Page 1 of The Six Murders of Daphne St Clair

They found him on Thursday morning, wrapped in his duvet as neatly as the paper around a cigarette.

He always slept like that but today his face was gray and still.

The attendants at the Coconut Grove senior home phoned the hospital, and even though they had performed this ritual many times, the sadness hung a little heavier in the air.

Warren Ackerman had been a favorite resident, a charming gentleman who loved to croon ballads to make the nurses smile.

He had entered the home a widow and the other residents, who were predominantly female, had acted like schoolgirls, giving him red lipstick smiles and chocolates from their birthday boxes.

After almost a year, Warren had chosen a girlfriend, and the red lipstick was shelved.

Being with Daphne St Clair had only made him happier and his dance steps were even lighter when he twirled next to her wheelchair.

And now, all that joy and the promise of one more chance to love, and to be loved, was over.

Daphne stood there, watching them carry the shrouded stretcher away, wrapping her frail arms around herself.

She looked so small and alone that the other residents turned away, remembering all the shared histories dissolved in a single moment.

Almost all of them had made the painful journey from wives to widows, and seeing Daphne and the stretcher only reminded them that they’d be leaving Coconut Grove the same way someday.

The attendants gave Daphne extra care, easing her back onto her pillows, offering soft blankets and company, but she wanted to be left alone.

Her twin daughters lived locally but visited with the same frequency as snow here in Florida.

It was a shame, really, because Daphne was a lovely old woman: lively but sophisticated, with the regal bearing of someone who had been beautiful for most of her life.

Even though age had faded her looks, the memory of being admired still illuminated her features.

When dinner ended and Daphne still hadn’t left her room, Rachel—one of the attendants—decided to call her daughter Diane.

Daphne clearly needed a reminder that she wasn’t alone, that people loved her, and that was a daughter’s job.

When Diane answered, Rachel informed her of Warren’s death, suggesting that she call and check in on her mother.

Diane said she might be able to find the time, but she was very busy .

“Hi, Mom, I heard you lost someone today,” Diane said.

“Yes, I did—a very nice man named Warren,” Daphne replied. She sounded more subdued than usual.

“I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend,” Diane replied.

“We’ve been seeing each other for almost a year. He was a great comfort to me during the pandemic,” Daphne explained quietly.

“It’s very sad, Mom, but it’s kind of inevitable in an old folks’ home. Anyways, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it? To have a boyfriend at your age?” Her daughter sounded distracted, as if she was watching TV.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you,” Daphne said woodenly. “Anyways, I’d like to go to bed now.”

“Okay. . . well, I’ll try to come visit soon. Maybe I’ll bring Harper,” Diane said, but her mother had already hung up. She felt a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t been kinder, but she brushed it off. Her mother was a tough old broad. A good night’s sleep and she’d be back to her usual self.

After she hung up the phone, Daphne sat on the edge of her bed, the mattress so plush and thick that the soles of her feet only brushed against the floor.

She didn’t turn the light on and instead sat in the gray-blue twilight that washed her walls.

It was that liminal time, the moment between the daylight and the night, when everything seemed too dark but a lamp too bright.

Even as the light faded further, Daphne sat there, staring at the blank space around her.

Finally, she picked up the phone on her nightstand and began to dial, her movements precise and without hesitancy.

“Palm Haven Police Station, how can I help you?”

“Hello,” she began, clearing her throat and then continuing. “A man named Warren Ackerman was found dead at Coconut Grove Senior Living Facility today. Everyone is assuming he died of old age, but he was actually murdered. And I killed him. In fact, I’ve killed a lot of people. . .”