Page 63 of The Six Murders of Daphne St Clair

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. ..

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lucan. Ruth always knew that she would have to come here. This was where it all began, the bitter soil where Daphne had been planted, then cultivated by other people’s cruelty.

She had been planning this trip for ages but had to wait for her first passport to arrive in the mail. It was a demanding itinerary; it had taken a number of flights and a long drive to reach Lucan. And now she stood on the edge of town, surrounded by an unfamiliar landscape. In Florida, the sky was a watery backdrop, pinned up and sagging. Here it was like a bowl turned over on the land, a vast dome that seemed as deep as eternity. The sunlight was uncompromising, flat and harsh, the horizon humming across the landscape, with only the odd tree or house to break up the noise.

It seemed like a strange time to leave Florida, to take a hiatus from her regularly scheduled life, but this trip was essential for the podcast. She just hoped she could keep it together on such a demanding journey. Ruth’s insomnia was getting out of control. She moved through her waking hours as if she were underwater, fuzzy-headed and irritated from all the coffee she drank to compensate. But at night it was as if her body was seized with an incredible fear, her nerves so jangled that every time the wind blew or the pipes gurgled, she shot straight up in bed.

She had felt so scared recently: a nameless fear that she couldn’t quite put into words. Death and fear were at the heart of it all and Ruth knew that she couldn’t keep doing this forever, that she needed to finish this story and move on. Ruth hoped that by going back to where it all started, she might find a way for it to end.

EPISODE TEN: 2022

RUTH:Hello, and welcome toThe Six Murders of Daphne St Clair. I’m your host, Ruth Robinson. Today, I’m in Lucan, Saskatchewan, population nine hundred. This town has almost no information online, with no famous events or notable people to distinguish it. Or so they thought. Because as you know, this is the birthplace of Loretta Cowell, the girl who would become Daphne St Clair. I’m hoping by coming here that we can find someone who might remember Daphne, even though it was a long time ago.

[Sounds of a diner. People chatting and laughing, cutlery clinking.]

WAITRESS:Do you want anything else to eat?

RUTH:Just the bill please. And I’m working on a research project about a woman named Loretta Cowell who grew up here in the Thirties and Forties. I don’t suppose you remember her?

WAITRESS:It was before my time but I remember hearing about the Cowell family. But it was a big family, so I don’t know if I’ve ever heard the name Loretta. People left in droves back then, looking for work.

RUTH:The other Cowell children, do you know what happened to them?

[The waitress laughs.]

WAITRESS:Why don’t you just ask Buzzy? He’s still here.

RUTH:Buzzy?

WAITRESS:Russell Cowell. One of the youngest Cowell children. Don’t know why everyone calls him Buzzy.

RUTH:Loretta’s brother?

WAITRESS:Yeah. I don’t know why you’re surprised. Some people leave here first chance they get; some people stay forever. But he’s the only Cowell in Lucan on this side of the ground so he’d be the one to talk to.

RUTH:Thanks.

There was only one old folks’ home in town, which consisted of a set of apartments and rooms attached to the local hospital, so it was easy to find Buzzy.

Ruth approached a woman in a wheelchair smoking in front of the center and she pointed to an old man sitting outside. He had leathery skin, a plain cotton jacket, and a baseball hat planted firmly on his thinning hair. He was sitting on a patio chair, hands lying flat on each thigh, staring at the horizon as if an important decision depended on the weather.

“Hi, Buzzy?” Ruth asked, approaching him. She fumbled in her backpack for her microphone.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Buzzy said, examining Ruth warily.

“My name is Ruth Robinson. I’m a journalist. The reason I’m here, Mr. Cowell, is to talk to you about your sister Loretta,” Ruth said.

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