My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 333

Episode Date: May 29, 2023

This week’s hometowns include a wild first date and a shocking deathbed confession.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

It's hard to imagine losing a loved one, a wife, a husband, a child. For many, it's their biggest fear. Amarissa Jones, host of The Vanished. A podcast that tells the stories of often overlooked and unsolved missing persons' cases, in an effort to uncover the truth. Listen to The Vanished on Amazon Music or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm not saying hello. Hello. Hello.

And welcome to my favorite murder. It's the mini-sode. Hi. What's up? One of your some stories that you told us? Yeah, you told us stories, we're retelling it. This is a game of telephone essentially. We're gonna try to be word perfect. Yes. It is your story. Yeah. All right. Do you want to go first? You want me to go first. Do you have a strong like tear jerker ender or like what do you think? Oh, let's see. Um, no, I end on an up funny next. Okay, I have a deathbed confession. And

Jesus. Okay. Does that mean you go first or I go first? So if I go first, then you go, then I go, then you go, then I go, then you go. So you go first and then I go and then you go and then I go and then you go. And then you go. And then you go. And yeah, yeah, you go first, and then I go, and then you go, and then I go, and then you go, and then you go, and then you go, and then you go, and then yeah, yeah, you go first. Listen, I'll memorize this pattern in year 15, but it's only year seven. Yeah. The fuck am I supposed to do? Okay. Right. I'm not going to read you the subject line. It says, y'all sit tight for this one. Okay. And then the first paragraph says, I am bypassing

your praise, although you are worthy of it to condense the email. Please accept a peasant's apology is for not singing of your goodness. Here we go. I mean, you don't need to do it if you're gonna write. But also, what a stance to take. What an argumentative. It's like, I'm not doing this. I know you think I'm a peasant. Now listen to this amazing story. It's really, it's a great way to get people kind of like, what now I'm just waiting to see what you're going to say next. It better be good. It better be. You set this up.

I think it is though. It says, I recently listened to episode 367 where Karen covered the missing person story of Donald Bordman and I knew it was my time to shine. So I know if you remember that one, we're now wasting for like 30 years. And he his body was found down in the routine. Yeah. Okay. And then he eventually was identified through the woman on the internet. Correct. Yes. Who literally did it by psychic vibes. Yeah. In saying, okay.

did it by psychic vibes. Yeah, insane. Okay. So it says, sit back while I write you an email, there has it all, embarrassed, fangirling, a high ranking member of True Crime Society, and my own hometown murder classic story. In the summer of 2021, I was out walking around early one morning in the middle of the week. I am a teacher. It is summer break after the first year of COVID teaching. And I was just enjoying the sweet freedom and sunshine on my face in my small subdivision. My husband and I had barely been moved in a year. And I feel that no one really saw their neighbors

or met new people with the craziness of COVID. When turning a curve, I happen to see this sweet older man walking toward me. I live in Knoxville, Tennessee, but on a quieter side of a growing city. As we got closer, we exchanged southern hellos and stopped to talk. I noticed he was wearing a military hat, so I thanked him for service and asked him which branch he had served in. He told me that during the service he got into anthropology, and after leaving service, he worked in forensic anthropology.

My ears perked up, and I dove right into telling him how much I love true crime stories. The man just grinned and asked me what intrigued me about these stories. As I told him the story of my uncle who is still a cold case in the state from the 80s, he chatted with me about what had been done to find him through the years, et cetera. As I talked further with him, he told me that he was retired, but he had really enjoyed his years of work at the University of Tennessee. And this says, in all caps, how did I not pick up on this sweet old man's hints? He pointed out which house was his and invited me to come by and chat when outwalking anytime.

I walked away, got back to my house, and audibly gasped while home alone. Yep, you guessed it, my neighbor is Dr. Bass. So that's the guy that basically started looking into that missing person and putting all the medical clues together. My first interaction with him afterwards, I tried to play it cool until I couldn't any longer. He just laughed and acted like it was nothing. As a murderino, I felt like I it cool until I couldn't any longer. He just laughed and acted

like it was nothing. As a murderino, I felt like I was standing in the presence of glory. So about this uncle of mine, he went missing in the summer of 1986 in our home state of Tennessee. He literally vanished. His car was found, run off the side of the road, and some personal items left scattered. That was it, nothing else. My mama went looking for him immediately. I think that's her nickname for her grandma. She went plum across the country looking for him at any and every lead, but to no avail. As I got older, my mom, who was the daughter-in-law,

told me about what really went down that night in July of 1986. My uncle was into drugs and rumor had it that it was a drug deal gone bad with the sheriff of the county. Get these rumors. First, the night my uncle died, the sheriff had some property up on the mountain that a neighbor reported seeing large equipment out digging around 2 a.m. Once he was reported a missing person, the sheriff put a block on anyone digging in the area.

The area has still not been searched to this day. Since his disappearance, one of the suspects in this case has died and another is serving a lengthy term in federal prison for drug and weapons offenses. The main person, the chief, never uttered a word even on his deathbed. About every 10 years, TBI will bring up the case and look into it. The last time they did around 2013, a random lady showed up on the porch of the farmhouse and told my family to quit bringing this shit back up. It's almost 30 years later,

and there's still some idea that people would do something about it if the truth was to be uncovered. The second rumor is that he was ground up at a local farm meat processing plant. This some Ozark shit going on. It's so dark. It's so horrible. My uncle was presumed dead at the age of 27. I am 28.

Yeah. That is sometimes a hard pill for me to swallow. Both my grandmother and grandfather, they write Mama and Papa, went to their deathbed not knowing what happened to their son. But my mama kept a blue light burning in the window for him if he ever returned and needed to see in the dark how to make it back home. The light only stopped burning when my mama's dementia and health prevented her from getting up to the window in the upper level of the farmhouse to replace the bulb. The light stayed on for almost 30 years after he went missing. Stay sexy, burn a symbolic blue light for all

lost souls and don't get murdered. Taylor. Wow. Taylor, that was great. I forgive you for not praising us like you should. Yeah, you know what? I'm glad you just got right into it because it's a horrible story. Also, the idea that Dr. Bass lives near her and like basically was like, what did they do? How did they look for them? Yeah, that's kind of, I think, why people like true crime and what it's really all about. Because ultimately, it's human stories about humans helping other human beings. Totally, totally. I think.

And the worst of humanity meeting the best of humanity to right or wrong. Yeah, ideally. That's the ideal version of it. That's the dream. Yeah. Okay, this one's called, I lived in a stranger's house for two years

and this is what I found. Ooh, what's up? Let's get into the meat and potatoes. Did they write what's up? They wrote what's up. I was a domestic house cleaner for four years. And during that time, I spent two of those years of my early adulthood house sitting. There was a 730 day period where I both lived and worked in the houses of total strangers. Two years?

Three years, five, three years, six, five. There's that math again. I met up with people from the internet who asked if I, a 19 year old, could bring all my earthly possessions to their homes and look after their pets while they were away, which was dangerous for everyone involved. Quote, what an excellent way to make and save money. and look after their pets while they were away, which was dangerous for everyone involved. Hahaha.

Quote, what an excellent way to make and save money. I thought, I'll be able to buy so much beer and pet so many cats. But put the horror of my poor choices on ice for the moment. For your enjoyment, I have compiled a list of crazy things I encountered in strangers' homes, either accidentally while cleaning or purposely while snooping. The first bullet point is a goldfish on the stairs.

An alive goldfish. I put the little guy in a bowl of water and called the client. No, they didn't have a goldfish or any other people or pets around that could have moved it. My client said that the neighbor's next door had a goldfish pond, so perhaps it had come from there, but the house had been locked the entire time I was cleaning. I want to know how that fish got there. I think it would make an incredible eye-survived story. This fish survived? Yeah.

Could it be a cat that came in through like maybe a window? But he said the house had been locked and there was no other pets that could have moved it. Shit. Uh-huh. Okay. The vintage doll that permanently sat in a chair opposite the owner's double bed, the same bed I was supposed to sleep in for three months, and looked so creepy that I had to put it inside of a ring of salt in another room to be sure it wasn't going to possess me.

It says, I don't believe in demons, but I wasn't about to risk it. A big old fuzzy Samoa dog that would have to have barbecue sauce on his biscuits or he wouldn't eat dinner. That's being included in the creepy things. Yeah, that says there's nothing creepy or weird about him. He was just such a good boy. Yes, he was. Aw. And then finally, a tiny door, Coraline style

that I couldn't open or find a key to. Ooh. I stopped house sitting and house cleaning a few years ago. And I think we should definitely have a call for house cleaners and house sitting stories because I bet there's so many. Yes, entirely. I stayed in an Airbnb in Brooklyn, the apartment of a witch.

And it was just witch stuff everywhere I was rad. Well. And the toilet didn't work. Had a pee in a tub. I was broke. Oh, anyway. Oh. Why wouldn't you just do a spell over that toilet?

It's actually. I'm sorry. Come on. I'm happy to say I don't do either anymore. I must thank you. I had you ladies in my ears for most of that tedious bathroom scrubbing and vacuuming. You kept me sane.

Before I sign off, I just wanted to say, I'm a transgender man and it makes me so happy to hear you guys being loud and proud supporters of trans rights in your podcast. And continually impressed by the respect you show and the responsibility you take to advocate for queer people and other minorities. That's badass, ally behavior right there. Stay sexy and say trans rights, Khalil, he, him.

Trans rights are human rights. That's fucking right. Hell yeah. I love that goldfish. I'm gonna think about that for maybe two years, Khalil. So thank you very much for sticking that in my head, where it's like, that feels like the beginning of one of the conjuring movies where it's like, it starts out so gently with a live goldfish suffocating on the stairs. Now where are we going? That's right.

That's another time portal right there. I feel like. Yeah. There's so so many things that could be it's fucking horrifying. Well, and speaking of the Hauntedol, that was that you need to put a ring of salt around. I love to deep down people know that old fashion, like old wives' tail shit, where it's just like, I'm in this situation, it's horrifying. Well, here's the thing I do know. And I'm, but I'm not paranoid.

I don't believe in that stuff, but I'm doing it anyways. But I will know. And I'm, but I'm not paranoid. I don't believe in that stuff, but I'm doing it anyways. But I will take precautions. I'm not a fool. I'm not a fool. Raising kids can be one of the greatest rewards of a parent's life. But come on, someday, parenting is unbearable.

I love my kid, but is a new parenting podcast from Wondry that shares a refreshingly honest and insightful take on parenting. Hosted by myself, Megan Galey, Chris Garcia, and Kurt Brownleur, we will be your resident not-so-expert experts. Each week we'll share a parenting story that'll have you laughing, nodding, and thinking. Oh yeah, I have absolutely been there. We'll talk about what went right and wrong.

What would we do differently? And the next time you step on yet another stray Lego in the middle of the night, you'll feel less alone. So if you like to laugh with us as we talk about the hardest job in the world, listen to, I love my kid, but wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon music or Wondery app. Okay, so this subject line is haunted as doll, haunts opera.

Oh! Dear Karen, Georgia Steven, an associated menagerie. Not technically a murderer, but I thought you would enjoy this spoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo- this spooky story. There's so many O's in this spooky. I work in technical theater, usually painting scenery, but I was recently hired to coordinate the props for an opera being produced by, and then it says, uh, you H H H H H, prestigious college in Pittsburgh. Do you know what And that is? Uh, Pittsburgh community college. Home of the fighting. Rabbit ears. Just the ears are really.

Yes. They're really fighting. They're really aggressive. They turn themselves into fists. Okay. They were taking a pretty avant-garde approach, and on the list of the many bizarre asks was a drum made of assorted doll heads. I was excited to begin this challenge

to add to my portfolio and was gifted a giant tub of full of weird old dolls that the school's prop supervisor in quotes never wanted to ever see again. So I began decapitating these dolls. I got a little bit of an odd reputation for myself as pastors by would often see me sitting in a corner, yanking heads off of dolls and listening to your podcast. Perfect. Very typical

behavior of listening to this podcast. As I often work alone and in weird haunted-ass places, I found the sound of your voices to be very comforting no matter the subject matter. It feels like I'm hanging out with friends. Armed with your podcast, some pliers, a bachelor of arts and a dream, I beheaded numerous dolls, but none were quite like Deborah. Deborah was an old porcelain baby doll who was unlike any doll I've ever seen. Her face was sculpted and set in an angry scream. Cool old people, old fashioned people. They hated children. They were like, this is a good representation of what children are actually like. Here's you, here's your face. Here's what you look like. Mount open, like a typical crying baby, but eyes staring eerily straight ahead. Kubrick's

style. All the creatives on the project loved her absolutely rancid vibes and wanted her front and center in the drum. I was totally on board until she began her reign of terror, which began when her head broke in my hands. Her god-awful face was spared, but made all the more creepy with a crack running along her eyebrow and half of her skull missing. The skull is in quotes. My hand was not so lucky as the bitch sliced right through me, making a problem for the

stage manager, and then in parentheses, it says my least favorite thing to be. This O-man, while inconvenient, but relatively harmless at the time, set off a series of unfortunate events that I wholeheartedly believe were caused by Deborah, whose name was inspired by Little Debbie's neck cakes because she kind of looked like Little Debbie. If Little Debbie were fucking awful. Later that same evening, the cell phone I kept alive for four years fell into a can of paint inexplicably for it had been resting on a table undisturbed.

Then my scenic designer and I went to run an errand only to find that one of his tires was completely flat. The weekend before dress rehearsals were to begin a pipe burst right above the stage, flooding the space and requiring a lot of water vacuuming and reconstructing of set pieces. Once again, I'm a seasoned technician who follows all safety protocols

who would never leave a box cutter blade exposed But when putting said box cutter in my pocket sliced my whole leg open and once again became a problem for the stage manager The doll drum itself would appear to be holding then fall apart on stage props and tools went missing Then we're condescending basically everything that could go wrong did go wrong. It's only we could blame that on our haunting. I mean, we're haunted always. Yeah. I told my co-workers that Deborah was exacting revenge on me

and the production as a whole and no one really had a hard time believing it. I went to a creative reuse store to buy some old printed paper for the show and ended up with a page from a story about some hateful woman named Deborah who was planning nefarious deeds. Some folks wanted to keep her as a souvenir, but I refused, determined to lay her to rest in the university dumpster with the other absolutely terrifying dolls.

The moral of this story is to make sure you're up to date on your tetanus shot and just buy your fucked up props from Target or something. I love you guys. Stay sexy and don't get murdered. XX Alex. Goldfish, creepy doll. We got it all this episode. Many sewed stories are there now encompassing all experiences of human life. That's right. That's right. I love this one, especially, because I was a theater major. I spent a lot of time in the theater, and I just love this idea. There's all the stuff you see on stage.

There's an equal amount, if not double amount of people backstage making it all. Right. Be there. Right. And going through true trauma to make that happen. And I just think they deserve some attention. I love that. I wish I had been part of it. I didn't think they wanted me. Why? I don't know because I'm not an actor, but I could put stuff together, you know, I was handy. Did you not know you could have done, you could have done backstage stuff? No, no. I was busy ditching school to smoke cigarettes. Yeah,

yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, this is called Treasure on the Cornish Coast. Hello, I grew up in South Wales, UK, and when we were kids, my parents would take my sister and I to a lot of historical sites and museums on weekends and during school holidays. One time when I was about six years old and my sister was around nine, they took us to Cornwall for a week down in the southernmost point of England. Cornwall is a long-rich history of smuggling and piracy.

People would use small-secret coves and beaches around the coastline to usher in illegal, untaxed contraband from regions like France and the West Indies. Merchantships at severed wreckage in those unforgiving rocky waters were also frequently plundered by local communities in the 18th and 19th centuries, because let's be honest, their lives were generally difficult, and any, quote, free stuff offered some reprieve. My parents told us this with gusto, as they filled our heads with tales of pirates, shipwrecks,

and of course, treasure. They wrote treasure, but I'm assuming they meant treasure, right? They meant treasure. Maybe they're British and they're just being, you know, respectful of the English language. One day during this trip, we were wandering around a stretch of grass upon a wind-blown cliff. There were a lot of hollows in the ground, which my parents and for me had been used as a part of a complex hidden system to store smuggled goods. They suggested that I look in some of them just in case something had been left behind.

Well, imagine my shock when I stuck my hand into one, pulled out a couple of large smooth stones, then realized that amongst them was something else, an object around 10 centimeters long, and then they say three to four inches. Thank you. Math, thank you. Rapt in a ref cut square of cream colored cloth. Oh my God, this is a dream.

This is a dream come true. Uh-huh. I am rapted to reveal a very small wooden chest. We're talking classic treasure chest aisle here with the curved lid and a latch that a padlock can hook through. But this box was unlocked, and when I opened it inside,

were two pendants hanging from black cords. They were silver-toned, two crucifixes in Celtic woven knot designs, and each with a stone in the center, one green and one red. I was astonished. This was real bonafide treasure left behind by smugglers. My little heart could not handle the gravity of the situation.

You look in like you're an awe right now. This is my dream to find a whole that nature made. So it's not some sort of whatever. And then be like, someone put something here. Like straight up detectorist shit right now. Yes, exactly. It is. And one million childhood stories, but okay. Like when they would do detectorists and they would show you

on what was underground, you know, although it's the best. The best. And they're like just this far away and then they're like, forget it, we'll move over there. Let's go get a pint. Oh, everyone watched a Tectoris. Okay, the same day we visited a little further along the coast

of, okay, thankfully they told me the pronunciation. Tintig-gal, tintag-jal, tintig-jal. Okay, tintig-jal, castle. Thank God they told you that. It's very, God. This is because I'm so smooth. This is a medieval ruined settlement on a rocky outcrop that has been mythologically framed as the home of King Arthur.

Well, sure, my parents said to my sister, she should probably poke around the castle walls because you never know when a hidden treasure may have been left behind. Oh, sure enough, she peered into a gap in the wall and pulled out a small bundle of cloth. Rapped up was another silver-tone pendant. Now, I'm not sure what my sister thought about all this, but I was convinced. I brought my box to school when we returned home, proudly recounting in vivid details to my friends exactly how I found it. I then stored it in a small, like box of other assorted treasure in my bedroom cupboard. smog like box of other assorted treasure in my bedroom cupboard. Smog. Does she mean SMAUG? That's a, I believe it's a not Lord of the Rings.

Is it Lord of the Rings or is it reference? You know, they were like my precious. Smog. Smog. Like box. Thank you, Stephen. Am I right, Stephen Lord of the Rings? Yeah. Well, smog is the dragon, so like the horde of treasures.

I think that's what she's referring to, the hobbit, yeah. Yeah, the hobbit, okay, gotta go. Nice, nice, nice, thank you. It was a few years before I started to consider that I'd seen similar necklaces in pretty much every museum and historical gift shop that we visited, and that the chances of both my sister and I finding perfectly preserved treasure on the same day

was maybe a little sus. Ha, ha that's fucking good parenting. That's good parenting. That's so good. And I have come to appreciate just how many kinds of treasure you can get when it comes to evidence of the past. I'm now back in university to complete my PhD on the archaeology of medieval magic, which happens to include the study of amuletic pendants

and stray finds discovered by members of the public. Oh, so exactly kind of what she went through, she's she's studying the real version of it. Yeah, that's not rap. You could do that. I didn't know that was a job. I also returned to Titongil Castle last spring and got engaged to my forever person on a cornish beach at the end of the trip. She also found that person in a little hole.

Oh my God. She reached into a little hole. Oh, I like you. And then they write full circles, full hearts. That day in Cornwall is part of a fabulous collage that my parents made with our childhoods. Sally and Martin put so much love and effort into inspiring our imaginations, encouraging us to scramble around and explore the world.

I love them to pieces, and if I can be half as cool as them by the time I hit 60, it'll be a damn good achievement. Stay sexy and make treasure wherever possible. Abigail. Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful email. I know. I love what are the parents names again. Sally and Martin. Thank you for including the name. Good job, Sally and Martin. God, the planning of that and the excitement and the fun and like, yeah, it kills me. Also, there's a British series, if I may, called Jamaica Inn.

And it's basically about, and I can't say it's on, it's there on Cornwall, although I actually could just look at this right here and it would tell me. It is Cornwall. Whoa, what is it? It's this like remote inn that's on the coast of Cornwall and what they do there is they do a fake light.

They draw ships onto the rocky beach. The ship then crashes. All their shit goes overboard. All the people in the town or the locals go grab it and hide it away. And that's how they all make and keep money. Wait, is this a reality show? I mean, no, it's a drama. 1821.

Okay. And is it based on, do you do that? It's got to be. I mean, it seems historically, at least slightly historically based because you, that's what you just told me. That's what it made me think of. Whereas like, that sounds so familiar. And it's like, oh, that's right.

They used to, it's almost like they were like land pirates. What's the show called? Jamaica Inn. Okay. And it has one of my very favorite actors. Well, Lady Cible from Downton Abbey is the lead. But Sean Harris, who is just one of the fucking greatest actors ever, he is in it as the scary guy that runs the in

and he's so he's so good. Okay. But anyway, I'll watch it. It's almost like a dramatized version of what that little girl was doing. I love it. The OG. Okay, sorry.

Here's my last email. And the subject line is money booth shenanigans. Ooh. We just get right into it. It says, about six years ago, I was strolling on the internet while working a dead end call center job, selling third party event tickets. And then parentheses, it says,

I promise I wasn't personally a scalper. I just worked for those who facilitated the over-priced transactions. A job's a job, you know? Yeah. Let us never be the ones blamed or responsible for our bosses business tactics. I can write that.

Okay, that was mid sentence. And came across an ad for a money booth in Millennium Park, Chicago. The ad said that you can grab as much as $500. And while I knew that the odds of that happening were rare, I did what anyone would do, faked a migraine and left work early to go and try my luck. Oh my God, I did that so much.

Yeah, I've got to. After standing in line for about 30 minutes, it was my turn in the booth. I snatched my hands at the bills swirling around me, thinking I'll walk away with about 50 bucks. As soon as I got out of the booth, though, I realized the $500 they said I could grab was actually in coupons for whatever business it was.

Fuck you. Right? They had thrown in a few $1 bills so people would actually get some cash. So in reality, I walked away with $4. Oh. Oh. I learned a couple harsh lessons that day. First, read the fine print of ads. And second,

even though the job was sucking the soul out of me and sending me into depression, I would have made more money had I actually stayed at work that day. Thank goodness I got out of that job pretty soon after that and have a job where I don't feel it necessary to fake being sick to get out of work. Thanks for reading. And stay sexy and read the fine print, Shelley. Oh, man. What a bummer. How could you use a money booth like, instant serially that way?

Yeah. That's just like evil. That's pure evil. How dare you use something as like, beautiful and like, pure as a money booth to trick people? You know what I mean? It's just all hope and skill. You're like, can you just grab stuff? You don't have to even, you just be good at anything.

You just grab stuff. I don't know. I don't know. I don't want to fuck in free hoagie when I buy one from your fucking- Yeah, I don't want your stupid car wash. You promise me cold hard American cash. Damn it. Deathbed confession.

Exclamation marks before and after in the subject lines. Yes, hold on. Have we ever called for deathbed confession stories? Hold on, listen to this. Oh, okay. Salutations, lovely ladies. I know you have lost count of the stories you have requested. So I'll just say you asked for deathbed confessions at one point. And I have a doozy.

Great. Great. We should re up that one. We should make sure that people remind us that we asked for. We should have a scrolling list to going across the screen. Oh, wait, this is a podcast. My husband and I were having dinner with a group of friends a few months ago and we have a friend who was a nurse at his local hospital in Newport Beach, California.

What's up? Yeah. He recently had an elderly lady as a patient for quite some time. He and this lady became good friends as they had some things in common, one of them being nursing. She was a labor and delivery nurse in the 60s through the 90s and then retired. She had no children of her own, her husband had passed away many years before. So when her time had come, our friend was there by her side, and she felt the need to spill a deep dark secret.

She hadn't told anyone else, even her husband. On her last day on Earth, with her last dying breath, she said just a few words. Okay, picture of the old lady. Yeah. Lovely sweet old lady. Mm-hmm. I swapped so many babies. And then it says, and period, then period, she, period, was, period, gone.

That was it. You can only imagine the look of my friend's face and the thoughts running through my head. With so many questions, all he can do is now tell this story to others at dinner parties. I just hope that all of those babies went to loving homes and had the best possible childhoods. And let's hope that woman ended up where she deserved.

She was a delivery little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a

little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a

little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a It'd be hard to prove that one, but yeah. Holy fuck. I know. Holy fuck. How many is so many babies, too? I mean, if she did it for years? Yeah, for 30 years, she worked. It could be 200. I know. Fuck, man.

Okay, huge thank you to the labor and delivery nurses. Most of them, at least. And all healthcare personnel that risked their lives while the world was ending. I brought a baby girl into the world during the pandemic and my nurses were absolute angels as I couldn't have my husband in the room during my very long C-section. They kept me calm and sang Benny and the Jets by Elton John to cheer me up. I know.

I will never forget them. Stay sexy and please don't swap babies. Be. I can't believe that story. I can't, I thought you were gonna say, I mean, whatever. It's because of the podcast, so I just thought it would be like, I had a hand in some murder or something like that. Sarah, would you do that, why would you do that? Why would you do that?

Horrible. It's beyond. I should have ended on the treasure one. Now I realize, no, no, it's so compelling. But here's the thing, it's like, it's that kind of thing where there's a lot of people that don't think about this and don't have the presence of mind or just, you know, the awareness to be like, you just, you just get probably odds are,

you get one time at this. We're in the middle of it right now. You get one. So now you're laying on your deathbed. This is the life you've led. And you did something so fucking horrible that you have to tell this stranger who's also a nurse and then die.

I don't have a deathbed confession yet. Yeah. Like, there's nothing yet. I feel like I'm gonna be a really fun older lady, so like eventually I'll have one, but. But I mean, also, could it have been like if she was had dementia? She could have just been like saying shit, who knows?

But maybe she had a great sense of humor. She was just like, you know, I'm gonna fuck with this guy. He's right. This guy's been great. He's really funny. I'm gonna give him one last little. Then she would be my favorite person that has ever existed. But I'm gonna make up a death that confession

for his ever with me. Yeah, there. Yeah. You'd be like, the gold is buried in the... Oh! Never say that. Remember that goldfish on the stairs? That was me! That was me! Oh my God.

Send us your stories about anything and everything. My favorite murder at Gmail. Or just listen to this. Listen, you don't have to participate, but thank you. Yeah, this was the kind of thing. And this is what people love about podcasting. It's very passive. The interaction is very passive.

You do your thing. No heavy lifting. Yeah, we got you. We're going to compulsively talk, because we have no choice. You, you do you, and also stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye. Yeah.

Elvis, do you want a cookie? Aaaaah! This has been an exactly right production. Our producer is Alejandra Keck, and this episode was engineered and mixed by Steven Ray Morris. Da-da! Email your hometowns and fucking arrays to my favorite murder at gmail.com. Follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at my favorite murder and Twitter at my favorite murder. Goodbye! Listen, follow, leave a say review on Amazon Music, Apple Podcast, or wherever you get your podcasts.

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