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It was strange though, to see my own daughter disowning me on television, even if she wasn’t the one talking. I knew my confession might cause some hurt feelings in the family, but I didn’t think it was really worth cutting me off. I had given my girls so much. Didn’t I deserve a little loyalty in return? I had never put a man before myself or my children and I’d always hoped they’d do the same.
At some point Reid gave up on outlining his political views and switched to finding a million different ways of calling me evil. I guess he wanted to differentiate himself from any candidates who were running on a pro-serial killer platform.
“If that’s not bad enough, she wasn’t even born in this country. I don’t even know if she immigrated legally,” Reid said gravely, pausing in case anyone gasped. No one did. “Daphne St Clair is. . . Canadian.” Rose covered her face in humiliation.
Another day, another visit with Arthur Tisdale, my lawyer. He wasn’t that exciting a guest but at least it broke up the monotony of the day.
“So, what’s new?” I asked. “I feel like I’ve been cooling my heels for almost six weeks and nothing’s happening.”
Tisdale smiled, a wry little grin as if he found me amusing. I wanted to slap him.
“I’ve never met someone so eager to go to prison! Before too long we’ll have a date for you to enter your guilty plea. But about this podcast. . .”
“We’ve discussed this before,” I snapped. “You don’t want me to do it and I’m doing it anyways. What’s the worst that could happen? I’m ninety years old; any prison sentence they give me will be for the rest of my life.”
“Well, yes,” Tisdale muttered. “I understand you don’t have much to lose, but what about the journalist? Ruth Robinson? She could end up subpoenaed to testify in any court proceedings. Someone might even try to charge her with something, like obstruction of justice.”
“Why? I confessed. And because of her, the lawyers will have gotten hours of information. Obstructing justice, she’s done their job for them! This is America. The only right anyone gives a damn about is free speech,” I said. “You can be shot in a high school by a lunatic with an AK-47, but you’re allowed to have a protest afterward. And she can always use some of that money she’s making off me to hire a fancy lawyer like you.”
“Well, perhaps. But if you’re so insistent about this podcast, be mindful of your safety. A man has been calling our office every day. I’ve also seen someone suspicious lurking around my car at work. I think a car even tried to follow me home yesterday, but I managed to lose them. I’ve had to tell my wife to go stay with family in Savannah because I’m concerned about our safety. Daphne, someone islookingfor you. Maybe more than one person.”
“Well they’re not gonna find me,” I muttered, trying to sound brave even though a knot of dread was forming in my chest. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it? No one ever caught Daphne St Clair.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ruth was in Long Bean drinking an iced raspberry matcha and trying to wade through her endless emails when a petite woman with a blonde pixie cut and a cross-fit tank strolled in. Ruth froze.
Jenn.
Their eyes locked. Ruth clung to her matcha cup for comfort. Jenn hesitated, a cloud crossing her sky-blue eyes, before she came over, carefully picking her way between the crowded tables and chairs.
“Hi, Ruth,” she said. Ruth sucked on the matcha, inhaling half the cup in one expensive gulp.
“Hi, Jenn, wow, it’s you!”
There was a long pause, where they both seemed to be replaying that last awful day. Both of them crying as Jenn packed her things, Ruth raging as Jenn tearfully explained that she couldn’t be with someone who seemed determined to be unhappy, who couldn’t move on from the life she felt had been denied to her to make a new life worth living. The worst part was that Ruth knew Jenn was right.
“So, you have a podcast now!” Jenn exclaimed.
“Yeah, I do. Have you listened to it?” Ruth asked, almost afraid of Jenn’s answer.
“I have,” Jenn said sheepishly. “I tried to avoid it at first just because I thought it might be too upsetting.”
“Because of the violence?” Ruth asked.
“No,” Jenn said, her mouth twisting. “Because of you.”
The sentence hung in the air, making Ruth feel nervous but also somewhat exhilarated.
“But you listen to it now?” Ruth asked finally.
Jenn nodded. “Yes. And well, it’s fantastic.Thisis your answer, isn’t it? You think Daphne killed him?”
“I do, yes,” Ruth murmured in shock. “You figured that out from listening to the podcast?”
“Sure, you told me so much about the murder. It was kind of your obsession,” Jenn said, and there was an edge in her voice. Because maybe that obsession had starved their relationship of oxygen, had left Ruth a more bitter and paranoid person. “And some of the questions you’ve been asking her. . . I can see what you’re getting at.”
“Well, I think we’re getting close now. And once that’s done, I’ll be able to start a new chapter,” Ruth said, her eyes lingering on Jenn’s face. It hadn’t been that long since they were together, all tucked away in her little apartment. But so much had happened in Ruth’s life since then that it felt like a very long time ago. She wondered if she’d still be in her apartment by the end of the podcast, or if the Montgomerys would have evicted her by then. Maybe it would be a blessing, not having to be reminded of Jenn so often.