Love & Death is a gripping crime drama miniseries on HBO Max. It tells a chilling tale of Candy Montgomery, a housewife from Wylie, Texas. In 1980, she was accused of axing her friend Betty Gore. A story like no other, with a fantastic cast featuring Elizabeth Olsen. This series digs into dark secrets and motives behind such a shocking crime. It shows how complicated human connections can be. What makes someone do something so unthinkable? You might just find out.

Meet the characters from Love & Death

Candy Montgomery

Oh man, Candy is the kind of person you can’t stop thinking about — she’s glossy, composed, Texas homemaker energy but with these tiny flashes of something wilder underneath, like you catch her humming a hymn and then suddenly she’s plotting a new plant arrangement (or was it a grocery list?). She’s warm on the surface, extremely competent, and somehow incredibly private at the same time — which makes her feel both comforting and totally unknowable. There’s this weird mix of practicality and dramatic flair — floral dresses, immaculate house, but also a steel core that surprises people (and maybe herself). I keep imagining her with a cup of black coffee and an unread letter on the counter; that image refuses to go away.

Allan Gore

Allan comes off as the quietly steady one, kind of gentle and self-effacing, the sort of guy who nods a lot and tries to keep the peace even when things are tense. He’s got this lovable nerd streak — maybe likes small model kits or actually does enjoy doing the taxes for fun? — but also a sad air, like someone who’s trying to understand a puzzle that keeps moving. He’s supportive and maybe a little oblivious (in the most sympathetic way), which can make him feel both heroic and tragically sidelined. You can almost hear him clearing his throat before he says something important, which is both endearing and slightly heartbreaking.

Betty Gore

Betty reads like a textbook of midwestern intensity — prim, precise, very organized, with an undercurrent of fire that peeks out in the smallest moments (a narrowed look, a clipped sentence). She’s devoted and moral in this almost old-fashioned way but also fiercely private, and sometimes that translates into a hardness that’s kind of mesmerizing. She might be into church socials and baked goods by day and then have a surprisingly sharp, almost savage sense of humor when she’s with people she trusts (which is rare, but it happens). I keep picturing her with a perfectly ironed blouse and a secret stash of candy in her purse — don’t ask me why, that just feels right.

Pat Montgomery

Pat is the big, affable guy everyone notices when he enters a room — warm laugh, practical jokes, the kind of man who can fix anything with duct tape and a smile. He’s supportive in a very palpable way, like he’s always doing the heavy lifting (literally and emotionally), and maybe a little too trusting sometimes, which complicates everything. There’s also this softer side — sentimental, maybe he keeps mementos in a shoebox or writes the occasional heartfelt note (or at least thinks about it). He’s comforting but a touch messy, like socks on the floor and a heart of gold — honestly I love that contradiction.

Don Crowder

Don shows up as the smooth, easygoing charmer who definitely stirs the pot whether he means to or not; quick with a joke, quicker with a compliment, and utterly magnetic in a low-key way. He’s slippery in that he’s hard to pin down — one minute casual, the next suddenly intensely engaged — which makes him equal parts exasperating and fascinating. I keep imagining him with a cigarette behind his ear (don’t know why) and an encyclopedic knowledge of everybody’s birthdays, which is oddly specific but fits the vibe. He’s the guy who makes scenes more complicated just by existing, in the best/worst way.

Sherry Cleckler

Sherry feels like the gossip and the conscience rolled into one — chatty, opinionated, and often the person who notices the little things everyone else pretends not to see. She radiates small-town social power: knows who’s friends with who, who’s on the outs, and she wields that knowledge with a bemused smile. But she’s not all sharp edges; there’s a tenderness there too, unusual and surprising, like a person who brings casserole because she actually cares (and also because she wants to be in the loop). Every time I think I’ve pinned her down she tosses in a weird, sweet quirk — collects matchbooks? wears mismatched earrings? — and I’m back to square one.

Ron Adams

Ron has that classic investigator vibe — no-nonsense, patient, very observant, the type who prefers facts over drama but isn’t immune to being moved by it all. He’s methodical and kind of old-school, like he drinks too much coffee and remembers the exact time someone called in a tip from twelve years ago (or maybe that was yesterday, memory’s fuzzy). Under the tough exterior there’s a dry humor and a stubborn streak of empathy that makes him unexpectedly humane; he’s the one who notices the messy little details others miss. Honestly, I can see him leaning against a bulletin board covered in notes, muttering to himself and smiling at a clue nobody else thought mattered.