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There was a time when I used to babysit for not only my own siblings, those of neighbors and a number of families in nearby communities. In high school I worked several jobs including a mom and pop discount drug store called Nifty Norm’s.
While working there as a cashier, the assistant manager named Marti asked me to babysit her three kids. Of course I told her”yes.” It was only a couple of times that I watched her kids, and each time she told me to never answer her front door if her ex-husband ever came over and to call her if he ever did stop by.
One night he did stop by and I told him through the door to “go away and I am calling the police..” I didn’t babysit for Marti anymore after that.
I went away to college and heard that Marti and her three children were kidnapped. Marti’s ex husband and his girlfriend also murdered Marti. The police found her in a grave next to three smaller empty graves. The kids were found alive and the two killers went to prison.
It’s been years since I even remembered this story. During a recent conversation about high school memories and how the doors were never locked. How there weren’t any guns or other weapons in school. How we never worried about anything like that.
And then I remembered a former babysitting client, Marti.