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The True Story Behind Love & Death: The Murder of Betty Gore Part 4

July 10, 2023 • Jazmin Hernandez • Season 1 • Episode 34

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Welcome back to part 4 of the true story behind the Love & Death series on Max. In last week's episode we dove into murder of Betty Gore and the shocking details that unfolded. We left off on the police arresting Candy. In this week's episode we will dive into the Trial of Candy Montgomery.

After Candy was arrested news started to fly with rumors. As soon as Candy was able to post bail she did. As soon as Candy got home she stopped reading the newspapers and watching the TV news. Unknown to the Montgomerys, the community continued to support them. Pat was heartened by the way everyone stood by them, no matter what new evidence was leaked to the press. The church had been overwhelmingly supportive. Rarely a day went by that they didn’t receive at least half a dozen greeting cards and “Have a nice day” cards and “Thinking of you” cards, some of them awkwardly worded, all of them well-intentioned. People who hadn’t written or seen the Montgomerys in years were visiting Hallmark stores all over America, trying to find messages suitable for a family awaiting a murder indictment. Candy wrote replies to them all. As Candy was waiting for trial she knew that she needed to have a lawyer that would be in her corner. That is when Candy hired a lawyer she knew from church, Don Crowder, to represent her. Crowder, a partner in a small firm with attorney general Jim Mattox, usually handled personal injury work. He had never been close to a murder case before, and suddenly he had the hottest one in Texas on his hands.

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“Welcome to Murder By Nature, where we discuss True Crime, Mystery disappearances, and unsolved cases! I’m Jazmin, your host!

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As he began to dive into the case, he realized he was going to need help prying the memories of that horrible June day out of Candy. He enlisted the aid of a Houston psychiatrist, Dr. Fred. He called himself a River Oaks shrink; he dealt with a lot of Valium-addled socialites and impotent millionaires. Dr. Fred didn’t mind if people knew that; it was his only advertising. That’s why when Crowder called in early August, Fason quickly said he didn’t care much for the courtroom work; it was bad PR. But when the attorney outlined the case, Fason was sufficiently intrigued to say that perhaps he would serve as a consultant and see the client once for diagnosis. Candy and Crowder flew to Houston, where Fason administered a battery of tests. After Candy and Crowder flew back home, Fason pronounced that he was hooked on the case, and He agreed to try to break into Candy’s memory through hypnosis. Two weeks later, Candy returned to Houston accompanied by one of the Crowder associates, Elaine. Carpenter noticed that Candy seemed more detached than usual, almost numb, on the plane ride down, and as they waited in Fason’s reception area, Candy grew even more vacant. Unsure of what to do or what happened as they waited for Fason to arrive, he offered a cheery greeting and then ushered Candy into his office. Candy felt comfortable around Dr. Fason; she found him businesslike yet playful at the same time. After Candy disappeared, Carpenter settled back in a chair and flipped through a few old magazines. Hours passed, with no one coming or going. Carpenter started pacing about, bored and wondering what could be going on inside. Suddenly she heard a blood-curdling scream. It was loud and eerie, and it came from Fason’s office. Then she heard several more quickly; they were low-pitched, like moans or the noises people make when they’re having nightmares. She couldn’t tell whether they came from Candy or someone else. And they didn’t stop. Fred’s voice got to Candy soft, deep, the source of his power and art. Fason was a psychiatrist, but he was also a first-rate clinical hypnotist.

On this day, he began with a speech about the need to “be completely open and level” because if Candy wasn’t or if she didn’t think she could be, the interview was over. “No, there’s no question about that,” she assured him. “All right,” he said. “I want you to start and tell me about what happened that day.” Candy reluctantly began with vacation Bible school and ended up telling Fason everything about the morning of Friday, June 13, more than she had told Crowder, more than Pat knew. Then they talked a long time about control, anger, and Candy’s deep-seated unconscious fears. After a couple of hours, when Fason was sure that he had won his patient’s trust, he decided to try hypnosis. Candy was remarkably susceptible; she went under quickly, and her hypnotic trance was deep. Fason’s smooth, soft voice carried her far under, until her body was totally relaxed; then he took her back to Betty Gore’s utility room. “When I snap my fingers,” he said, “you will begin re-experiencing and relating that time to me as you go through it. One. Two. Three.” He snapped his fingers loudly. “Begin. What’s happening, Candy?” she said nothing; she looked worried. “What’s happening, Candy? You can tell me.” He waited for a response that didn’t come. “What thoughts are going through your mind? I’m going to count to three. When I reach the count of three, your thoughts and feelings will get stronger and stronger and stronger and stronger and stronger so strong you will have to express them and verbalize them. One. Two. Stronger and stronger, so strong you will have to get them out. Three. Let them out. What’s that you’re feeling, Candy? “Hate.” “Okay. You hate her. Express your feelings. Stronger and stronger.” Candy whimpered. “You hate her,” repeated Fason. “I hate her,” she whispered. “You hate her. You hate her. Say it out loud.” “I hate her.” “Louder.” “I hate her. She’s messed up my whole life. Look at this. I hate her. I hate her.” “When I count to three I want you to back up in time again, Candy. I want you to go back in time to where she’s shoving you. You’re in the utility room, and she shoves you. Just relax. One. Two. Three.” Candy whimpered and moaned softly. “What is happening? Go through it. The feeling is very strong. One. Two. Three. She’s pushing you.” Candy moaned again. “What’s she going to do? What’s happening? Tell me. What is it?” Candy tried to say something. “What? Louder.” “I won’t let her hit me again. I don’t want him. She can’t do this to me.” “The feelings are getting stronger,” said Fason. “Stronger.” Candy squirmed on the couch but didn’t respond. Fason made her go deeper into the past, asking her to go back to “the first time you ever got mad. Do you recall ever being that mad before? Do you recall it?” No response. “When you were little. Let’s go back, back in time. Let’s get in the time machine and go way, way back in time. Back when you were little. One. Back, back in time. Two. Three. The time machine stops. How old are you, Candy? “Four.” “Four. Tell me about it. What made you so mad?” “I lost it.” “What did you lose?” “Race.” “You lost the race?” “To Johnny.” “Do you like Johnny?” “He beat me.” “What did he say when he beat you?” No answer. “How did you feel?” “Mad. Furious.” “What are you going to do?” “I’ll break it.” “Break what?” “The jar.” “How did you break it?” “I threw it against the pump.” “Are you scared?” Candy nodded. “My mother took me to the hospital.” “What did your mother say?” “Shhhh.” “Did what?” “Shhhh.” “What did she say?” “Shhhh.” “When I count to three, your feelings will be stronger and stronger. One. Two. Three. What are you seeing?” “I’m afraid.”“What are you afraid of? Are you afraid of being punished for your anger? Is that what you’re afraid of?” “It hurts.” She rubbed her hand across her head. “Your head hurts? Where does it hurt?” “I’m scared. I want to scream.” “When I count to three, you can scream all you want to. One. Two. Three.” She shivered but made no sound. “Just kick and scream all you want to,” said Fason. “It’s okay. It’s okay to do it.” Candy shrieked, an eerie wail that could be heard through two walls of Fason’s office. “It’s all right,” he said. “Just kick and scream all you want to.” Candy was breathing hard. “How did you feel when she said shhh?” “I’m afraid and I’m going to kick and scream.” “When I count to three you’re going to kick and scream all you want to. One.” “I can’t.” “Yes, you can. Two. Three. Kick and scream all you want to.” She screamed even louder. “It hurts,” she yelled, and then screamed again. As soon as she stopped, Fason thought it wise to bring her out of the trance. It would take more interviews to sort out the details of Candy’s childhood trauma, as well as of the terrible and fatal struggle between Candy and her friend Betty, but by the end of that first session, Fason had done what Crowder had asked him to do. He had found in the memory of her mother’s perhaps ill-advised discipline at a painful moment the trigger of Candy Montgomery’s rage.

Candy Montgomery's murder trial began in October 1980, barely four months after the slaying, in McKinney, Texas, the seat of government for Collin County. Judge Tom Ryan anticipated vast interest by the media and public, so he ordered the recently-shuttered, 100-year-old county courthouse reopened for the event because it had the largest courtroom in the county, with seating for 250. Ryan was a plain-spoken judge who was known for running brisk proceedings. He did not like lollygagging or smart aleck lawyers. Ryan and Don Crowder were at odds from the get-go. On the first day of trial, the judge fined Crowder for contempt for defying his ban against speaking with the media. Crowder was not the sort to shy away from a confrontation, and the sniping between the two men continued through trial's end. Crowder's adversary was Tom O'Connell, district attorney for Collin County. Although he was just 39, O'Connell had served nine years in the position. He was regarded as competent and courtly but unlike Crowder rarely confrontational. During jury selection, Crowder calmly and cleverly used four sentences to set up his case before the 62 potential members of the panel that would decide Candy's fate. "Candace Montgomery killed Betty Gore," he slowly said. "She did so with an ax. She did so in self-defense. The homicide was justified." Crowder reinforced this message during his opening statement after the 12 men and women were impaneled, and he promised that Candy Montgomery would mount the witness stand and explain it all. This served to reduce the prosecution's five-day presentation to a preface. O'Connell and his colleague, Jack Pepper, were the opening act. They presented a workmanlike case, seeking to prove that Candy killed Betty. But Crowder had already admitted that, so what was the point? Everyone in the courtroom was impatient for the prosecutors to clear the stage to make way for Candy, the star of the show. When it started, he stunned everyone with the declaration that his client would plead self-defense. And when Candy was called to the stand as a witness, seats for the day’s proceedings were hotter than season passes to Dallas Cowboys games. In the courtroom Candy looked sober and dissociated; Crowder had been explicit about what she was to wear. Her hair was short and wavy. She wore earrings and a loose-fitting blue dress, dark and subdued, with a hemline well below her knees. Over her shoulders she draped a white woolen sweater. In spite of Crowder’s coaching, though, Candy was less than a model witness. Her voice was clipped and nasal, her manner cool. As Crowder questioned her about her children, her upbringing, her community and church activities, her friendship with the Gores Candy gave short, functional answers. She sounded like a stuffy schoolmarm, overenunciating her sentences and banishing all emotion from her voice. The story she told had not sprung spontaneously from her conscious memory. Two months before the trial, most of the facts of the case and what had actually happened inside the utility room remained unknown. Dr. Fason had changed all that with three long, wrenching hypnosis sessions, and after each one Candy had repeated the events of the thirteenth to Crowder. Whenever her conscious story conflicted with her unconscious story, Crowder confronted her with the lie and forced her to admit the facts she would rather have forgotten. From those sessions, the best possible reconstruction of the killing of Betty Gore emerged.

She wasn’t expecting Candy until noon, so when Betty responded to the polite knock that morning, she looked annoyed. No doubt she had just sat down to rest for the first time that day after putting Bethany into her crib for her midmorning nap. She had probably hurried to the door so the noise wouldn’t wake the baby. Betty held a half-finished cup of coffee, and from behind came the muffled sounds of The Phil Donahue Show. Since she hadn’t intended to go out that day, she was dressed for housework: tight-fitting red denim shorts, a yellow short-sleeved pullover, and sandals. She opened the front door halfway and peered out.

“Betty, I have a special favor to ask you.” Candy was not long on greeting, but no one minded her abruptness; the friendliness in her eyes and her smile was greeting enough. “The girls wanted Alisa to go see the movie with us tonight, and I told them that if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me, and I’ll be happy to take Alisa to her swimming lessons to save you the extra trip.” “That’s okay,” Betty said. “Come on in.” “I thought it would be,” said Candy, “and so I just ran down from Bible school to get Alisa’s swimsuit.” The two women walked into the living room, which was dominated by a large playpen in the middle of the floor, with toys and children’s books strewn around it. Betty switched off the television and went to the kitchen. “Want some coffee?” “No thanks.” Candy sat next to the sewing machine, where she noticed that Betty was making something out of yellow cloth. Betty came back and sat on the other side of the small table. She seemed tense, as though she were anxious for Candy to leave. “So where’s Bethany?” Candy asked. “Bethany got up very early today, and she just went back to bed.” “Oh, no!” said Candy, frowning. “I wanted to play with her.” “Candy, if you’re going to take Alisa to her swimming lesson, remember that she doesn’t like to put her face under water,” Betty said. “So when she puts her face under, be sure to give her peppermints afterward. That’s the reward we use.” Betty was loosening up a little, as though the small talk was a welcome interruption to the morning chores. They chatted awhile, then Candy glanced at her watch. “Well, it’s getting late and I have some errands to run. You want to get me Alisa’s suit?” Betty didn’t stir from her chair. Her face was blank; her eyes were unfocused. “Candy,” she said calmly, “are you having an affair with Allan?” Candy was stunned. “No, of course not,” she answered, a little too quickly. Betty squinted, and a steeliness crept into her tone. “But you did, didn’t you?” “Yes,” Candy said, quietly now, “but it was a long time ago.” Candy was still, and her eyes avoided Betty’s. Betty said nothing, staring past Candy’s head, transfixed. “Did Allan tell you?” Candy looked into Betty’s face for some sign. “Wait a minute,” Betty said. She rose abruptly from her chair and walked through the open door of the utility room and out of sight. Candy wondered how recently Betty had found out. Candy also realized, with a quiet panic, that she had nothing to say to her. After a few seconds Betty reappeared in the doorway, her face tense. She was clutching the curved wooden handle of a three-foot ax, the kind used for chopping heavy firewood. Her stance, oddly enough, wasn’t very threatening, since she held the ax clumsily, away from her body, the blade pointed at the floor. Candy was more worried about what Betty would say than what she would do. Candy stood up but didn’t move from the chair. “Betty?” “Well, don’t see him again,” Betty said. It was an order. “Under the circumstances,” Candy said, “I think I’ll just bring Alisa home and drop her off right after Bible school.” “No,” said Betty harshly. “I don’t want to see you anymore. Just keep Alisa and take her to the movie, because I don’t want to look at you again. Bring her home tomorrow.” Betty laid the ax against the wall, just inside the living room, and walked past Candy into the middle of the living room. “I’ll get a towel from the bathroom,” she said, over her shoulder. “You get Alisa’s suit off the washer.” All Candy wanted to do was get out of the house because she suddenly had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. As she took the swimsuit off the washer, Betty reappeared behind her. “Don’t forget Alisa’s peppermints.” The tone was softer now, more reassuring. The two women met at the utility room door, and Betty handed the towel to Candy. “That’s okay,” Candy said. “I have some peppermints at home I can give her.” Betty reached into a bowl of candy by the fireplace. “I’ll give you a few of these anyway.” As Candy stuffed the swimsuit and the towel into her handbag, Betty gave her a handful of candies, and she dropped those in as well. When Candy looked up at last, Betty was staring at her, but her expression was no longer one of rage. Her face was full of pain. Candy thought of how Betty would cry after she left, and she felt a stab of conscience. Both women hesitated, as though something important would be settled by the tone of the parting. Clumsily, Candy placed her hand on Betty’s arm. When she spoke, her voice dripped with pity. “Oh, Betty, I’m so sorry.” All at once Betty’s rage erupted. She flung the hand from her arm and shoved Candy backward into the utility room. Betty grabbed the ax resting by the doorway and rushed in after her, holding it like a weapon, diagonally across her chest. The blade was pointed at the floor. “You can’t have him,” Betty screamed, crowding Candy. “You can’t have him. I’m going to have a baby, and you can’t have him this time.” “Betty, don’t,” said Candy, putting her hands on the ax as Betty moved in. “This is stupid. I don’t want Allan.” For a moment neither woman moved. They gripped the ax firmly, their eyes locked. Then Betty began to jerk the ax, trying to control it. “Betty, don’t do this,” Candy pleaded. “Please stop.” “I’ve got to kill you.” Betty spoke slowly. As they grappled for control, Betty wrenched the ax violently and jerked it upward. The flat side of the blade slapped against the side of Candy’s bobbing head. “Betty, what are you doing?” Candy stepped backward, farther into the utility room, and grabbed her head with her hand. “Betty, stop.” Candy looked at her hand; it was streaked with blood. Then she looked back at Betty and saw her raising the ax blade over her head, almost to the eight-foot ceiling, as though to smash her with a single powerful blow. Candy screamed at the top of her lungs, a high-pitched, pleading sound, and jumped sideways into a cabinet, spilling books and knickknacks onto the floor. Even though Candy had no place to hide Betty was between Candy and both exits the ax missed her entirely and landed harmlessly on the linoleum. The blade made a dull thud, bounced once, and sliced a gash in Candy’s toe. Just as it did, Candy grabbed the blade, wrapping her fingers around the thick heavy metal. Her pleading now turned to anger. She said no more. The exaggerated blow and the drawing of blood unloose the surging fury of both women. Betty started shoving and jerking the handle as soon as Candy grabbed the blade. But Candy held on tightly, and the struggle degenerated into a wrestling match. Betty thrust and jabbed the ax and Candy’s body, kicked at her legs, kneed her in the thighs. Candy responded by trying to jerk the handle out of Betty’s hands. From a distance, nonsensically, came the frenzied,

high-pitched barking of dogs. Betty moved her hands up the handle, trying to get leverage. Finally she bit Candy on the knuckle. With her head bent, Betty was off balance, and Candy shoved the ax against Betty’s body with all her might. Betty reeled backward and fell against the door of the freezer, her feet slipping a little on the linoleum. Candy didn’t hesitate. As Betty struggled to regain her balance, her body facing away, Candy brought the ax up with both hands and brought the blade down on the back of Betty’s head. The blow resounded with a hollow pop, like a cork coming out of a wine bottle, and then blood gushed across the back of Betty’s neck. Candy dropped the ax, jumped away from Betty, and felt time shift into slow motion. Betty began to slump toward the floor, blood pouring out of her skull, but she continued to struggle to her feet. Terrified by the blood and the certainty that she had just killed her, Candy bolted for the living room door, but an eternity seemed to pass as she tried to reach it. She finally put her hand on the knob, started to pull and Betty slammed her body against the door. Candy looked up and saw blood spreading across the side of Betty’s face. Betty picked up the ax again, like some nightmarish vision of a corpse that stalks its killer. Tears spurted from Candy’s eyes. The barking of dogs, wolfish and primitive, grew louder. “Let me go, Betty, please Betty, let me go.” Betty’s voice came from a thousand miles away: “I can’t.” Candy grabbed the ax again, and the women began to dance around the utility room, once again jabbing and pushing with the ax that hung between them. Betty’s head dripped blood until the linoleum was slick with crimson. They circled endlessly, one losing her grip, then regaining it before she could be shoved away. At one point, when Betty bumped against the freezer again, Candy removed a hand from the ax and grabbed the knob of the door to the garage. She pulled the door open a few inches, but Betty managed to shove her away, slam it shut, and push in the lock on the knob. They kicked each other as they struggled for position. Their shoes squeaked on the sticky red floor, and above the steady electrical hum of the washing machine, they grunted and breathed heavily. Betty grabbed Candy’s hair with one hand. Then Candy slipped on the blood and went down hard directly in front of the freezer. As she did, Betty tried to raise the ax but, growing weak from loss of blood, couldn’t get it up in time. Candy tackled her by one leg, and Betty sprawled forward, almost on top of Candy. By the time they were upright again, the ax was between them and they fought over it from sitting positions. Candy shoved Betty hard, jumped to her feet, and lunged at the garage door, but the knob wouldn’t turn. She pivoted as Betty moved toward her. “Betty, don’t,” she said. “Please let me go. I don’t want him. I don’t want him.” Betty’s eyes flared in a final rage, but her reply was eerily restrained. Placing one finger to her lips and gripping the ax with her other hand, she breathed from somewhere deep in her throat: “Shhhh.” The words echoed through Candy’s subconscious like a psychic alarm. She grabbed the ax and used it aggressively, pushing the handle against Betty’s legs. Through a window came the hysterical canine sounds, desperate now, the barking and howling of frightened creatures. Candy jerked the ax and then leaned backward with all her might, wrapping both hands around the blade. The handle was covered with blood, and when Betty tried to pull just as hard, as though in a tug-of-war, her hands slipped off and she plunged back into the room. She wouldn’t stay down, though. She lunged toward Candy, but Candy had time to raise the ax and bring it down with all the adrenaline-fueled strength she could gather. There was no pity or remorse or conscience now. Candy destroyed Betty out of pure, unadulterated hate and anger over what this woman had done to her,

rage that now her life might be changed because of this stupid woman.

Candy stopped at the point of utter exhaustion. There were, in all, 41 chop wounds. 40 occurred while Betty Gore’s heart was still beating. The huge courtroom was silent. Candy Montgomery’s voice had barely risen above the traffic noise from the square. Crowder continued his questioning, but Candy was lapsing into her monotone again. While describing the struggle, her cheeks had trembled and she had sobbed silently. But now she has recovered her composure. Crowder feared that her testimony seemed too rehearsed. “When you went over there,” he said, “did you mean to kill her with that ax?” “No.” Crowder picked up the ax and placed it on his right hip. Time for a bootleg play, he thought. “But you did kill her with the ax, didn’t you?” he said as he walked back toward the witness box. “Yes.”

“This ax right here—“ “Don’t make me look at it.” He grabbed the ax with both hands, brought it into full view, and thrust it toward Candy’s face. “Don’t!” “You killed her with this ax right here, didn’t you?” Pat Montgomery could hear Candy’s scream in the witness room, thirty yards away. Candy burst into tears and seemed to rise out of her chair. “You killed her with this ax right here, didn’t you?” “Yes,” she said, so he would take it away. One of the woman jurors dabbed at her reddened eyes with a tissue. Another squirmed in her seat, offended by the cheap trick. She, too, wondered why Candy seemed so cold and impersonal, but she also felt an odd sympathy toward her. Her story hung together; it didn’t seem whitewashed. But how can you be sure? She wanted the prosecutor, Tom O’Connell, to be tough, to pry open every part of the story, to find the one lie in it that would make it all come apart. Crowder led Candy through the rest of her day and had her admit all the cover-ups and evasions of the following week, as she had tried to avoid detection. After a ten-minute recess, O’Connell drew a deep breath and plunged in. This is what he had been afraid of. Candy was intelligent, attractive, direct, she handled herself well, and she used the best possible explanation, the “I freaked out” excuse. He would probe at her story, trying to pick out the discrepancies. He stuck to his original plan and tried to expose the cracks in her story. He asked Candy to repeat her account of what happened in the utility room, but with much less detail. She didn’t hesitate, and there were no contradictions. She even added small details, like the location of the peppermint candies in a glass bowl on a shelf next to the fireplace. It was the kind of thing a bald-faced liar wouldn’t know. O’Connell’s questions wandered from place to place, from the utility room to a friend’s divorce and back to the cover-ups. He emphasized that a year-old baby had been left alone by this woman who prided herself on her motherhood. He pointed out Candy’s repeated lies to her friends. And then, abruptly, he stopped. “You may stand down,” said the judge. Candy’s testimony ended on a Friday. The following Wednesday, the jury heard the final arguments and reached its verdict that same afternoon. Candy Montgomery was found not guilty. The violent death was also protected under Texas’ “Stand Your Ground” law, which permits using deadly force if necessary to prevent a violent crime, such as Betty’s violent threats against Candy. The victim's father, Bob Pomeroy, said: As far as I'm concerned, justice will be served. She has to live with it, I wouldn't say I was happy with the verdict. We don't know what happened and we never will know what happened

Most people want to know where Candy is now. Candy seemed to have achieved her wishes of normalcy. Candy and Pat stayed together after the trial, and moved out of Texas to escape the lingering spotlight, though some reports indicate that they subsequently got divorced. Today, per People, Candy is living in Georgia, where she works as a mental health counselor. Alisa and Bethany, Betty and Allan’s two daughters started a new chapter in their lives by moving from Texas to Kansas. The sisters were adopted by their maternal grandparents, Bob and Bertha Pomeroy of Norwich, KS, in 1988. The adoption came at the request of Mr. Gore, who was moving his new wife and family from the Dallas area to California. "They felt like their marriage had a better shot at working out if Bethany and I weren't around," their daughters said. Alisa, commonly known as Lisa, graduated from Norwich High School in 1992 and now resides in Kansas. At Kansas State University, Lisa pursued her higher education, concentrating on earning an accounting degree. Lisa currently holds the prestigious position of Business Controller, I won't disclose the location of her employment for security purposes. Later, Lisa married Jonn, becoming the proud mother of two sons. On the other hand, Bethany continued her study at Wichita State University and decided to enter the area of education like her mother. She is currently employed as an assistant principal. She married a man named Chad and they have since started a devoted family. Their three children, one of which they named after their mother. Mr. Gore had married the former Elaine Clift less than three months after Mrs. Montgomery's acquittal, and the family later moved to Sachse, northeast of Garland. The first few years of their father's second marriage were difficult for the sisters. Lisa was in and out of therapy as a pre-teen. "There were a lot of times my dad and Elaine would use withholding food as punishment," she said. Lisa said that when she was 10 her stepmother made her read Evidence of Love, the true-crime book that detailed her father's affair and her mother's death. "I had to give her a little summary after each chapter," she said. One of Lisa's earliest memories is being punished by standing in a cold shower with her feet in a tub of ice cubes. "My stepmother told us if we said anything about their treatment they would separate us," Lisa said.

"I've seen neither of them in 15 years”. Elaine and Allan Gore are divorced, and the sisters' former stepmother is now a college music teacher in the northeastern United States. She refused to respond to any other questions about her relationship with the two girls. A dispute over grandparents' visitation rights ended up in court in Dallas before it was resolved. Once, Betty’s father said, Bethany arrived for a visit with tufts of hair missing. "I told Allan if that little girl comes back here with any more hair pulled out of her head, I'll take you down and pull out every one of your hairs," He said. Mr. Gore, a computer consultant living in California, did not respond to numerous phone calls and a letter requesting comment on remarks by his daughters and their grandfather.

Two decades after the murder, As of 2023 it has been four decades but this was an article that came out 20 years ago. For Betty’s daughters, there are matters still to be discussed. Twenty years ago, with testimony about adultery and pools of blood, about repressed memories and tired marriages, the children drew sympathy but little outside attention. in young adulthood, they want to say that they managed to turn out all right after all, despite some rough early years. Long estranged from their father, they talk now of how nice it would have been to have a mother around. And they're curious about what Mrs. Montgomery, might say. "I just wish I knew what really happened," Lisa said. "Because nobody knows but her." Mrs. Montgomery does not wish to reveal her thoughts regarding either then or now. "I'm telling you in big bold letters," she said in response to a reporter's query, "I'm not interested."

The sisters have not seen their father in years, though there have been occasional greeting cards from him, signed "Allan." When Lisa got married in 1996, he was not invited. "Bethany said she wasn't going to come if he was there," Betty’s father still harbors anger toward Mr. Gore, in part the result of a conversation with his son-in-law shortly after his daughter's death. "I said, 'You didn't show any remorse,'" he recalled. "He said, 'It didn't bother me very much. We weren't getting along anyway.'" 'A lot of anger' Perhaps most of the ill will is still directed at Mrs. Montgomery. "My family has a lot of anger and a lot of hatred toward her," Lisa said, adding that she prefers not to dwell on that. "You can spend your whole life hating someone." Instead, she tries to remember her mother. "I talk to her once in a while. I kind of always feel like she's there, like with my son" she said. "My husband says, 'It's too bad your mom couldn't see him.' In my mind, she probably sees him every day." Again, the talk turned back to loss. "What angers me," she said, "is thinking about what could have been." Even if their mother had lived, the daughters say, that doesn't mean they would have enjoyed a happy life in Texas. "I know that Mom and Dad would have gotten a divorce. I think she would have left him and we would have moved back to Kansas," Lisa said. She smiled, with a distant look in her eyes. "That would have been perfect."

Now almost 43 years after the murder of Betty Gore, Allan Gore seems to be back in touch with his daughters based on a recent post from his Facebook account. Allan currently resides in Sarasota, Florida and is now retired, and involved in a domestic partnership.

That brings us to the end of this episode! As always, thanks for listening to Murder By Nature. If you enjoy our show, please rate and review us on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or any streaming platform you are currently on, and be sure to come back Saturday for our new episode. Until then, I am your host, Jazmin Hernandez, don’t forget to stay safe! Don’t get murdered or murder people, you lovely humans!

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