My Aunt Margaret

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……………….