By Karen Cherry Threadgill
I thought I knew my aunt. But it appears, not as well as I thought. My parents died when I was seven. I always liked her and spent summers with her before the accident, so it was not a huge adjustment for us.
Well, she was not really my aunt by blood. She was my Mom's best friend. Margaret Ann Miller adopted me and became my best friend. I went from Beverly Mae Trunchet to Beverly Mae Miller. My Mom requested we remove my fathers name.
When my Aunt Margaret died a couple months ago in a car accident at the age of sixty-six, I got a huge shock. She had moved to a small town in Texas, just like she always said she would. She wanted a safe place with no crime. And she looked it up and chose Keller, Texas.
We had vacationed there years ago and she said it seemed a sweet place, and maybe she would move there for a nice quiet life, when it was time to quit work. I kind of doubted she would ever quit working. She seemed to love her job.
When I moved in with her she was twenty-eight. She was five foot eight of bustling energy. She weighed maybe one hundred and twenty five pounds. She had golden brown hair and hazel eyes. They change color with her moods. She had a tidy figure and nice legs. She walked rather than drove wherever she could. At sixty-six she may have grey hair, but she is just as energetic as ever.
Me, well, I am forty-five. Weigh one hundred and fifteen pounds. And have green eyes and copper red hair. We had often been thought to be mother and daughter. We acted much the same. Our temperaments were well matched.
When I first moved in with Aunt Margaret we lived in Vermont. Then, when I was eleven and ready to start intermediate school. We moved to Colorado. My aunt was a researcher and could work anywhere. In the days before computers she was well known and held in high regard. She stays around five years at places before she gets bored.
When it was time for high school we moved to New Mexico. Santa Fe was gorgeous. She was doing Indian Heritage research. She loved this work. When I was going to go to college at U.C.L.A. She moved with me to California.
When I decided to take the vet job in San Antonio, she came along. As a head vet, I like being the visiting doctor at animal parks, zoos, and exotic animal spreads. I can get a job anywhere. So can she.
Neither one of us ever married, and we did not ask men to spend the night. We dated, but never wanted the commitment. We liked our lives as they are. We had no intentions of being second place in a relationship. And, a man would want to separate us, and stay in one spot. No thank you very much.
In this day and age it still seems as if the woman is expected to do most of the heavy lifting in the relationship. Neither one of us was the type to be less so he could be more. And we are certainly not the type to take orders. No siree bob.
My last guy left in a huff after we had been to the big farmers market and swap and trade event in town. When we got back to the house, he said a foot rub would be great, I said I agreed, and I flipped off my shoes, and said me first! He said he meant he wanted one, I said I heard him, I agreed, and I was going first.
He looked like he was a deer in the headlights. He said he was the man, and I said I noticed, I am the woman. I noticed right off we were different. He was not amused, he got snarky, and I told him to leave. He was not requested back.
My Aunt Margaret worked mainly with publishers verifying facts for various books and magazines. She traveled sometimes and in my youth I went with her. She made everything sound interesting. Little did I know what some of the research was really all about.
We both liked to travel, and with our talents, we could find work anywhere. After I went to my Aunt Margaret's storage shed, and opened the first box, my cheese slid clean off my cracker.
I think I fainted. I drank some of my water , and took some aspirin. Her old rocker was in there and I sat down. The first box may have been passed off as an aberration, but when the next box and the next was more of the same, well, I will just say. My Aunt Margaret kept extremely good records of her secret life.
My heart is still going lickety-split. I am in shock. Not only is there a very finely written account, in some cases there are pictures. My nice, calm, very loving Aunt Margaret was a serial killer.
There aren't many serial killers that are women you say. Not so, I say. There aren't many women serial killers caught. Why don't we get caught? Well, we don't want notoriety. We want to quietly go in, do the job. And leave no trail to follow. We do not grandstand, we don't need or want attention. We are discreet. And we are pragmatic. We put the work behind us when the job is done.
We operate on a completely different wave length. Men seem to want to hurt and humiliate people. Old people, sad people, and mostly women. And ninety percent are strangers. They do this to get their jollies. They are seriously off plumb.
Almost all women serial killers, go after specific people, and for cause. Not because Belinda Sue Terwilliger snubbed her in High School. But because Belinda Sue Terwilliger sold her two year old toddler to Ellory Becket because he likes babies as they are the perfect size for his little weinie. And she is pregnant again.
There are truly some sick and twisted folks out there. Women kill for cause, not desire. And most of us are used to doing the cleaning up. We are discreet. We have no need to brag or get attention. Most of the women are never found out. Ever.
When I opened the first box……………….
| Author Notes | Picture from Pinterest |
By Karen Cherry Threadgill
Upon my Aunt Margaret's demise. I found a key for a storage shed, and my world changed forever.
The first box I opened was box #1 she had numbered all her boxes. This was what started her off to serial killer land. She had no thoughts on killing anyone. She had never held a gun, or owned a fancy knife. She was a pretty ordinary happy person. That changed.
One of her very good friends Misty Marshall, ( yes, from those Marshals) ran afoul of a bad man. A user of women. He, of course, preferred the rich ones. Young ones, old ones, he is not that picky about that. But they must be especially trusting in nature. His current name, (he has lots) is Kenneth Moore.
Kenneth Moore mesmerized her. He took control of her every move. He separated her from friends and family. He deceived her into thinking they were all against her. And he, as her grand protector, was shielding her from their nefarious deeds. She was actually a prisoner in her own home for the most part.
Aunt Margaret had been in Europe searching for a special letter to prove a writer's memories were true when this all started. My aunt couldn't wait to tell her best friend Misty all about her adventures as she usually did as soon as she got back.
She called Misty and could not get through. All calls went to voicemail. All emails went unanswered. Misty was a charity organizer and very social. She had tons of friends. Something was wrong.
She drove by her house and could not spot her car. She called some mutual friends and they all said she met a new fella called Kenneth Moore and kind of fell off the social map. They had never met him. Was not ever introduced to the new beau. For a social butterfly like Misty, all Aunt Margaret's buttons went off.
So, Aunt Margaret did what she did. She researched, studied, and investigated him. She found rather quickly that he had many aliases. She found two other victims and they talked, and talked. She told them she was writing a book on "Destroying Valentinos."
Men who take all a woman has and then leaves them dependent, deluded, disenfranchised, and destroyed. He goes off with everything they had of value. And skates away happily believing they would manage, and after all he had what he wanted, so why would he care anyway.
They both had the same story. She paid them each for their time. And, she had brought a large bottle of Patron to ease the way. That and the five hundred dollars did the trick. She told them that if they knew of any others that would talk they could give them her card.
" Pamela Perkins Investigations" ran on her burner phone. They would receive two hundred dollars for everyone that called and talked to her. They got pretty chatty. She always took precautions when investigating. You just never know who you will run into.
She found out plenty. He had been doing this a very long while. He started off slow, and worked his way up the social scale. He is the illegitimate son of a very wealthy man. He was ignored and shut out his whole life. Dismissed and made to feel lower than a snake's belly, he carried around a lot of anger.
Logic would say that he would have acted out his anger on rich men. But no, at the age of seventeen, Serena Sue Steadman told him she was not interested in a lowly pool boy when he cleaned their pools, and he took deep offense. Thus the die was cast.
He had a terrible reputation no matter what name he used. He had a set pattern by now. Bowl them over with attention and compliments. Give them gifts ( usually his previous girlfriends jewelry), and surround them with his presence all the night and day. He whittles away at her family and friends using tiny remarks she had made that were slightly rude. He restricts her movement to protect her from these people that only want to use her.
He siphons off every single dollar he can. He has copies made of her best jewelry and then sells the real ones overseas. He begins the backing away portion. He leaves them so damaged and financially broke, that some have committed suicide, rather than live without their dearest love.
He was a nasty bugger indeed. He had no m0re morals than an alley cat. She wanted evidence that she could use on him in court. But the women were so damaged and none were in a healthy place.
So, she decided to let him try to reel in Mrs. Lavinia Lancaster. She will be a widowed lady from the south. A young widow thirty two years old, and heir to the Georgia-Pacific conglomerate of companies. If that doesn't wet his whistle nothing will.
She pretended to be her own secretary and posted a social item for the Santa Fe Gazette. "Mrs. Lavania Lancaster announces her Charity Ball." The theme is the future is ours! Donations will be used to overhaul "Sunny Sunset" the retirement home for seniors. Bringing it up to date, and adding an assisted living wing, and a full care, and hospice wing.
The grounds will be overhauled as well, and ten acres will be used for growing vegetables. Five acres for flowers, and there will be four new greenhouse added. The goal of money for the library has already been reached. Thanks to Misty Marshall and the Women's Hospital Auxiliary. The date is not set yet for the ball, it is of course formal. Invitations to arrive soon.
That ought to make him start slobbering. And the calls and emails to Misty will triple what has been coming in. He will want to leave now. She had to face the fact that it would be very hard to prove that what he did to women was against their will. And he would never stop.
He would never be rich enough. The hole in him would never be filled. But, he had to be stopped. Permanently. Misty had to be saved. So, Kenneth Moore and all the other aliases had to leave the building, hit the road, and cease to exist.
I will tell you how she did it…………………
| Author Notes | Picture from Pinterest |
By Karen Cherry Threadgill
Aunt Margaret died and I found out I didn't know her at all. How could I ever imagine my Aunt Margaret being a serial killer?
When my Aunt Margaret decided to become the bait, it was not that difficult. You see, some of the research she has done over the years required stealth. She employed costumes and pretending at times. So, she had wigs, contacts, glasses, and different sized clothing. Very good costume jewelry. Friends with very good real jewelry. All kinds of vehicles to borrow. Her friends loved what she did, Pamela Perkins Investigations, and were happy to be involved.
One of her oldest friends, Pamela Philpot was the creator of "Change Up" the line of makeup for people with scars, birthmarks, or for actors. She made a butt load of money when she sold it to Estee Lauder in nineteen ninety five. Pamela Philpot has helped my Aunt Margaret become many different people. Mrs. Lavinia Lancaster will certainly pass muster.
When shadowing the heinous creature "Kenneth Moore", she found out lots of information quite easily. He acted as if he was surrounded by a cloak of righteousness and whatever he did was accepted and sanctioned. He blithely went about his way without a care in the world. My Aunt Margaret couldn't wait to dispel that incorrect notion.
The first thing that struck her as odd, was that he really did not have a job at all. His fancy business cards say "Real Estate Investments, Inc." He belongs to the country club, he golfs some, but not with any enthusiasm. He mainly haunts the club bar and glad hands around town. He takes people out to eat and discusses grand plans. He speaks of opportunities. It seems talk is all he does workwise.
He lives off of all the monies and gifts, and stolen art and jewels, he takes from the women he stalks and destroys. And this is why my Aunt Margaret became a secret avenger. As she saw it, there was no choice. She had to rescue her friend Misty before it was too late. And, she did not, at any time, think it would turn into more.
At the age of thirty, two years after she adopted me, she became a superhero, or serial killer take your pick. She told no one. Everyone was very used to her quick trips, secret jobs, her inability to discuss the ins and outs of her work. Some jobs she could discuss, but a lot remained a secret. So, no big changes in her life were necessary. She already lived compartmentalized. She did not tell her friends or me about this side of her ever.
So, you are thinking to yourself, wasn't she afraid of someone finding out about her writings, pictures, and mementoes? Well, not really. You see, she and I had a secret language. One vacation, I think I was thirteen, we got rained in.
We had borrowed Chancey Albright's mountain cabin for two weeks. He has family homes all over the place. In their family whenever they reach the ripe old age of twenty-one , they are given one of the family's homes. His main house is in Atlanta, it has a big wrap around porch. Very "Gone With the Wind" in appearance. Then, they are required to buy one at the age of thirty as a vacation home. So, in her large family, they have two dozen getaway places they share. This "cabin" has a huge kitchen with all current appliances like a bread maker and a microwave.
The Great room has a humongous fireplace, and tons of heavy glass windows. All the sleeping quarters are on the second story. There are three bedrooms with king sized beds, three with two full size beds in them, one bedroom with four cribs, and two large bedrooms with six single beds each. One room was all girly with pastels and lace, and one with race car and airplane beds.
The great room has four overstuffed couches which can also be beds in a pinch. They can see the lake from the kitchen and the woods from pretty much every other view. And, something I love in particular is the widow's walk. It is very gothic. My mind always goes to "Phyllis A.Whitney" books whenever I am here.
We had grand plans to spend all day painting, taking pictures, and looking for odd shaped pine cones. A nice relaxing vacation had been planned. It started raining heavily the morning after we arrived. In nineteen ninety three, cell phones and the internet were in the baby stages. We became bored with board games and card games rather early. Jigsaw puzzles had no real appeal.
So, we decided to create our own language. From then on, whenever we were apart, or needed to write a note, we used this language. No one has ever figured it out. With computers nowadays, I am sure someone could eventually. So, after reading I have plans to burn every box.
I just found out, this is not her only storage unit. GULP! My Aunt Margaret's boxes have all kinds of research. I am not always sure when reading, if the research is for her jobs, or just for her secret life. My aunt has been busy. A few of her boxes were all about how people plan to get rid of bodies. Some were pretty stupid and easy to disprove. But others were right on the money. That "Quick Lime" is a good desiccator is absolutely true. And a frac pit will dissolve a body in less than thirty minutes.
Also there is a known dissolver among certain circles. It is called the chemical stew. There are certain chemicals that when mixed together will dissolve a body , but it takes hours not minutes. Note: that it is important to do this in the right container. As this mixture will dissolve other stuff too. Do not try this at home. There are many more interesting yet gory bits of information. I love my aunt but I did not have a clue.
Next episode Kenneth Moore, Tristan Atchkinson. Christian Jorgenson, Hamilton Elderwood, and Randolf Murchison ( all the same guy) get their just rewards. He always liked summer because of the heat. He will be getting plenty of it where he is going.
| Author Notes | Picture from Pinterest |
By Karen Cherry Threadgill
My Aunt Margaret died, and left several storage sheds full of materials on her, dispatching bad people to their really hot vacation spot, as a permanent guest. My aunt has turned out to be much more than I ever knew. Her boxes are full of tales of extremely bad people who never paid for their misdeeds. Law has limits. Some people skirted the edge so keenly that they flew under the radar. Like Kenneth Moore.
As I mentioned Aunt Margaret was setting things up to dispatch Kenneth Moore from the first box of files.
She seriously dolled herself up to become Mrs. Lavinia Lancaster. Lavinia had her golden brown hair in a french twist with a few little dangled curls. Her makeup was especially chosen to be demure, but her friend Chancy said the colors made her have "bedroom eyes". Her dress was conservative, but at the same time screamed money!!!!
Chancy had borrowed the dress from his sister. And his sister never knew. She was a clothes horse, wearing things once or twice and then, it went in the closet. She donates her clothes after three years to small theaters who can ill afford the cost to buy them. Only once has someone mentioned that they thought they saw her dress in an off broadway production. She simply said, "Really. Do you think they could afford that?"
The smarmy "Kenneth Moore" zeroed in on her instantly. He was as welcome as "Snidely Whiplash" would be, glomming onto her like toilet paper on a shoe. The hardest part was smiling as he talked of his accomplishments in real estate. All hush hush and totally secret so no one could check them out.
Now comes the really hard part. She must pretend she is enamored of him , acting like she simply must have him, sending him off for more champagne so she could put the Valium in it. He will be able to walk and talk some, but not a whole lot more.
As Lavinia, she drove to the warehouse she had rented under the business name "Slightly Scandalous". Everything had been setup previously by wearing gloves and suited up in hazmat gear. The scene was set. He walked with her help into the warehouse. She drove the car in and locked everything up.
He was mumbling incoherently about "rocking her world". She had loved the fact that this warehouse had been recently used so all the electric and plumbing worked. As she mixed up the "get rid of him forever stew", she told him about all his misdeeds she knew about. He was waking up. He would get another hefty shot before he went in the tub, but she wanted him to be able to understand what was going to happen to him and why.
She did not know of all his misdeeds, but she knew enough that if he hadn't been tied up naked hand and foot, he would have run for the hills screaming bloody murder. He began to promise to be better, to make amends, share the money, and reform. All rather tiresome. But, she did make sure he divulged where all the money and everything of value was. She gave him his last injection. While she waited for it to work, she began tidying up.
He was dead in no time. She drug him to the massive tub. Then she dumped him in and started removing all signs of ever being there. She had taken pictures of everything before she got started. And, the realtor had talked to her character Emmeline Thanatos with gray hair and a prominent nose. ( Thantos means death in Greek)
She rolled up the plastic sheeting, the bed coverings, and sprayed everything down. And, she began loading everything into her van. Time to stir the stew. ( Blacklist says this works) Not much of him left. Chancy will bring her here tomorrow to pick up her car.
At last all the little bits are dissolved. He had some replacement teeth that did not dissolve, but they will not be left behind. She cleaned the tub, and packed the remaining bits and bobs. Tidy and neat. All in all gross, but not too difficult.
Everything she did was meticulously indexed and noted. Even the occasionally non-workable idea was investigated and cataloged. She kept up to date information on everything she ever investigated, even if a method was never used. Margaret had always been incessantly curious.
I was amazed that according to her notes, Misty never really questioned too closely where he went, or what happened to him. He just disappeared off the face of the earth. I guess she was just happy that a note arrived in the mail telling her all the information needed to recover half of her money, which was a lot.
The other money was divided amongst the remaining women she had talked to, minus her expenses. She included a small list of reputable money managers, so in the future they will not end up broke from a bad boyfriend.
She by no means killed all the bad people she investigated. Some she turned in some to the proper authorities with detailed accounts on how they did their business so they could be punished legally.
With some, she sent information to reporters, anonymously of course. And, when they were really nasty, she sometimes sent information to just the right people, who were more than happy to handle matters. Those folks don't like their people going rogue.
It was only when none of those ways worked, and she knew they would never reform , and never stop, that she stopped them herself. I kind of admire her, but it has been a big shock nonetheless.
When I got home, I received a letter. The writer did not identify themselves, but they said they had been instructed to mail the enclosed sealed letter upon notice of death.
The letter gave details from a lawyer, and a dozen more keys. Four were to safety deposit boxes containing fifty thousand dollars each. One was to her vacation home in a small village in France, one to her home here in Keller, Texas and one to a big warehouse in Plano,Texas where she kept vehicles, and tons of different disguises, it also had a small suite where she could stay if needed. One key was for her official office in downtown Dallas. That was where Pamela Perkins Investigations resided. The remaining four were to more storage units.
I went to Dallas and saw "Pamela Perkins Investigations." It looked like what you think a wealthy banker's office would look like. As I was going through the file cabinet, I came across a few "open" cases. They had not been completed.
This first one is about Haviland King. What a rich sounding name. He is just twenty two years old and has already killed four women. He kills one a year on his birthday. No one quite knows why. She has matched him to two of the bodies. The police hadn't gotten that far. Right after his birthday he disappears.
His killing is not bloody, but it is cruel. He digs a deep hole. Then he tapes the lady's mouth so she can't call out, or eat, and ties her hands and feet so she can't move. They starve to death slowly. She hasn't yet figured out why he has this fixation, but she figured out where he is.
It seems she was on her way to dig him a hole, and bury him, since his birthday is in two weeks. But, a priest drunk off his nut smashed into her, killing her instantly. The priest that killed her died six hours later. So, no connection to the case.
I am thinking, in honor of Aunt Margaret, I at least ought to finish this case. I have her notes. Don't you think so?
| Author Notes | Picture from Pinterest |
By Karen Cherry Threadgill
My Aunt Margaret died in a car accident leaving me with storage boxes and lots of questions. She was an avenger. No one knew about her secret life. She wanted me to pick up the reins it seems.
Beverly Mae Miller here. I am reading about Haviland King, what a scrawny misbegotten excuse for a life he is. I found his entire file in her Suburban. She had a secret hiding place, the back seat lifts up and there is storage. I noticed this when I was cleaning out the Suburban, I touched a little switch while scrubbing at what I though was a stubborn bit of food. A locked box contains her current files was revealed. There are three more in here.
This twisted sister beats all. He is a true piece of work.
His mom was half a bubble off plumb (nutty as a fruit cake). She didn't always remember she had a kid and therefore forgot to feed him. So, he slightly resented his dear Mom. Not, apparently, his father, who forgot he had a son entirely, but just his sick mother. And he really resented never getting birthday presents.
So, once he was tossed out at eighteen from the latest foster home, he decided the thing to do was kill some women as payback for not getting gifts. Sure, that seems perfectly normal.
He selects a lady in her mid-thirties as his victim, since his mom was thirty-five when they carted her off to the funny farm. He was thirteen.
Well, he found his dad. Seems he never knew she was pregnant. He gave him a stay away from my real family check of $100,000.00 and is paying for Haviland's college.
His dad Grover King was a bit sad when he was told that his mom Helena King managed to commit suicide on his eighteenth birthday. Not enough to include him in the family, but enough to cough up a new Silverado. Happy birthday. Poor Haviland.
He is visiting (I mean stalking) his dad's family.They have an estate in Dallas. He hangs around glomming on their life.He has not been spotted by the family.He is noticing my raggedy car again. This is the second time he has seen it. He will feel the need to leave. The watcher cannot abide being watched. It doesn't do to have too many eyes around.
Before I came here, To see what we what he was up to, I searched his apartment. I am dressed up as a man. An exterminator as a matter of fact. Haviland's apartment looks pretty normal. I am videotaping everything. The kitchen looks plain and ordinary. Except for the cup on the top shelf that holds four rings. I assume the rings belong to the women he dispatched.
Such a bad boy is our Haviland. Under his mattress is a journal. Good grief Myrtle! He is a chatterbox on here. I will have to tape it as I do not have time to read it all. He went on and on about how he was neglected and illtreated. So, to make himself feel better he kills a substitute mom every year on his birthday.
Spoiler alert! All women are evil, he is due every consideration. By everyone. All the time. That is the abridged version. He does to enormous lengths to expound on this.
My aunt said that he will never reform because he is broken inside. He has been offered all kinds of therapy at no cost to him, and he would not avail himself of any of it. So,he is toast.
My aunt has every kind of tool there is so, I am packing her suburban with two shovels, one pointy, one not. I will need to get ropes, twine, lights and tarps. I am not going to have him starve. I will just bury him alive. Even if I had the time I would not torture him, I do not have it in me.
He goes to the Lion and Lamb every Tuesday for trivia night. I joined last month, I was dressed up to match the other women he had chosen. So, tonight is the night. I am not as brave as my aunt, so I have Chauncy for cover.
With the hole all dug out, I now will play the part of Amanda Martin, a thirty-five-year-old mother of a teen age son. He has watched me carefully every Tuesday night for a month. I love trivia but it has gotten increasingly creepy. Tonight, he was watching me with his beady eyes.
I couldn't concentrate on the questions. My mates were not best pleased. We won. I only missed two out of twenty anyway. I told them they were ungrateful whelps and I was quitting. Margery Mae Millhouse was done here.
Then, the moment came. Haviland swanned over and offered to buy a drink for the winner. I could not refuse him could I? He was practically giddy. He is one sick puppy.
I said I would have whatever he was having.When he went to the bar, he ordered two whiskey sours. I hope his stuff works fast. I don’t want to have to drink much of that awful tasting drink.
Chauncy acted drunk and grabbed his attention, while I switched glasses. Haviland did me a huge favor by guzzling down his drink. I was sipping mine slowly just in case.
He started getting all foggy, so Chauncy said, "Haviland old buddy, I better pour you on home!" He loudly laughed, I grabbed his jacket, and we left. Chauncey almost lost his moustache and wig when Haviland started giving a bit of resistance.
Thankfully, my aunt had a plethora of pharmaceutical shots handy for making people behave quietly with complete instructions attached.
I want him to be awake when I bury him. He should be fully aware of what is happening to him. Chauncy and I trussed him up good. I need to get a lot stronger before I can handle things on my own.
I need more classes in core building, self-protection, and karate maybe. My aunt was prepared for all this, I was not.
Haviland was in the open grave and coming to. I told him all his misdeeds that I knew of and said he was lucky. I did not have the time to wait around for him to starve, so he would just be buried alive and that would only take minutes. It’s a shame really, as he deserves to suffer so much more.He was wiggling around like I assume the women did. He could butt walk pretty good. But not to any real purpose. I made sure of that.
I delivered him to his final rest by myself. Chauncy does not need the actual death on his conscience. We packed up and left. Chauncy asked if I was going to be okay. I thought I would be. But I will need to get a bit tougher before I do more. Don’t you agree? The next one is a doozy.
| Author Notes | Picture by Pinterest |
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