In October 2013, Simone Garrett packed up her life in Atlanta and moved to a quiet rental house in the Piedmont neighborhood of Greenville, South Carolina. To the outside world, she was just another professional taking a break from the corporate grind. But Simone, a sharp and tenacious lawyer, was on a mission that had nothing to do with her career. She was there to find her aunt, Denise Garrett, who had vanished without a trace five months earlier. While the local authorities had closed the case, believing Denise had simply moved on for a new job, Simone knew better. Denise and she had spoken every Sunday for a decade; her aunt would never just leave without a word.

The neighborhood seemed idyllic, the kind of place where people left their doors unlocked and waved to strangers. On the very day Simone moved in, her doorbell rang. Standing on the porch was Margaret Hullbrook, a woman who looked every bit the picture of suburban warmth. With her neat blonde bob and a welcoming smile, Margaret introduced herself as a neighbor living just three houses down in the “Blue House.” She held out a wicker basket filled with homemade treats—cookies and artisan soaps wrapped in brown paper and twine. It was a gesture of kindness that Simone, exhausted and anxious, gratefully accepted.

Margaret explained that soap-making was her hobby, a way to contribute to the community she loved so dearly. She chatted about church potlucks and book clubs, painting a picture of a tight-knit group that looked out for one another. Simone thanked her, taking the basket inside. She noticed the soap had a pleasant, herbal scent, though underneath the lavender and rose, there was a faint, peculiar metallic tang she couldn’t quite place. Putting it out of her mind, she placed the gift in her bathroom, unaware that this simple object held the key to the nightmare she had come to Greenville to solve.

A week passed, and Simone hit the same walls she had encountered from a distance. Neighbors, former coworkers, and friends all described Denise as reliable and kind, reinforcing Simone’s belief that foul play was involved. The police remained unresponsive to her pleas to reopen the investigation. Frustrated and weary, Simone tried to go about her daily routine. One evening, while showering, she reached for the bar of homemade soap Margaret had given her. It had worn down significantly over the week, becoming thin and translucent. As she lathered it between her hands, she felt something hard and solid in the center.

Thinking it might be a piece of dried oatmeal or a decorative herb, Simone rinsed the lather away. What she saw made her blood run cold. Embedded in the center of the soap was not a botanical exfoliant, but a human finger, pale and preserved. Panic rose in her throat, but her eyes locked onto a detail that shattered her reality. Around the finger was a gold band with a small diamond solitaire. It was unmistakable. It was the ring her grandmother had given Denise in 1985—the ring Denise had vowed never to take off.

Simone’s legal training kicked in through the shock. She knew she was holding a piece of her missing aunt. The horror of the realization—that her kind neighbor had processed Denise and handed her back as a “gift”—was overwhelming, yet Simone forced herself to act. She carefully photographed the evidence, timestamping every angle, and sealed the soap in a plastic bag. Then, with shaking hands, she dialed 911. Her voice was steady as she told the dispatcher she had found human remains and knew exactly who they belonged to.

Detectives Travis Coleman and Andrea Mills arrived to find a composed but terrified Simone. She presented them with the evidence and the photos of her aunt wearing the ring. The detectives, initially skeptical, were silenced by the physical proof. They quickly moved to secure the “Blue House” down the street. When they arrived at Margaret’s door, the smell of baking cookies wafted out, a stark contrast to the grim accusation hanging in the air. Margaret seemed genuinely confused by the police presence, inviting them in with the same pleasant demeanor she had shown Simone.

The investigation inside Margaret’s garage revealed a pristine, professional soap-making setup. There were molds, drying racks, and jars of oils. Margaret explained her process calmly, describing how she used “traditional methods” and organic ingredients. However, forensic teams soon found what they were looking for. The biological material in the soap was not animal fat, as Margaret claimed for some recipes, but human. DNA testing confirmed the remains in Simone’s soap belonged to Denise Garrett. But the horror didn’t stop there. Analysis of other soap bars seized from the home revealed DNA profiles from eight other individuals.

Margaret was taken in for questioning, where her facade of the sweet neighbor finally cracked, revealing a deeply disturbed mind. She didn’t deny her actions; instead, she rationalized them. She told detectives she was “protecting” her children. Margaret believed that certain women in the neighborhood—successful, independent professionals—harbored “dark energy” that threatened her family’s spiritual safety. In her delusion, she convinced herself that she had to “neutralize” these threats. She admitted to befriending the women, inviting them over for tea, and then ending their lives peacefully before processing their remains into products she distributed to the community.

The revelation sent shockwaves through Greenville. For three years, Margaret had targeted Black professional women who had moved into the area. Because the police had been quick to dismiss these disappearances as voluntary relocations, Margaret had operated with impunity. She had fed her “protection” to her own children, sold it at farmers’ markets, and gifted it to neighbors. The betrayal was absolute. Simone’s discovery not only solved her aunt’s case but also brought answers to eight other families who had been told to move on and forget their loved ones.

Simone didn’t stop at the arrest. She reached out to the families of the other victims—teachers, social workers, accountants—and united them. They formed a support group that transformed into a powerful advocacy force. Together, they demanded accountability from the police department that had failed them. They attended every day of Margaret’s trial, sitting in the front row as a testament to the lives that were stolen. Margaret was eventually found guilty on nine counts and sentenced to nine consecutive life terms, ensuring she would never harm anyone again.

The legacy of the tragedy, however, was not just one of horror but of profound change. The site of Margaret’s house, which was demolished after no one would buy the property, was turned into a memorial park named the “Garden of Nine.” Granite monuments were erected for each victim, honoring who they were in life rather than how they were taken. Simone, now a permanent resident of Greenville, opened a legal aid practice dedicated to missing persons cases. She vowed that no other family would be dismissed or ignored by the system.

Standing in the garden three years later, Simone placed her hand on her aunt’s memorial stone. The pain of the loss was still there, but so was a sense of peace. She had fulfilled her promise to find Denise. The gruesome gift that had started it all had been the catalyst for a movement that was now saving lives and forcing a city to value every one of its citizens. In the end, the “darkness” Margaret claimed to fight was exposed as her own, while the light of the women she took continued to shine through the legacy of justice they left behind.