My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 110

Episode Date: February 18, 2019

This week’s hometowns include creepy neighbors and a murderer in a hospital.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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Welcome to the- Minisode. ...of my favorite murder. That's what this is. You're ordered here first. We tell you what it is. Uh huh. You don't decide.

No. I mean, you clicked on it, so you kind of already know. Yeah, you know. Probably. We already gave you a hint. Yeah. About it. But then we really like to declare.

That's right. There's some people who go in. They open up their podcast app. Uh huh. They touch the purple square. They get in there. They just start touching stuff. And then whatever comes up, they listen to.

Okay. Is that you? Welcome. This is the Minisode. That's what- that's- the only person we're talking to right now is your Aunt Brenda. Brenda. Aunt Brenda. Hi.

Hi. I'm Aunt Brenda. This is the podcast. It's shorter than the other one. And we read listeners' emails that they send to us about hometown murders, about ghostly wanderings. Just fucked up stories. Just anything fucked up.

You know. Um, join us. Why don't you go first today? Are you- are you ready for me to go first? Well, let's change things up. Let's have it be different and have me go first. The subject line of this is banana hammock muscle man. Great.

Right? Love it. Friends. Nah. Not getting away with that. When I was 19, I moved out of my parents' house and moved in with two of my older brothers. One afternoon, while I was moving my stuff to my brother's house, my new next-door neighbor decided it was time to introduce himself.

Barefoot, he walked out of his backyard, only wearing a banana hammock and tanning oil. No. He was in his 60s. No. And would tan in his backyard almost daily. He would frequently try to hug me, would invite me over to drink at his house alone, and would invite me on bike rides. Often, he would knock for several minutes on my door when my brothers weren't home,

trying to get me to quote-unquote, hang out. Anywho, it always made me feel uncomfortable and I would generally try to avoid him altogether. Yes. Fast forward several months, my brother discovered an app that can show you criminals in your neighborhood. Yay! Of course. He was checking our area out, zoomed in on our house, and lo and behold, a red dot appeared

above the house of Mr. Oily. Oh my god. Turns out, all caps. Motherfucker is a goddamn pedophile. Holy shit! Of course. Served time in prison for molesting a child under the age of 12, and the police report also noted that he was very violent.

Oh my god. Uh-huh. Needless to say, my brothers and I quickly started avoiding him at all costs. Yeah. He still invited me over to drink alone with him when he'd see me outside. Holy fucking shit! Why is he out of prison? Yeah.

Why'd that guy's house on fire? I ended up, we don't condone arson of any kind on this show. Yeah, we don't condone pedophilia even. No. You know, they're not even comparable, really. You don't have to pick one or the other. No, thank god this is not the kind of podcast, Brenda, where you would have to choose a team. This is not Choose Your Own Adventure, Brenda.

That's when she's like, you know what, I don't like these podcasts, because you know you have to pick between fire and pedophilia. I ended up moving out and never had to see him again, he eventually went back to prison for being a creepy prick, and his vastly younger wife left him. It scares me to think about what would have happened if I had been less wary or decided, hey, free booze, sweet. Thankfully I have a dad who always taught me to fuck politeness and never trust anyone. Stay sexy and never trust a man in a banana hammock, Zina.

How does a man like that get a wife? Oh, holy, that is crazy. Because you're always like, this might creep next door and put their harmless, no, no, straight up pedophile. The most harmful, worst case scenario right next door in dress like a German on summer vacation. What was the person's name? Zina.

I mean, my mind is reeling. It is, well, such a good point, because I've done this a million times, but somehow got away with it, is somebody, an older person offering you liquor when you're a young beautiful person, please be just cautious. Just be aware that that isn't normal. No, you don't even have to be beautiful, you know? No. You can be just a person.

It used to be there. It could be the beauty of accessibility. But truly. It makes you so appealing. You don't think you're beautiful. We think you're beautiful. You're hot as fuck. And youth is fucking gorgeous to all the creeps.

You should see your skin. Oh my God. How do you get your skin like that? You have no idea. Brenda, tell your niece how beautiful she is. Tell Hailey right now that's two Ys and four E's. Tell her how pretty she is. Oh my God.

Okay. This is called Honolulu VIP. So that's someone we met in the VIP line who was like, I have a hometown and we're like email it to us. That's right. We want every dirty detail. That's right. Well, so, okay, this is a two-parter.

I'm just going to read this first part. It's the medical examiner. Oh, yes. That chick is like, we're medical examiners. This is my husband. We want to tell you everything. Well, she tells us how a dead body smells, because remember I asked about it. I sure do.

Which I'm going to say for the full episode. Okay, great. But she also tells this. Okay. Hi, guys. My husband and I are huge murderinos. We are so excited to meet you at the Honolulu show. We got super nervous to meet you and we're just overwhelmed with how, oh, warm and sweet

you both are in person. Oh, they didn't seem overwhelmed at all. They were great. They didn't seem to like us that much. I would have liked more stammering and stuttering. Tell me how warm I am. Okay. So my husband, JP, was a Cook County medical examiner in Chicago for the past four years

and he just started a new medical examiner job in Honolulu. I'm going to cut down to, he's done over 1,500 cases in Chicago and has so many stories. My personal favorites include a person who tried to burn a loose thread off his sweater with a lighter. Oh. How awful is that? Was it a very dry sweater? It must have been.

It was just made of hay. Did they? It said obviously didn't end well. Yeah. I was just going to say. The doctors were like, oh, no, I have a thread and then they light the thread. Shit. Don't ever do that again.

Yeah. You end up at the Cook County medical examiner's office. That's right. Shit. Someone who had, okay. Someone who had, I'm not laughing at this person, someone who had his dominatrix poor boiling hot cream corn on his genitals. You're not laughing at the person.

I'm not sex shaming. I am not kink shaming. Kink shaming. However. I'm cream corn laughing. Sorry. Let's just go, if it was like medium temperature cream corn, fine, don't pour boiling hot anything on you.

Boiling hot and also, no, I'm sorry. No kink shaming and yet if you're going to be this, if you're going to go out of your way to not just be, have a kink, but then have it kind of be the most upsetting thing that might happen to you at camp, then we get to laugh. We get to laugh. It's also makes me wonder like how bad was that guy's Thanksgiving as a kid that cream corn is like what he wants to hurt him. Cream corn in the lap.

Oh God. That was a definitive moment in his sexual development. That's right. Someone aunt fucking Betty knocked a bowl of cream corn in his lap. Are you saying that's it because of Brenda's feelings? No. Well, I don't think she would do such a thing. No, she never would.

You know. She'd be like, that's enough. Yeah. Okay. Another one. A self-medicating yogi whose homemade medication is included high levels of lead, arsenic and mercury. No.

Right? No. And the time my husband went to the scene where they lifted a dead, bloated body out of Lake Michigan right as a city of Chicago skyline boat tour full of tourists happened to flow by. No. And then she says a true Chicago tour if you ask me. Another interesting one was a New Year's Eve car crash with few twists.

Two people were driving, swerved off the road, hit a pole and the car caught on fire. At first you'd think it's a typical drunk driving New Year's Eve crash, but they did the odd top scene. They found a bullet in the driver's head. Oh my God. And then, then you think someone shot him or he caught a stray bullet while driving because Chicago, she says, but the bullet had tissue that had grown on it. It's an old bullet and investigator records showed he had been shot in the head in a barf

fight years ago and survived. So he wasn't shot while driving, but he had been suffering seizures from a fucking bullet still being lodged in his head. So maybe he had a seizure while driving. And in that case, it might be possible to call the matter of death a homicide. Unfortunately, JP doesn't remember what he called it. Anyway, and then thanks again for coming to Honolulu for a show. A huge shout out to all the Aloha arenos who have been such a warm and welcoming group

of lovely people. Yeah. We'll be listening in case you have any other questions for a medical examiner, SSDGM, Jenna and JP. Oh, thanks, you guys. Good job, guys. They said they were going to do it and they really did it. Stay tuned for hope.

Let the fucking body smells. The idea that people, yeah, I can't, I can't wait. I'm so glad that that is not connected to the cream corn story. It's just, I would just want to give up some gratitudes for my attitudes. Okay. I was going to say something else and I can't remember now because I'm looking at the subject line. Mild-mannered meth.

Uh-oh. Hi, Georgia Karen and fur friends. My name is... Karen gets every one of those. Are you doing it on purpose? Yeah, Stephen must be like... My name is Sierra and I'm an 18-year-old listener. Hi.

Hi. The beating heart of America, as my dad says, aka Lee Wood, Kansas. Oh, sure. That's what we call it here in LA too. Yep, the beating heart. My neighborhood is pretty boring and is filled with nothing but hermits and old gay people. Usually the most... That sounds great.

That sounds like my fucking kind of neighborhood. That's your party. Get in there. I want to go to the fucking block party there. That block party is there's a lot of space to move. Nobody goes to it. And there's a lot of flowing clothing and great music and good wine. Usually the most exciting thing that happens is someone trims their shrubs in a square

shape instead of round. Amazing. However, about a year ago we were all shaken up. At the end of my street, there's a house where this middle-aged, mild-mannered couple lived with their son. They fit in with the hermits of the neighborhood. So in all the 18 years I've lived, I saw them maybe six or seven times. The house has always had a different car in the driveway and an inordinate amount of basketballs

in the front yard that were never played with. Weird. Okay. One night, about 10 police cars came racing in and haphazardly pulling into the front yard of this house, seemingly out of nowhere. Everyone in the neighborhood shuffled out in their slippers and rollers to see what was going on to see that this house was getting full on rated. Policemen were pouring into the house and eventually pulled out the people and their

son all in handcuffs. They started pulling everything out of the house and dumping it on the front lawn. Venture pots and pans, clothing, many, many trash bags. The trash bags were filled with meth in all caps. They probably pulled out about a dozen trash bags. Holy shit. These people were probably dealing enough meth for the entire Midwest, which is a lot. The couple were detained and the kid was taken presumably to child services.

Oh my God. However, after a few days, it was figured out that all caps. The kid was running the meth lab. His parents were his factory employees and he sold to kids at his school. I have no idea if this part of the story is actually true, but I find it tantalizing and hilarious. Oh my God. They are giving us neighborhood gossip, basically, but it's uncorroborated.

Unsubstantiated. Which means it's the truest truth of all. It's the fun one. It's the best idea because now I'm picturing that that child is 12. He's a 12-year-old entrepreneur. He's an entrepreneur-ing kid. He's one of those only children that's real adult. It's like a Joseph Gordon-Levitt style of like, why are you this mature?

You're a 35-year-old, 12-year-old. D-doodoo. There's another fun part of the story that isn't necessarily related but is important to me that you know. At this time of the raid, my parents were trying to get rid of our massive 80s era television that went about three feet back and had a 19-inch screen, aka the height of luxury. The Best Buy wouldn't take it, the Local Thrift Store wouldn't take it, and the Trash Services wouldn't take it.

We didn't know what to do with it until after the raid. My mother came up with the idea of dumping it in front of the house, in the front yard of the meth house, with all the other meth-y furniture. Oh my god. However, the reason all those places wouldn't take it is because it weighed approximately 3,000 pounds, so we couldn't move it inconspicuously. So at the stroke of midnight that night, our parents loaded us kids into the trunk of our 97th suburban, and we dragged the TV down the street from the trunk and dumped it into

the meth yard. Oh, I love your parents so much. The next day we got to watch the lovely show, several policemen hacking our TV apart, and search for meth, and then struggle to take it away. Oh my god. Stay sexy and always have the police do the work that Best Buy won't, Sierra. Sierra, I hate to tell you this, but your parents were high as fuck when they came out with that plan.

Not on meth. They just fucking smoked a little dude, and then they were like, kids, get in the trunk of the car. We have a great idea. It's so, I remember when those TVs came out, and they were the height of luxury. It's the furniture one, right? Yes. It's like you have furniture, and your TV's a furniture.

Yeah. Your TV matches your other furniture, and it was the three big lights that reflected up onto the screen. Yeah. Oh yeah. It wasn't good to watch anything on. No, but it looked expensive. It was amazing.

The heavier, the fancier. So great. And it was like a cube, practically. Let's get one for the office. Okay. This is called Not-So-Excellent Egg, a hometown. Oh yeah. Hello, Karen, Georgia, Stephen, and furry friends.

I grew up in the country. There was a family who lived just a bit down the road from us, with kids the same age as my siblings and cousins. We hung out a lot in the summer. The mom of that family would come up to our house along with the kids, and we would place a slip and slide while the moms talked, normal stuff. So there was this guy and a girl in their twenties who lived down the street and around the corner.

Their property backed up to the property of the family down the street with the mom. This plays in later. This guy and girl. Put that away for now. Yeah, yeah. Keep that in your mind. This guy and this girl were relatives, either cousins or aunt and nephew, although very close in age.

When I was about 12, we found out there had been a murder at the house with the guy and the girl. The guy had been shot by the girl. What? Apparently, they had an ongoing domestic issues of some sort and fought often. The story was that the guy had bent over to take a plate of eggs out of the oven. And when he turned around, he was shot and killed because apparently the girl thought he was going to throw the plate of eggs at her.

Question mark, question mark, question mark. There clearly was more backstory that I don't know. After the guy was killed, the mom of the family down the street, who previously, at least to me, was a normal mom, suffered a psychotic break from which she never recovered. It turns out that unbeknownst to basically everyone, she had been having an affair with the guy had been shot and killed. Oh, no. And also a relative somehow?

No. The relatives were living together. The relative guy and girl shot each other. It's kind of confusing. This is just a secret affair. Right. Got it. Which like, this is what I live, this is the hometown I live for, that you look back

on your life as a child and be like, that was really weird and everything wasn't normal. And there's an explanation now. Right. Yes. And it all makes sense. Yes. And it's not going to all of us kids, which means the parents told the kids. Yes.

Stay sexy and don't cook your eggs in the oven because it could get dangerous, Amy. Either the parents told the kids or one wily child stayed up and eavesdropped on purpose, which is totally what would happen in our house. I love it. Yeah. That's so good. So good. It's just simple, but it's like, yes, this is what happens.

And yeah, small town affairs, it's like, I don't, it's, I feel like people don't understand the impact, like how crazy things could go because you know that the eggs thing, it wasn't about eggs. No. It was about the fact that her husband was straight up cheating on her with the lady down the street. No way. That's not what happened.

Or her cousin. No. That's a different. It wasn't emotional. No. They were just like brother and sister. They were like brother and sister. But how do we know there wasn't flowers in the attic element?

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What makes a person a murderer? Are they born to kill or are they made to kill? I'm Candice DeLong and on my new podcast Killer Psyche Daily, I share a quick 10-minute rundown every weekday on the motivations and behaviors of the criminal masterminds, psychopaths and cold-blooded killers you hear about in the news. I have decades of experience as a psychiatric nurse, FBI agent and criminal profiler. On Killer Psyche Daily, I'll give you insight into cases like Ryan Grantham and the newly arrested Stockton serial killer.

I'll also bring on expert guests to dive deeper into the details, share what it's like to work with a behavioral assessment unit at Quantico, answer some killer trivia and even host virtual Q&As where I'll answer your burning questions. Hey Prime members, listen to the Amazon Music Exclusive Podcast, Killer Psyche Daily, in the Amazon Music app. Download the app today. The subject line of this is the only time you want a ghost in your house. Hello.

I grew up in Plymouth, Massachusetts, yes, yes. The infamous Plymouth Rock, Mayflower, Genocides, yeah. Anyways, I grew up in three different houses and our second house was the only one, our uncle who was a priest did not bless. We grew up Irish Catholic, holocarin, weird shit happened in that house all the time. My mom who's a little more spiritual than my other family members and I always attributed it to the previous owner's eldest son who had recently passed away from a drunk driving accident.

When my brother went away to college in 2010, I took over his room which had been where the late owner's son had slept because he had a comfier bed and TV set. I had a shitty flip phone that did nothing but text and take photos. One morning I woke up to find several photos of me sleeping on my phone's camera. They were at odd angles that proved that I could not have taken the photographs. My family is wicked awesome and so honest and we all swore on grandma's grave that none of us took the photos. We all sort of laughed it off and forgot about it probably because it freaked us out so much.

Well several months later, my sister who was eight years old at the time had a sleepover and the girls stayed in my brother's bedroom so they could both fit in one bed and all caps they both woke up to videos and photos on my sister's iPod of you guessed it both little girls sleeping. I am going to barf right now. I have all the chills. I don't even believe in ghosts. This is the best story I've ever heard in my life.

Isn't it good? Yeah. To this day we have all caps no idea who did this. We all shivered to think that maybe there was a creepy pervert sneaking into our home without our knowledge videotaping us and leaving the evidence. We just tell ourselves it was quote unquote the ghost to feel better. Say sexy and don't blame the ghost when you find footage of yourself sleeping, call the fucking cops, Shannon.

Someone's living in the walls. Someone's doing something. But what if it was a ghost? But what if it was a phone ghost? What's a phone ghost? A phone photo ghost. Oh no. But also it's like a ghost that's like here's you.

Yeah. Like what are you doing? You're like okay. I look cute when I sleep I guess. There's a story and I think it's on either criminal or lore. It's about a couple who stay in a bed and breakfast. Yes. Remember that one?

When they take photos through the wall. Yes. Yeah. Someone takes photos of them that they got on. It was like camera films. It wasn't digital. Yes. And they don't know who did it or why and like no one ever.

I think it's criminal. Is it criminal? I think so. Did our friend Phoebe, I'm Phoebe Judge and this is criminal do it? Maybe. Maybe it's something else. I think it is too. Okay.

We're sharing a hospital room with a murderer. Oh. I shouldn't have told you that. Caron. Caron Georgia Steven and furry friends big and small. It doesn't help. One time my mom was in the hospital having surgery to have some breast cancer removed. She's totally fine and cancer free by the way.

Good. And shared her room with this older probably about 85 year old woman with end stage lung cancer. The woman was on her last leg of life and I always felt so bad that no one was there to visit her and that anyone rarely called. However, one day her phone rang endlessly off the hook. And when I realized she wasn't able to answer, I went to the side of the room and answered for her.

I picked up the phone saying so and so's phone. How may I help you? And there was a man on the other side of the phone stating that he was her parole officer and needed to speak with her immediately. I handed the phone to her while I reeled over the possibility of what this woman had done to warrant a parole officer at 88 years old. I later Googled her and it turned out that she was the quote other woman in a relationship and when the husband of the married couple refused to leave his wife for her, she buried

the husband and his wife alive in their own backyard at the age of 31. What? How do you even? What? Yeah. So she's 88 now at 31 years old. She did that. That's the worst crime I think I've ever heard of.

It's awful. That's okay. She had only been released. Stop laughing so hard Stephen at this. It's beyond like my mind is blown out. Yes. She had only been released from prison after being diagnosed with end stage cancer and was required to do weekly check-ins with her parole officer.

It seems so crazy to me that someone who was now so frail and appeared so kind had once committed such a heinous act. Stay sexy and always request a private room in the hospital because you never know who's on the other side of the curtain Tara. Like you first of all like you can request a private room anymore with this healthcare system. Let's get Obamacare. Obamacare for all.

That is uh. I want to know everything. There's so little details. How do we even. You to bury two people alive. Like you have. She will. She's the baseline sociopath.

Yeah. But it's like the woman like okay. I get you're mad at the dude who won't leave her whatever you shoot him. We get it. This poor fucking wife who's like my husband's fucking you and you're going to kill me. I get it from every direction. Yeah, yeah. I'm getting you fucked.

Son of a bitch. From all angles. Well you're getting fucked. Oh my husband. It's awful. I mean. I can't. Even the one like that's the story we that you did with the guy with the crazy face and

the beard that buried the heiress but he but they gave them directions. Yes. Who she he kept her alive. He kept her alive and she ended up living through it. But like that by itself is the worst thing I've ever heard just that she had to go through that. Yeah. Those people were buried alive and died.

Yeah. That's. I'm sorry. I did not mean to upset you so much. No. No. I just I can't. These are usually so lighthearted and fun even though it's about murder.

I know. But Jesus Christ. I know. Do you have a happy one that you want to read? Maybe. Should we add on to a happy or no? Maybe. How do we go back to her?

You want me to tell you how about her body smell? Is that I can do it now. Should we bust into the cream corn? Let's get some cream corn. Let's pour some corn. Part two. Let's pour some cream corn on this issue. Cream corn.

Part two. I can't. I just want to know. Now I need to know. Okay. Okay. About that story. I have a positive one.

Great. And then we'll look it up. Great. Okay. I'm just going to not read you the thing. Hey everyone. My mother picked me up from kindergarten and we were cruising home. I grew up in a super rural area.

The roads are all back roads going through cornfields and grass fields full of cattle. I was looking out the window and saw a body lying in a grassy field. Oh shit. It's fine. It's lighthearted. What if I just told you the worst story? You're like, oh, I thought you wanted me to erase the other, the memory of yours. And they lit the house on fire.

It was in the middle of nowhere and this wasn't a landscape lawn or anything. So there was no reason for a body to be there. I yelled, there's a dead man back there. My mom told me to hush because she didn't really believe me because I was a little shit. I had to convince her to turn around and she wasn't having any of it. But eventually she did just to shut me up. My mom pulled over and went to investigate. I had to stay in the car.

There were no houses or anything around. And it was 1995 and the first body we had ever found. Oh my God. Okay. So there were no options for my mother other than to grab a stick and poke it. She poked and I watched from the car. After a couple pokes, the body jerked away. My mom screamed.

I guess the man said, what the hell are you doing? And my mom said, what the hell are you doing? And he said he was napping. My mom asked why he was napping in the middle of the field and I told him, I thought you were dead. And he said, I ain't dead. I'm just retired. Oh.

I mean, the man was just sprawled out in a field on the raw ground in the middle of nowhere. As a kid, I just assumed he was drunk. But now that I'm an employed adult counting down the years until retirement, I fully understand him. Yes, for sure. That's all. Thanks for the podcast, y'all.

Keep at the grind until you can retire and relax like a dead man in a field by Jess. Shit. Jess, that was a really good one. Thank you for that. Jess, we needed that. Yeah, really. That's hilarious that it's, it wasn't his field, I wonder. Who knows.

Did he ride like a bike or something they couldn't see? Did he like circle around like a dog until he got as comfortable as, like, how do you pick that spot? Yeah. Did he get a patch going? Like, was the grass tall? Yeah. I want to, now I want to see a picture.

Well, this is better than wanting to know the other story. No, I'm back to wanting to know about the other story. Send us your emails. My favorite murder at Gmail. We fucking love your stories. Yeah. These are always amazing. Thank you so much.

And stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie? Yes, I do! Bye! Bye.