My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 255

Episode Date: November 29, 2021

This week’s hometowns include a trip to Vegas with grandma and a scary Billy Idol look-alike.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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And welcome. My favorite writer. That's Georgia Hartstra. That's Karen Kilgariff. This is the mini-soat. Do we say our names on the mini-soat? I don't think we usually do. Oh, fuck.

We shouldn't do this today. Back to... We should quit. I mean, look, we can say our names whenever we goddamn feel like it, if we confuse people. I feel like we've earned the right. Do you want to go first? You want me to? You go first.

Okay. This one is simply entitled, Berry Treasure. Let's get to it. Okay. I love these Let's Get To It interests. I work in NYC as a geologist, and my previous job mostly involved babysitting construction workers. During that time, I worked with a very nice man whose job it was to operate heavy machinery,

mostly moving dirt around. Let's call him V. He told me this story. One day he was working in Manhattan, where an old apartment building was being demolished to build a new one. Can you just savor what's about to come? Yes, I'm like crying right now, because I know. Knowing the title of this. This is my dream email.

I'm like, what a rad job this person has, that they're just like, tell me when you find something cool. Hell yes. And you're digging. In man-fucking-hat. That fucking hat. The densest, most buried, buried, buried, layered up, boarded over, repainted. What's underneath that?

Here we go. He was digging up the foundation of an old building when he tore up some of the concrete slab and hit something. This was about 10 feet underground, but it didn't really surprise anyone, since we find old utilities down there all the time. He stopped to check it out. When he had a closer look, he realized whatever he hit was made of wood. A few workers helped him clear the way and revealed a coffin.

And not just a regular coffin, a child-sized coffin. They decided to call the owner of the site, who supposedly called 911, and was supposedly told that he could open it. I'm a little skeptical of this part, but regardless, the guy opened it right there. Inside they found, dot, dot, dot, dot, they did five dots, which is very, it's very outside the norm, but I think completely appropriate for this story. Inside they found stacks and stacks of old cash. What?

The owner called off the work for the day and kept the whole stash. I ate it. I mean, come on. Why? Wouldn't you? Unfortunately, V didn't get a close look at any of it, but we both think it's old mob money. They always try to pull the mob in.

You hate that. I wonder what happened to the person who buried it, since they clearly never came back to claim their treasure. Their treasure was buried underneath cement. You have to tell one person where you hide buried treasure, because if you die, it's gone forever. Yes. Well, it's gone forever.

Until someone finds it. Yeah. But I mean, it being in a cement slab is like, what? Why? Okay. Stay sexy and maybe don't call your boss. The last line was, oh, they both think it's old mob money. I wonder what happened to the person who buried it, since they clearly never came back to

claim their treasure. I read that already, right? Yeah. Here's what I'm thinking, though. That's bank robbery money that you're hiding for decades, because you can't spend it until it's like way past traceable. Well, it disintegrates and you can't spend it. At all.

Good fucking job, until it just goes out of circulation entirely. Oh, God. I have so many questions. Do you remember that episode of Little House on the Prairie, where they find all this money and they think they've become rich and the newspaper comes and does the story about the family and it turns out it's confederate money, so it doesn't have any value anymore? Really? That happened on the prairie, in this little house.

That's what it was like to live in a little house on the prairie. A tiny house on the prairie, there's heartbreak and there is false treasure. I'm trying to pick up the name. Oh, sorry. Sorry. Oh, I forgot. You're not dead. We got all the way to...

Sorry, sorry, sorry. I'm just not saying the person's name. No, I did it too. The sign-off is stay sexy and maybe don't call your bus when you find a coffin full of cash, question mark. Thanks for all the laughs. Taylor, she, her, P.S. Karen's surprising knowledge of Yellowstone, earthquake risk in geologic time and sinkholes

warms my little geologist heart. Thank you. It's a real interest of mine, Taylor. Amazing. That was great. That was, I want more. A great kick-off. I want more.

I want more. Okay. Yeah. This one's called You Asked for Crazy Hometown Mall Stories and I Delivered. So it's all congratulatory, I love it. They're just like, it's already happened. Don't you worry about it. I have delivered.

I have delivered. I got you. Okay. This one's a crazy bummer called Case Story from not that long ago that I can't believe I didn't know about. So here we go. Hi, Karen, Georgia Steven and all pets everywhere. You asked to tell you the craziest things that happen in our hometown malls and that

just so happens to also be my hometown murder. My name is Alina and I grew up in Boca Raton, Florida, which is best known for being where your Jewish friends, grandparents live. It's a pretty accurate description, but there are also a lot of families with young kids because it's considered a pretty safe place to live. That is until 2007 when a series of murders and kidnappings took place at Town Center Mall that remain unsolved to this day. Whoa.

I was 12 at the time and the mall was less than 10 minutes from my house. I spent every half day off from school there and was now at the age where my mom could drop me off and leave me and my friends unsupervised so we could go eat Auntie Anne's and buy cheap earrings that turned my skin green at Claire's. Yes. That all ended once these crimes started happening. In December 2007, a 47-year-old woman and her seven-year-old daughter were abducted in the mall parking lot around 3 p.m., so middle of the fucking day.

The mother called 911 but immediately hung up. She was seen on surveillance footage withdrawing money at a nearby ATM shortly after and then her car was back in the parking lot. That night, police found both the mother and daughter dead in the back of the car with single gunshot wounds to their heads, blacked out goggles over their eyes, and zip ties binding them. Oh, that's horrifying. Like, how have we not heard of this?

This obviously shocked the community since we never dreamed we could be kidnapped and murdered in broad daylight in our local bougie mall. Police realized this was very similar to a kidnapping a few months prior at the mall where a man carjacked a woman and her two-year-old son in the parking lot and forced them to go to an ATM and take out money at gunpoint. He also forced her to wear blacked out goggles and bound her with zip ties, but he did not kill either her or her son. She described him as a six-foot-tall man with a long brown ponytail under a floppy hat who

wore driving gloves and glasses. Finally, a few months prior to that kidnapping, there was another murder of a woman leaving the mall. Like, how is this all fucking happening there? Did you say it was in the early 90s? No, it was 2007. Oh, my God. I know.

She was shot and left in the park in a nearby town and her murder has never been solved. Police suspect this might be connected to the other abductions and murders, but forensic evidence has yet to be able to link them. Police think the suspect has a motive other than money because he only received around 500 for these robberies and obviously gets some kind of sick kick out of the tactics he used. They also believe the woman he murdered must have recognized him or somehow would have been able to identify him after the crime since he killed them but left the other victims

alive. 12 years later, these crimes remain unsolved and I still get nervous walking in my car in that parking lot, even a broad daylight. I'll never forget my mother, who obviously stopped letting me and my 12 year old friends roam the scene of multiple murders alone for a while, told me that if we were ever in the situation, she would immediately crash our car before we could get to the ATM. Thanks mom. I'm sure how that would work considering he might just shoot us if we didn't die in

the crash anyways, but either way, it was definitely comforting to hear as a 12 year old. Anyway, that's my hometown murder. Thanks so much for your podcast. It truly got me through law school and further inspired my passion to become a criminal prosecutor in your hometown of LA. Stay sexy and immediately crash your car if someone is forcing you to drive somewhere at that point, Alina.

God, that is... The idea that that's recent is really crazy. I know. I've not heard of that at all. That's really scary. So troubling. Also, the idea that it's a mother-child couple each time is so disturbing. So disturbing.

It feels like that one is solvable, like there's got to be some kind of new DNA we could retest and... Well, and you say 2007, it feels like there have to be cameras. Right. They must have footage in some way. Security cameras. Yeah. God.

Ooh. Okay. Yeah. Starting out hard. All right. Ready for this one? Oh. This will be a nice turn.

Great. Yeah. My other ones aren't terrible. Okay. Okay. We take the good, we take the bad. The subject line of this is I was an 11-year-old gardener for two Chippendales dancers. What?

Yeah. Ready? Hello, my magnificent MFM MDM fam. I forgot about MDM. I like it. Yes. So no one gets murdered here except for the dreams of an 11-year-old boy. Good enough.

It's totally valid and just as heartbreaking. The year was 19... That was me. That was my commentary. The year was 1983 in the quaint village of Chula Vista, California. Oh, shit. The quaint village. That's sarcasm, everybody.

One of the most southern communities in San Diego. I lived in a small cul-de-sac where everybody was up in everybody's business and like all 80s kids, we ruled the street with pickup football games, life-threatening plywood ramps, and games have slide under the garage door before it's smashed to death. You did. You did. Yes. So...

So ridiculous. That's so good. So the day when a badass Stingray Corvette and Smokey and the Bandit Firebird pulled into the house next door, everyone knew that the classiest, most radical people were moving in. Yes. When Rod and Dane, and then in parentheses it says, names changed but the real ones were just as douchey, stepped out of their 80s chariots with their rippling muscles, neon

parachute pants, string-sleeved tank tops, high-top Reeboks, and gargoyle shades, jaws dropped at their awesomeness. This is so beautifully written. So good. The neighborhood kids were quickly sent over by our moms, Tiaz and... Tiaz and Comandres, I hope I'm saying that right, on our BMX bikes to get the dish. Rod and Dane were happy to brag and impress the gawking group of eight to 12-year-olds with their cool three-wheelers, stories of female conquest, and the PSD de resistance,

their occupation of part-time construction workers, and yes, Chippendales dancers. Hell, yes. Rod and Dane would often come out in their black spandex, cuffs and bow ties to do dances to entertain the little Latine and Philippine old ladies on the block. The greatest part of all of it, for me, was that they asked me, an 11-year-old boy, to cut their grass and do general landscaping for them. So every Sunday morning before church, I would go into their backyard to cut the grass and water the plants.

Oh my God. It was this day and time because there would often be sleeping beautiful ladies passed out in their living room and backyard from the Saturday night debauchery that they brought home. Holy shit. Yes. This kid is an entrepreneur. This is hotness all around.

As you can guess, they also paid me in crumbled 20s that they were more than likely shoved down their pants the night before. Oh, oh, the beauty. This is epic. Rod and Dane lived on our block for about a year and a half until, unfortunately, Dane was arrested for selling cocaine. Surprise, surprise. It was the 80s.

As an impressionable 11-year-old, I spent the next five years of my life with the life goal of becoming a chip and chips. Oh. Oh, I'm hugging this email right now. You are. It's cute. Oh my God. That's genius.

Okay. We're very influenced by our surroundings as we grow up. Also, Chula Vista is a good two hours away from Hollywood, so they must have been making really good money to be making that drive every Friday and Saturday night. Hell yeah. Fuck yeah. Yeah, they were. Thanks.

I hope that you've enjoyed the story, even though there really isn't any murder, but it does have cocaine, the 80s, and sexy Chippendales dancers. I love you all to death. No name. That's all we want. If it's not going to have murder, cocaine, Chippendales, the 80s, things of this nature. Truly at this point, the murder part is always welcome. Of course, it's the primary interest, but it's truly about your storytelling.

And that one, no name, was some gorgeous. That was a slice of Chula Vista 80s life that I absolutely could see, hear, and feel. I could. The outfit description was on point of the Chippendales. Also, an 11-year-old gardener. It's like, hey, can you take care of this? Yes. Yes, I will.

That was great. Great job. It was great. This one's called, where do you get cyanide? I know. I know. That's what it's called. Hey, y'all.

While listening to the 300th episode about the Chippendales murder, I heard Georgia say, where do you even get cyanide? I was in the shower and I thought, oh, hey, I know where you get cyanide. A jeweler. Oh. Growing up, my dad was a jeweler. Long story short, he and his dad, my grandfather, had a store which originally sold collectible coins to fucking nerds, and then it says, JK, just being silly, it's a valid hobby.

In my small hometown, eventually they branched out to jewelry. After years in the business, my grandfather became very elderly, and my dad was getting sick of customer service, so they sold their business, fair enough. Fast-forward maybe 15-plus years or so, my family and I were talking about true crime, specifically someone being poisoned, as most families do. My dad mentioned that he worked with sodium cyanide at the shop. I wasn't surprised because there was a bottle with a skull on it that my dad said, don't touch that.

You will die. Oh. So I wasn't shocked that he used it in the business. Sodium cyanide was used with water to clean heavy tarnishing off sterling silver. It also dissolved gold for gold-plated jewelry slash electro-stripping gold jewelry. Got it. Now getting rid of a lot of supplies, one supply he was trying to sell to a jeweler was his cyanide pillows.

Well, trying to sell these, some random guy came to him, really, really interested in buying the pillows. My dad thought something was weird about how bad this dude wanted the cyanide, so he did what any reasonable business owner would do, and he just asked for a fucking abnormally high price, which I didn't know was a move, that's smart. Thankfully, the weird dude didn't take the offer, and he ended up getting rid of them to someone legitimate. Thanks for reading, stay sexy, and don't be really excited to buy cyanide, and then there's

no name. Wow. That's fascinating. I didn't know. I had no idea. I would have thought you could only get it from an 1800s pharmacist, and it's on the topmost shelf with that skull and crossbones label. And then they say, what do you want this for?

Your wife or for rats? And then you say, for my wife, and they say, okay. Yep. Sounds good. Got speed. Looking for a better cooking routine? With meal planning, shopping, and prepping handled, HelloFresh has you covered. HelloFresh makes home cooking easy and affordable, so you can stay on track and on budget in

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Goodbye. Hey, I'm Mike Corey, the host of Wondery's podcast against the odds. In our next season, three masked men hijack a school bus full of children in the sleepy farm town of Chowchilla, California. They bury the children and their bus driver deep underground, planning to hold them for ransom. Local police and the FBI marshal a search effort, but the trail quickly runs dry. As the air supply for the trapped children dwindles, a pair of unlikely heroes emerges.

Follow against the odds wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. Are you ready for this? I'm ready. Ready. This is pretty great. Hello, anyone and everyone. This is the story of the time my grandma left me alone in a Vegas hotel in the scary tattooed

bikers who helped me to safety. Oh. Sorry in advance that this is long. When I was about eight, I went on a trip to Vegas with my grandma, Doris, aunt, uncle and their three kids. This was shortly after my grandpa, Frank had passed away and the trip was what I assumed to try and help my get my grandma's mind off things because, you know, nothing helps a grieving widow more than the Las Vegas strip.

Hell yeah. I was raised primarily by my grandma and went everywhere with her. I can't remember exactly what hotel we were staying in, but my grandma and I had our own room and my aunt and uncle had a room next door or so I thought. I woke up in the middle of the night as I did frequently as a kid when staying in unfamiliar places and to my surprise, my grandma was gone. That's right. My grandma waited until I fell asleep and then decided to go try her hand at the slots.

Yeah. She's sleeping. What could go wrong? Yeah. In a panic, I ran out of the hotel room to knock on what I thought was my aunt and uncle's room and got no answer. Then I tried to go back into my hotel room to try and call her cell only to find that the door was locked.

That's right kids. The hotel room, hotel room doors lock and you need a fucking key to open them. What kind of shit is that? Now in even more of a panic, I start knocking on all of the doors on our floor in the hopes that someone would answer because stranger danger isn't a thing when you're eight in a Barbie nightgown and locked out of your hotel room in Vegas. So scary. What a visual.

Finally, a door opened and standing in the doorway was a shirtless man and a woman not shirtless and they were wearing matching bandanas around their heads and they were covered in tattoos. I crying said, I can't find my grandma and then the lady kindly took my hand and said, it's okay. We'll help you find her. She then told me her name Cheryl and his name big man and asked me to show her which room I was staying in.

Big man then proceeded to knock on the door and when there was no answer, they took me down to the casino. We used the pay phone to try and call her cell and when we got no answer, we then walked around the casino a bit to see if we'd find her. And when that didn't work, they turned me over to the hotel security who then called the police who then took me to IHOP inside the hotel and bought me pancakes while trying to figure out who the hell I belong to and why I was roaming around hotel casino and what was now probably four in the morning.

Oh my grandma. Grandma, you're only getting a pass because you're grieving. Guys. Not okay. Here's, here's me as a child and today, hey pancakes, pancakes in the middle of the night is a dream. As I'm sitting here, I look out the window and I see my grandma walk by, cigarette and Pepsi in hand, GPC menthol light 100s wore her jam and she's yeah, thank you.

And I, right. And I said, there she is. One of the officers ran out after her and she turned around to see me smiling and waving at her from a table surrounded by the police. They did whatever it is that they do to make sure that I could go with her. And then we went on our way. I left you a note. She said, clutching my hand as we went back to the elevator to our room.

My grandma was a powerhouse who taught me not to take shit from anyone and to stay young as long as I can. She unfortunately passed away just a week after her 75th birthday, but you bet your ass that when I turn 21, I went to Vegas and smoked a menthol in a casino just for her. Stay sexy and trust big man and Cheryl. If you're lost in Vegas, Halle, oh my God, man and Cheryl, big man and Cheryl took care of her. I love that.

You're crying. It's cute. That's, I just love that story. And also just the idea fucking, fucking menthol cigarettes are so disgusting. And the idea that someone just went and like, that is, it's totally pouring one out, but in this very grandma appropriate place, it's just a beautiful picture. Yes. Halle, great job.

Great job. That's a great story. I have a similar one of someone being scary and then not scary or scary. We love those ones. Not spoiling it. Hello, all. When I was 16 and in an effort to save money, my post divorce parents put me on a cross-country bus to visit my dad.

I was very sheltered, but had no fear when this was suggested. So off I went with my big backpack and even bigger Kenneth Parsel grin. By midnight on the first day, my grin had transformed into a world weary grimace as the grip on my backpack got tighter and tighter and the passengers got weirder and weirder. This happened to me when I was like 12. Oh no. Yeah. I went on like a two hour bus ride to Yukia.

Oh no. I was hanging out with my friend Jennifer Gearing and it started fine and then it was all of a sudden I was just like, I got to get off this bus. People are insane. Like it just got weirder as the further north you went. I bet. Yeah. I remember being particularly terrified of a passenger that looked like a scary Billy

Idol, piercings, black clothes, bleach spiky hair, eyeliner, the whole bit, totally my type in high school, by the way. Being from a tiny main town, I had never seen a person like this. Like every other person on the bus, he never spoke and this seemed even more worrisome. This trip took several days and was plagued with bad weather and breakdowns. Jesus. I know. Why you're getting a plane ticket?

God damn driving me yourself. Yeah. During one of these breakdowns. So the fucking bus keeps breaking down on the side of the road. I mean, this is not okay with me at all. During one of these breakdowns, I realized I would not be able to avoid the bus's bathroom any longer. I had a pee so bad and we were stuck on the side of a highway, taking my overly stuffed

backpack with me. Why? Who was going to steal it? We were stranded and it was giant and bright orange. I managed to cram myself in the tiny space and pee. When I went to leave, the door wouldn't budge. I was stuck. I stood there not knowing what to do.

I listened mortified as the other passengers realized I was stuck in the bathroom and alerted the driver. The driver was pissed. I heard him suggest that I would need to stay in there indefinitely until a mechanic could arrive and restart the engine, which would trigger the electrical door lock to release. No. Yeah. Oh, really fucking seriously stuck.

Yeah. Yeah. Not like jiggle the handles. No. Fuck. As I blinked back tears, gagged on the bus's bathroom smell and tried to accept my fate, I suddenly heard a deep, scratchy voice think Roy Kent at the door. Who's Roy Kent?

Roy Kent from Ted Lasso. Oh, got it. Back up was all the voice said, one giant bang later and the door was open and I was free. Yes. Scary Billy Idol had kicked it in with his giant combat boot. Yes. He asked me if I was all right and saw me back to my seat as the other passengers cheered.

So there you have it. Sometimes the people you're most afraid of turn out to be true gentlemen. Thanks for listening, Jasmine. Yes, Jasmine. Hell yeah. Beautiful. What a wonderful version of that story. Yeah, totally.

And also just like the idea that he was like, he didn't have to intervene. No. And he did. No. Because he knows how disgusting a bus bathroom is. Yeah. And he's like, this is nonsense. I'm not fucking being patient with the man and the nonsense of the man.

I'm gonna fucking get this down. Yeah. Fuck this shit. I'm like, the bus driver's mad at the person that's stuck in the horrifying bathroom. Fuck you. Does this mean your girl who had a pee is in trouble now because she had to pee so bad? Not according to Billy Idol. She's not.

What's up, Prince Charming? Is that all of them? All of them? Is that all of them? All of them. All of them. I believe it is, right? Yeah, I think so.

Is it? Yeah. But hey, if you're like, I need one more from each of them. Go join the fan cult and you'll get to hear a mini-mini-sode. That's right. A special exclusive for you. That's right. And I think you can listen to all of the ones we've done so far and there are videos and

things and fun stuff to do there. The stuff over there, there's also exclusive merch. You wouldn't believe what you'll see over there. Truly. Get in it. Thanks for sending us your stories. Please continue to do so and we will continue to tell them back at you. Yes.

We really appreciate your emailing and your support. Stay sexy. Don't get murdered. Goodbye. Goodbye. Bye. Elvis, do you want a cookie? This has been an exactly right production.

Our producer is Hannah Kyle Crichton, associate producer Alejandra Keck, engineer and mixer Steven, Ray Morris, researchers J. Elias and Hailey Gray. Send us your hometowns and your fucking hurrays at myfavoritmurder.com. And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at My Favorite Murder and Twitter at My Fave Murder. And for more information about this podcast, our live shows, merch or to join the fan cult, go to MyFavoritMurder.com. Don't forget to like, comment, and subscribe.