Joan L. Hinds rarely picked up her phone and wouldn't come to family functions.

While she'd send Christmas and birthday cards, in her older years, she didn't allow people inside her Perry County trailer.

Patrick Hinds, who described his reclusive aunt, said the kind and empathetic woman who loved animals, but never married or had any children, simply "wanted to be left alone."

Still, Patrick Hinds never expected he and his family would be waiting — as they were Tuesday — for confirmation from a coroner that dental records from remains found in the trailer belonged to his aunt.

Though they can't be sure, the West Manchester Township man said he and family are 95 percent positive the remains found in the trailer's bedroom were that of his 75-year-old aunt. He said his aunt had gotten more reclusive as she aged, and she had been the only person living in the secluded trailer at 1633 Lower Bailey Road in Miller Township.

"I would not want to die alone and by myself in a situation like this," he said. "It's disturbing that she wouldn't reach out to us."

A state police cadaver dog uncovered an unidentified body in the trailer Monday afternoon during a second search in two weeks, according to a state police news release. "Deplorable conditions" in the trailer reportedly kept police from making a thorough search a week before, according to the release.

Patrick Hinds said his aunt, who had lived in the trailer for at least 35 years, became more reclusive as she aged and eventually became a hoarder. While she was a "strange lady in some respects," she didn't have any mental issues and just "liked her privacy."

However, she said Hinds didn't want people on her property and would tell people that. Billie Noctor — who lives with her 82-year-old father, William Troutman, on the other side of Hinds' property — agreed.

"She didn't talk to nobody other than to stay off her ground and to leave her alone," Noctor said.

Noctor said her father wanted to knock on Hinds' door, but Noctor deterred him from it. After all, Strickland had already called the police and, in the off chance Hinds had a gun and would use it, Noctor said she didn't want to risk her father getting hurt.

Hinds didn't want to be bothered by anyone, Noctor said.

"Nobody deserves to go like that," Noctor said. "But you had to be scared to go over there."

Strickland also said Hinds was "a very lone person." While Strickland wasn't always home, she never saw Hinds visiting with anyone.

Patrick Hinds said, as far as he knows, his aunt never owned a gun, and, to his knowledge, never threatened anyone. She could, however, be verbally confrontational.

Patrick Hinds said he believed in February police came out to her trailer at the request of the local Agency on Aging for a wellness check.

"She yelled at them through the window or through the door, 'Go away, I'm fine. Now get off my property,'" Hinds said, chuckling. "But that's the way she was."

"And God bless the troopers," said Hinds, who's a West Manchester Township police sergeant. "Because, as I said, they just came to make sure she was OK, and they found out she was OK — at least at that time."

Things used to be different

While he wishes his aunt had reached out to family, Patrick Hinds said Al Hinds, her brother, had tried to convince her to move in with him at his home in Tower City. She declined.

Patrick Hinds said he last spoke with his aunt face-to-face two years ago when his mother died. More recently, his oldest cousin who lives in Lebanon County talked to his aunt in December.

Years ago, his aunt wasn't a hoarder or a recluse.

While his aunt wouldn't allow him inside of her trailer when his mother died, Patrick Hinds lived with her for a few years in high school for part of 1978, 1979 and 1980.

Patrick Hinds said his mother lost her job and home, so the two of them moved into his aunt's trailer. His grandmother also lived there.

"She took us in," Patrick Hinds said.

Jan Emmers, who shares a home with Strickland and has lived there since 1967, said he's never known Hinds all that well, though he called her a "nice girl." But he noted that before her mother died, she used to talk to him. Afterward, things changed, Emmers, 86, said.

"She was an eccentric girl," Emmers said. "She said very little to me."