Page 22 of The Six Murders of Daphne St Clair

Ruth snorted. So, Diane’s husband was in bed with Sunshine Development. As if she needed a reason to like these people even less.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a family thing. I won’t get you in any trouble with Lucy, I promise. Let’s just move on. How did it feel to find out that your mother was a killer, that she’s confessed to killing a lot of people?” Ruth asked, before Diane could push for any more details about why the Montgomerys would care about a true crime podcast. Diane blinked slowly, as if trying to get her bearings.

“Well, I feel bad for them of course. But you have to understand, some of the men she married, well. . . some were more innocent than others,” Diane said, her voice soaked with an implication that only she understood.

“How did your father die?” Ruth asked.

“He was terminally ill when they got married. I was very young when he died so I don’t remember him. But I’ve certainly read about his family, which was a very old and prominent one in New York,” Diane said. A silence fell in the room, one so full of meaning that Ruth felt surprised that she even had to ask the next question.

“Do you think your mother killed your father?” Ruth asked.

“No. My mother always told Rose and I that he had cancer. You know, people were very unhealthy back then. My father smoked a pack a day, drank at every lunch and dinner, and ate nothing but steak and potatoes. He never gave one thought to antioxidants or the importance of self-care,” Diane said stiffly. “Thirty-seven for a man in that time is like sixty-seven now.”

“Okay,” Ruth said, ignoring the big, homicidal elephant in the room.

“I’m sure she would have warned us now if she killed our dad. What’s the point of hiding anything?” Diane asked, a hint of doubt in her voice.

Ruth looked down, studying her Gucci tumbler. Daphne was using the podcast to tell her story, unspooling her murders for her avid listeners, but there was no telling how many she’d admit to and how many she might try to keep hidden forever. But Diane didn’t seem to care about the truth, she just wanted to live in the lie.

“That’s a good point,” Ruth said, deciding to change the subject. “What was Daphne like as a mother when you were growing up?”

“Well, it was always her show. She was the star, and we were the supporting characters. You know, Rose and I got a lot of attention because we were twins, and we were cute kids. And I think that made Mom jealous. She always liked our older brother more. James was her favorite,” Diane said, casting a sullen eye over her designer ice.

“I know that your brother and mother are estranged. Are you still in contact with him?” Ruth asked, thinking of the photo she saw of Daphne cuddling her son. As hard it might be to believe, the love in that photo was obvious.

“No, not since he finished college, back in the Eighties,” Diane said sharply.

“Do you know why they fell out?”

“I don’t think she told us theyhadfallen out. She just said he was going traveling overseas and wouldn’t be in contact. And then the years went by, and we just never heard from him,” Diane said.

Another long, refined pause. Even more awkward than the last. Ruth shifted in her seat, resisting the urge to adjust her bra, which was biting painfully into her ribs.

“Do you think your mother could. . .”

“Never,” Diane said firmly. “He’s the one person she would never have hurt. She loves him more than anything.”

More than herself?Ruth thought. What if James had found out the truth about Daphne and threatened to turn her in? How could someone like Daphne truly love another person? How deep could the well be when it was poisoned with so much violence?

Ruth wondered if James was really out there traveling the world or if he was buried in a ravine in some wet, shadowy place that the sun never touched.

“Are you sure? You didn’t know she’d killed anyone until recently. How well do you really know her?”

“Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Diane replied. “My mom has ruined her children’s lives, probably her grandchildren’s as well. And you have to think, what kind of woman would hurt her own family like that?”

Ruth stayed silent, not sure if Diane was expecting an answer or not. In a strange way, knowing that Diane’s mother was a murderer cast her in a different light, made her seem stronger, or more interesting than she really was. This was just a banal woman who had been transformed by events outside her control.

“A monster, that’s who,” Diane said finally.

BurntheBookBurnerz:

Diane is such a Karen. Rich, entitled, totally oblivious of other people.

ShockAndBlah:

But it can’t have been easy to have Daphne as a mother. . . even before you found out she was a killer.

CapoteParty:

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