My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 256

Episode Date: December 6, 2021

This week’s hometowns include flipping off Richard Ramirez and a 5-year-old who knows how to use a lighter.  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 and welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-soad. That's right. 100%. We're completely here to read your emails. That's right. Isn't that weird? Some places that's illegal to read other people's emails. Not here. Let's get into it. Let's do it. You want to go first? You want me to go first? Are you ready? Do it. I'm ready. All right. This is called the killer preacher and death at a funeral. Oh, my first one is church based as well. Stop it. Christmas time is here.

Miracle. It's a Christmas miracle. Okay, y'all. Look and listen. It starts. Nice. This is kind of long, but stick with me. It's totally worth it. I work for the DA's office in Birmingham, Alabama, where I manage a grant working with survivors of sexual assault. Well, I have hundreds of incredibly badass tales from my work. I'm legally not allowed to share any of them with you. No, no, no, no, no, no. So this is my best friend, Mom's experience with the killing preacher. During the 1970s in Goodwater, Alabama, a Baptist preacher's wife was found beaten to death in her car a short distance from her home. The last person to see her alive was a neighbor who made a statement saying she met with Mrs. Maxwell, the deceased, earlier that evening, right before the

victim left to go pick up her husband, Reverend Willie Maxwell. Yep. I know this story. You know this one? It's very famous. Yep. I think I now I can't remember if I read a book about it. You did. I'll get to it. Okay. Not at all. Surprisingly, Reverend Maxwell had taken out numerous life insurance policies on his wife shortly before her death. Finding this suspicious, the police arrested the Reverend and charged him with murder. However, after the married neighbor recanted her statement about seeing Mrs. Maxwell the day of her murder, the jury found the Reverend not guilty. Very shortly thereafter, the same neighbor's husband, quote, died unexpectedly. And as you guessed it, she then married Reverend Maxwell. Within the first year of their marriage,

Reverend Maxwell took out 17 all caps life insurance policies on her. This allowed him to collect nearly half a million dollars after her body was also found beaten to death in her car. That's over $3 million in today's money. Not only did his two wives turn up dead on the side of the road, but so did his nephew, his brother, and his 16 year old stepdaughter, all with life insurance policies naming Reverend Maxwell as the sole beneficiary. As if that wasn't enough drama in and of itself now enters my best friend's mom, Maryland. In 1977, at the time of Maxwell's stepdaughter's funeral, Maryland was 13 years old and had been classmates with the now deceased girl. She and 600 other residents were attending the funeral service

when Reverend Maxwell began reading a eulogy. You're nodding unethically. Is that the word? Empathically? It's an unbelievable, it's such a horrible story and it's beyond. Yeah, go ahead. As he was finishing up, the young girl's uncle stood and shouted, we know what you did and you're going to pay for it. And then he raised a pistol and shot and killed Reverend Maxwell on the spot. Maryland says at a funeral. A murder at a funeral. Totally. Maryland says she remembers the sound of women screaming, children running, and even one woman jumping from a window as everyone hurried to leave the scene. Rumor has it the uncle was held in jail for only one night before he was released,

which sounds suspicious to me. But then again, the justice system in the south has always been and continues to be questionable at best. Anyways, that's the story of the killing preacher and death at a funeral. Stay sexy and never trust a Baptist, Sam. Hey, hey now. And then I read like totally to the stories crazy and then it turns out Harper Lee, the author of To Kill a Mockingbird, was totally interested and fascinated by stories who did a ton of research on it, which is now completely lost. Yep. And the uncle was who killed the Reverend was down not guilty by reason of insanity by the jury. He wasn't just held one night. He was went to trial and he actually had PTSD from Vietnam. So that's probably why he was found

not guilty by reason of insanity. But Nana's. Yes. And that is all in that book. It makes me want to get up and run to the front room, but I have already recommended it on the big long podcast. Furious Hours. Furious Hours by Casey Sepp CEP. Thank you, Stephen, very much. Furious Hours by Casey Sepp will tell you this story in such unbelievably beautiful detail, along with all that information about Harper Lee and the life she led, which was fascinating. Oh, yeah. Yeah. It's such a good book. From what I read, she was like a smoking, drinking, fucking cursing badass, too. So. And she like did what she wanted and lived in New York, but her heart was in the south and she was like everybody wanted her at their dinner party and

she hated everyone. And it's I love this book so much. It's that thing where they were people were she was a legend. Like, yeah, you know, while she was still alive, it was like everyone knew who she was and they wanted everybody wanted a piece of her in some way and it made her kind of become a little bit of a hermit. It was just fascinating and she's so talented. And, you know, there are those who say allegedly, but that she had everything to do with why in cold blood by Trimacopody was such an unbelievably amazing book. Like, yeah, that she she, whatever, I don't want to offend Trimacopody. God, imagine him being mad at you and haunting you. No, just in that voice and being so mad at you. So here's my answer to that. My great

my church email for you. Great. Love the podcast. You two are hilarious. Let's just get right into it. This was a traumatic odd and creepy story that was casually shared by my parents as I entered adulthood. My dad was a pastor at a church in Vincenas, Indiana. Vincens, Indiana. It's gonna be wrong. As churches always have, there was a potluck that my parents attended just after I was born. I was the newborn. All the churchgoers wanted to pass around and relive their baby days. At this particular potluck, there was a guest. Her name was Susan Grund. To give some background, according to my mother, Susan had just joined the church a few months prior to this. And in my mother's words, quote unquote, she was odd. She attempted to date my parents friend at the time,

but she showed up under weird circumstances and wanted to be overly involved in the church all of a sudden. Back to the potluck. Susan was attending this particular event during lunch. She continued to ask my mother if she could hold me. My mom told my dad at the time she didn't feel comfortable with it, but it was the 90s and we let strange people hold our babies out of obligation. She reluctantly let Susan have me for a second. My mom turns around and the next thing you know, Susan is gone. My mom panics, grabs my dad and they proceed to scour the church looking for me. They end up finding her in the church nursery all caps, lights off, rocking me in a chair, calling me by another name. Oh, no. And then there are nine exclamation points. In every way, deep down.

My mother asked to have me back and Susan declined and my father went over and grabbed me. Thankfully, needless to say, it was weird traumatizing and horrifying. Fast forward to a few months later, Susan was convicted of murdering her husband. She shot him, then took the gun buried in cement in her attic. Well, as I was completely shocked to find out that I was held and rocked by a murderer, I looked her up. Sure as shit, there's a book titled Deadly Seduction Based on Her Story and an episode on the TV series Snapped. Wowza in all caps. Stay sexy and don't let your babies be held by murderers at Church Potlucks, Brooklyn. Wow. I want to know like the circumstances. As the TV show is called, Snapped. Why she snapped? I guess I have to watch it.

It feels to me based on the story that it might be child loss based, which is horrifying. I mean, just and or and or maybe never had a child in the first place and had mental illness or whatever. But yeah, that is that would be a very scary scene to come upon in the dark. Absolutely. No rocking chairs in the dark anyway, even if they're empty, even if there's just a beautifully embroidered cushion in the chair. No. Yeah, leave the lights on it all time until that light bulb burns out. Yes. Rocking chairs shouldn't be in the dark. No, they can't. They can't be and certainly not in the attic. They don't exist in the dark. Okay. This is called elevator moment with a serial killer. Okay. Hello, Karen, Georgia, Stephen and various pets. I'll jump right in and

say, well, the story is not technically my hometown. It is definitely responsible for my interest in true crime. That's all we ask. Yeah, that counts for sure. In the late 1980s, my mom was a teenager living in Orange County, California. My grandpa was equal parts lovable and terrifying and everyone knew not to question what he asked of you. And so when my grandpa wanted my mom to go along with him to the LA County Men's Central Jail, so he could just visit one of his friends, she went. My grandpa's friend was being held in protective custody because although he was arrested for something nonviolent along the lines of embezzling money, and then it says fantastic choice and friends grandpa, he was a cop and couldn't be held in a cell next to people he potentially

arrested. When they got into the separate elevator to head towards protective custody, there was only one other visitor going up to the same floor. My mom noticed that while the woman was very attractive, she wore a pentagram on her neck and had similar images on her shirt. Quite the shock to my very Irish Catholic mom and grandpa, I'm sure. Not pentagram fans, I can attest. Nope. The woman's clothes quickly made sense to my mom when a few moments later, the elevator's door open and revealed none other than Richard Ramirez staring directly at them from behind protective glass, waiting for a visit from one of his infamous groupies. Oh, my shoulders. Yeah, all the way. All the way in my ears. That's right. All the way up to this

guy. My mom knew immediately who it was and tugged on my grandpa's arm saying, Dad, look, that's the night stalker. He teased her saying it couldn't possibly be him, but took a closer look and said it is that fucking creep, isn't it? And proceeded to flip him off with not one, but two hands for good measure as they walked by a fucking Irish Catholic. Are you guys allowed to do that? No, no way. Not in front of your child. No. Well, my grandpa seemed non plus by the whole situation. My mom said that the entire time they visited with my grandpa's friend, she couldn't stop sweating, having just experienced the terror of living in Southern California during Richard Ramirez's crime spree a few months prior. Oh, fuck. Needless to say, no matter how scary my grandpa

could be, my mom put her foot down and did not accompany him on any more county jail visits. No. Which in hindsight was a good move because my grandpa would end up locking eyes with Richard Ramirez at least once during every trip he made to the jail afterwards. Oh, shit. Stay sexy and don't take your teenage daughter to visit your criminal friend who happens to be cell neighbors with one of America's most notorious killers, Carly. Oh, my God. Yeah. Now I would just like to point to the first thing my brain served up, which is the lady from the night stalker documentary with the heart shaped glasses who was in the thrift store at the same time as Richard Ramirez and at the end when they start talking about those groupies, she goes, I think they're all

dumb bitches. She sure did. She was a gem. Okay. Ready for this shit? Yep. This subject line of this email is an old family murder. And then it says bonus, noun, last name. Hi, Karen, Georgia, et al. Thank you. I've been wanting to send this email for a while and I finally got quasi approval from my aunt. According to her, anyone who would care is either dead or wouldn't be listening to a podcast. Cool. Old people. Also, just keep in mind, anyone who makes podcasts and as Georgia and I have very thoroughly learned, therefore ever, you put something on the internet. You say this now, but it's just going to sit there until someone listens. Well, the grid might go down. The grid hopefully fingers crossed will go down soon. So here goes. My great, great grandfather

was murdered on his farm in 1926 in South Florida. His name was Joel Horne. There's that noun last name. Horne. Easy. Horne. Horne with an E. And he and his wife, Ardina, my dad called her grandma Hong Kong when he was settled in South Florida in the late 1800s. She was quoted as saying that they lived in three different counties without moving because the lines kept getting redrawn. No one in my family really talked about his death, but my aunt remembers hearing that he was murdered because he came across some men trying to steal his machinery in the barn. She said that they found him before he died, but he died either on the way to the hospital or shortly after arriving. I found one sentence about his murder in a book about the history of the area,

and they claimed that he was killed in his groves over a dispute over grapefruit with railway workers. They got the year wrong, so I'm hoping that they got that wrong too. No one should ever die over grapefruit. Either way, Ardina was left with the land and the responsibility of keeping everything running. She got together all of the money to pay the taxes on the property and gave it to her son in law to make the payment. On the way, he took it to the dog tracks and lost it. So the family lost the farm, and I lost my right to become the citrus baroness I was born to be. A country club now sits on that property. The insult to injury. You could have been so rich. You could have been sipping lemonade by the pool at that exact country grove. Oh, rough. Stay sexy and make your aunt

spill the secrets, Sarah. Yeah, Sarah, all right, media or fortune. And your, is it great grandfather or great grandfather? Oh, sorry, double great grandfather. Oh, wow. Yeah, so that's pretty far away. Well, someone else would have lost it at that point anyway. You know, the same family, I mean, sorry, the same kind of story is on my mom's side of the family. There was, there was a in her like her, my mom's great, great grandfather was a cop in San Francisco who was on the take and crooked and basically got super rich because of that. Yeah. And then when he died young, his wife took all the money and donated it to the SPCA. Oh, because she was like, this is not my money. She was just like, this is dirty. And this is like bad. It's bad. And my mom was like, we

could have been so rich. What the fuck. We had it then. Anyways, you might as well just. Okay. Looking for a better cooking routine with meal planning, shopping and prepping handled. Hello, fresh has you covered. Hello, fresh makes home cooking easy and affordable. So you can stay on track and on budget in the new year. Hello, fresh meals are convenient, seasonal and delicious. Stay cozy all winter long with classic comfort foods available weekly. Why stop with just dinner? Now you can enjoy Hello Fresh's expanded menu of quick lunch solutions, weekend brunch, simple side dishes and amazing desserts. Karen January is going to be my month for Hello Fresh. I am so sick of takeout. I miss cooking so much. I haven't lifted a knife or a

pan since like early fall. So I can't wait to get back in the kitchen and Hello Fresh makes it so easy and also makes it so that my food tastes good, which is hard to do on my own. It gives you everything, everything you need. So get up to 20 free meals with purchase plus free shipping on your first box at hellofresh.ca slash murder 20 with code murder 20. That's up to 20 free meals plus free shipping on your first box when you go to hellofresh.ca slash murder 20 and use code murder 20. Goodbye. 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. This is called We Were Sworn to Seek or See, Lighthearted. Hey pals, when I was around 12 years

old, my family went on vacation. We spent the day at a water park and as we were about to leave, I announced that I had to go to the bathroom. The line was long and our hotel was only a five minute drive away and so I was told to hold it. Hold it. Well, little did we know that we were driving straight into downtown rush hour and we're stuck in traffic for over two hours. At this point, I had a piece so badly that I was sobbing. I was sweating in the way that only happens when you know you're not going to make it to the bathroom. Tensions were running high. My older brother and younger sister kept yelling at me to shut up. My parents were pissed. Everyone was screaming. Meanwhile, I was about to pee my swimsuit in this rental van.

Not seeing any other option in the hotel nowhere in sight. My mom handed me this large novelty plastic cup from the water park. She told me to pee in it. You can imagine how horrified preteen me was to have to pee in front of my whole family, but desperate times, my friends. I crawled into the backseat of the van and hoped no one would hear the torrential downpour of my pee. I put the lid on the cup and handed it to my mom. Why she took it from me? I don't know. Because she's your mom. She's seen every hideous thing that's come out of you. That's right. Moms do that. Afterwards, we were still stuck in traffic. Everyone was still pissed and my dad had turned off the radio so we were just sitting in silence as my mom held this massive

cup of my warm piss. A few feet ahead of our car on the side of the road was a large garbage can, the kind you'd see in a city park. My mom announced that she was going to throw the cup away when we got up to there. The car continued to inch along in traffic, but eventually we were even with the garbage can. My mom rolled down her window and tossed the cup the three feet to the trash can or proceeded to hit the edge of the can. There's our dot, dots, dots between. That's my pause. The plastic cup splintered and my pee exploded. Dot, dot, dot. All over a man on a bike in a three piece suit. Oh, God. He stopped biking. My mom started to frantically crank up the window. The man was just staring at us and we were stuck there still in traffic with nowhere to run or hide.

Oh, my God. I know. He might not have known that it was pee, except my siblings and I were screaming, OMG, mom, you just threw pee on that man. No. My mom was screaming, whispering at us to shut up, but the damage was already done. Once the window was up, we all stared straight ahead and tried to avoid eye contact with the well-dressed man who was now drenched in my pee. No. He eventually biked away and we rode the rest of the way to the hotel in silence with my dad occasionally yelling at us to shut up and never tell anyone about this. I love the idea. I don't know if they meant to write it that way. It's silent and your dad's still screaming. Shut up. Shut up. I spent the rest of the vacation on edge. I was going to be arrested because it has to be

illegal to throw your pee on a stranger. It is. Absolutely. Absolutely. I was only comforted by the fact that I probably wouldn't go to jail because I only supplied the urine. My mom was the one to throw it. That's right. Just up the river. That's right. Just throw your mom right under that bus. Yeah. I still can't think about the story without cracking up and my family has since lifted our vow of secrecy surrounding it. If you're listening, man, I inadvertently pee on. I am so sorry. Ask SDGM, Megan. Hey, Megan. That's not a good enough. That's not good enough. It's we're both me and the man are still pissed. Literally. Literally. A horrible story. It's horrible. It's horrible. It's hilarious. It's terrible. Can I tell the briefest version of my

version of that story? Absolutely. Absolutely. Me and Patty Riley were going to, into San Francisco from Sacramento. We were drinking wine coolers. No, I think that was when we were mixing Gatorade and vodka. We heard it got into your bloodstream. Oh, God. She wasn't because she was driving. I was doing it. And then same exact thing where we got stuck on the Bay Bridge coming in. And I was like crying like, I'm so sorry. I'm gonna. And then there was a there was a big gulp, a plastic big cup cup in her back seat. Yeah. So I was like, I got to do it. And I did it. And then I put the lid on it. And when we did whatever exit we took off of the Bay Bridge, the first light we came to, I sat there and waited at the light was red. And then right at the last second, I opened the door

and just very gently put the cup on the ground and shut the door and we drove away. Yeah, you did. Yeah, you did. Someone ran over your feet. So Megan, I'm not judging you or your mother a little or that horrible thing because I'm guilty as a chart. These things happen. Thank God. I've never had to do that. The idea that that poor fucking man, he's just like the one time I try to ride my bike to work three piece suit. Oh, that's what you get. Oh my God. That's what you get for trying. All right. This is your last one. This is it. And it's worth it. Okay. Hi, y'all. While the shit show that is our world continues to spin out of control around us, I finally wanted to write in a story that is humorous with only a slight amount of danger and or damage done to all

involved. Thank God we got at least one of those. One of the greatest opening paragraphs of an email that we've read on here, considerate and lightly poetic. It all started after my fifth birthday party and me being a little pyromaniac I was becoming I want I wanted to relight my birthday candles and keep the party going. Right. It was only after I got the big lighter and lit one of the small candles that I apparently got scared by the small flame. I was so fascinated by that I just ended up dropping it onto the carpeted dining room floor and then watched as the flames became bigger by the second. Oh no. When the flame got to a certain point, I suddenly became scared of the fire and ran out of the dining room telling no one in the next room that I had just

set the carpet on fire and that it was getting bigger. It took my mom at least two minutes to get up and see why I had run out of the room. Oh no. Because who really cares, right? I mean, that's what a five year old does. To get up and see why I ran out of the room and for her to walk into the dining room to find it on fire. Needless to say, my parents called 911 and the fire department was able to make it to our house before the flames made it to the wall of the dining room that would have surely led to the rest of the house catching on fire. Absolutely. Thank God. Meanwhile, I was hiding in my room this entire time under a blanket on my bed thinking no one could find me and therefore no one could pin this on me. My parents using their common sense knew I was the last person in the

room before the fire started. And so therefore that I was the one who started the fire. They were eventually able to pry a crying five year old me out of my room and bring me into the now burned dining room to sit on my mom's lap so I could see what I had done. Of course, you can only scorn a five year old so much in order to not scare them, but make them realize that they had nearly burned the entire house to the ground. The firefighters still being there found it quite humorous that all of this happened because a kid wanted to relight her birthday candles. And they had to talk with me about the dangers of fire and what could happen. Needless to say, this officially gave me the title of the family pyromaniac to the point that I was not allowed to light any candle

of any sort until I turned 18. 13 year embargo on candles. But if we're being honest, the carpet in the dining room I lit on fire needed to go because who the hell thinks carpet looks good in a dining room. We eventually meaning about 12 years later got the floor in there redone all thanks to my moment of destruction. And it now looks so much better with hardwood floors. I hope this story was able to make you laugh, get some happiness from a bit of chaos and destruction and realize that if you have a carpeted dining room, you should tear the shit out of that before your small child forces you to because burn marks are a hard thing to cover up when people come over. I love y'all and all that you do. So keep up the good work, stay sexy and don't let your five

year old potential pyromaniacs relight their birthday candles. Mads. Mads, I got something to say. Why was there a big lighter just willy-milly around the freaking house? And this must have been a time before there was childproofing on lighters. Yes. I think you should have sat your mom on your lap in the dining room and said, mom, why is there a lighter? What did she got? She got the big lighter for her fifth birthday. Exactly right with her cigarettes. For real, if it was like 1975, that is absolutely a possibility. It was fucked up. Here, honey, here's a zippo with your engraving, your name on it. Here, you like red. I got you a red bic lighter. That's right. When you turn it upside down, the lady's top comes off.

Happy birthday, Mads. We love you. High five. We're going to the bar. That's right. And you're driving us there. Another great batch. Another great one. Send us your stories. And also, if you want one extra story from each of us in our mini-mini-soad, go to what? Myfavoritmurder.com and join the fan cult. Yes, please. Otherwise, just fucking email us your stories. Don't go to myfavoritmurder.squarespace.com because that is not us. That's not us. Someone just found that and showed it to me on the meeting I was just on. They're like, did Georgia make this long time ago? I was like, I have no idea. Maybe. I have no idea, but they're like, we should get taken down. If it was mine, I don't have the password anymore. Sorry, Steven. Steven's got

our name from our Night Stalker documentary. Esther Pichar. There she is. Esther Pichar. She is sorry. There's our hearts, right? I was right about the heart glasses. Yeah, the heart glasses, yeah. We love you, Esther Pichar. That's right. Yeah, watch the Night Stalker documentary on Netflix. It's excellent. Unbelievable. Very upsetting. It's very scary and very the people that they talk to are great. It's a really well made documentary. Yeah. Esther Pichar for president. Yay. Oh, also stay sexy and don't get murdered. Goodbye. 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 arrays at myfavoritmurder at gmail.com. And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at my favorite murder and Twitter at myfavemurder. And for more information about this podcast, our live shows, merch, or to join the fan cult, go to myfavoritmurder.com. Great review and subscribe!