My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 305

Episode Date: November 14, 2022

This week’s hometowns include a spooky library story and making pancakes from scratch.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is exactly right. 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, where we read you your stories. You sent them to us, and so we're going to read them to you.

That's right. You want to go first? Sure, I'll go first. Spooky library story. Hey, Murder Queens, you can call me Kay, he, him. And I used to work at a creepy haunted library. Picture it. A five-story brick of a building where every floor is its own little world.

First floor was reception circulation, where I worked with my very cool hippy-dippy bosses, think tie-dye shirts, and peculiarly decorated cubbies. Second floor was magazines, third floor was where all the books and spooky vibes lived. Just an entire floor of shelves and nooks and crannies for weird shuffling sounds to hide. You get the idea. So one day before closing, I had the usual task of taking the book cart up to reshelf. We stayed open pretty late, being a campus library, but not many people lingered typically,

since this was a smaller campus. I remember this particular day I'd already had a bad feeling circling around me. Being a longtime true crime fan, pre-your podcast times, I didn't like going up there at night because it's so secluded, you never knew who could be hiding amongst the stacks. We've had a couple library stories like this where hidden people are a fear of librarians. And if something bad were to happen, I don't think help would reach you quickly in the maze of sound-muffling books. But alas, work is work and spooky vibes is not a good enough excuse to the head honchos.

Anyway, I was near the end of my shelving duties when the last book took me to the occult aisle. Here the dark energies surrounding my thoughts kicked into overdrive. I got a heavy, oppressive feeling as if I was being watched, and something told me not to go down that aisle, but I shrugged it off and committed to my task. My wise old Mexican grandma taught me to ignore evil spirits so you don't give them power. So I walked to the end of the aisle and placed the book snugly where it belonged without touching anything else, and hurriedly walked back to get the F out of there, when from

behind me a funk sound made me stop. I turned to see a book on the floor of where I had just been standing. I looked but no one else was around, even bending down like people do in horror movies to see if there's any other legs about. I hesitantly walked back, my OCD not allowing me to leave the book where it fell, picked up the book, turned it over to see what it was only to be met with, I kid you not, big archaic looking letters that said one word, death. Shills ran down my spine, I put the book away and got the heck off that floor.

I told everyone downstairs what happened to me, and of course they just laughed. Was it an odd coincidence or some maligned spirit trying to shoo me away? Whatever it was, stay sexy and heed the warning signs. Love to you and the spooky crew, K. Spooky, wow, fuck that, I'm not going to go to a library at night. Yeah. Okay, this one's called Two Titanic Family Stories and Family Kismet, question mark? Hey y'all, I've been chewing at the bit for y'all to cover the Titanic because I have

two family stories relating to it. Some names are changed or amended for protection, I'm not sure how much clearance, I got to share this, my aunt and dad told me it was okay though. That seems like plenty of clearance. I made sure to ask my aunt to share some information so I could be as accurate and her antidotes will be in quotations. On my father's side, my great grandfather Joe, but everyone called him Pops, was supposed to actually work on the HMS Titanic as a fourth class worker.

He lived in County Cork, Ireland at the time, but due to the aftermath of the Irish famine, he wanted to move our family to America but didn't have enough money for fare. So he arranged a deal with the White Star Line that he would shovel coal for three journeys to pay for tickets for his family on another vessel, and they would essentially drop him and his family off in New York. Family legend goes he narrowly avoided working for the Titanic, but by some string of luck ended up working for the Olympic. Quote, but take with that with a grain of salt, you know how the Irish like to embellish,

and all I know that man is from legend. Unknown to Joe's family, but as he was shoveling coal to pay for his family's fare to America on the Olympic, one ship away and four stories up in the Titanic's first class was the ancestor of another family member. In the first class of the Titanic, Benjamin Guggenheim, my great uncle, was on the ship living life and whining and dining with a woman he brought with him. This woman was not his wife, but his mistress. Benjamin had left his wife in New York to take care of his two children at the time.

Quote, he notably dressed in his fine dining along with Mr. Rockefeller and drank fine bourbon until he went under. Additionally, my grandfather, Joe, making the journey three times was actually very common for workers to earn passage, as I have found for my own research and experience at the Titanic Museum. Once he was in New York, they became citizens and soon moved to New Jersey, where many years later a descendant of one of Benjamin Guggenheim met my aunt and got married. Crazy to think how years ago that the coal shoveler and the first class passenger families

would have come together. My aunt and the descendant didn't work out, but they had two awesome kids that are my older cousins, who I love dearly, and I'm always so happy to see what they accomplished in life. Thank you so much if you read this. I hope you'll have a great day. And thank you for being the voices in my head while I get my master's in biological ecology. Much love, Emma, she, they.

I mean, what a history had passed in the past. Double the Titanic. All over that Titanic. That's right. I am discerned, as they might say, in shipping, in the shipping circles. 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 Aresha. And I'm Brooke. And we're the hosts of Wondery's podcast, Even the Rich, where we bring you absolutely true and absolutely shocking stories about the most famous families and biggest celebrities the world has ever seen. Our newest series is all about the incomparable diva, Whitney Houston. Whitney's voice defined a generation, and even after her death, her talent remains unmatched.

But her incredible success hit a deeply private pain. In our series, Whitney Houston, Destiny of a Diva, we'll tell you how she hid her true self to make everyone around her happy and how the pressure to be all things to all people led her down a dark path. Follow Even the Rich wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. The subject line of this email is how I became a suspect in a Canadian money laundering scandal at 17 years old.

It just starts warning. The following contains a lighthearted cold case and a significant amount of teenage naivete. Hi, everyone. Love you dearly. Thanks, jump in. It is my senior year of high school and I am giddy about the idea of throwing my private all girls school kilt in the dumpster and starting my new and improved life in college. But before I could enter the world of coed dorms and Malibu rum, I needed a summer job.

So I signed up for Care.com. Within a few days, I received a message from a nice lady who was moving from Canada to my suburban town outside Philadelphia for her husband's job. In broken English, she explained how I would be looking after her infant son grocery shopping and doing chores around the house, typical nanny stuff. She was even offering me $25 an hour. In today's money, so much Malibu rum. So I quickly accepted the position and we exchanged phone numbers through the app.

With her big move only a week away, she informed me that she would be sending me a cashier's check in the mail to use for groceries on my first day. My parents thought the check seemed a bit unnecessary, but I calmed their suspicions with everything will be fine. Everything would not be fine. Soon enough, the cashier's check arrived in the mail for somewhere around $2500 for groceries. My parents now panicking launched into a heated debate over whether or not to call a lawyer. I sat quietly at the kitchen table rolling my eyes at the theatrics playing out in front

of me. I remember thinking, it was probably a mistake, I'll just text the lady and clear this up. But suddenly my text wouldn't go through and the number had been disconnected. The next day I came home from another uneventful day of high school to a police officer standing in my kitchen. Tears in my eyes, I immediately offered up my phone and personal belongings, which the officer assured me was completely unnecessary. As I was convinced I was getting arrested.

The officer explained how this is not the first report of an adult man creating fake profiles and carrying out money laundering schemes by targeting sites like Care.com to send fraudulent cashier's checks to America. My teenage naivete had made me the perfect target. An investigation was conducted, but the phone number was untraceable and the Care.com profile had been completely removed, so unfortunately the creep was never caught. I did go on to Nanny that summer for a wonderfully kind family that was recommended to me by a word of mouth, and now I live to tell the tale as a warning of how dangerous the internet

can be. I am forever grateful for my parents quick response to what would have been a very bad situation and for not having to get a mugshot in that unflattering private school polo shirt. So essentially that person was going to ask her to launder money for her? Yeah, I think they were going to, they send you a fake cashier's check. They say, go cash it. You send them the money that you got from it before the bank realizes the cashier's check was fake or whatever it was, so you get screwed and you're up.

You have to pay back the money. You're the one that actually did the crime. Exactly. Yeah. Yeah, and you owe the money. Thank you for everything you do. I get that coed dormant, cheap alcohol giddiness every time a new season is released. Every time a new episode is released, stay sexy and when you get involved in a Canadian

money laundering scandal, call your parents. Love CP. Man, it's so easy to get wrapped up in a scam like that. It's just, you don't even think twice about it. I remember when I was looking for apartments once and there was just this one that was so good and now looking back, too good to be true, but it was like, we just need your social security. We're just going to do a background check on you now because we love you.

And I needed the apartment so badly, I almost said, okay. And a friend was like, don't fucking, I would have never even thought twice about it. Right. And then your parents or your smarter friend comes in and it's like, don't do that. I also just, I'm sure I watched a TikTok, but somebody said, if somebody is trying to get you to do something like that quickly, like they're like, do it right now. You have to do it now. Yeah.

That's how you know they're scamming you somehow because it's like, okay, I'll get you my social security number tomorrow and they would be fine with it if it wasn't, well, you never give anyone your social security number, but it's like, but if you can put it off a couple days and they're still normal, then at least, you know, they're not scamming you right this second. Rushing you. This one's called, I promise I didn't make this up. This is actually a true crime one.

Greetings MFM family. For over a year now, I've been thinking about what I might be able to contribute to hometowns and oh boy, when this story hit me as an idea, it was more exciting than Christmas morning. Buckle your seatbelts, everyone. I grew up in a little cascade range of mountain town called North Bend located 25 miles east of Seattle. The town itself is tucked into a valley between Mount Si and Rattlesnake Mountain. It's a pretty damn touristy town.

Many city dwellers come to hike up to Rattlesnake Ledge or Gawk at Tweeds Cafe, the famous cafe featured in the show Twin Peaks. If you're familiar with Twin Peaks from the early nineties, it was filmed right here in North Bend, Washington. When I tell people I'm from North Bend, I'll often get the response, oh, so you're from Twin Peaks, and I just say yes. Back in April of 2012, news came out that a woman, her daughter, and their dog were murdered in their home, which was then set on fire.

The woman's husband, Peter Keller, skipping the fake name things, it's all over the world wide web at this point, was missing in action, which obviously highlighted him as the prime suspect. Six days after the double homicide, I was out and about at the outlet mall with my mom. As soon as we stepped foot out of the Nike store, we were taken aback by the sight of helicopters swarming Rattlesnake Mountain. To tack on to the recent news that had already shook our town to its core, information was released that Peter Keller was found dead on Rattlesnake Mountain.

A crew of SWAT team members and local deputies found his body in an underground bunker where he fled right after murdering his family and igniting his house. He took his own life with a shot to the head. You're probably wondering what the hell is up with this bunker. To spice up the story even more, turns out Peter Keller constructed it to serve as a shelter and protecting him from the end of the world. Reports say it took him at least eight years to build. Connecting some dots here, this event all occurred in 2012, which is a year that many

people believe to be the end for all of us. With that being said, I'm going to take a guess that the timing on this horrific acts were intentionally aligned with the whole 2012 Armageddon theory. This man literally stored food, guns, survival supplies, and a buttload of cash all in his shack that he built into the ground. It was said that he planned this entire series of events years before he took initial action in killing his family. Can you imagine eight years waiting and knowing you're going to kill your family?

So that was the plan all along? Like he was a, it was familiar side or whatever you call that? It sounds like maybe he wasn't going to take his own life and that just changed. But eight years. I was a freshman in high school at this time and was five years younger than Peter's daughter, Kaleen. I did not know her or his wife myself, but some of my peers did. It was quite eye-opening to see individuals around me that were personally affected by

this tragic story. Stay sexy and don't underestimate those fearing the end of the world, Amanda. I mean, that's great advice, Amanda. Very heavy. Yeah. Heavy advice. And just like for a small town too, that's just so, so much. Okay, here's my last one.

It's the subject line is short and sweet grandma behaving badly. Dear girls on my murder podcast, I've been sitting on the story for a while and since you asked for bad grandparent stories, I figure now is the time. My step-grandpa, Del, had one brother, John, and that brother had a daughter, name unknown, so we'll call her Jill. When Jill was around 12, she died in a house fire. She was buried in a cemetery. A few years later, her father, John, dies in a car accident.

He wanted to be cremated, but his ex-wife knew he would want to be with his young daughter as well. So one night, my grandma, Arlene, step-grandpa, and the brother's ex-wife snuck into the cemetery. They dug a little hole near her plot and buried the cremated remains. Wow. I must have looked horrified because my grandma said, it's not like we dug up her grave and we put the grass back to make it look like it. We didn't dig a hole.

And then just the sign off is stay sexy and don't dig up graves. Oh my God. Crystal. I'm pretty sure it's illegal to dig a hole in a cemetery. Yeah, they don't want it. Just people going in there and making adjustments on their own. They frown upon that. My father almost poisoned us, light-hearted.

Hey, friends, if I remember correctly, I believe at one point you were looking for stories of times when our parents almost killed us. I'm very late to write this story in, but hopefully you'll still get to read it and get a kick out of it. Five years ago, my dad had begun his midlife crisis and had started partying with his friends a little too much. I wonder how old he was midlife. I wonder what that means to people.

Like in his 40s, maybe? Is that midlife? Oh man. It is. After a heavy night of drinking, my dad returned early that morning and decided that he would make the whole family a big breakfast, drunk big breakfast. He worked hard in the kitchen making his girls a delicious breakfast of hash browns, bacon, eggs, and of course, pancakes.

Dad had always taken pride in making his pancakes from scratch rather than from a box. Of course, no judgment to those that prefer the mix from a box. Thank you. That's me. I didn't even realize you could make them from scratch. I was just like, sorry, wait, how else would you make them besides just dumping out some biscuits? Oh yeah.

Well, just flour, baking soda, baking powder, that's all the box is really, right? It's just premixed. Got it. Dry ingredients. Yeah. But I couldn't do it, if you ask me. It seems very scary to me. When breakfast was ready, my sister was the first to excitedly dish up.

As my sister sat down and began feasting on her food, she looked at my mom concerned and told her that her pancakes tasted weird. The pancakes taste clean, she stated. Oh, we all gave a confused look to my dad who was sure to us. That's just this new vanilla I'm trying out. My sister shrugged her shoulders and continued eating not one, but two pancakes. I then started to dish myself up. And as I went to the fridge to grab some ketchup and maple syrup, I noticed a bottle of pine

salt on the shelf in the refrigerator. Why is the pine salt in the fridge? I asked. We all looked around confused at each other. Our confusion quickly turned to concern when it finally clicked. My dad had mistakenly grabbed the bottle of pine salt instead of the cooking oil. Same bottle. Totally fucking looks the same.

I wonder if those are literally like the same bottle from the same factory. Manufacturer, maybe, because they, and it's the same color too, like a yellowish. And the only reason we had caught onto the fact was because he had accidentally put the oil in the fridge instead of the cupboard. A double accident, really. So he was so drunk. He also put the oil away in the fridge, which it doesn't belong there, but thank God otherwise she wouldn't have noticed it and everyone would have fucking eaten it.

My sister initially started dramatically coughing and grabbing her throat, exclaiming, I think I can feel my throat closing up. My mother called poison control and they assured us that the amount that would be diluted into the pancake she ate was nowhere near enough to kill her as he'd only used two tablespoons for the whole batch of pancakes. After we were certain, my sister's throat was not, she's still ate motherfucking pine salt. It's like, you don't want to eat pine salt.

You still ate pine salt. You're not dying. You're just not dying. Not dying and living after eating pine salt pancakes, it's a world apart. Like you're not poison, but maybe something else. There's other bodily harm. I wouldn't. You just throw up.

I mean, you just. That's where the epicac comes in, I think. That's why you got to have that on hand. After we were certain, my sister's throat was in fact not closing up and she was fine. We all couldn't stop laughing. That's a fun family. Dad then decided that he maybe still be slightly intoxicated and put himself back to bed. Why my parents kept the pine soul in the same cupboard as the cooking oil is still beyond

me. Yeah. Let's change that immediately. Yeah. My father passed away unexpectedly in July of this year. I am currently expecting my first child, what would have been his first grandchild. He was so very excited when we told him we were expecting. He kept shaking my husband's hand and hugging me saying, thank you so much.

I've been waiting so long for this. Oh, I know. It came off kind of cringy, but it was still very cute to see him so excited. My heart breaks knowing that my children won't get the opportunity to meet their grandpa as he hoped to be called. But memories like this one and many others always put a smile on my face and I can't wait to tell my kids what kind of man their grandpa was. Though I may save the story in particular for when they're much older, lol.

Stay sexy and keep your cooking oil and pine soul in separate locations and cherish your time and memories with your parents, Avery. Did Avery say what year it was that this happened? They said it was five years ago. Oh. So not that long ago. Because that, to me, every detail of that story is 1978. Yeah.

Pine soul. Do people still use pine soul? I guess we do. They only did in 1978. I think this is, like, would be an amazing commercial for pine soul because it's been a stalwart cleaning item for what, 250 years it seems like, and it doesn't kill you if you eat some. That's right.

You'll be fine. Put it in the commercial. It'll be a good family legend to talk about at some point, too. Pancakes taste clean. They taste clean. Like lemony. Isn't pine soul lemony? Ew.

Mmm. It's piney. Oh, my God. Send us your stories about when you almost got poisoned and it didn't actually happen. Or you did get poisoned, but everything was okay. Or your dad either did an amazing breakfast or the worst breakfast of all time. Yeah. Because dad's doing, like, I'm going to cook Sunday morning breakfast can be a real event.

How about drunk parent stories? We have drunk kid stories. Let's do drunk parent stories. Let's absolutely, well, you know what, I'll start it off. The one that me and my sister loved the most, and it just happened very recently, like within the last five years, was my dad and my sister were at, it was some family party. Maybe it was like a wedding, so we didn't know half the people there. And at one point, my sister and my dad went to leave and of course my dad loves to drink

with his family and brothers. So he's pretty buzzed, but not like, you know, he can still speak and he's, you know, walking on his own. Yeah. He's a drinker and they get into this elevator and there's a woman on the elevator with like big, jangly bracelets and huge earrings and like a really printed outfit, like a real outfit. Yeah.

And my dad walks it up to the elevator, stares at her and goes, are you Dutch? I thought you were going to say Stevie Nicks or something like that. Are you Dutch? Where does it even come from? I have no fucking idea. My sister said she was so embarrassed and so like, then they, they were entering the elevator. So then they had to then ride the elevator with the Dutch lady.

Oh, embarrassing drunk parents, please send us your stories at my favorite murder at Gmail. And stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Elvis, do you want a cookie? This has been an exactly right production. Our senior producer is Hannah Kyle Crichton. Our producer is Alejandra Keck.

This episode was engineered and mixed by Stephen Ray Morris. Our researchers are Marin McClashen and Gemma Harris. Email your hometowns and fucking hurrays to myfavoritmurder at gmail.com. Follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at myfavoritmurder and Twitter at myfavemurder. Goodbye. Goodbye. Listen, follow, leave us a review on Amazon Music, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

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