Page 41 of The Six Murders of Daphne St Clair

Daphne was watching her, and then slowly, unmistakably, her eyes traveled over to the bottle.

But what did that mean? Should she unscrew the top and look inside?

See if the surface was frothing or there was a pill still dissolving?

Daphne didn’t move very quickly. Would she have even had enough time to tamper with the bottle while Ruth was in the bathroom?

Ruth’s mouth suddenly felt dry and her hand twitched, as if reaching for the bottle. Daphne was still watching her as Ruth desperately tried to work out what to do. Examine the bottle’s contents? Storm out of here? Demand an explanation?

Finally, Daphne spoke. “So, what was it you were badgering me about?”

“Why you stopped killing. Why there was such a large gap between Donald and Warren. . .” Ruth croaked, tearing her eyes from the bottle.

“I was old, I suppose, and tired. It takes a lot of effort, pretending to be the person someone wants, hooking them, marrying them, waiting a decent amount of time before you start poisoning them. I was just tired of other people. Tired of pretending,” Daphne murmured, her bony shoulders rising in a shrug.

She was staring at the table—at the bottle? —with a detached, vacant gaze.

“Okay well, that’s probably enough for the day.

If you say you didn’t kill anyone else, then you didn’t,” Ruth said, the words tumbling out her dry, cracked lips.

All her plans to confront Daphne that day, to corner her into a confession, had dried up with the terror that Daphne might have tried to poison her.

Why hadn’t it occurred to her earlier that it could be dangerous, trying to get Daphne to reveal something she was hiding?

That a cornered killer was particularly deadly?

“Exactly. I didn’t,” Daphne said. She was still staring at the table, but her eyes were stormy. Ruth frowned. Daphne’s answer sounded sincere. She was a damn good liar.

Somebody knocked on the door. Ruth glanced at her watch. It would be an attendant with Daphne’s pills.

The moment Daphne closed the bathroom door to take them, Ruth tore the lid off her bottle and examined its contents.

It looked like water, the same tap water she’d filled it with in her apartment.

Ruth sniffed the rim gingerly, but there was no chemical scent.

She considered touching the liquid to her lips but she couldn’t force herself to do it.

As she exited the building, she threw the bottle in the trash.

Was Daphne just playing games with her? Or was it a warning?

Ruth was close. Too close.

That evening, Ruth was standing on the sidewalk in front of the Seacrest Building, recording some background noise.

She could hear the ocean, the seagulls, and the passing cars, many of which cost more than her college degree.

It was times like this, when Ruth was working on the mechanics of the podcast, setting up her equipment, structuring episodes in her head, that she felt at peace.

“Why are you here?” a voice demanded, jolting her out of her reverie. Ruth whirled around and there she was. Lucy.

Lucy cut an intimidating figure. She was even taller than Ruth and was dressed in cream exercise gear and carrying a Chanel yoga mat.

Lucy’s platinum ponytail was polished and she looked better coming back from yoga than most people did on their wedding day, but there was a look of icy rage on her face.

“I’ve seen you parked nearby but now you’re actually loitering in front of my home?” Lucy asked, her voice imperious as she glared down her nose at Ruth.

“I’m on public property. I’m not doing anything wrong,” Ruth replied.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Not doing anything wrong? Everyone knows what you’re up to with this podcast. It’s pretty transparent and, honestly, a bit pathetic,” Lucy said.

Her haughty tone took Ruth right back to grade school, when Ruth’s bookishness and cheap, second-hand clothing made her a target for all the good-looking rich girls.

“I’m just trying to find the truth,” Ruth replied.

Lucy issued an abrupt laugh, almost a bark.

“The truth? We all know the truth. You killed him,” Lucy said quietly. “You killed him, and you got away with it, and you don’t even have the decency to leave us in peace.”

“No, I didn’t. I would never hurt anyone,” Ruth protested, her voice wobbling. She had heard it all before, but it stung every time.

“I asked you to stop; I warned you of the risks. Don’t act like a victim, Ruth. You make your own consequences.”

“It’s my family too,” Ruth retorted. “You might not like it, but it’s true. That’s my family and you’re my half-sister.”

“Oh please,” Lucy snorted. “My parents were married for over forty years. He had one little fling with your mother, and you think that’s the same? It’s not. You’re not a Montgomery. We all dropped you as soon as you showed your true colors.”

As Lucy talked, she backed Ruth against a column, her words slicing into Ruth like a knife. Ruth swallowed, trying to keep hold of her rising anxiety.

“You know, he begged your mother to get an abortion. If he’d had his way, you would have never been born.

That would have been better for everyone,” Lucy continued, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

“Even you must see that. Then again, I’d settle for seeing you locked up in jail.

And there’s still time, Ruth, there’s still time. ”

“That’s how you people deal with everything isn’t it? You just bully everyone into obeying you,” Ruth snapped. It felt good to say it, after so many years of resentment and frustration, of sensing but never knowing for sure if the Montgomerys were the source of all her bad luck.

“Yes, and if I were you, I’d fall in line,” Lucy replied, before turning and gliding through the front door, as confident of her place in the world as Ruth was unsure of hers.

Ruth could see her talking to the doorman, pointing at Ruth and then at the phone.

Knowing that Lucy was likely telling him to call the police, Ruth grabbed her equipment and hurried away.

She peeled off in her car and only when she was a few blocks away, stuck at a red light, did Ruth lean over and throw up in an old coffee cup, her body shaking with stress.

Lucy had scared her. She seemed cold and calm, but she felt almost combustible, as tightly coiled as a snake waiting to strike.

Ruth needed to finish the podcast as quickly as possible, to get Daphne’s full confession out into the world before the Montgomerys stopped her. It was the only way she might be safe.

PreyAllDay:

Another Ruth sighting! This one was kind of strange.

So, I’m near my building when I see Ruth with her filming equipment outside the Seacrest. Suddenly, this other woman comes up to her and they get into a heated conversation.

Then the woman goes inside the lobby and Ruth runs off.

I guess she was worried the cops were going to turn up.

BurntheBookBurnerz:

Okay that IS a good sighting! Was the woman mad that Ruth was recording there?

PreyAllDay:

No, the way they were talking, it felt like they knew each other. But it wasn’t friendly. I think she even called Ruth a murderer? But maybe she was just mad that Ruth was giving Daphne a platform?

ShockAndBlah:

Did you recognize the other woman?

PreyAllDay:

No, she looked like a lot of women around here: plastic faces and designer bags.

BurntheBookBurnerz:

Didn’t you say Daphne lived in that building? Maybe the woman knew her and didn’t want to be interviewed.

PreyAllDay:

That was the Blue Diamond, which is on the same block.

But this is the second time I’ve seen Ruth by the Seacrest. I dunno, I seem to remember hearing that *something* happened there a few years back, but just rumors.

I didn’t live there at the time. I think whatever happened, the people were rich enough that they kept it out of the papers.

ShockAndBlah:

Maybe Ruth is already researching season two!!!!

BurntheBookBurnerz:

God I hope so. Although I don’t know how she’ll ever top this season. But hey, sounds like you got a preview! Lucky!

PreyAllDay:

I just wish I could remember what happened at the Seacrest. . .