Real-Life Villains and Heros
Are you sure you know the difference?
My aunt murdered my 87-year-old grandmother with a hammer sixteen years ago.
At first, I was told she fell down the stairs, but I knew that wasn’t right. She was a tough hearty New Englander. She was still winning tennis tournaments, hauling her own lobster traps, and living an active albeit eccentric life up until the day she boarded a flight to visit her daughter.
I got the call from my Dad. I was so confused. “Nana fell down the stairs and is in the hospital?”
Silence
“There was an indentation in her skull, consistent with the size and shape of the head of a hammer.”
“Wait, what?”
He repeated his words, almost in slow motion.
I’ll never forget that sentence. No one talks like that. Who uses the word “consistent” to describe an injury?
A detective.
My aunt's house was a crime scene.
“Aunt Debbie hit Nana in the head with a hammer. She’s in a coma. Mom‘s leaving on a flight out tomorrow morning.”
“Is she going to be alright?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
