched together with concern as she watched helplessly.

"I don't know," Marguerite replied hastily. "I don't know… but I think he knows I figured it out. I-I can't stay here," She let her voice trail off as she shoved a final shirt into her suitcase and forced it closed.

Brooke pursed her lips. "I'm so sorry, Maggie," She said, her voice quiet and thin, so unlike her usual character but in the privacy of these four walls, she and her best friend could be unwaveringly honest. "I just… I don't know what to do. I wish I could have done more to protect you..."

"There's nothing you could've done, Brooke," Marguerite turned to her, making eye contact. "I just… I need you to cover for me. You can't let anyone know that I left or that you know anything about any of this," She insisted. "I don't know where I'm going yet but that's probably a good thing; the less you know the better. I don't want them to hurt you, too…"

Brooke fought back the tears that threatened to flood her eyes. "When will I ever see you again?"

"Don't worry," Marguerite said confidently, gathering her now-zipped suitcase. It was a small size but stuffed with as much as she could bear. "When I'm safe, when I find somewhere to go, I'll let you know I'm okay. But you understand, I need to go?"

"Of course I do," Brooke's voice faltered. "I just hate it. I can't believe it,"

"I know," Marguerite said distantly. "But if I don't leave now, I'll probably end up like the others…"

Brooke held her breath in an attempt to steady herself, a trick she'd picked up after being in the spotlight with other socialite teens and their families.

"I'll miss you," She said firmly, her eyes being the only thing that betrayed the stoic expression she'd put on.

Marguerite's face softened, "Me too," She lifted her gaze to meet Brooke's. "Stay safe. Please,"

. . . . . . . .

"'A man or woman who is a medium or spiritist among you must be put to death. You are to stone them; their blood will be on their own heads.'" Arnold re-read the passage for what felt like the millionth time.

"I get it, Football-head," Helga said, getting frustrated as they mulled over the information Lenny had brought that morning. "Repeating it over and over isn't doing anything. It fits, okay?"

Arnold stood leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossing over his chest and deep in thought while Helga sat at the table, periodically sipping from her coffee mug as she flipped through the report Lenny had left.

"But what's the connection?" Arnold asked, more to himself than to her as he processed everything they'd learned so far. "What is it about these five women and these verses that Marguerite was paying attention to?"

"Aside from the fact they were murdered according to those verses?" Helga said tersely.

"Sure," Arnold shrugged. "But even - wait a minute…"

"What?" Helga turned to look at him and his expression had changed dramatically. She could see the gears turning in his head. "What?"

Arnold walked toward the table, fervently flipping through the newspaper articles and reports they'd collected. "These names, Helga," He said, pointing to each woman's name on their respective articles. "They're all Jewish names or at least, somehow Biblical, aren't they?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Helga retorted. "Who do I look like, Mary Magdalene?" She paused, realization dawning on her face. "Shit… Magda…"

"Exactly," Arnold said with nervous energy. "And Sara, Liv Igielski… Helga, her family was made up of a bunch of Nazis,"

"Holy shit," Helga breathed, shaking her head as she pieced everything together. "Holy shit, Arnold!" She slammed a hand down on the table. "Why didn't we figure this out before?"

"I don't know," Arnold replied. "But the important thing is we know it now,"

"Arnold…" Helga said slowly. "There's only one Bauer Nazi that's still alive and it's Maxwell,"

"He must be the one who did it…" Arnold surmised. "Wow…"

"There's only one way to be sure," Helga said, standing up as Arnold's eyes followed her. "If he actually did all of these, there's gotta be something connecting him to the locations, right? All these women were murdered in different places so there have to be business logs, receipts, invoices, some kind of documentation that would place him in those areas around the dates of the murders,"

"That makes sense," Arnold nodded, impressed. "But how do we get them? Where would they even be?"

"I'm sure that's something William could help with," Helga said. "Or even Ronald, actually. I'll make a call," She began to dig her phone out of her pocket. "Actually…"

Arnold waited for her to go on but when she didn't right away, he pressed. "Actually what?"

"He could be out hunting with Doug right now," Helga said thoughtfully and Arnold could already sense the direction she was moving in. "I remember Rich's aunt mentioning that Doug and Maxwell would go out hunting around this time usually,"

"Helga, I know what you're thinking and it's too dangerous," Arnold cautioned.

"Football-head," She scoffed. "This whole damn situation is dangerous. If it makes you feel better, I'll go check out Maxwell's place and you can look for receipts with Ronald,"

"That doesn't make me feel better," Arnold deadpanned. "What if he were to come home while you're inside the house?"

"Then I'll hide or something," Helga said. "Believe it or not, Football-head, I've been in situations where I almost got caught being somewhere I wasn't supposed to be before and no one ever figured it out," She said cryptically, alluding to the myriad of times she'd snuck into his house to retrieve something that could've revealed her secret affection for him. "I'll be fine. I'm stealthy - like a ninja,"

Arnold rolled his eyes. "Fine," He said begrudgingly, knowing that once Helga's mind was made up about something, it was next to impossible to change it. "But keep your phone on and text me if anything happens,"

"Okay, Mom," Helga rolled her eyes dismissively as she searched for William's number in her phone.

. . . . . . . .

Flashback

"I think he knows where I am, Brooke," Marguerite said as the two young women sat in the quaint country farmhouse living room. A small red-headed child was playing with dolls in the corner, completely unaware of the adults' tense conversation.

"How can you be sure?" Brooke replied, sipping from the glass of iced tea Marguerite had given her. "It's been years, Maggie,"

"I don't know…" Marguerite said warily. "I don't know how to explain it but sometimes I just… feel like someone's following me or like I'm being watched,"

"And?" Brooke pressed. "Is anyone ever there?"

"I told you, I don't know," Marguerite sighed. "I thought I could escape,"

"And you did," Brooke said adamantly, leaning forward and putting a reassuring hand on her best friend's forearm. "That was nearly a decade ago and you're safe. You have this idyllic little… country house and a husband that loves you and that adorable little girl over there… You survived, Maggie, and you and I found each other again… Things are okay,"

Marguerite sighed, reclining back in the floral print armchair. "You're right,"

"Of course I am," Brooke said proudly, smirking. "And keeping in line with that mindset, you should trust me when I say that as quaint and humble as…" She looked around the room. "All of this is, I'm afraid you're in need of some redecorating, my dear," She smiled and Marguerite chuckled.

"I was waiting for you to comment on the 'aesthetics' of this place," She said, shaking her head with a good-natured expression.

"Naturally, darling," Brooke winked.