My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 356

Episode Date: November 6, 2023

This week’s hometowns include an epic drunk parent story and the coolest babysitter of all time.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

What a life these celebrities lead. Imagine walking the red carpet, the cameras in your face, the designer clothes, the worst dress list, big house, the world constantly peering in, the bursting bank account, the people trying to get the grubby mitts on it. What's he all about? I'm just saying, being really, really famous. It's not always easy. I'm Emily Lloyd-Saini and I'm Anneli Young-Rofi, and we're the hosts of Terribly Famous from Wondery, the podcast which tells the stories of our favourite celebrities from their perspective. Each season we show you what it's really like being famous by taking you inside the life of a British icon. We walk you through their glittering highs and eyebrow raising lows and ask is fame and fortune really worth it. Follow terribly famous now wherever you get your podcasts or listen early and

ad-free on Wondry Plus on Apple Podcasts or the Wondry app. 🎵Music🎵 Hello! And welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-sode. We read you stories that you wrote us, which we appreciate. Do you want to go first? Sure. So I'm not going to reach you the title.

A proper greeting in this economy. That's how it starts. They're like, I love beautiful. Well done. Strap in Mady's, Ladies and Dades. I have a good old American classic hometown murder for you. I grew up in a tiny town in Pacific Northwest where my preschool class was the same as my high school graduating class and our Walmart was the central

hub of culture. As such, I have omitted my name to avoid any unwarranted Facebook messages from any pyramid scheme, Prima Donas, or fishing grows back home. While crime was not unheard of in my town, it is always front page news when any violent crime happens and the talk of the town for months. Let me set the scene.

I mean, my early years of high school, when people still sent chain messages via a giant mask group text, think, quote, send to five people and your true love will text you tonight. Oh, remember those. And so it's nothing to meet or receive a message with an image attached from a friend in New Year by town sent to me and

ten others. Him and some friends had been outfishing at a local pond and although it was hard to decipher an early 2000s phone picture, I still remember the pixelated outline of an odd shape amid the still water. The caption for this photo, upper-found, LOL, a hand. Thinking it was a mannequin hand floating in this farmer's pond. Oh. Only it wasn't a mannequin, pro-tip, it's never a mannequin.

It's never a mannequin. As it turns out, these boys had reeled in a literal human hand. Ooh. The week said ensued Racheos. Body parts began popping up in a literal human hand. Ooh. The week's set in suit were chaos. Body parts began popping up in the wilderness around town. Fingers and joints scattered outside an abandoned cabin. A torso hanging from a tree.

Oh, no. All part of a sickening puzzle our ill-equipped police force was scrambling to put together. Town culture shifted, no one left bars alone, no one walked alone late at night, parents kept kids at arms reach, and teens still partied in the woods, but you know, with more caution.

As the town began to believe we had our next cold case on our hands. You see, in the early 1980s, a woman my mom lived next door to in the dorms was found beheaded at a local park after her walk home from the bar back to campus. The evidence was mishandled and though the prime suspect was cleared, her killer was never brought to justice.

With that history, we were sure we were owe-and-too-insolving murder cases. Luckily the answer came only a couple months later. A man in his 20s was arrested and charged with a murder of three people, two men and one woman. He had killed them in some kind of rage or debt owed over my home county's number one export, the true liquid gold of rural America. That's right, this man, a local house painter,

killed and chopped up three people over $25 worth of meth. Buried their heads and scattered their remains throughout the woods. It's a bad drug. I never really looked into what heat is eventually convicted of, but I know he was put away for a long time. As a town, I think we were just happy

to bring our unsolved crime rate down to 50%. And I'm happy that those who met such a brutal end were ultimately given justice in a final resting place. But although years have passed, and I have moved far from home, a recurring thought still haunts me to this day to they ever find all of the body parts.

And that thanks cannot be given for the way you advocate, emphasize and humanize so many of your cases as a teacher and sex worker who fully understands the ways in which I put my life at risk every day in both positions. I cannot explain how much it means to know that there are still people out there who see me and others in my profession as human. Just like those who lost their lives because of drugs, high risk does not mean low priority. Stay sexy. And remember, it's never a mannequin, no name.

High risk does not mean low priority. Yeah. Wow, that was good. Yeah. Real hometown. Also, just so disturbing, it's like that kind of thing where from the outside, those poor people in that town, like discovering body parts and all these alarming and like the second you hear meth, you're just like,

ugh. Yeah. It just people going totally insane. Yeah. Over $25 worth of a drug debt, or perhaps so awful. Okay, I'm going to change the tone a little bit. Good. With, as the subject line reads, a drunk parent story.

Okay. Hello there ladies. I've submitted a few of my stories, but I knew I had to send you this one also after hearing your request for drunk parent stories in Miniso 305. Here we go. My parents rarely drink. When I started reading this email and I saw that line, I'm like, well, this is, here we go.

Those are always the best ones. It's the parent who barely drinks and always has the most fun. Yes. So my parents rarely drink, so they've always been light weights. Kind of a joke around the family because everybody in our family drinks, even all of their now adult kids. This story happened back on New Year's Eve in 1986. I had just turned 14 in November, and we had traveled to Austin, Texas to spend the holidays

with the family. Us kids were left at grandma's house while my parents were picked up by my uncle and taken out to celebrate the New year on the town. It gets to be about 10.30 and us kids are sitting up watching movies and waiting to watch Dick Clark drop the ball at midnight when the phone rings. My grandmother answers the phone in the kitchen and I hear her chat for a minute and then she walks into the living room and tells me the call is for me. I can see that in my head where the grandmother's walking from the kitchen with the phone cord that's crazy long into the living room. Yeah. Oh, that's just don't exist anymore that they're just entirely gone.

Bring back landlines everyone. Landlides, wall phones, avocado wall phones. Okay, so she says the calls for me. It's my mother. I go to the kitchen. Oh, so that whole thing I mentioned didn my mother. I go to the kitchen, oh, so that whole thing I mentioned didn't happen. I go to the kitchen. It's one of those real short cords, but nobody was springing for the 20 foot cord.

Okay, I go to the kitchen, get on the phone and hear my mother and father giggling on the other end and music in the background. In a slurred voice, my mother proceeds to explain to me that they are drunk and ready to come back to grandma's but nobody is sober enough to drive. She asks me to get her keys from her purse and drive downtown and kick them up. Fourteen.

Okay, I love it. So it says, now I had some driving experience as we lived in a rural area, so I had driven around our property and on some back roads, which is that's how it is in the country. You just kind of like get to drive sometimes and there's absolutely no stakes and nobody's around for miles. There's no rules probably there. It's not like you have to follow the. No, you can weave from lane to lane and kind of learn what you're supposed to be doing as you go. The next line is, but this was the city on New Year's Eve at night. And it was 1986, so there was no GPS or cell phones.

I had to jot down drunken instructions from my mother and then find my way to downtown Austin, find parking, find my parents, and then get them back home. My God. This is like adventures in babysitting. Yeah. I was nervous, scared, and totally down to leave the Little Kids party at my grandma's and accept this challenge.

I found my mom's keys, fired up their gigantic, four-door Caprice classic, holy shit. Chanted, just be cool and keep it together to myself and headed into the night. I love this person. I love this story. My really sketchy plan got more sketchy as I realized that I would have to read my hastily scribble driving directions

to myself in the dark car while driving. Mm-hmm. In hindsight, why couldn't the grandma go? Well, oh, that's a good question. Yeah, but he was 14. You could have watched the kids. I'm in that same age racket. My grandmother did not drive.

She had never driven a car in her life. Are you serious? Kichu's San Francisco native. My grandmother did not drive. She had never driven a car in her life. Are you serious? Could she use San Francisco native? Right. That makes sense. I feel like my mom would have been like, don't tell grandma we're drunk. Oh yeah.

Even as an adult, it's like, don't tell grandma, my mom, don't tell grandma I smoke pot. And I'm like, you're 70 years old. And your mom can't know that you smoke pot. Like, what the fuck? And then my grandma would say it's a gateway drug, as if my 70 year old mom's gonna start shooting out. In hindsight, I probably should have brought a copilot,

but there was no going back now. Just be cool and keep it together. It took me about 30 minutes to get downtown. There were lots of cop cars, and I had many heart-stopping moments as I navigated traffic for the very first time. I found the building with a bar where they were supposed to be, but it took me another 20 minutes of driving around,

trying to find a place I could park, where I would not have to back up or parallel park. Right. Yeah. Once I did park, I realized I did not have money to put in the meter, so I just had to cross my fingers and hope the car would still be there when we got back. Isn't New Year's Eve a holiday?

I think the year's day is new. I had to walk a few blocks back to the bar. Once there, I did not know what to do to let my parents know that I was outside. That's on that and they should have been waiting outside the whole fucking time. Or at least looking out the window. Yeah. But they're drunk. They're probably on the dance floor,

fucking long islands in hand. They just had one clear moment where they're like, get to get to get to get to get to get picked up. This is crazy. So after watching a couple drone couples come and go, I decided that sending somebody else in with my message was probably not gonna be my best option. So I stood up straight thinking that if I looked taller,

I may pass and as an adult, and I walked into the bar, expecting to be arrested at any moment. Just be cool and keep it together. I'd never been in a bar before, so I did not know what to expect. It was very lounge-like. Think the regal beagle from Threes Company, which was good, because I was familiar with what that bar looked like. There was nobody at the door, so I got in with no problem. The bar was busy but not crowded. I meandered through, trying not to make eye contact with the bartender, and found my parents in a booth in the back corner, laughing and looking sloppy drunk with my uncles and aunts. They all greeted me happily when I got to the table, and I received many wax on the back

from making it alive. There was a few, I told you he could do it, comments, and I received many wax on the back from making it alive. There was a few, I told you he could do it, comments, and I'm pretty sure I saw some money exchanging. Oh my God. Yep, I'm pretty sure my family was betting on whether I would live or die. Jesus. I spent the next few minutes explaining to my mother that she'd called me for a ride over an hour ago when she came at me with,

what the hell are you doing here? Oh my God, this is epic. Apparently there was no problem with me walking my tipsy and stumbling parents out of the bar and three blocks back to the car. Everybody kissed and hugged his goodbye, and more than one uncle told me that I should drop them off and come back to party with them.

I got my parents back to grandma's house that night without any issues while they both passed out in the back seat. I caught crap by my grandmother for blocking the whole driveway with my parking job the next morning. 14 typical. My parents were embarrassed when the rest of the family teased them all the next day for having a call for a ride from a 14-year-old. For the record, this was completely out of character. For my parents, they are actually considered the squares of the family for the most part. I, on the other hand, was the hero of the holiday,

as words spread through the family that I had driven out on New Year's Eve to pick up my drunk parents from the bar. Legends were made that night, and the story still comes up whenever the family gets together. It's so awesome. Plus, when I finally did get my driver's license a couple of years later, I'd earn some cred from them

on being a responsible driver. Yeah, goddammit. They can't say a word to you after that. That's fucking right. Whenever you're in over your head, just stay sexy, be cool, and keep it together. Rick. Oh, Rick, that was an epic story.

Great job. Beautifully done. Beautifully written. So funny. That's so fucking hilarious. But also, it's that kind of thing where it feels like that time is also over, where a 14 year old would even roll those dice.

Yeah. I think that ended right around 1988, probably. And then it was like, no, everyone's getting too wise to, you know. Maybe. Well, there's Uber now too, think fucking God. Yeah, but I mean, like as a 14 year old, I can't think of a 14 year old who would risk that, or roll the dice like that.

No, I'm thinking of my nephew, my cousin, 13. Yeah, he got the opportunity to drive. He'd want to. Yeah, he'd be going home on it. He's up for it. He's fun. He's fun. Ghosts aren't real.

At least as a journalist, that's what I've always believed. Sure, odd things happened in my childhood bedroom. But ultimately, I shrug them off. That is until a couple of years ago, when I discovered that every subsequent occupant of that house is convinced they've experienced something inexplicable, including being visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. And it gets even stranger. It just so happens that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door by two gunshots

to the face. Is the ghost somehow connected to her murder? I decided to go where no son-in-law should ever go, digging up a cold case and asking questions no one wants answered. And the guy who did the killing? It might be my wife's great grandfather. This is a podcast about family secrets, overwhelming coincidence, and the things that come back to haunt us.

Follow Go Story on the Wondry app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can binge all episodes and free right now by joining Wondry Plus. episodes and free right now by joining Wondering Club. Okay, this one's called the Taco John's Bandit. Hello, Karen, Georgia and fellow murdering hosts. Love you, love the pod, let's get right into it. In the mid-90s, my parents hired a college age, quote, nanny, to hang out with me 11 and my little brother eight for the summer. The idea was she would take us to do fun things like swimming, go to the movies, take us to the park, you get the idea. Anything to get us off the couch for my parents were at work.

We loved Cindy. She was fun, beautiful, think a Julia Roberts type, and so cool to a couple of kids. She could drive with her and me as well applying mascara in the real view mirror. Oh yeah. Yes, it says yes with us in the car. That was like the height of coolness back then in like adulthood. She had love sick boyfriends by a spits of lunch buffet.

And then it says, quote, kids grab extra breadsticks and stuff them in my bag. And she would leave us unattended at the mall arcade while she went shopping at her burgers. And then it says, I had my brother climb on top of a ramp of the ski ball game to feed the balls into the thousand point slot for those sweet, sweet tickets. Hell yeah, it's my plan.

One day my brother and I asked Cindy if she would take us to Taco John's for lunch. We each had a coupon for a taco, small potato oles, and a small drink for free. Where'd they get those coupons? Cindy asks us where we got the coupon. We explained that our mom took us to the local library to sign up for the summer reading program

and the library gave them as a reward. Hell yeah. Cindy decided we were going to the library that afternoon. After scooping out the joint, Cindy told my brother and I to approach the desk and ask the librarian a question. Our mission was to get her away from the desk. We asked the librarian for help finding a book successfully distracting her and giving Cindy time to snag a all caps thick stack of those coupons. That summer, we called ourselves the Toco John Bandits.

We were careful not to hit the same Toco John's twice in a row, so it's not to draw suspicion. Luckily, there were three in town to choose from. We told our parents she was the best babysitter we had ever had, and they hired her for two more summers. Oh, yes. Uh-huh. We haven't heard from our scene Cindy in decades, but I hope she thinks back fond for two more summers. Oh, yes. Uh-huh. We haven't heard from our scene, Cindy, and decades, but I hope she thinks back fondly on the summers she spent as a member of the Taco John's Bandits.

Stay sexy and maybe don't teach kids to steal from the library. I love Ashley, she, her, and Alex, he, him. Ashley and Alex, you're some of the luckiest kids in America to have the coolest, most badass babysitter of all time. Write that as a movie. It's so funny. Also, it's so, like, I had older cousins that lived next to her that were like that where they were always like, I remember saying somebody's mom yelled at me or whatever. And because Lisa goes,

tell her to fuck off. It's like seven years old. Wow. Like it was always that, you know what I mean? It's very 70s, gritty kind of like every man for himself and the parents really aren't paying attention and it's like- Never paying attention. It's the best thing for little kids where it's just like, you're going to get to do this someday.

Totally. You can be the person that reads all your books from library and caches in your taco zone coupon. Fine, that's fine. We don't think you should steal from the library. But here's another option. Yes. Have kind of a like a bandit summer. That's good times.

That's okay. I love it. Okay. Well, this actually goes along perfectly with this Cindy story. Also actually now, like you guys need to know, my sister was a babysitter during college, you know, it was like something she was doing to make money or whatever. We talk about those kids, she babies out all the time.

Oh, send us your stories of being babysat or babysitting. Yes. And how bad you were at it or whatever. Yes, bad, good, and different. It's all... Totally. Yeah. Okay.

This subject line says, it gives it away, so I'm not gonna read it. It just says, hi, yeah. Okay, this subject line says, it gives it away, so I'm not gonna read it. It just says, hi everyone. I was listening to Mini-Sode 348 about almost burning down the house while trying to win tickets to the Jingle Ball concert. I don't remember that one. No, I don't remember anything.

It was because they were on the phone and there was some like flammable thing in their room and that candle, I think, and they were over on the phone Distracted okay, this reminded me about my best friend sister's water bed story. Yes. She had a water bed No, we're not 75 years old, but it was the 80s My sister's best friend Marlene got a water bed when she was in her mid teens. Oh the height of cool coolness back then, you guys. The next line is she thought it was so cool. It was though.

It really was amazing. She rigged the hose to the bathroom sink and attached the other end to the mattress. It was taking forever to fill up so she and her boyfriend at the time, Greg, Greg and Marlene, decided to go to the mall for a while, which was just down the street. What could go wrong? When Marlene and Greg got back home a while later, the water-ped mattress had blown up like a giant water balloon. In her panic, she ran to the bathroom and turned off the water.

What to do now? She would have to figure out how to empty some water without making a mess. Suddenly, the balloon popped and sent a rushing river down the hall, and a beautifully cascading waterfall down the steps into the living room. Marlene thought my mother's going to kill me and ran to the basement to see what she could use to clean up before her mom got home, and that's when she realized it was raining in the basement. I'm sorry, but where was your parents?

Who, what parent let's a teen fill up a water bed on their own? I feel like Marlene, that's on them. It's so true, and this is my forever rage, is there was so much lack of guidance and actual help in the 70s and 80s. It was like, sure, you could have a water bed, figure it out. Everything was fucking figure it out by yourself. Don't ruin anything or you're going to get in huge trouble. But also figure it out.

No one will walk you through this. And so you won't have a water bed if you don't fill it up. No one's going to fill it up for you, but you don't know how to do it. It's insane. Okay. So anyway, it was raining in the basement. So it says, how do you explain that? There's no little white teenage lie that would cover this one.

She had to come clean, and I'm surprised her mom didn't kill her. Insurance covered the repair for the water damage, which was mostly due to the basement rain, but there were lots of family treasures that got ruined. Stay sexy and don't fill up giant water balloons while you're at the mall. D. Oh my God, I feel that one. Like I feel how grounded she was after that. And those parents probably mad at themselves were like, of course we shouldn't have let her get a water bed.

What were we thinking? Right. No, they were like, our daughter's bad. Yes, that's right. You're grounded forever. My last one's about a heroic dog. I'm not going to reach it. Okay.

Hi, ladies. I wanted to share my heroic dog story. I met my dog, Tess, 12 years ago. I volunteered to walk some dogs at my local vet. And once I met her, that was it. She's been with me ever since. Oh. One thing about Tess is she hates water.

She will tolerate up to about her ankles and that's it. One year I decided to take her on a holiday and we hit the beach. I knew she wouldn't swim but I thought she would enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. Fast forward I'm swimming out where the waves are getting a little bigger and I get slammed by a wave and dunked. When I popped up and looked toward the beach, here is my little hero battling her way through the waves to get to me.

When she finally reached me, we got hit by another wave, but I grabbed her and dragged our soggy butts out of there. I couldn't believe this little dog who was so scared of the water, let alone the ocean, swam out to try to save me. She's getting older now, and I know our time is limited but I will never forget how love I felt in that moment that she literally risked her life for me. She did. Stay sexy and always let dogs rescue you back. Jemima. Oh, what a great name. Jemima. That's a beautiful name. Oh, isn't that sweet? Love that

story. I'm not going to read you the subject line of this. name. Oh, isn't that sweet? Love that story. I'm not going to read you the subject line of this. OK. Hello, esteemed Karen and Georgia, all pets and producers. Love it, right? As young northeasterners growing up in the Boston area, my younger sister and I regularly skewed in the New Hampshire main Vermont area.

Beautiful, thrilling, not as big as out west. I don't care. And then in parenthesis, as there's a lot of ski one-upmanship out there. We're also competitive, aren't we? Were we amazing skiers? No, but it was fun. One snowy day, my sister and I were in line to get on the ski lift ahead of our mom. Why were we not with her? No idea. Most lifts fit two large people or three people if one is a child. If you've never been on a ski lift, they're terrifying. The empty chairs come dangling down the line,

sweep around a sharp turn at high speed, then lower to some kind of butt height average that is not at all kid friendly, and slow for about six seconds. And during the six second window, you have to power shuffle forward, make a hard 90 degree turn to situate yourself facing up the hill and brace for the chair. It scoops you up at the tail end of that slow moment and picks up the speed at a pace that does

not feel safe or humane and results in a lot of dropped gloves and hats. To get to this moment, you're strapped into your boots and skis, neither meant for walking, and are awkwardly edging forwards in line, trying not to tip over, fully aware that when it's your turn, all eyes will be on you. Oh my god, I'm like getting flashbacks of skiing as a kid. It's a nightmare. Okay, as a shy kid, it was my continual nightmare. Oh, that's weird. There was really no way to get better at it. Being a kid is basically not in your favor. The chair lift favors long legs and confidence. It was during the six second scoop moment that our story begins.

Oh dear. We were about 12 me and seven my sister. I wasn't still am the more cautious one. I was scared of going fast, scared of the lift, scared of being the center of attention. There were a lot of minefields for me on those trips. Our turn loomed, the chair was whipping around the corner. We got ready, it slowed, we power shuffled, we braced, we felt it scoop us and did our best to hop up so as to better land on the seat. Again, not kid but high friendly. We were scooped in airborne. Almost immediately, the chair lift swings you up

to about 12 feet and starts rapidly climbing the mountain. As it goes up the mountain, it also gets higher up in the air. My sister was sitting next to me between myself and some random lady who'd gotten on with us. Suddenly my sister slipped. She must not have really gotten on. Boots and skis are also really heavy. Her butt never made it to the center of the seat. Gravity

1. I somehow managed to grab her hand. She dangled from her seven-year-old and my 12-year-old hand, fully off the chairlift. Skis still attached to her feet as the chairlift continued to climb in altitude. I remember looking ahead and seeing we had not only the entire mountain to traverse, but that we'd soon be over a long line of sharp ice-covered rocks, seriously like a rock jetty at the beach, but on a ski slope. Oh my God! Our mom was in the chair behind us and started screaming to me to drop my sister. Oh my God. Our mom was in the chair behind us and started screaming to me to drop my sister. Oh my God.

Amazingly because my mom is terrible in emergencies, she had realized that there was no way I'd be able to get my sister back in the chair and no way we'd be able to hold on for the 15 to 20 minute ride up to the top. The more we held on, the higher we'd go, and the more over rocks we would be. Right now, we were still over uncloud powder. I had seconds to make a decision. I remember looking down at my sister who was silent this whole time. Oh, God. She's a seven-year-old in full panic. Oh, God. Most likely focused on trying to keep a hold of my hand and saying to her,

I'm going to let you go now. Oh, we got it. Oh, we got it, we got it. I said it very solemnly, like we all knew this moment would arrive. And she said, OK, and I let go. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

Those two sisters really shared that moment. She felt like a puppet without strings, all arms and legs and skis flailing, and then poof into a big pile of snow. She lifted her head to let us know that she was okay, and almost immediately was nearly decapitated by the skis of the next people to come up the lift. Because of course the lift had not stopped while this was happening, we screamed at her to duck and then continued to write up the mountain. I have no memory of that ride and often think the lift had not stopped while this was happening. We screamed at her to duck and then continued to write up the mountain. I have no memory of that ride and often think of the random

lady who had sat with us how she must tell the story of the kid who fell off the ski lift while she was writing and writing the rest of the way with the solo sister. Yeah, where was that fucking lady reaching down and grabbing that seven year old up onto the chair? Seriously. She's just like, yeah, I can't be a part of this. Not my problem. Um, sorry, this is not a team chair. Okay. My mom and I then had to ski back down the mountain, and then it says fun

with a question mark and parentheses, to finally reunite with my little sister who, by that time, had been rescued by ski patrol. I don't think they stopped the lift the entire time. Oh my. I also don't remember my sister crying at all. We were hardened to stock. As far as I know, we kept skiing that day and for many winters more. I don't skate all now and neither does my sister, but surprisingly, not because of the incident, just that skiing was never really our thing.

Thanks for everything you do. Stay sexy and if your sister slips off the chairlift, drop her. Cadence, she, her. Cadence, that's another good name. Yeah. Oh my God, I felt that one. I was sweating through that one.

I'm going to let you go now. Oh my God. Okay. Oh, so sad. Bye. Bye. Bye. That was a good one. Send us your stories,

because you know there's people who have carnival story, like that reminding me of a carnival ride story where it's just like, yep, the worst. Yes. Send us your stories, people. My favorite murder at Gmail. That was a great batch. Yeah, you guys are writing

on really good ones. We appreciate it. I mean, you always have, but these last couple have been awesome. Anyway, stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Give that a head. Elvis, do you want a cookie? Ah!

This has been an exactly right production. Our senior producer is Alejandra Keck. Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Leonis Kulachi, email your hometowns to my favorite murder at gmail.com and follow us on Instagram and Facebook at my favorite murder and on Twitter at my fave murder. Goodbye! My favorite murder by filling out a survey at Wondry.com slash survey.