Page 33 of The Six Murders of Daphne St Clair
“So, do you remember anything strange about Daphne?” Ruth asked.
“Well, she was very attached to her son. Which is funny because I think most women would have made a real fuss over identical twin girls. This was before everyone went to a scientist to have six babies put in them at once. But no, it was the boy she favored. He was a sweetheart. How’s he doing?
” Belinda asked. “I imagine it’s been strange finding out mommie dearest is a killer,” she said with barely disguised satisfaction.
Ruth wondered what it was about women that they took such pleasure in everyone else’s misfortune?
A woman could dine out on infidelity or divorce, making a messy meal out of it, sucking out the marrow and licking her fingers at the end.
Maybe you couldn’t be lofty and noble when the world denied you so much power.
You had to live down in the dirt, scrabbling for crumbs and cataloguing other people’s faults and failures.
“They’ve been estranged for decades, so we don’t even know if he’s heard about his mother’s confession,” Ruth said. Belinda nodded, flattening her lips and tucking them inside her mouth.
“Well, I guess we have that in common. My son William is not in touch either. We had a falling-out about his. . . lifestyle,” Belinda said.
Ruth sighed. She never understood how someone could lose a child over something as intrinsic as sexuality.
Ruth had never even bothered explaining her sexuality to her mother.
Louise was just informed of any new romantic developments in her life and whether the person coming to dinner was vegan, paleo, or just a boring old vegetarian.
“You know, that was the best time in my life, when the kids were young. I felt like I really had a purpose,” Belinda said wistfully.
It always made Ruth sad when old women talked about how happy they’d been when their husbands were alive and their children were young.
It reminded her what was coming for them and what would come for her someday.
Even Daphne could get a little nostalgic about her younger days, although she was usually reminiscing about killing men and spending all their money, which was less sweet.
RUTH: What happened after David died? Not to get all Angela Lansbury on you, but no one suspected foul play?
BELINDA (indignantly): Who? And why would anyone think it was foul play, when his own doctor was going around saying it was cancer? I wish that damned fool was still alive—he’d have some explaining to do!
RUTH: And then Daphne sold the house and moved away?
BELINDA: I can’t say any of us were surprised. Of course it was sad that the house was no longer in the Priestly family but it was probably for the best. I would have hated it if that horrible woman had stayed in that beautiful house, lording it over the rest of us.
RUTH: Fair enough. Is there anything else you want to say about Daphne or that time?
[Belinda hums and shifts in her chair.]
BELINDA: Only. . . to find out all this now, it makes you wonder what other things you don’t know about your own life. How many other lies did I believe?
Ruth (Voiceover): I drove away from Leosville wondering if I’d gained any new insights into Daphne.
I had hoped I could use Daphne’s past to crack her open and make sense of what I saw inside.
And maybe that was why she hated me talking to anyone but her.
But all I was learning was that no matter the name, the town, or the husband, Daphne had been the same inscrutable, malevolent force for decades.
The people I’ve talked to have all said the same thing: she was beautiful, clever, and a bit mean, the kind of woman who flirted with the men in the room and ignored their wives.
But those descriptions told me nothing. The only ones who might have had a true insight, who had actually seen the real Daphne, weren’t around to answer.
Ruth was driving home from the airport, feeling her hair return to its usual humidity-induced frizz (thank you, Florida) when her phone rang.
Ruth pulled into the parking lot next to her apartment and glanced at the number.
It wasn’t one she recognized but she answered anyways, hoping that it might be a nice surprise, like an Amazon deliveryman or a media outlet offering her a permanent job (hey, a girl could dream).
“Hello?” Ruth asked. She glanced down at her gas gauge and then turned the car off and rolled down the window. Even though it was evening, the heat outside gusted in, as if she’d just opened an oven.
“Hello, Ruth? It’s Lucy.”
“Oh. . . okay. Hello,” Ruth sputtered in shock, jerking forward in her seat.
Fuck. She always felt like a child around Lucy.
It wasn’t just that Lucy was fifteen years older than her and from a different generation, it was the way Lucy always seemed perfectly polished and exquisitely tailored, Palm Haven’s own Ivanka Trump.
It was only a matter of time before she ended up on a reality show about hotshot luxury realtors and Ruth would be forced to write clickbait articles about her.
“I gather you received my letter?” Lucy asked.
“I have, yeah,” Ruth said warily, rubbing her tired eyes. “It was so nice to hear from you. Although the tone of the letter left something to be desired. . .”
“And yet you’re still making this podcast,” Lucy responded coolly. “I’m confused. Don’t you realize how much you’re risking?”
Ruth’s head felt fuzzy, and she wondered if this conversation was as menacing as it felt or whether her exhaustion was making her paranoid. Both seemed entirely possible.
“I don’t have anything to lose. You people have blocked every career opportunity I’ve had for years. But I’ve finally found someone you can’t pressure into blackballing me. I guess serial killers don’t scare easy,” Ruth responded.
“If it’s been so bad then why don’t you just leave? You’re not even going to have a home soon; we could evict you at any time. Move to the West Coast and do your little articles there. It would be better for everyone that way, we’d leave you alone,” Lucy replied.
Ruth swallowed, aware that this was the first time her suspicions had been confirmed. The Montgomerys really were the reason she’d had so many jobs fall through, so many promising contacts ghost her.
“I’m good. There’s a lot I’m still trying to figure out. Besides, I’ve got this podcast now, so I’m really glad I stuck around,” Ruth replied.
“Ruth, this isn’t your story to tell. It’s my story. My family. My money,” Lucy said, her voice wavering. “Just leave us in peace. You’re disrespecting his memory.”
Ruth swallowed, trying to work out if Lucy was genuinely emotional or if this was a ploy to manipulate her.
“It’s my family too,” Ruth whispered. “And I’m not trying to hurt you; I really am just trying to find the truth. This podcast. . . it will be a good thing, I promise.”
“Ruth, you really think losing a couple of jobs is the worst it could get if you keep this podcast going? There’s not a powerful person in this state that we’re not friends with.
Whatever you think we can do. . . it’s worse.
Besides this podcast is just disgusting.
No one wants to hear from a killer,” Lucy said, before hanging up.
Ruth sighed and rested her forehead on the steering wheel, a thousand retorts swirling around her head, already feeling her stomach begin to churn with anxiety.
Lucy was rich, well connected, and—most importantly—angry with her. Ruth had made a powerful enemy. But Lucy was also wrong.
Everyone wanted to hear from a killer.
PreyAllDay:
Okay, guys, this is weird but I JUST SAW RUTH!
She must have just come back from her recording trip!
I live in Palm Haven (no doxing pls), in this neighborhood by the beach.
There was some coverage saying that Daphne had lived in a luxury condo building down here (the Blue Diamond) before she went into a seniors home but I don’t know if it was ever confirmed.
But I was coming home tonight and Ruth was parked in a shitty little car, staring out the window.
I did a quick Google image search and it was definitely her.
She even had a sticker on the back of the car for the college Ruth graduated from!
ShockAndBlah:
Ooh wow! Maybe she lives in the neighborhood too?
PreyAllDay:
Nah, the way she complains about money, she definitely doesn’t live around here. I think she’s probably doing something for the podcast.
BurntheBookBurnerz:
What was she doing?
PreyAllDay:
Just sitting and watching. I could have said hi but she actually looked really intense!
BurntheBookBurnerz:
So she was watching the Blue Diamond?
PreyAllDay:
No, she was staring at a different one, the Seacrest Building. It’s the nicest one around here, super exclusive. Although I seem to remember a story about it. It happened way before I moved in. A suspicious death. I’ll have to do some research.
BurntheBookBurnerz:
So you’re rich huh? Makes sense.
PreyAllDay:
FFS.