My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 115

Episode Date: March 25, 2019

This week’s hometowns include a church parking lot murder and a sleep-driving story.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

We at Wondery live, breathe and downright obsess over true crime and now we're launching the ultimate true crime fan experience, Exhibit C. Join now by following Wondery, Exhibit C on Facebook and listen to true crime on Wondery and Amazon Music, Exhibit C. It's truly criminal. Hello! Hello and welcome to the mini-soad of my favorite murder. This is the short version of the podcast but we only read your emails. You're fucking crazy stories that you send us. You, I like that we're explaining to the person who also sent us the email what this is. Right. Thank you.

Everything about our intros makes sense and are a good idea. Is it opposite day? That's right. Every day. And also, not... Do you want me to go, should I go first? Do it. I forgot we were going to decide. Please do. Okay. I don't have a good ending one though, do you?

Yeah, absolutely. Great. Then it's perfect. All right. I'm not going to tell you the name. Hey, MFM crew. That's us. That's right. With a K. That's right.

We recently had quite the story happen in my neck of the woods that I thought you would all be interested in hearing. A woman approached a cop when evening to inform him about a house she had visited a few weeks prior. The house was getting ready to enter into foreclosure and she was checking it out to see if she'd like it. As she walked around, I'm guessing she broke in. Yeah. She came upon a chest freezer. Upon opening it, she found a large black garbage bag covered with a blanket. Blanket in a freezer, red, flat. Unnecessary.

This is the opposite of what happened. You never wrap steaks in grandma's quilts and then put them in the big old freezer. And let's say you put it, I was like, well, you know how sometimes you'll put a washcloth on your board when it's cold. Sure. Like I did today. Well, it's like, well, you're not going to put a blanket on when it's hot. That's been in the freezer. No. That's not going to happen. You can't get stuff past me. No way.

Okay. Okay. Everything was frozen, but the shape stuck, struck her as being a body. Yeah. She quickly convinced herself it wasn't and left the house. But then she started thinking about it. After a few weeks, she told her friend that the house, she told her friend that the whole thing was really bothering her. Her friend convinced her to go back into that house. Oh. To prove that, of course, it was just not a body.

When they returned, the house was in full foreclosure, meaning the electricity had been shut off. Uh-oh. It's a horror movie. They returned to the freezer, opened the lid, and maggot city. Oh, no. Yeah. So they had wrapped maggots in a blanket.

Is that what you're telling me? Someone had gone in after she had been there. Poured larvae into the freezer. Can I just sidebar you for one second? Because I obviously can't stand maggots, like most human beings. They're very, they mean bad things. How do they even, I don't even get them. They're the worst, but I'll tell you how you get them, like how you interact with them.

Is if you're a comedian who's on the road, but you throw away a rotisserie chicken in the garbage can, and then you leave for like a week and a half. Like at home, you didn't take the trash out. And then when I came back to my apartment, it stunk terribly, of course. And then I was like, oh my god. And as I'm pulling the garbage out to throw it away, knock it over. No. Here come the rotisserie chicken and all the maggots inside.

And I had to sweep up and clean it up. Oh my god. Fucking maggots in my own home apartment. Oh god. It was really terrible. Please, please throw away your perishables. The moral of the story is, wrap your rotisserie chickens in quilts. Go on the road, put them in the freezer.

So it was very, bones were now protruding through the bag. And it was very evident that it was indeed a body. The police, coroner and crime scene investigators descended on the scene. After a few days of investigation, it turned out that the family that had lived there put grandma in the freezer 20 years ago. What? She died of natural causes and they wanted to continue to receive social security. So I guess it didn't set off any alarm bells to the social security administration

that this woman would have been 112 years old. And they just kept sending the checks. They actually send good morning America over to interview her because they're like, you've got to check this lady out. It's unfortunate that this family valued this woman's monthly check more than the respective getting her a proper and send off after death. I hope she haunts the hell out of them. Stay sexy and don't put grandma in the freezer, Rebecca.

What if that was grandma's final wish? Honey, I know you need money. Leave me in here. Just throw me. I love that big freezer where you keep the popsicles. Throw me in there. Never don't even look back. Put my favorite Afghan upon me.

I made that fucking thing. Yeah. Out of maggot. Oh my god. Okay. Okay. This, the subject line is hometown story. Everyone hates the dentist.

Okay. Dear Georgia, Karen, Steven and furry beans. That damn it. I wanted to be mad at that and I can't be furry beans. It's hilarious. Beans? Beans. Beans.

Furry beans. Cute. Probably like cute for beings. Yeah. But funnier. Got it. My stepdad died from a terminal illness when I was in high school. Shortly thereafter, my mother told me that she was asked on a date by the doctor

who lived a few houses down from us and that she was going to go. I was super bothered by this because my stepdad had just passed and I felt it was much too early for her to be dating already. I had grown close to a girl in my class whose stepdad has also recently died, hers unexpectedly. So we spent a lot of time together. After my mom told me this, I rushed over to my friend's house to vent. When she asked who the man was, I told her his name.

All of the blood rushed from her face. She stood and just looked at me wide eyed and rushed out of the room. She dragged her mother, who was friendly with mine, into the room. They insisted I call my mother and tell her to come over immediately. Oh my god. They sat the two of us down and began telling us their story. This is the shit. My friend's mom was having an affair behind her stepdad's back.

It went on for a few months. It was with her stepdad's best friend. Oh no. Who was the local dentist? Oh no. My friend's mom decided to come clean to her husband and end the affair. The dentist would not let it go. He called dozens of times a day, showed up at her home and job, and was just outright fucking creepy.

Come to find out. My friend's stepdad, i.e. dentist's best friend and the husband of his mistress, was subsequently found dead in his car outside the local gym one morning. The autopsy showed heart failure, which they assumed to be naturally occurring. But when they tested his blood, they found a hefty dose of an anesthetic that, you guessed it, is regularly used in dental work. Wait, it gets better. Holy shit.

Dentists' obnoxiously large white SUV, which was often parked in his driveway, which you can see from our house, is seen in the gym's security footage pulling up next to stepdad's car, sitting for 20 or so minutes, then pulling away on the morning of his death. Holy shit. Then this dude goes ahead and sells his obnoxious SUV while he's being investigated by local police. They charge him with a murder and a jury trial is held

where the dentist gets acquitted. Fuck. Needless to say, dentist is my new stepdad. Just kidding. Oh my god. Stay sexy and don't let your mom date a dentist, Tori. Holy shit. Just kidding.

She wrote that even on like a separate line. It was really perfectly delivered. Isn't that horrifying? Wow. Can you imagine how quickly you would want to explain to that lady how much she should not date that guy? And he just like stays in town after he like murdered her husband? Yeah.

Yeah, because he's the smartest man on the planet. Remember? Jesus Christ. Yeah. That is fucked up. Yes. That is the kind of content we are looking for. That is it, Tori.

That's it. That's it. Okay, aloha sexy murder addicts and furry felines. Aloha. My name is Alana Lonnie and I live on the beautiful island of Kauai. I'm actually not from the islands, but from another tropical place called Cocoa Beach, Florida. Lonnie. Being raised as a Roman Catholic, of course, my parents enrolled my younger brother and I

in a small Catholic church school called our Saviors Catholic Church located across the street from a local strip joint. Who does that? Sweet. Anyway. The Catholics. For almost my entire grade school years, I attended this church school and participated in the church choir like I had a freaking choice.

There were a few choir ladies that taught us songs and helped prepare the students for church performances. Within this bunch of ladies, one of them was named Candy. Not only, one of them named Candy not only worked for the church, but also worked for a foster care agency as well. She had two adopted kids that I went to school with and a husband that was the church's treasury. So years go by and by the time I hit 16 years old in 2001, I hear a horrific murder that happened in the next town over in Merritt Island.

I learned that a younger mother, a young mother Tracy Bagwell, was stabbed over 30 times while sitting in the driver's seat of her own car in a church parking lot. Oh my God. The only clues at the time of the murder was a spotless passenger seat right next to her body. Obviously, whoever stabbed this poor woman must have known her and was sitting in the seat while stabbing her. The police interviewed the victim's daughter and learned that the last time she saw her mother alive was the night she got a page from work at a local foster care agency.

But the daughter didn't know who the page was from. So this missing pager that was never found at the scene is now the main focus of their investigation. Since it was her work pager, they got a list of Tracy's co-workers where, low and behold, Candy was on that list. After tracking Candy down, the police pulled her over in her car while another officer paged the missing pager and then she wrote, which I thought was very clever. It's quite clever police work. That's right.

You won't believe it. How dumb can you get? The pager went off in her purse while talking to the cop that pulled her over. Oh my God. That's good. Of course, they bring her in for questioning. And while that's going on, one of the officers questioning Candy carefully looks at the pager in his hand and sees a small speck of blood on the pager.

He leaves immediately and has it tested. Since it takes a while for testing, Candy is released for a few days and ends up dead in her own pool. Oh no. No one really knows how that happened. She jumped from her balcony and it was suicide or if someone else had a hand in it. Super freaky. By the end of it all, they figured out that the victim had caught Candy embezzling money from a foster care agency, met up with Candy in a parking lot of a church to confront her

and murdered the hell out of her. Oh my God. So, I was taught to sing holy church songs by a crazy woman who would end up murdering someone down the road. This was the perfect time to inform my parents that I was no longer attending their crazy church ever again. Aloha and stay sexy while avoiding murderous choir ladies in church parking lots. Lonnie.

Wow. It's so, I know this is my personal bias. I know this is the bias when you're raised Catholic and then you have so many, you just are so suspicious. But I honestly feel like in any crime, people who are hyper invested in church should be looked at first because it's like they're trying to go, it can't be me. I teach choir. Right.

I'm like, it's people looking for the cover. Yeah. I love God. Oh my God. Go and touch the heathens. Get, ask the huge choir of children how much I love God. I love it. Stab, stab, stab.

Yeah. And it's the thing too of like, well, I said I'm sorry. What do you guys call it? Penance? I said I'm sorry. So it's fine. Yep. Absolution is what you get from the priest.

Well, you tell the priest, you tell God through the priest. Yeah. Look, I have, I have sinful thoughts. Can you let the big man know? And then what does he want me to do? Oh, say six Hail Marys? Sounds great. This is a great deal.

Yeah. People who use their religion to not to absolve themselves from any fucking wrongdoing. Yeah. Fuck you. It doesn't seem right. It doesn't work that way. Right. You have to actually be sorry. All right.

The subject line of this is the incident of the hungry jacks coke and sleep driving. So I have divined and absolutely could be wrong, but I'm going to roll the dice because at this point who cares that hungry jacks is like a jack in the box, but in Australia. We saw them there. Okay. Yes. And am I right? Yes.

So this isn't just me putting the context clues together. No. This is real. Yes. Awesome. Hey, Karen, Georgia, Steven and pet pals. Oh, wait, or maybe it's just they wanted to name it. Yeah.

I think it's just a restaurant, but I don't know if it's. Yes. They couldn't like it's still jogging the box. They just couldn't name it that because oh no. It's like a Hardee's Carl's Jr. situation. No, definitely. I think we when we were there, it has it looks like a Burger King logo. Oh, that's right.

It was Burger King logo, but it says hungry jacks instead of Burger King. Right. Oh, it is. It's it is an Australian fast food franchise of Burger King. So it's owned by yeah. But it's not. But it's called. But it says hungry jacks.

So it's like, yeah, Hardee's and Carl's Jr. Okay, same. So imagine the Burger King logo, which is the buns and the meat is the name, except for instead of saying Burger King. Why can't you picture this? No, I'm explaining it to you perfectly. Literally, I've already explained it twice. Oh my God.

Guys. Follow us. Do we understand what hungry jacks is? Follow along. It's so crucial. This is a murder podcast. Okay. I was listening to your most recent episode where Georgia did this sleepwalking murderer

and thought I would write to share my experience with sleepwalking. In my early 20s, I moved into a share house, Australian apartment that you share with people with four friends that was located around 20 meters, 40 feet or 10 feet. Something. 11 feet from one of the most popular shopping and night nightlife strips in Melbourne, including a 24 hour nightclub being a single out of work 24 hour nightclub. Can you imagine? Well, then it's not a nightclub.

That's the first problem with it. I'm all about titles this episode. Is there at six in the morning? Drugs, speaker tweakers, being a single out of work theater director living with an assortment of actors, musicians and writers, led to a nocturnal, chemically enhanced, very irresponsible lifestyle. Then the unthinkable happened. The white lion flying unicorn of my industry.

I landed a massive ongoing full time date based contract with a theater festival at a venue only five minutes from my house, from our house. Instead of changing my ways, I attempted to work days and party nights. I love it. There's your 20. 20s. After around six weeks of this, I was understandably exhausted and decided I just needed an early night.

I jumped into bed around 9 p.m. in my fresh PJs ready for the sleep of the century and passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. What seemed like a second later, I awoke to the sound of general car hubbub. In the confusion of waking, I assumed I had drifted off at the wheel as I was sitting in my car with my seatbelt on. Once I began to come to a bit more, I looked around and noticed I was parked pretty terribly in the car park of the theater I was working for. My driver's side door was open and I was holding a large, hungry Jack's Coke in my left hand.

I was also still in my PJs. Oh my God. I looked at the clock and saw that it was 2 a.m. What? To this day, I have no idea how long I was sitting in my car for or how the events unfolded that night as the hungry Jacks did not have a drive-thru. Holy shit. As the hungry Jacks did not have a drive-thru, I've always thought how weird it must have

been for those poor kids on the checkout at hungry Jacks who kindly served a strange, pajama-clad woman, a large Coke, even though I didn't seem to have any money on me. What? I guess I'll never know how that really went down. Oh my God. I know a very boring 30-something youth worker living in the burbs and sleeping any chance I can get. I love the podcast and hope I'll have a chance to see you live in Melbourne sometime soon. Yay.

Stay sexy and don't try to go on a six-week bender and that, when you also have a full-time job, Celeste. Holy shit. What happened? Oh my God. I mean, what if the, what if she just picked that Coke up off the ground? Like, that's what I'm thinking about. I would have trashed her.

Yeah. Or what if she was stood there and she was freaking everybody out so much they gave her the Coke and so she'd leave. Yeah, and she's like sitting out of here. Yeah. And then why was her passenger side door open? Yeah. I mean, what?

So many questions. Waking up, going to sleep in your bed and waking up in your car. Like, how do you ever stop screaming after that? I would never go to sleep again. That's so frightening. So insane. Okay, thank God she lived. Don't do it.

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at hellofresh.ca slash murder20 with code murder20. That's up to 20 free meals plus free shipping on your first box when you go to hellofresh.ca slash murder20 and use code murder20. Goodbye. Hi y'all, ladies, gentlemen, and animal babies. How you feel about that? I'm okay with it. When I was in college, this is called hometown story, not a murder.

When I was in college, early 80s, my sister was in law school and had her own apartment. We lived in a little rock. She was going out of town and asked me if I wanted to stay at her apartment on Halloween. Since I was living at home, the answer was hell yeah, hell yeah. I promptly invited my BFFs, a bunch of gay guys over to watch the movie Halloween. I'm sure drugs were to be involved and that we were going out dancing later with our fake IDs. Since my sister was in law school, the apartment was bare bones, no TV or other distracting entertainment.

One of my friends was bringing the TV. I just love the idea of something carrying over TV. Also in the 80s, it's either the smallest TV you've ever seen or humongous. Or your fucking furniture. I was waiting on my friends, putting out food, etc. when I heard a knock at the door. Assuming it was one of my friends, I shouted, come in. Guess, jibbly, I had left the door unlocked. Nothing happened.

That freaked me out a little bit. My friends would have just come in. I walked to the door and looked out a window nearby. At the door was a scruffy looking guy I didn't know. I put the chain on the door and opened it a bit. Yes, he responds, I'm here to fix the TV. I start to slide the chain off the lock thinking it's something my sister had arranged. Then I stop and say, wait a second, I don't have a TV.

Yeah. He stands there and looks at me and says, oh, and he waits to see if I'm going to open the door. When I don't, he turns around and walks away. Oh no. My friends do eventually show up and we hang out, smoke whatever and go dancing. My sister comes back the next day and I mentioned the repairman looking for the TV. She responds, Nancy, you should have called the police. Someone has been stealing women's underwear from the laundry room

and we've been worried something else might happen. Signed stupid lucky fool. Nancy. Nancy. Nancy. God damn it. Nancy, you did your best. You didn't.

I mean, at least she put it together that there was no TV. Thank God. That's straight up like that just reminds me of the Boston Strangler, like the way he'd get in with the repairman shit. Repairman shit and also thinking that you can read someone's energy and then go from there, go, they will or will not kill me based on how the vibe they're giving me. Right. Please remember that psychopaths can control the vibe you take from them.

Totally. Please remember that. They know tricks and tips. They're like Venus fly traps of humanity. They're like celebrity chefs. They'll give you tricks. They know tricks and tips to make. Oh, you love them so much.

Oh, you think they're great people. Oh, you love Bobby Flay, but we're all thinking of Bobby Flay. That's psycho. Ready? Just kidding, Bobby. I'm not going to say the, okay, it's subject line. Guys, you wouldn't believe what stories you get from your family members after years of thinking they don't have any cool murder-esque stories.

So I'm currently in training to be a truck driver. You guys keep me saying when I'm driving, my trainer is a nightmare. And on my off weekends, I've been going to my godfather's house and hanging out with him. We start talking about how there's been so many things about Bundy on TV, and somehow I managed to bring up John Wayne Gacy. Well, my godfather very nonchalantly goes, Oh yeah, a couple of my buddies stole his toilet before they demolished the house. Toilet.

Of course. I made him tell me everything. And apparently they were in the area of his house and they thought it'd be fun to go up there, to go up there before it was completely dismantled. So fun. Because you know, they raised that thing to the ground. When they got there, they see that Gacy's toilet was sitting out on the front lawn. So like any 20-something-year-old guys, sure enough, they loaded up and they take it home.

Ew, no. And years later, guess what? The guy still has John Wayne Gacy's toilet just sitting in his garage and tells everyone. Holy shit. Stay sexy and steal toilets. Mace it. Amazing. I already could sell that fucker. Oh, I bet there are collectors that would pay five grand, 10 grand for that thing.

Let's go steal it. Let's steal the stolen toilet. This is just like Nicholas Cage. This is the next plot of the Nicholas Cage movie. Toilet. Toilet Steelers. National Toilet Steelers of America. Amen.

Amen. Well fuck, that was great. All right, send us your weird stolen stuff stories. Great. Yeah, great. You still keep doing it. Oh yeah, we want to know about all that. All the shit you used to steal.

I like the idea of a story where someone goes to witness something like John Wayne Gacy's house being ruined, but then they have a little hijinks themselves. Any kind of hijinksy, we thought we'd put our hand in them. Yeah, make that story fun because the John Wayne Gacy is not going to do it himself. No, we all know the depressing horror of John Wayne Gacy. We're stealing his toilet as a nice little poop. It's a fun poop. It's a little poop at the end of the story.

It's a literal poop at the end of the story. And stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Goodbye. Elvis, you want a cookie?