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Daphne had left her with an impossible choice.
Ruth could use the false confession. Daphne was dead now; it wouldn’t affect her either way. Ruth would be safe from Lucy, who would never know that Ruth believed she was a killer. And it would bring Ruth fame and a career with limitless possibilities. There would be money, plenty of it. For herself. For her mother.
Or Ruth could go with the truth. She would have the chance to do it right, to investigate her half-sister and make a case against the real killer. She might even net an inheritance in the process. After all, the slayer rule would mean Lucy would be denied the inheritance if she was found guilty. Sure, it would be hard, maybe even impossible, but Ruth would know that she had stayed true to herself and done right by her father and even by Daphne. And she would be able to live life in the open, with no secrets to hide, no agendas to protect.
Ruth found herself standing in front of the cemetery where she went to think about Richard. It seemed like a fitting place to make a decision about which story she would tell about his murder. Because that’s what all this boiled down to, really: telling stories, making sense of people and the world they lived in.
The lie would set her free. The truth would save her soul. Was it better to have a happy life or a moral one? Ruth realized with a start that these were the very questions Daphne might have asked herself too, if she’d ever paused for a moment of self-reflection.
Ruth sat down on her favorite bench and closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her eyelids. A breeze whispered across her face, and she found herself thinking of Daphne. And Richard. And wishing that she could see them again. Just one more time.
Because that was the other thing Daphne had taught her. Death wasn’t the end of the story.
It was only the beginning.
Epilogue: Six months later
“What brings you out tonight?” a tall man, with sun-bleached hair and a peeling nose asked Ruth as they stood at the bar. Ruth glanced back at her table, where her mother, Jenn, and her friend Chelsea sat, bouncing along in their chairs to the generic Latin music playing over the speakers. It made her smile, seeing her mother laughing with her friends. It reminded her that the person was still there, even if there were changes, and she shouldn’t let tomorrow’s grief ruin today’s happiness.
“It’s a celebration,” Ruth said as the bartender prepared two pitchers of margaritas for her. Ruth glanced back at the table and caught Jenn’s eye, finding herself involuntarily smiling. They were just friends, for now. But who knew what might happen in the future?
“Of what?” the man asked. His eyes were bloodshot, and she could tell that he didn’t need a reason to drink, that any night might merit a couple pitchers of margaritas.
“I created a podcast and it’s just won a Webby, which is this big podcasting award!” Ruth said, trying to keep her voice from racing up the register but hearing it crack with glee. Everything had changed in the last year. People now stopped her on the street to rave about the podcast. Especially after they heard that final episode, the one she released after Daphne’s death. For weeks, that episode was all anyone could talk about. It was still being fervently dissected on Reddit.
“Congrats! What’s the podcast about?” he said, taking a swig of his beer. Ruth smiled, feeling a squirmy mixture of pride and embarrassment about how much she was bragging.
“Well, it’s these interviews with this ninety-year-old woman. I had to piece together the whole story of her life. She grew up in poverty in the Great Depression and she suffered a lot of abuse. Finally, she ended up in New York where she married into money and had children, but the marriages never lasted. It’s the story of a woman’s life really, her life as a daughter, a wife, and a mother, and the way she struggles for independence along the way.”
He nodded but she could already see his eyes scanning above her head, his fingers itching to grab his phone out of—Good God, were those cargo shorts?—and even though she didn’t like this guy, she resented his lack of interest.
“But see, this woman is also a serial murderer. So, her life story is also about all these people she killed along the way,” Ruth said, her voice a little too bright for the subject matter. But it worked, she saw him drop his phone back into his capacious pocket. He took another swig and clinked his glass against her pitcher.
“She’s a serial killer? Okay, now that’s interesting. I love murder stories. I’ve seen the Dahmer series three times.” He held his hand up to the bartender, ordering another drink for both of them before she could stop him. Then he looked at her and smiled, his face softening. “Piece of advice, you shouldn’t lead with the woman thing; people don’t care about that. Just talk about the murders. That’s how you get their attention.”
The End