My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 306

Episode Date: November 21, 2022

This week’s hometowns include one of the worst babysitters and going to a concert with your parents.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. It's the mini-soad. This is your soad. You're a really big part of it. Do you want to go first on this one? Cookie's staring at me, really concerned looking and I don't know what's wrong with her. What's her ask or what her concern is? She always looks concerned. She's got those eyebrows. Okay. How not to hire a hitman? It just starts, good morning, good morning, good morning.

There's a fun quirky little Pinterest saying that goes something like, insanity does not run in the family. Rather, it strolls through taking its time, getting to know everyone personally. When I tell you that this describes my family perfectly, I am not kidding. From the time my grandfather's mother-in-law and ex-wife were murdered three days after their divorce, then it says he didn't do it. To the time my grandma ghosted the heir to a mafia family after he proposed to her, probably for the best, I tend to have excellent stories to tell at parties. But my favorite story to share is about my great-aunt Janet. Everyone always says that Janet used to be popular, beautiful and smart, but for reasons that no one

ever seemed to want to tell me, but which will shortly become obvious, she had been cut off from most of the family since before I was born. As I got older and my family got a little looser with our sordid family history, things started to make a bit more sense. To make a long and painful story short, Janet went fully off the deep end to the point that though we can't prove it, my family is fully convinced that she killed her own mother, my grandma. Everyone in my family disowned her. Because she's the unpleasant kind of crazy, Janet's husband promptly divorced her ass after my great-grandmother's death. Janet was less than pleased with this. Obviously, there's only one thing left for her to do. So she packed up her things, moved to a new apartment

building and hired her janitor to kill her ex-husband. Oh, not an expert killer, literally just the guy from her building meant to fix the plumbing and occasionally repaint shit. I guess his maintenance job didn't pay very well because he agreed. Janet gave the guy explicit instructions to make sure it looked like an accident so that she could collect the four million dollar life insurance policy that she had on her ex-husband. That doesn't seem right. That it's so much money? Yeah, red flag. Yeah, I mean. The janitor kept the money that she gave him but thankfully never actually hired anyone. Maybe the landlord gave him a raise or maybe his conscious intervene since he ended up going to the police and agreeing to appear as a witness on her trial. And that's

where the story should end. However, while awaiting trial, Janet approached a fellow inmate and because she is apparently a one-trick pony, tried to hire them to kill the janitor who was testifying. Oh, no, no. You know, because hiring a hitman worked out so well the first time. The fellow inmate was apparently due to be released before Janet's trial and she offered them an insane amount of money to kill the janitor as well as her ex-husband's new wife. The inmate reported all of this in order to get time off of their own sentence. Since that didn't work out for Janet, she decided to try something exciting and new and different. She approached another inmate and tried to hire them to do the same thing, this time targeting both of her attempted hires, her ex,

and her ex's wife. That's right, folks. The list just keeps going. Because apparently even in contract killing, the third time's the charm. Thankfully, they reported her to the guards again and Janet was successfully charged with two counts of first-degree felony criminal solicitation and one of her attorneys was even allegedly disbarred. Oh. Over the course of the case, she attempted to hire three different hitmen to kill over four people before being sentenced to life. As far as I'm aware, she's finally left her hitman hiring ways behind her, but I'm going to keep an eye out anyways. Stay sexy and don't hire hitman Liza. Liza, it's heavy shit, but it also reminds me of my tendency where I'm just like, I'm really stressed and tired, so I'm going to

eat macaroni and cheese. I know it's not going to work, but I'm going to do it anyway. It works a little bit. It works for the first 15 minutes, but it's that same thing where you're just like, oh my God, I fucked everything up. Hitman. Let me hire it. It's not the solution to anything. No, and it's just so crazy to me that people would be like, my family's so crazy. And then you just pull out, that's your aunt and that's their story. Like, okay, you win. My family's not that crazy. That's right. My family really likes cats. It's not. We don't try to get people killed. I mean, it's context. It's context. Okay. Couldn't pass by. This one is also a little bit long, but I couldn't pass by this headline from your Japanese murderino, which I love how that's

phrased like there's just the one. Love it. Love her. I was recruited by the Aum Shinrikyo cult, right? And it starts Kanichiwa, Georgia and Karen. I really enjoy your podcast from Japan and have learned a lot about American true crime and culture. Oh, no. Wow. Wow. Teaching people. Through this show. Oops. We are very cultured. We are. I particularly liked the recent episode about Aum Shinrikyo. I was impressed that you covered a lot of details that even Japanese people might not know. Oh, Karen. Well, that's Marin. Marin McClashen is the researcher. I can't take credit because she did an unbelievable job reporting that I want to take credit for. When the terrorist attack occurred in 1995, I was still a university student.

Actually, I worked part time a few days a week at one of the affected train stations. Wow. Wow. I could have been there, but I was just lucky to have the day off. I still remember that I felt scared to death to hear the news. Little did I know I had met one of the cult members a couple years before. In 1993, I left my hometown in southern Japan and started living alone for the first time in my life. I was 18 years old. One day, I saw a poster about a curry party at the university hosted by a cooking club. I liked Indian food, so I went to that party with friends. It was fun, but we never went back because the boys really weren't that cold. That's good. At that party, I met a boy who seemed to be relatively okay. He asked me out,

saying he wanted to take me to a special French restaurant. In my innocence, I was lured by the idea of having a fancy dinner. Of course you were. Sure. But when we arrived at the quote-unquote restaurant, I felt something was off. It was obviously an apartment where someone lived, not a restaurant. That's horrifying. So scary. I also remember a purely white, weird door with a gold sun ornament which stood out from the surroundings. Soon, a man who was probably the restaurant owner slash cook started bringing French food. The boys seemed to know the guy, which made me feel more insecure, but I stayed anyway. And then in parentheses, it says, I honestly don't know what I was thinking. You were 18. That's what you were thinking.

You were 18. Someone was like, hey, I'd like to take you out on a proper date. Yeah. And you were like, I will believe in love. Yeah. You're not going to get up and walk out like you would now. No. Okay. So I barely remember what we talked about during dinner. One thing I do remember is that when he found out my grandpa had cancer, he said something like, quote, he must have spent his money for the wrong purposes and he must give up his greed to recover. I thought it was none of his business. And how you spend money had nothing to do with getting sick. This and that weird setting finally turned me off. I said I wanted to go home because I didn't feel well. They tried to hold me up saying, you can lie on the couch for a while.

But I made it clear that I wanted to go home and then I headed to the front door. The boy insisted he drive me home. I said it wasn't necessary. But again, I somehow accepted his offer because I didn't know how to fuck politeness yet. Luckily, he safely drove me home. He said something about our destiny when I left the car. I said, yeah, I'll get in touch with you. But I never called him back. Yeah. Sometime after the subway attack, I was absentmindedly watching TV. The media was again covering Om Shinrikyo and how the cult was eagerly recruiting university students. The anchor started listing clubs they were using as covers. When I heard one name,

I couldn't believe my ears. It was the club that organized the curry party. When I turned to the TV, I saw the white door of that weird French restaurant. That's my story with Om Shinrikyo. I guess I failed their test. And then there's a little smiley face with Colin in parenthesis. But thinking how close I was to the cult still creeps me out. Thank you for reading until the end. I also thank Emily, who is another murderer who introduced me to this fantastic podcast. She also helped me write this email. I'll always continue to listen to you guys from Japan. So please stay sexy and don't get murdered. And there's no name. Did they say their name at the beginning? No, there's no name. Oh my god. We were Japanese

listeners. Konnichiwa. Konnichiwa. To the one murderer in Japan. Emily, thank you for helping our one murderer in Japan write this email. It's so legendary. We're thrilled to get it. That's wild. That was so wild. Crazy. Crazy. That is a near miss. 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 the new year. HelloFresh 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 HelloFresh's expanded menu of quick lunch solutions,

weekend brunch, simple side dishes, and amazing desserts. Karen January is going to be my month for HelloFresh. I am so sick of takeout. I miss cooking so much. I haven't lifted a knife or a pan since early fall. So I can't wait to get back in the kitchen and HelloFresh 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 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.

Okay, my next one is a spooky season hometown. Why are kids so creepy? Grab your cozy blankets, trusty flashlights, and gather around murdering us. It's creepy kid story time. My little sister recently bought a very lovely, very big, very old home with her husband on the north shore of Chicago. This home was originally built in 1900. For American standards, this is pretty old. We will refer to this sister as Auntie Jay. Being a very nice aunt and wanting to show off her beautiful new home, Auntie Jay hosted our other sister and three nephews overnight. As they tell it, the night went great. They played flashlight tag with the full run of this four story home, watched a movie and ate junk food. As the fun came to a close, Auntie Candy and

three boys settled into the two bedrooms in the older portion of the house. Everyone fell peacefully asleep after Auntie Candy yelled multiple times across the hall, boys, go to bed, no more talking. Then 3am rolled around. Auntie Candy woke up to the sound of wind praying from across the hall in the boys room. She quietly crept into the boys room and with the light from the hallway, she saw one of the boys, Griffin, five years old, sitting up in bed. Griffin was crying quietly and looking into the dark part of the room. Auntie Candy knelt next to Griffin and softly asked him if he had a nightmare and if he would like her to lay with him. Griffin pointed into the darkness and said, the little boy, he won't leave me alone. He keeps telling me to get

out of his room. Auntie Candy's head whipped around to see nothing but a darkened room and a closed closet door. So like the great big sister slash mommy slash auntie, she is. Candy hugged Griffin and soothed him back to a calm state while internally screaming, what the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? Auntie Candy laid with Griffin for the rest of the night with her eyes wide open, scanning the room, internally freaking out and cursing Auntie J and her haunted house. The next morning, Auntie Candy gave Auntie J the haunted play-by-play through tired and scared whispers. Auntie J's response was, oh, yeah. So the dog has been growling at empty rooms since we moved in. I found out that the family who last lived here had a little boy

who died of cancer. So I bet that's who Griffin saw. Auntie Candy responded, so Griffin sees dead people. And then it says, cue Haley Jo Osmond's screen grab from that movie. I can't remember the name of it. Oh well. Poor creepy Griffin and being able to see dead people, poor little boy who passed away and can't move on. Poor Auntie Candy who needed someone to hold her that night. Sometimes grown-ass adults need hugs and reassurances that it's just your imagination. Happy spooky season. Stay sexy and tell people spending the night if your house is haunted. Love, Auntie M. Yeah. Auntie M, you're 100% right. That's that disclosure should be required. Yeah. How fucking scary. Wait, why can't I think it's the sixth sense is the name of that movie?

Oh, that was driving me insane. Wow. Yeah. But that is so intense. You don't want to hear little kids whispering about like that little boy over there won't leave me alone. And also every time you hear those stories, you know it's because a child died. It's like that reverberating sadness through the years. It's so sad. Totally. Now we get to change gears because this is very different. Hello gals. Love your podcast. This is not a murder, but it is a hilarious story. I live in Australia. My grandparents lived in a super sketchy area, which was nice when they moved there in 1960, but it became very sketchy as time passed. One day my grandparents in their 80s went to drop off some garden clippings at the local

dump. On the other side of this 10 foot wire fence next to the dump, they spied some lovely bushy plants and thought how lovely who would throw away all these beautiful plants? What a waste. So loving a bargain, my grandparents drove into the compound, backed up their little Toyota Corolla and filled their car boot and backseat with the plants. When they got home, they proceeded to plant the bushes along their front fence, congratulating themselves on getting such a bargain. The next day, their neighbor who is a police officer was walking his dog and couldn't believe his eyes when he spied the row of huge bushy marijuana plants along the front fence of my grandparents' home. He knocked on the door and asked my grandmother where she got the plants.

After hearing the story, he told Nana that the plants were marijuana plants, which are illegal in Australia. Hilariously, my octogenarian grandparents had just waltzed into a police evidence compound, loaded their car with illegal drugs seized from a police raid, and innocently planted them along their front fence. Given the area they live in, I was impressed that the pot plants were still there after one night. The police drug squad had to come to my grandparents' house to dig up all the stolen evidence. Very embarrassed that they had been hoodwinked by a couple of very elderly thieves. We've never let them live it down and it's still hilarious to this day. My grandparents are now both gone with my Nana passing just last December

at the age of 96. R.I.P. Nana, you are a boss and there's no name signed to that. It's fucking hilarious. That is a beautiful, beautiful story. I bet they look gorgeous. I bet they look big and hedgy. Yeah, almost like this. These are like hedges waiting to hedge. And plants like that are fucking are expensive, like not dweed, but like beautiful hedge plants. That's hilarious. Yeah, I love that. I have a grandma story too, my last one. Perfect. Grandma Wayona. It's W-Y-O-N-A. That's Wayona, right? I'd say so. Hey, M-F-M crew, long-time listener, first-time writer, et cetera. I'm a location scout and spend a lot of time driving around and going up to strangers' homes to ask if they want their house in a movie while having

pepper spray on hand. And you two have kept me entertained and prepared for a long time. So thank you for that. I'm ready to tell you a quick snippet of my grandma's life that she shared with me over the years over cups of tea and her chocolate chip cookies. My grandma's name is Wayona Violet. And then I says, I think that's, I think this will rank pretty high with the cool grandma names. And she was born in 1924 and grew up in rural Canada. She was the fourth of 13 children and when we pissed off, every time she saw her mom wear a white apron signalling she was pregnant again. Fuck, there's that apron. Damn it. And she got pissed off nine times. Yeah, that's a lot. Because there were 13 kids and they were in rural Canada, the older children had to take care of the

younger children. My grandma told me about one day that stuck out in particular. She was probably between 10 and 12 and was in charge of looking after one of her baby sisters with another one of her sisters. She didn't give me many details about how, but they somehow lost the baby. They looked around for her to no avail. The baby was old enough to crawl and walk. I thought you meant lost the baby. You said lost the baby. And with a little laugh, I'm like, what the fuck? No, no, they were babysitting and they lost the baby. Sorry, got it. The baby was old enough to crawl and walk away. So maybe she was a toddler. I don't know. Anyway, hours later, their dad arrived home with the lost baby. It turns out, while he was riding his horse home from work, he came across

a train stop on the tracks. He went to investigate the scene and saw that his baby daughter was sitting on the tracks. No. Luckily for everyone involved, and especially my grandma, the train conductor spotted the baby crawling on the tracks and stopped the train in time. And of all the times my great grandfather would be passing by on his route home, he got to see that it was his own daughter on the tracks. Shit. My grandma was obviously not put in charge of babysitting for a while after that. Anyway, while listening to you guys for years, I realized that my grandma was the first murderer I knew. She lived alone for almost 25 years after my grandpa died and would watch a date line and murder mysteries every night before bed. She had some very hard times in her

life and was an amazing, strong, sassy, loving woman through it all. My dad's parents passed away long before my brothers and I were born, and my mom's dad passed when we were very young, so Wayona was our only grandparent for most of our lives. My grandma passed away in 2018, and I think about her all the time. I'm glad to share my love of true crime with her, and thank you again for being a comfort to listen to, just like my grandma was comforted to 48 hours before bed, except I'm definitely not as brave to listen right before bed. Love, Christina. Christina, congratulations on Wayona Violet. Wayona Violet. One of the worst babysitters by best grandmothers there has ever been. Wandered onto the train tracks. It's such an old-fashioned

story of like the dad's coming home on a horse. Yeah. She's on the train tracks. Yeah, and like a child is watching a baby and loses track of the baby. The father doesn't get arrested when he walks up as like, oh, it's my baby. All good. It's fine. You know me. Okay, here's my last one, and it's an 1880s trash dad story. Great. It starts, hello. Here's a fun trash dad story as requested. It was 1988 Salt Lake City. I was 13. My mom and dad took me and a friend with them to see Aerosmith. Sorry. I don't know why I think that's so funny. Just your parents were like, come on, let's go see Aerosmith together. Love and an elevator, everybody. Me and a friend with them to see Aerosmith who had just had a big comeback with the permanent vacation album. My parents

went down to the floor and told us to go up into the stands to watch. That way we could see better. Remember the 80s when your boomer parents would just tell you where and when to meet them later so that they could party on their own with their friends. No, just me. Before the concert even started, there was a commotion down on the floor. The house lights were still on and everyone in the Salt Palace, and I really do mean everyone, could see a fight. It was very exciting and everyone was yelling and cheering. Then I actually paid attention. It was my dad fighting with some rando. You see, back then my dad, Lonzo, rocked a mohawk, which was extremely rare for Salt Lake City in the late 80s. It probably still is. So I could spot my dad in any crowd. Without even

thinking, I just yelled, that's my dad. That's so badass. I don't know why your dad of the mohawk is the coolest thing I've ever heard. It's really great. Everyone should see SLC punk if they haven't seen it. It's such a good, funny, amazing movie that is kind of about this, perhaps about this man specifically. So they yell, that's my dad. And the people around me asked, which one, the guy winning or losing, to which I proudly replied, the one winning with the mohawk. It gets better, and then it says in parentheses, worse. My dad had just been to a Utah jazz game. That is basketball, my dear non-sport fan friend. Thank you. Thanks so much. A few days before, and he'd gotten into a fight that night too. So when security brought them back at the concert, the head security guy

looked at my dad and laughed and said, you again? Oh no. I honestly don't know how he did it. Trash dad magic, I guess, but he didn't get kicked out of the game or the concert. Security sent him back and told him to avoid the other guy the rest of the night. Looking back, this seems so bizarre, and I have dozens of crazy Lonzo stories. He is truly one of a kind. I really wish I had a picture to share. Sorry. I've literally never thought about this before. I wonder who drove us home that night. Yikes. And then it just says, have a good one, Tina from Minnesota. A dad getting into a fist fight story. Like the thought of my dad, Marty, getting into a fist fight is so impossible that to picture someone else's dad is kind of amazing with a mohawk. Tell us your stories about

your trash dad at my favorite writer at Gmail. And thanks for writing in, everyone. Yeah, thanks for being a part of this mini-sode and this community. Yeah. 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 McLashen 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 myfavoritmurder. Goodbye.