In 1950s Macon, Georgia, if you wanted a good plate of meatloaf, a slice of lemon pie,
and a big dose of Southern charm, you went to Anjette’s restaurant. Regulars got hugs,
pet names, and endless refills of sweet tea from the glamorous blonde owner in a blue
satin dress. What they didn’t know was that behind the smiles and lipstick-red grin,
death was quietly being stirred into coffee cups and spooned into bowls of soup.
The story of restaurant owner and serial poisoner Anjette Donovan Lyles
is one of the most chilling true crime cases in Georgia history. On the surface, she was
a successful businesswoman, devoted mother, and friendly hostess. Beneath that polished
exterior, prosecutors argued, she was a calculating killer who used arsenic to remove
the people closest to her when they became inconvenientor profitable to lose.
This is the history of murderous restaurant owner Anjette Lyles: how she rose to local
fame, how a string of “mysterious illnesses” finally exposed her, and why her case still
fascinates true crime fans and historians today.
Who Was Anjette Lyles?
Anjette Donovan was born in 1925 in Macon, Georgia, into an ordinary Southern family.
As an adult she was known for her looks, her energy, and her social charm. She loved
fashion, drove nice cars, and seemed tailor-made for the hospitality business.
In 1947 she married Ben F. Lyles Jr., whose family owned a downtown
restaurant. The couple soon had two daughters, Marcia (born 1948) and Carla (born 1951),
and Anjette threw herself into running the restaurant side-by-side with her husband.
By all accounts, she was a natural. She worked the room, greeted customers by name,
flirted harmlessly with businessmen over coffee, and made everyone feel like they were
her favorite person. Locals later remembered that, in those days, “everybody loved
Anjette.”
Macon’s Favorite Restaurant with a Dark Secret
In the 1950s, Lyles’ Restaurant was one of the busiest spots in Macon.
It sat conveniently near the courthouse and business district, so lawyers, judges,
reporters, and office workers were regulars. The food was classic Southern comfort:
fried chicken, vegetables, pies, and coffee constantly flowing.
Anjette ran the front of house like a stage. She glided from table to table, calling
regulars by name, complimenting their ties or hair, and making children laugh.
Customers later remembered her hugs, her perfume, and her habit of leaning in close to
chat while pouring coffee. The restaurant’s success was as much about her as
it was about the menu.
Away from the dining room, though, there were hints that something was off. People
talked about her fascination with fortune-tellers and “root work,” and some remembered
candles, charms, and talk of spells. Those details would become important later when
prosecutors tried to paint a picture of a woman who believed she could control fate
and peopleby any means necessary.
A Trail of “Mysterious” Deaths
Between 1952 and 1958, four of Anjette’s close relatives died after puzzling illnesses:
her first husband, her second husband, her mother-in-law, and her oldest daughter.
At first, doctors and family accepted natural causes. Only later, after autopsies, would
investigators discover the pattern every toxicologist fears: chronic arsenic poisoning.
First Husband: Ben F. Lyles Jr.
In January 1952, Anjette’s husband Ben suddenly fell ill. He experienced severe stomach
pain, vomiting, and weaknesssymptoms that looked like a serious infection or a
neurological illness. He was hospitalized and gradually worsened instead of improving.
At the time, doctors diagnosed him with encephalitis or another natural condition. No
one suspected his devoted wife, who was often at his bedside. When he died, sympathy
poured in. The young widow inherited the restaurant business and life insurance money,
and locals rallied to support her and her two small daughters.
Years later, after Anjette was arrested, Ben’s body was exhumed. Tests revealed what no
one had looked for in 1952: significant levels of arsenic.
Second Husband: Joe Neal “Buddy” Gabbert
Within a few years, Anjette began dating Joe Neal “Buddy” Gabbert, a
charismatic pilot. They married in 1955. Outwardly, it looked like a happy second
chance at lovestylish widow marries handsome flyer.
But there were problems. Gabbert reportedly liked to gamble, ran up debts, and their
relationship became strained. Before long, he too fell mysteriously ill, with
gastrointestinal complaints that came and went, increasing in severity over time.
In December 1955, Buddy Gabbert died. Once again, the diagnosis was a natural cause.
Once again, Anjette received money from his death. And once again, no one seriously
considered poisonyet.
Mother-in-Law: Julia Lyles
After Ben died, one important figure in Anjette’s life was her mother-in-law,
Julia Lyles. Julia adored her granddaughters and had influence over
the restaurant and family finances. Over time, tensions grew between the two women,
reportedly about money, control, and the girls’ future.
In 1957, Julia also became ill with symptoms similar to those that had killed Ben and
Buddy: nausea, vomiting, weakness, and a decline that baffled doctors. She died that
year, leaving another gap in the family and more assets shifting in ways that tended to
benefit her charming daughter-in-law.
Her death, too, would later be re-examined. After the case broke open, Julia’s remains
were exhumed, and tests again showed arsenic.
Daughter: Nine-Year-Old Marcia Lyles
The death that finally forced authorities to confront the horrible pattern was that of
Marcia Elaine Lyles, Anjette’s nine-year-old daughter. In early 1958,
Marcia began suffering from recurring bouts of illness. Hospital staff noticed that she
seemed to worsen after visits from her mother, especially after food and drinks
provided by Anjette.
Nurses reported unsettling comments: that Anjette seemed strangely calm about her
daughter’s condition, that she occasionally spoke as if she expected Marcia to die.
Despite medical care, the little girl passed away in April 1958.
By now, the whispers were too loud to ignore. Several doctors were uneasy. People
around Macon quietly compared the recent deaths in the same family and started using
the word nobody wanted to say out loud: poison.
The Investigation: When Suspicion Turned to Proof
In 1958, police and state investigators opened a formal inquiry. The pattern was
impossible to overlook: four related deaths in six years, all following strange, drawn-out
illnesses. Autopsies on the exhumed bodies of Ben, Buddy, and Julia, and tests from
Marcia’s case, revealed arsenic in each victim’s system.
Investigators also found a likely source. At the time, arsenic-based ant poisons,
including products similar to Terro, were commonly sold for pest control. Witnesses and
evidence suggested Anjette had access to such products and may have used them both at
home and possibly for “ant problems” around the restaurant.
Beyond the toxicology, there were financial motives. Each death was soon followed by
life insurance payouts or inheritance that benefited Anjette. Combined with allegations
about her interest in voodoo, fortune-telling, and black candles, investigators began
to see a portrait of a woman willing to mix superstition, opportunity, and poison.
On May 6, 1958, authorities arrested Anjette Donovan Lyles and
ultimately charged her with multiple counts of murder. The charming restaurant owner
who had once hugged customers at their tables was suddenly front-page news as Macon’s
alleged “Black Widow.”
The Trial of Anjette Lyles
The trial drew huge crowds and intense media coverage. This was mid-century Georgia:
a white woman, well-known and well-liked, accused of murdering her own daughter and
several other relatives with poison. Courtrooms filled with spectators and reporters;
outside, people argued over whether she was a monster or a victim of gossip and
overactive prosecutors.
Prosecutors chose to focus on the murder of Marcia, the nine-year-old daughter, as
their main case. They presented expert witnesses who explained the medical signs of
arsenic poisoning, and how Marcia’s symptoms fit that profile. Nurses and hospital
staff testified about Anjette’s behavior at the bedside and her growing calmness as the
child’s condition worsened.
They also introduced evidence about the earlier deaths in the family, the life
insurance policies, and materials associated with poison and alleged rituals. While the
“voodoo” elements probably added more drama than science, they helped prosecutors
underscore a theme: this was not a panicked mother, but a woman who believed she could
control life and death.
The defense tried to cast doubt on the medical findings and argued that the case was
built on circumstantial evidence and prejudice. But the combination of toxicology
reports, patterns of illness, and money trails proved overwhelming.
In 1959, a Bibb County jury found Anjette Lyles guilty of murder and sentenced her to
death. She became the first white woman in Georgia to receive the death penalty in the
modern eraa fact that made headlines across the state and beyond.
From Death Row to Central State Hospital
After the verdict, public debate raged. Some believed the death sentence was just,
given the cruelty of poisoning a child. Others were troubled by the idea of executing
a woman, especially one who had once been such a visible part of the community.
Before the execution could be carried out, the governor ordered a psychiatric
evaluation. A sanity board found that Anjette suffered from mental illness, often
described in later accounts as paranoid schizophrenia. Instead of
being executed, her sentence was effectively transformed into long-term confinement at
Central State Hospital in Milledgeville, Georgia.
There, she spent the rest of her life. She was never declared mentally well enough to
be released. Anjette Lyles died at the hospital in 1977, far from the busy dining room
where she had once charmed half of Macon over coffee.
How the Case Is Remembered Today
Decades later, the story of murderous restaurant owner Anjette Lyles still haunts
Georgia true crime history. Books, articles, and podcasts revisit the case, exploring
how someone so widely admired could orchestrate such cold-blooded killings.
Authors have noted the contrast between her public personaflirty, glamorous,
affectionateand the quiet, methodical nature of arsenic poisoning. Poisoning doesn’t
look dramatic; it looks like a lingering illness. That’s exactly what allowed her to
evade suspicion for years. By the time anyone thought to ask questions, bodies were in
the ground, death certificates written, and sympathy cards long since mailed.
In Macon, her name is sometimes mentioned alongside other infamous cases as part of
local history tours and retrospectives. For historians, her story touches on several
themes: the evolution of forensic toxicology, gender expectations in the 1950s South,
and the way small communities struggle to reconcile the image of a beloved neighbor
with evidence of monstrous acts.
For true crime audiences, the case is a grim reminder that danger doesn’t always show
up in a mask with a knife. Sometimes it smiles, offers you dessert, and remembers how
you like your coffee.
Experiences and Reflections on the Case of Anjette Lyles
It’s hard to read about Anjette Lyles without imagining what it must have felt like to
sit in her restaurant before the truth came out. Picture yourself as a regular in 1956:
you walk in, the bell over the door jingles, and the smell of fried chicken and yeast
rolls hits you. Anjette sweeps over with a hug and a “Honey, where you been?” She
refills your cup, asks after your family, and laughs at your jokes. If someone had told
you then that the same woman might be slipping arsenic into her loved ones’ food, you
would have said they were out of their mind.
That sense of betrayal is one of the most powerful emotional experiences connected to
this case. Many people who remembered her later talked about how disorienting it was to
reconcile the smiling hostess with the evidence presented at trial. A lot of true crime
stories involve strangers, break-ins, or random violence. What makes Anjette’s story so
unsettling is that her victims were either family or people intimately tied to her
life, and the community itself had embraced her.
The experience of watching the case unfold in Macon would have been intense. Imagine
being one of the lawyers who had eaten lunch at her restaurant for years, only to find
yourself in the courtroom as a witness or observer while prosecutors described how
arsenic slowly destroyed the organs of a child you had seen playing by the register.
For local doctors and nurses, there was likely a painful reckoning: how many of those
“mysterious” illnesses might they have recognized earlier if they had considered
poisoning sooner? In the 1950s, toxicological testing was improving but still not
routine. The case helped underline why unexplained clusters of death deserve a closer
look.
From a broader perspective, the Lyles case shapes how we think about trust in places
that are supposed to feel safe. Restaurants are social spaces; we relax, we concentrate
on conversation, and we don’t usually question what’s in our food beyond whether it’s
overcooked. Her story taps into a quiet, universal fear: what if someone you depend on
for nourishment is secretly doing you harm?
At the same time, this history also shows the value of patterns and persistence in
criminal investigations. It wasn’t one death that brought Anjette down; it was the
recognition that too many people around her were dying the same strange way, with the
same symptoms and the same financial benefits flowing in her direction. Modern law
enforcement and medical systems are much more attuned to these patterns, in part
because of cases like hers. Arsenic poisoning, once a favored method for would-be
“black widows,” is now far more likely to be detected.
Another experience woven into this story is the way gender expectations complicated how
people saw her. In the 1950s, many assumed a womanespecially a pretty, sociable
mothersimply could not be capable of calculated serial murder. That assumption helped
her slip under the radar for years. When the truth emerged, the shock was magnified
precisely because she did not fit the stereotype people had in their heads of a
“dangerous criminal.” Today, we tend to be more skeptical of appearances, but the case
is a good reminder that evil doesn’t have a single look.
For readers and listeners who encounter her story now, the emotional experience is a
mix of fascination and discomfort. There’s the absorbing puzzle of how she did it,
what motivated her, and how investigators finally proved the case. But there’s also a
lingering sadness for the victimsespecially Marcia, a nine-year-old who should have
been able to trust her mother more than anyone in the world.
Ultimately, the history of murderous restaurant owner Anjette Lyles is more than a
sensational tale of poison and betrayal. It’s a cautionary story about blind trust, a
snapshot of mid-century Southern culture, and a case study in how medical science and
law slowly learned to catch killers who don’t use knives or guns, but something far
quieter and more insidious stirred into a cup of coffee.