Money Crimes with Nicole Lapin - Candy Montgomery

Episode Date: July 11, 2026

On the morning of June 13th, 1980, Candy Montgomery stopped by her friend Betty Gore's house to pick up a swimsuit. When she left, she said Betty was perfectly fine. That night, three neighbors found Betty's body in her utility room, struck with an axe 41 times while her baby cried alone upstairs. The bloody footprint on the floor was too small to belong to a man. And the last person to see Betty Gore alive was sleeping with her husband. This episode contains descriptions of extreme violence and the mutilation of a body. Please listen with care.Follow America's Most Infamous Crimes to hear the rest of the story: https://pod.link/1882861002If you’re new here, don’t forget to follow Scams, Money, & Murder to never miss a case! To hear episodes ad-free, subscribe to Crime House+. Join at crimehouseplus.com or if you’re listening on Apple Podcasts, tap “Try Free” at the top of this show’s page. Scams, Money, & Murder is a Crime House Original Podcast, powered by PAVE Studios.🎧 Need More to Binge? Listen to other Crime House Originals Clues, Crimes Of…, Crime House 24/7, Serial Killers & Murderous Minds, Murder True Crime Stories, and more wherever you get your podcasts!Follow me on SocialInstagram: @CrimehouseTikTok: @CrimehouseFacebook: @crimehousestudiosX: @crimehousemediaYouTube: @crimehousestudios

Hi, listeners, it's Vanessa. Before today's episode, I want to take a brief moment to tell you about a show from Crime House's sister studio, Rewind, that I know you'll love. It's called Government That Doesn't Suck, hosted by professors Lindsay Cormack and Greg Jackson from History That Doesn't Suck. Ever wonder how the weather forecast on your phone is so accurate, or how your mail still gets across the country for less than a dollar? Or who actually built the highway you drove on this morning?

Each episode tells the surprising story of an American institution that you'll never look at the same way again. Listen to and follow Government That Doesn't Suck every other Monday on Apple Podcasts and Spotify, or watch video episodes on YouTube. This is Crime House. On the night of Friday, June 13, 1980, three men crossed a dark alley in the quiet suburb of Wiley, Texas to check on a neighbor who hadn't answered her phone all day. What they found inside her utility room was so horrifying that one of them slammed the door shut and could barely get a sentence out. Betty Gore, a 30-year-old fifth grade teacher and mother of two, had been struck by an axe more than 40 times. Her baby daughter was upstairs in her crib where she had been crying alone for hours. This was a town where people lived their doors unlocked, where everyone knew everyone, and now somewhere among them there was a killer.

Today I'll introduce you to Betty Gore and who she really was long before her name became a headline and take you inside the night her neighbors made a discovery they would spend the rest of their lives trying to forget. Every crime tells a story about the people involved, the system that tried to stop it, and the nation that couldn't look away. Some cases are so shocking, so deeply woven into who we are that decades later we're still asking how did this happen. I'm Katie Rang and this is America's most infamous crimes. Every Tuesday, Wednesday,

and Thursday, I'll take you deep into cases that have a lasting imprint on society and still haunt us today. Crime House exists because of listeners like you. Want even more, join Crimehouse Plus and get all three parts of each week's America's Most Infamous Crime Stories dropped at once every Monday and ad-free.

You'll also get the rest of the crimehouse lineup ad-free and early and exclusive bonus episodes. To join, go to CrimehousePlus.com or if you listen on Apple Podcasts, tap, try free at the top of America's Most Infamous crime show page. And to help keep growing our community, be sure to rate review and follow America's Most Infamous Crimes wherever you get your podcasts. Before I get started, please be advised that this episode contains descriptions of extreme violence and the mutilation of a body. So please listen

with care. This is the first of our three episodes series on Candy Montgomery and the killing of Betty Gore. Today I'll introduce you to the two women at the center of this story, take you inside the night Betty's neighbors found her, and walk through the first days of an investigation that left an entire town afraid to leave its doors unlocked. Most people who know this case know it by one name, Candy Montgomery. But before the headlines, there were two women living a few streets apart in the same small Texas town trying to build the exact same kind of life. And one of them, the one whose name we don't say nearly as much,

deserves to have her story told. So that's where I want to start with Betty Gore. She was born Betty Eileen Pomeroy on January 9, 9, 1950 in Kingman County, Kansas. She was the oldest of three kids and the only girl, which meant that from a young age, she helped look after her two younger brothers. This responsibility at a young age can be hard,

but Betty didn't mind it. She loved her brothers deeply and taking care of people came naturally to her. It even shaped what she wanted out of life. Betty dreamed of being a teacher. She wanted to spend her days with children, and she wanted to give something back to the world around her. She met the man she would marry while they were both students at Southwestern College in Winfield, Kansas.

His name was Alan Gore, and he was a few years older than she was. In fact, he was the TA for her freshman math class. Alan was smart, well-read, and serious about the things he cared about, and the two of them clicked almost immediately. There was just one obstacle. Alan didn't think it was right to date a student while he was her TA, so they stayed friends and they waited. When the semester ended and Betty wasn't in the class anymore, things finally shifted.

Within about a year, Alan proposed, and in January of 1970, they got married. That's the fairy tale part of the story, but the part that came afterward was a lot harder. Married life wasn't like Betty at hope. Alan struggled to find steady work, and they moved around constantly, chasing one job after another. It's hard to put down roads when you're always packing to leave, and Betty had trouble making friends in places she never stayed long enough to feel at home. On top of that, Alan's work would sometimes pull him away for long. stretches, trips that could last weeks at a time. And Betty, who'd always hated being alone,

found herself feeling extremely lonely. She told herself it was temporary, just a phase they had to get through until things finally steadied out. Then in 1973, Betty and Allen learned they were expecting their first child. On paper, this is everything Betty had ever wanted. She'd always wanted to be a mother, but just like being married, being pregnant wasn't like she'd pictured. The morning sickness was relentless, and the depression that came with it was even worse. Betty's mental health slid, and even though she was in an era when people didn't like to talk about these things, Betty did. She confided in Allen, went to her doctors for help, and her gynecologist prescribed antidepressants to try and pull her through.

In 1974, the gores welcomed a baby girl who they named Elisa. Everyone in Betty's life told her this was supposed to be the happiest she'd ever be. She was supposed to be glowing. Instead, Instead, after Elisa was born, Betty's depression deepened into what we would now clearly recognize as postpartum depression. She felt more isolated than ever. She'd gained weight. She felt self-conscious in a way that she hadn't before. She saw another doctor who prescribed more medication.

This was a real, heavy, daily struggle, and for the most part, she was carrying it alone. Some genuine relief finally arrived when Alan landed a serious job offer in Dallas, a position with the aerospace and electronics giant. Rockwell International. It was the kind of move that felt like it might be the last one they'd ever have to make. So the family packed up everything and settled into a brick house in Wiley, a small town in Collin County about 40 minutes northeast of Dallas. And in Wiley, Betty started to find her footing again. She got a job teaching fifth grade at R.C. Dodd Middle School. She and Allen joined the local United Methodist Church, and almost overnight they had something

they'd been missing for years, a community. In a small town like Wiley, the church wasn't just an hour on Sunday morning. It was the center of everyone's social life. There were choir rehearsals and Sunday school classes to teach, potlucks and Bible studies, even a church volleyball league. People knew them, they were invited to events and parties, and for the first time in a long time, the gores belong somewhere. Now, I want to be fair about Betty here because the people who knew her didn't describe her as a saint,

and it wouldn't honor her to pretend otherwise, especially because I think this dynamic played a part on how the trial ended. After a few years in town, she developed a bit of a reputation among the other women at church for being sensitive, the kind of person you chose your words around, in case something landed wrong. There was gossip that she was strict with her daughter and that her own students didn't exactly like her. Some of that could probably be chalked up to small town gossip, and some of it had to be related to her depression, which didn't get any better after she had given birth to their second daughter.

But it's part of who she was, and it's important to talk about because it helps explain why Betty sometimes felt like an outsider, even in the one town where she finally had a place. It was at that church in 1977 that Betty and Allen met another young couple who just moved to the area, Pat and Candy Montgomery. And on the surface, the two families were almost interchangeable. Both couples were new to Wiley, both husbands worked as engineers, both spent a lot of their free time at the church. Pat and Alan struck up an easy friendship. And while Betty and Candy were never quite as close as their husbands, they were members of the same small congregation, which made them something between friends and friendly acquaintances.

If you'd driven down their street in 1980, you'd have seen exactly what you'd expected. Tidy houses, kids on bikes, two young families doing everything right, at least according to the standards of a Texas suburban life in the 70s, going to church on Sundays, raising their kids, keeping up with their homes. It looked like the picture of suburban stability,

but that picture came with its own kind of pressure, and it felt heaviest on the women. This was suburban Texas at the tail end of the 70s. The expectation was that you would be a good wife, raise a kids, keep a spotless house, and show up at church with a smile, and never, ever complain about any of it. Betty Gore and Candy Montgomery were living under that same exact weight,

but we're carrying it in very different ways, and that difference is where this story, story truly begins. On Friday, June 13th, 1980, Alan Gore flew to St. Paul, Minnesota on a business trip with a few colleagues from work. Betty had always hated being left alone when Alan traveled, and this trip was no exception. Before leaving that morning, he promised he'd call her from the airport before he got on the plane.

But there was something else weighing on Betty that week, too. Her period was late, and she was afraid she might be pregnant again. For a lot of people, that would be something to celebrate. But Betty's pregnancies had been the hardest times of her life, the depression, the isolation, the feeling of drowning while everyone told her she would be glowing. The thought of going through all of that a third time really scared her. So she was already on edge when Alan packed his bags and headed for the airport, leaving her home with the baby and her own anxious thoughts.

Later that afternoon, Alan called the house before boarding the plane as promised. Betty didn't pick up, but he didn't think much about it until he called again that night after checking into his hotel in St. Paul, and she still didn't answer. Alan tried again and again, and as the hours crept by, a low hum of worry sharpened into something closer to dread. It wasn't like Betty to not answer the phone, especially when he was out of town. So Alan started calling neighbors back in Wiley. The first person he reached was Richard Parker, who lived next door. Alan asked him to go check on the house, so Richard walked over, looked around the outside, and reported back that everything seemed quiet. He didn't

didn't notice anything wrong. Allen also called the Montgomery home because the Gore's oldest daughter, Elisa, had spent the night there. Candy told Alan she'd stopped by their house that morning, around 10 o'clock, and that Betty had been perfectly fine. But Alan couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. As the night wore on, he called back and pressed his neighbors to do more than glance through the windows.

He needed someone to actually go inside. One of those neighbors, Jerry McMahon, had been settling in for a quiet Friday night when the call came that pulled him out of his chair and across the alley. He could tell that Alan thought something was really wrong and he didn't want to go over there alone. So a little before 11 o'clock, three men crossed toward the Gore House together. Jerry McMahon, Lester Gaylor, and Richard Parker. The street was dark, lit only by a few porch lights and the dim glow of windows. They knocked on the front door, but no one answered. They tried the windows, then the utility room, then the garage, but nothing would open.

Richard finally went back around the front, planning to force his way in. But when he turned the knob, the door simply swung open. It had been unlocked the entire time. A chill went through all three men as they stepped inside. A few lights were on, but the house was dead silent. They called out Betty's name, no answer.

So they spread out, moving from room to room, looking for any sign of her at all. As they worked their way up through the ground floor, one of them noticed dark smears near a bathroom. It was blood, and in that moment, the uneasy quiet turned into something closer to fear. And then one of them heard the baby crying. They followed the sound upstairs and found the Gore's youngest daughter, Bethany, in her crib. She wasn't even a year old yet.

Her hair was matted, her diaper was dirty, it was obvious she had been left like that for hours, maybe the entire day. Richard Parker lifted Bethany out of the crib so he could call for help. while the other two kept looking. Elisa, the older daughter, was nowhere in the house. She was safe asleep over at the Montgomery's, but there was still no sign of Betty anywhere. The men kept searching, bedrooms, bathrooms, every corner they could find. The only place left was the utility room.

Lester reached for the door, pulled it open, and looked inside. At first, his mind couldn't even process what he was seeing. The walls, the shelves, all of it covered in blood. There was so much of it that the little room looked like it had been painted in red. And on the floor, in the middle of it all, was Betty's body. Lester slammed the door shut, and for a moment, the three of them just stood there in the hallway stunned into silence. Then the reality of it set in, and they understood what they had to do.

They had to call the police. And maybe the hardest part of all, somebody had to tell Alan. As they stood there trying to gather themselves, the phone rang. It was Alan, calling yes. again from his hotel in the hope that this time maybe Betty would answer. And now one of these men had to be the one to pick it up and tell him the truth. Lester broke the news as gently as he could. But the honest truth was that he didn't fully understand what he'd just seen. All he could tell Alan was that it looked like Betty had been shot. Alan couldn't wrap his head around it. They didn't

even own a gun and he'd seen her just that morning. He talked to her before his flight, how could she possibly be dead? The police arrived quickly and even they were just as shaken by what they walked into. The utility room was tiny, only 12 by 6 feet with a washer, a dryer,

a freezer, and a few shelves. Every surface was coated in blood, so thick in places that it looked almost black. Betty Gore lay face up on the floor and her face was so badly damaged that she was nearly unrecognizable. She was fully clothed and there was no sign of sexuals.

which in a strange way only made the scene harder to understand. Whatever had happened in that room had been something else entirely. It was so overwhelming that the first theory anyone reached for was suicide. Even Allen, when he first got the news, jumped to that fear. He knew Betty had struggled with depression, and his first horrified thought was that he hadn't gotten her enough help, that the weight of it all had finally become too much for her to carry. But the moment investigators actually examined the scene,

the theory collapsed. There was no gun or a bullet hole. Instead, Betty's body was covered from head to toe in deep gashes. Half of her face had been slashed clean away. One of the cuts was so deep it had almost severed her arm from her body and tucked underneath the freezer. Right beside her head was the wooden handle of an axe.

This wasn't a suicide. Betty Gore had been killed in her own home, in the middle of the day, while her baby cried alone in a crib just upstairs. And in a town like Wiley, that single fact was about to change everything. Wiley, Texas was not the kind of place where this happened. In 1980, it was a small, growing suburb on the edge of Dallas. The kind of town people moved to so they could get away from the city.

It was a place with rules, and if you got married, had kids, went to church, did your part, life would reward you with peace and stability. A savage axe attack and a suburb. bourbon laundry room did not fit anywhere in that picture, which is exactly why it terrified everyone, the police very much included. There was a ton of pressure to solve this case and to do it fast, partly to get justice for Betty Gore, but partly to calm a community that had suddenly stopped feeling safe. But early on, the local police chief told reporters something that only made things more terrifying. They couldn't determine a motive and they had very few clues to

work with. A school teacher had been hacked to death in her own laundry room, and the people who were supposed to have answers didn't have any. In a town this size, where the killing was front-page news within 48 hours, that uncertainty spread fast. So investigators worked the scene carefully. The weapon was right there in the room with the body, a three-foot axe. Betty had been struck more than 40 times, and that number told them something important. You don't just hit someone 40, times in order to kill them. One or two of those blows would have done the job. 40 is something different. Investigators have a word for it, overkill, and it almost always points in the same direction. This was personal, a crime of passion. The rest of the scene started to fill in the picture.

There weren't any signs of force entry which meant one of two things. Either Betty had opened the door for her killer, or like so many doors on that street, it had simply been left unlocked. There was a bloody footprint on the utility room floor and a bloody thumbprint on the freezer door. And there is something investigators hadn't expected to find. In one of the bathrooms, there was blood on the tiles, the sink and the towels. As if after the attack, the killer had tried to clean themselves up. There was even a pot of coffee that had been left to burn, which hinted that the killing had happened earlier in the day, sometime in the morning. But this was 1980. Forensic science wasn't what it is today. There was no pulling DNA off of that

What investigators could do was examine Betty's body and hope it gave them some clues, trace evidence under her fingernails, in her hair, or on her skin. And it did. The coroner found strands of hair clutched in Betty's hands and more stuck to her feet. There was no way to know for sure whether that hair belonged to Betty or to whoever had killed her, but either way, it would have to be tested. The problem was that the hair and the thumbprint were only useful if police had a suspect to compare them against.

Then the autopsy report came back, and it made the personal nature of this crime impossible to ignore. The coroner determined that Betty Gore had been struck 41 times with the axe. Some of the wounds were surprisingly shallow, barely more than glancing blows. Others, like the ones to her head, were deep enough to be fatal. But here is the detail that is truly haunting. Betty had been alive for almost all of them. This was not one clean fatal blow. the wounds told the story of a long, brutal struggle between two people.

And from the angle of the cuts, the coroner could tell that a lot of the blows to Betty's head had been delivered head-on, with the killer standing directly over her body. This had to be personal. So who do investigators look at first in a case like this? Statistically, the answer is uncomfortable, but it's consistent. When a woman is killed, it is most often by someone she knows, and very often by a husband or partner. So the first person the police looked into was Betty's husband Alan. But Alan had an alibi, and it was a pretty solid one.

When Betty was killed, he'd been hundreds of miles away in St. Paul, Minnesota on a business trip. His presence there was easy to confirm, and nothing about his account contradicted what police were finding at the scene. And then there was that bloody footprint. When investigators studied it, they realized the foot was simply too small to belong to a grown man. As one former Colin County investigator later put it, they were looking for someone small in stature, a child or a woman. And to be fair to Alan,

worrying when your spouse won't answer the phone for the entire evening isn't suspicious. It's exactly what a lot of us would do. So while the police didn't fully clear him, the evidence was starting to point somewhere else. A woman did this, but which woman? And why? The trouble was the list of suspects was painfully thin.

There was no obvious enemy, nothing had been stolen and there was no clear motive. The case was in real danger of going cold. So investigators did the next logical thing. They started digging into Betty's social world, talking to everyone who knew her, trying to piece together a timeline of her final day. And that's when someone came forward with a detail

that cracked the whole thing open. The witness was a five-year-old girl named Tina, who was a friend of Elisa. Tina told investigators that on the morning Betty was killed, she'd seen someone stop by the Gore's house. someone she recognized, someone most people in that town would have recognized. Candy Montgomery. Now, this didn't immediately read as a smoking gun.

Candy Montgomery was a well-liked, well-respected woman in Wiley. She taught Sunday school, she sang in the church choir. She was a friend of Betty's, and Betty's daughter, Elisa, was having a play date with Candy's kids. If she'd been at the house that morning, the likeliest explanation was that she was simply the last person to have seen Betty alive, which made her a potential gold mine of information, not a suspect. So the police asked Candy to come down to the station, hoping she could help them. She came willingly and she was visibly grief-stricken over the loss of her friend. She explained that she and Betty had met through the church,

and she explained exactly why she'd gone by the house that morning. She was watching Elisa and was supposed to take her to a swim lesson, but she didn't have Elisa's swimsuit so Candy had to stop by and grab it. She and Betty had chatted for maybe 15 minutes, nothing unusual about the visit at all. Then she'd taken the swimsuit from the utility room said goodbye and left. She said that when she walked out of that door, Betty was alive and well. As a precaution, investigators asked Candy if she'd bring in the shoes she had been wearing that day, and she agreed without hesitation.

And just like that, the lead seemed to fizzle out. Police had been hoping Candy could help them, but there was nothing there. So they circled back to Alan Gore, the one person with a real person with a real, direct connection to Betty. They thought he might know more than he was letting on, so they brought him back in for questioning. And again, it went nowhere. Maybe this really was a dead end, and the killer was some drifter who was already three towns away and never coming back. And then the very next morning, Alan Gore called the station. He said there is something that he hadn't mentioned before because he hadn't thought it was relevant. He confessed that he'd

been having an affair. For investigators, that was a jolt. An affair is motive. It was a brand new reason to take a much harder look at the grieving husband. But then Alan told them one more thing, a detail that turned this entire case completely on its head. The woman he had been having an affair with was the same woman who had been the last person to see his wife alive. Her name was Candy Montgomery. At the end of each episode, I'd like to take a moment to answer any questions you may have about the case and share my thoughts. So make sure to comment below. Of everything in this first episode, what's the detail that stays with you the most?

For me, it's the baby. I think if you watch the scripted HBO or Hulu series, this hits even harder when you hit that scene and hear the baby crying, knowing that Bethany was not even a year old. And she was upstairs in that crib for hours while her mother lay dead one floor below her. When the neighbors finally got into the house, the thing that drew them through it wasn't a sound from Betty. It was the baby crying with a soiled diaper,

having been left alone all day. I can't stop thinking about that. And whatever you end up believing about how Betty died, that's a real infant who is completely helpless and a house with a body in it. And honestly, in a strange way, the baby is the reason this case got solved at all. If Alan hadn't called the neighbors,

if those men hadn't gone inside that night, Betty could have been left there longer and an innocent baby would have been left all alone. The neighbors and even the first police on the scene initially thought this might be a suicide. How does a scene get read that wrong, at least at first? I actually understand it, even though it turned out to be completely off. Two things were working together.

First, the sheer amount of blood. By every account, that room was so saturated that people's brains just couldn't organize what they were looking at. Lester literally slammed the door before he could fully process it. When a scene is that overwhelming your mind reaches for any explanation it can grab. And second, the people closest to Betty knew she had been struggling with depression and postpartum depression. So when Alan first heard the word dead, his mind went straight to the worst fear

he already carried about his wife, which is human. But obviously, that was cleared up pretty quickly with the crime scene and the forensics because I don't think anyone is able to hit themselves with an axe 41 times. Again, there was no gunshot, no gun wound, no gun on the scene.

It was very clearly a murderer. Police went straight to the husband. Was that fair to Alan? And what actually pointed them away from him? I think it's more than fair when researching this case, I was working backwards because I knew who was on trial and who was killed. But before I even knew all the details other than a woman killed another woman in her house with an axe, I knew that it had to be over an affair. Then I got to the part where Allen called the police back and admitted to the affair and I sighed and thought to myself, oh my God, these men are so predictable. And to be fair, so are their mistresses.

So really, I'd be more worried if they hadn't looked at him. The statistics are just very consistent. When a woman is killed, it is most often by someone close to her and very frequently by a partner. So, Alan was going to be the first stop. What moved him down the list was two pieces of evidence that are hard to argue with. One, he had a genuine alibi. He was in St. Paul hundreds of miles away with colleagues on a documented work trip. And two, the bloody footprint on the floor was too small to be a grown man's. So investigators said they were looking for someone small, a child, or a woman. So even before they had a name, the physical evidence was quietly redirecting the entire case. The witness who breaks it open is a five-year-old. How much weight should we really put on a child that young? It's a great question because we tend to be skeptical of kid witnesses. Personally, from what I see in child essay cases, we should believe them a lot more often. Yes, there have been instances where an adult is leading them or where it is hard for them to interpret something complicated.

But a five-year-old can be very reliable on simple, concrete facts. Did you see someone who was it when Tina wasn't being asked to explain a motive or describe a crime? She was only being asked, did you see anyone go in the Gore house? And she named a person who the whole town knew. And there's this detail that actually guts me. Tina went up and rang the Gore's doorbell that morning and nobody answered. She thought it was strange and then she just went back to playing the way a five-year-old would. She had no idea in that moment what she was standing next to.

Her account didn't convict anyone on its own, but it gave him investigators the one thread that they didn't have, and that's a big deal in a case that was about to go cold. We say Candy's name far more than Betty's. What do you want people to hold on to about Betty Gore? I think that she's a whole person, not just a backdrop. Betty wanted to be a teacher since she was a kid taking care of her little brothers. She chased that dream. She got there. She stood in front of a fifth grade classroom every day, and she was carrying something heavy and largely invisible postpartum depression in a time and a place where women were expected to smile through everything and never say a word about how hard it was.

Some of the things people whispered about her that she was sensitive or difficult. I think that was just a woman quietly drowning while being told she had no reason to. So before we get into the affair and into the trial and all of this parts of the story that made it famous, I just wanted to go on the record. Betty Gore was a real wife, a real mother, a real teacher, and whatever happened to her in that utility room, she did not deserve it. We'll keep her at the center of this as we go. Thanks so much for joining me for this episode.

To enhance your listening experience, join Crimehouse Plus and get all three parts of each week's America's most infamous crime stories dropped at once every Monday and ad-free. You'll also get the rest of the crimehouse lineup ad-free and early and exclusive bonus episodes. To join, go to CrimehousePlus.com or if you listen on Apple Podcasts, tap try free at the top of America's Most Infamous Crime Show page. Come back tomorrow for our next episode. on Candy Montgomery and the killing of Betty Gore. Tyler Reddick here from 2311 racing.

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