The church buildings sat on a slight rise surrounded by fallow blackland wheat fields on three sides and a farm-to-market road on the fourth. Set back from the roadside, paint peeling, steeple rusted, its floors echoing hollowly under the tread of men’s heavy soles, it did not at first resemble a place likely to house the more liberal strains of Methodist theology. The center of Candy Montgomery’s universe, almost from the day in 1977 when she moved to her dream house in the country, was the drafty white clapboard building known to its congregants simply as the church. The Methodist Church of Lucas was, more than most places of worship, an institution controlled by women. It was a church service that first brought Candy Montgomery and Betty Gore together, and it was the church that led them to their times of closeness and, eventually, to their mutual hatred and Betty’s brutal death. The entire right half of her face seemed to be gone. As to her right eye-she appeared to not have one. And Betty’s left eye was wide open, staring down at the gaping black craters in her arm. Her hair radiated in all directions, a tangled, soaked mass of glistening black. Her lips were parted, showing her front teeth, the mouth fashioned into a half-grin.
To get a look at her face, the men had to walk around the ocean of red and black to get closer. It lay in a pool of blood and fluid so thick that the arm appeared to be floating above the linoleum.
Her left arm was the first thing they noticed after opening the door. The book had a white cover, which stood out in sharp relief because, in the harsh overhead light that glared off the harvest-gold linoleum, it was one of the few objects in the room not coated in blood. Closer to the center of the room, where the freezer stood against one wall, were two dog-food dishes and a bruised book of Mother Goose nursery rhymes. In one corner were a brand-new toy wagon and a child’s training toilet. It was a small room, no more than twelve feet long by six feet wide, made smaller by the presence of a washer, a dryer, a freezer, and a small cabinet where Betty had kept toys and knickknacks. Few looked at the head at all-the sight was too horrible-so the early reports as to the manner of death were conflicting, and usually wrong. Even those who already knew what lay beyond the utility room door were never bold enough to look more than a moment before closing the door. Without exception, each man who saw the lifeless body of Betty Gore the night of June 13, 1980, reflexively averted his eyes.
PATRICK RICHARDSON THE LAUNDRY GUY SERIES
No problem is too big or too small.This story from Texas Monthly’s archives is the first of a two-part series that concludes with “ Love and Death in Silicon Prairie, Part II: The Killing of Betty Gore.” We have left it as it was originally published, without updating, to maintain a clear historical record. We invite you to submit questions and share your own great tips, ideas and gripes. For more than 20 years, our Thursday Q&A has been an online conversation about the best way to make your home comfortable, stylish and fun. Jura is always happy to whip out her paint chips, track down a hard-to-find piece of furniture or offer her seasoned advice on practical living and organizing. She and weekly guests, whether Martha Stewart, Marie Kondo, the Property Brothers or Amy Astley, editor-in-chief of Architectural Digest, answer your decorating, design and decluttering questions. Miller, is scheduled to come out in the spring.Įvery week, Jura Koncius helps you in your quest to achieve domestic bliss. His book Laundry Love, co-written with Karin B. His mother and grandmother taught him the importance of meticulously washed and pressed clothing. Here he holds his popular Laundry Camps where he shares his laundry lessons. Richardson, a Kentucky native, worked at Neiman-Marcus, Nordstrom and other high end shops before starting the Mona Williams boutique at Mall of America. Patric Richardson is a fashion pro, textile guru and laundry expert who loves sharing his tips on clothing care.
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