My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 406

Episode Date: October 21, 2024

This week’s hometowns include a glitch in the matrix and lies from an older sister. Support this podcast by shopping our latest sponsor deals and promotions at this link: https://bit.ly/3UFCn1g. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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That's betterHELP.com. ["My Favorite Murder"] Hello. Hello. And welcome to my favorite murder, the mini-sode. You ready for it? You want to go first? It's time to reach your emails. All right.

The subject line of this is glitch in the matrix, almost house fire, kind of hero dog. And it says, hi, longtime listener, third time email composer. I'll try to keep this short. It's Thanksgiving night, 2009 in Ottawa, Canada, and I'm 19 years old. My mom had hosted some friends and family for dinner. And at around 11pm, I headed to bed and fully succumbed to my turkey coma. My sweet baby angle of a mother would always make delicious homemade turkey broth for soup with the bones by adding some water and putting it in the oven overnight. It sounds super sketchy, I know, but the oven was on the lowest setting for many, many hours

and she had done so for decades. Unbeknownst to the sleeping household, our old oven decided to take a shit in the middle of the night and crank it all the way up to, you guessed it, broil. The turkey went from gently simmering to catching fire inside the roaster. While the fire was building, I was fast asleep, having a vivid dream about a guy I had gone to high school with but wasn't terribly close to. He was very urgently telling me in the dream that I needed to wake up because I was in danger.

Oh my God. Yeah. Next thing I know, I'm awake and all I can smell is smoke. I open my bedroom door and in the glow of the hallway nightlight, the upstairs is entirely filled with thick black smoke. Instead of remaining calm and thinking of our emergency fire escape plan, I start screaming at the top of my lungs that the house, and I quote, is on fucking fire. None of the five smoke detectors in that house went off.

My mom being the superhero she is, jumps down several flights of stairs and grabs the phone nearest to the kitchen and dials 911. Through the smoke, we see our sweet family yellow lab named Willow sitting next to the oven, trying her best to bark, but she had barked her throat raw and had smoke inhalation. Oh no. We, dog included, made it outside and we were all totally fine, but the kitchen definitely wasn't. The firefighters reprimanded my mom and went on their way. The next morning I woke up and I had a Facebook message from the guy that was in my dream. Shut the fuck way. The next morning I woke up and I had a Facebook message from the guy that was in my dream.

Shut the fuck up. The message read, Hey, I had a weird dream that you were in trouble or danger and I wanted to make sure you're okay. I know we don't know each other all that well, but I figured I'd reach out. Oh my God. Right? I couldn't believe what I was reading and thought I was being pranked. After I filled him in, I felt incredibly grateful for whatever glitch in the matrix forced me awake to become the home's living smoke detectors.

You're probably wondering if this was the start of a budding romance, but it wasn't. Of course we were. The only thing that could make it better. You know what would make it better too? If he had been one of the firefighters who showed up. But he was also in the dream, but he was in the dream in plain clothes. Yeah, and then it was like, oh my God,

and then he's on the fucking fire truck. Shirtless, for some reason. Right. I actually don't think we are friends on Facebook anymore, but I do remember him fondly. Needless to say, my mom now only makes her soup during awake hours. Thanks for all you do.

Stay sexy and check the batteries in your smoke detectors, Steph. Wow. That's terrifying. Everyone check your smoke detectors. Jesus. And also, I'm just wondering, like this guy that also got the vibe, like they were on the astral plane together, clearly. They were.

But like, was, why was it that guy? Like why was that the connection when they didn't know each other? There was no kind of like, like did he represent something in her mind? Or what was that? I don't know. Like if it makes you think about past lives and maybe he was something in her past life,

but it wasn't meant to be that deep in this one. It was just that, you know. Just a passing. Just a protector. Yeah. That's good. That's a cool response. Interesting. I love that. Okay Yeah. That's a cool response. Interesting, I love that.

Okay, this one's a classic hometown. I'm not gonna read you the whole thing. Okay. It's awful and then there's a happy PS. Hi, you guys rock, let's get to it. July, 2002, I remember writing in the car home and since I left my portable CD player at home, I was just staring out the window.

As we were approaching my hometown of Carthage, Indiana, I saw a poster with a woman's face and the large word missing. Since I was only about 11 at the time, and Carthage is a town of like a thousand people, I had never seen one before. I was also fairly sheltered slash naive for my age. No, you're not. 11 is not supposed to fucking understand that.

LESLIE KENDRICK Yeah, if you were sheltered, you would have never seen it. I asked my dad what the sign meant, and he just told me that a lady named Nancy Lyons went missing and no one is sure what happened to her. The murderino inside me awoke. I instantly went into interrogation mode. What do you think happened? Did you know her? He just kind of brushed me off at the time, understandably. I never really heard much more of it until I went searching the web years later. Turns out a man living in rural Rush County, imagine corn and soybean fields forever, noticed a car idling on the road near his house one evening. He went out to see if he could help, thinking it was someone with a flat or lost, and saw a red Nissan car with the trunk open open full of recently purchased groceries.

The driver's door was open and a purse was in the front seat, no sign of anyone. At that point, he called the police. They reported no signs of a struggle, nothing had been taken from her purse. Nancy's sister reported her missing the following morning. Four months later, decomposed human remains were found in a field a few miles away

from where her car had been, and they were soon identified as hers. The case continues to be cold 22 years later. No new leads. The family still holds a candlelight vigil every year in her honor. I'm still holding on to hope that they can get some answers eventually.

Nancy's sister has reached out to private investigators and even the FBI, but no new information has been found. I wish there were more details to share. Anyway, stay sexy. A she her. God. There's a PS about a baked potato truck. Do you want to hear it?

Yeah, that'd be nice, I guess. It says recently, I don't know, within the last year, you guys talked about wanting to find a baked potato food truck. There's one in Durango, Colorado. I've lived in the area for several years now, and it's a gem of a town. Oh, just in case we drive through Durango, and we'll know that there's one there. Yeah, I've actually been to Durango, weirdly enough.

Wow. How was it? It was lovely in the 80s. I don't know how it is now. I wonder how different it is. Also just that because we had on the last episode, we had a missing persons one where it's just like, and just one day a person never comes back. Yeah. Heartbreaking. It's just so endless and horrible. And there are people out there with answers. They just need to come forward. Endless and horrible. And there are people out there with answers.

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has anything ever been more Halloween than that? It's by Geneva Rose. It's super spooky. I mean, obviously it's perfect for Halloween. There's more to imagine when you listen. New members can try Audible now for free for 30 days with your first audiobook included. Visit audible.com slash murder or text murder to 500 500. That's audible.com slash murder or text murder to 500 500. That's audible.com slash murder or text murder to 500 500. Try audible free for 30 days. audible.com slash murder. Goodbye. Okay, so this one, the subject line is older sister lies. And it just starts so tangentially connected to Mount St. Allen's question mark. I grew up near Vancouver, and we always had a picturesque view of Mount St. Helens growing I grew up near Vancouver and we always had a picturesque

view of Mount St. Helens growing up. One of my very early memories is from a night where my parents made me sleep downstairs in my sister's room since they were going out. I was maybe five and that would make Sam 10. No need for a babysitter or anyone to check in. It was the 90s. That night, she whispered from the top bunk that if I slept on my stomach, Mount St. Helens would erupt and everyone would die because of me. I don't remember any logical thoughts on the matter, being five, but an older sister's word is law at that age. It was something I didn't think about, but somehow it was still stuck in my head. I had never dared question it until I was about 16 and had my what the fuck moment.

Oh my God. I never told anyone about it until I was in my twenties. It was so embarrassing to believe your evil older sister. She maintains she doesn't remember telling me this lie, but whenever I bring it up, she outright cackles. It must be her favorite story now. Sam is not to be trusted as she also told my best friend that if she flushed the toilet with the door closed, a clown would come out of the drain and attack her.

That is so unnecessary. That is wielding your big sister power like too much. Well and it says here, that girl ran from the bathroom for years. So you flush it and run because the clown is coming. A clown. Sam was a legit menace to society and now is a nurse with the cutest daughter. I am a proud stomach sleeper these days. Lisa B.

Oh my God. daughter. I am a proud stomach sleeper these days. Lisa B. Oh my God. Yes. We need, I love those stories of like, this is how we did things at our house. So we didn't know it was weird, but this is what I did. And I didn't realize until I was older that I didn't need to. I love those stories. Right. And this is what I do because my older sister like scarred me into thinking I needed to run from the toilet or a clown would get me. Totally. Yeah. And if you're the older sister, you better fucking write those into because like scarred me into thinking I needed to run from the toilet or a clown would get me. Totally. Yeah. And if you're the older sister, you better fucking write those in too because... Just write in like what your problem is. Right. This one's called Bank Robbery Gone Mild. Hey, gals and pals, sure hope the statute

of limitations has expired on this. Here goes nothing. Uh-oh. Well, going to college in a smallish hometown in the late 1900s. Oh my God, doesn't that hit hard? In the late 1900s. Oh, aw. Not the early 1900s, which is the first thing I thought of. I graduated high school in the late 1900s. In the late 1900s. Oh my God. I worked as a teller slash cashier along with five others in a self-contained drive-through

bank. One day, the vault count from the previous afternoon through the next morning shift was short $10,000. And then, her name's Beth puts how much it is ITM, which is in today's money, which I fucking don't know if you want to guess. Late 1900s, $10,000. $50,000? $21,000. Per protocol, we were all summarily marched across the street to the main branch where the FBI, several managers, and the bank president were waiting to have a little chat.

Guess who was interviewed first? That's right. Overly talkative, when nervous, naive 20-year-old me. While not technically arrested, did they offer me a lawyer, a's right, overly talkative when nervous, naive 20-year-old me. While not technically arrested, did they offer me a lawyer, a phone call, the right to remain silent? No, no, and no. After questioning me about my coworkers and our protocols, the last thing they said was, who do you think is responsible?

My incredulous response, that's not my job. You're the FBI, That's your job. Nice. Unfortunately, the guilty party came in and confessed right after I was interviewed. Everyone now assumed I was a narc. Oh, they were right. I was a complete goody two shoes at the time and these were grown up serious adults. In the end, the money was retrieved from the dumpster.

It was thrown in and no one went to jail. What? I think whoever did it realized they were caught immediately and threw in the fucking dumpster. That's not a solution. I know. I guess it is because no one went to jail. God.

Stay sexy, Beth, she, her. That's hilarious. But I mean, like also if you work at a bank, you can't steal $10,000 without them knowing. No, like on your shift? No. There's what? Eight people to choose from, max. Yeah.

The biggest bank, like that's the wildest, dumbest, bad, but then sorry dumbest, but clearly dumb because then you're like, oh no, I got caught. I'm going to go throw it away in the garbage. Yeah. Not bring it back. If you're going to do it, steal enough money to run away and live a new life and then do it immediately. Like don't, you know what I mean? Yeah. Or if you're truly sorry, just go ahead and put it back in the drawer. Right. Like throwing it away doesn't make it go away. It's almost Halloween, a time for ghosts and goblins and all things spooky,

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Beam, better sleep has never tasted better. Good night. The subject line of this last email of mine is, this is the prize-winning money machine story that MFM dreams are made of guaranteed. This better fucking deliver. Right? A lot of pressure.

Okay. Karen, Georgia, pets, salutations to you all. I didn't come here to brag, but I've been with you since the beginning. I've had a lot of challenges since I met you and I don't know how I'd have managed without you two in my ear I feel silly for tearing up and I truly cannot tell you how much your voice has reminded me I'm a person when I was forgetting now that I'm ugly crying onward Sweet I Want a chance on a money machine in front of thousands of people and I hated every period single

Period second period, single period, second period of it, period. Back in the 90s in Hershey, Pennsylvania, the sweetest place on earth and then in parentheses it says barf, we had these semi-pro soccer games. I'm sure our team was called the Wildcats. During the height of money machines, a big to-do was made of a money machine coming to town. The news advertised it. One lucky attendee would get the glory of being in the machine. That game had record attendance. And yeah, I won. Obviously. I was nine when they announced my name.

I know when they announced my name, one of my little brothers bit my arm. And my mom shook me. I was in absolute despair. That is fucking incredible to be the one person fucking picked. After this huge... You're nine. Yes, you're nine years old and there's thousands of people at this game. You have these tiny little hands and arms. What are you going to fucking do? You're not

going to catch money? Oh my God. I'm like sweating for this person. So it says I was in absolute despair. I had to walk down in front of everyone and then paw for money. Oh, yes. There were rules for the money machine. No pushing cash against the walls. We were supposed to grab money out of the air. I was in shock.

I didn't even realize I was in danger of such a nightmare. I didn't like soccer. To this day, I don't even understand how it works as a sport My mom tucked my last year's old navy fourth of july red flag tea into the side of my overall shorts And then in quotes, it says shove the cash down your shirt and in your pocket She shouted right and then I was in absolute sensory hell with over a thousand strangers screaming and invested in my pawing for cash. I didn't even want. Dash. But maybe I'm salty. No, you're totally, you are understood right now.

When I got out, I only had $17. That's not that bad. Are we talking $1 bills here? Because that's $17 bills is a lot. Yeah. And also for a nine-year-old, you can dine out on $17 for weeks. That's a lot of candy. Okay. The entire audience was disappointed, but not half as much as my mom.

Thank goodness the internet barely existed back then, or I'm sure the collective disappointed sigh of my mother and a thousand plus soccer lovers about my paltry $17 would have gone viral. They interviewed me for the news too, and I remember everyone felt bad. If I had better mental health and could tolerate watching, I'd have had the courage to send you the cringe-inducing footage. If you read this on the show, I'll try to find it for you. Yep. That's right. That's what's happening next. You're going to. Okay. Sorry. It's long. I know the thought of being in a money machine is so lovely for so many. And I hate to ruin that, but I cannot recommend.

Anywho, thank you both so much. You bring me back from panic better than counting backwards from a hundred, reciting the Lord's prayer, the Hail Mary, Jabberwocky, the Walrus and the Carpenter, naming all the presidents in order and the Hershey Park Happy song combined. My OCD brain thanks you. Xoxo and well wishes, Kylie Shay. P.S. I used the money to buy a marionette at the Jersey Shore.

I named her Missy after my pop pop's nickname for me. Yes, I used the money to buy a marionette at the Jersey Shore. Damn. Right? I named her Missy after my pop pop's nickname for me. He worked in the Hershey Chocolate Factory. Missy cost $19.99, but my Aunt Gilda made up the difference. Oh. I mean. And it was haunted. Come on.

Exactly. Marionettes. Those are fucking haunted. Here's what I want to say to you, Kylie Shea. My friends and I have been going to a local drag bingo night, like just at a diner that's super fun. It's like two hours. It's just basically playing a game with a bunch of strangers and everybody yelling and eating french fries, whatever. I dread winning bingo. I do not want to. I want to play the game. I want want to enjoy I want to yell all the comebacks from bingo whatever

Yeah, I do not want to get up and and walk up there and get a prize I am the opposite of you I go to an all ladies bingo and I'm just like mad when I don't win, you know I mean, well, yeah, that's logical. It makes sense. I think my thing is the first drag bingo I went to was it hamburger Mary's? Oh, makes sense. I think my thing is the first drag bingo I went to was at Hamburger Mary's. They're so, I mean, both of these, I love drag bingo so much. It's such a delightful way to spend time. But at Hamburger Mary's, if you get bingo, they make you run around the room. Yeah, that makes sense. You don't want the attention. It's the same thing with your magic

mic story. Yes, I just don't. No, thanks. Can I, can I please not? Can I, can I please not? But also can I play a game? Because I love a game. And then you hand it to your friend to go up. Yeah. Oh my God, Kylie, that was amazing. Thank you. And thank you for the kind words. I will say that, like, this is why you have two people. Like, let's call someone else up. It's the same thing you and I do

at hometowns and live shows. Like that one was terrible because that person was drunk. We have another chance. Let's call someone up here. Sure. Do a second one. Do always give options in any career you have, any situation you might be in. Plan B, always a plan B. Always. Okay. My last one is called Things That Wouldn't Happen Today. As an early Gen Xer, I have many stories from

childhood involving lack of supervision, kids where they do not belong, pollution, and lack of any concern for safety. This is one of my favorites. In the late 1970s when I was 10, my 12-year-old brother and I were traveling from Indiana to California to visit our 27-year-old sister. It was snowing, so by the time my mother had made the hour drive to the airport with us, we found out that our flight had been delayed. So we spent several hours in the airport until about midnight when the stewardess gave my brother and I our wing pins, and we waved goodbye to my mother and got on the plane for our nonstop flight to Los Angeles.

After we were served a soda and a bag of peanuts, the pilot came on the speaker and said that due to smog in LA, our flight was canceled. And we would be landing in Las Vegas. Holy shit. It was so polluted they couldn't come to Los Angeles. I remember my mom saying back in the 70s, there were days where you couldn't, they told you not to leave the house because of the smog.

Jesus. God. Yeah. It's insane. It like canceled school because of the smog. Jesus. God. It's insane. It like canceled school because of the smog. When we landed, my brother and I dutifully followed instructions as they loaded all the passengers onto buses and took us to a hotel for the night, the Circus Circus Manor.

When we got there, we had no luggage and we were starving. Unfortunately, we found out that due to the presence of slot machines and liquor, we were not allowed in any of the places other than the hotel lobby. So we went to our room to just sit and wait to see what would happen next. As a 10 and 12 year old, no one was like, hey, you two are alone. Yeah, we should be doing something special for you as the airline that's responsible for you being here. Right. I just keep an eye on you. In the meantime, my mother had heard from my sister that we had not arrived in LA and was making numerous calls to the airline,

trying to figure out where her children were. She was finally able to call us at the hotel. No cell phones then, of course. And we were able to confirm we were still alive. Next morning, we woke up and heard people milling about in the hallway. When we opened the door, we found out from the other passengers that we were loading back onto the buses to go back to the airport to be put on another

flight to LA. No one knocked on the fucking door for these children to be like, don't miss the bus. I mean, that's why no one missed the bus back in the 70s. It was like, no one's going to help you. No one was ever going to help you with anything. On the flight, they announced due to the rescheduling of the flight, there would be no food or drink service. We finally landed approximately 24 hours after we left and were greeted by my sister. Luckily she had booked a hotel room for the night before as she had planned to take us to Disney on our first day in California so she had been able to sleep as many other families waiting for the flight spent the night in the airport as they could not find any available rooms. Oh, wow. She asked if we still wanted to go to Disneyland, but all we wanted to do was get the expletive out of there and get something to eat. We stopped at a Pizza Hut and

since the only thing we'd had during this entire ordeal was a soda and a bag of airline peanuts, it was the best pizza we had ever had. I bet. I bet there was that salad bar too. That pizza had a salad bar. Can I get a salad too? A side salad. Stay sexy and don't send your minor children to 1970s Las Vegas alone, even if the hotel name sounds like it should be kid friendly.

Sandy. I mean, that must mean that they, because now it is kid friendly at Circus Circus in a way. In a way. In a way. Yeah. But that means that they designed an entire hotel in Las Vegas that called Circus Circus that was bad for children.

That children couldn't go in the restaurant without parents. Yeah, just basic shit. That's crazy. Basic. Yeah. Basic shit. That's crazy. Makes me hungry. Yeah, I know. Now I'm hungry too. Tell us your, I haven't eaten, we didn't eat for 24 hours because this crazy thing happened story. You know, there's gotta be good ones.

Any kind of story like that, that then leads you to the best blank you've ever had. Yes. Yes. We got McDonald's once on the way home from camp that I was like, this is the most, I need to speak to the chef. This is incredible. Camp food to McDonald's is like, yes. So good.

Well, thanks for listening. If you guys want another story, we do a mini mini soda in the fan cult every week. Yeah, get over there. And if you want to send us your story, send it all in to the myfavoritemurderatgmail.com email. Yeah. And then also stay sexy. And don't get murdered.

Good bye. 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 Liana Squillace. Email your hometowns to MyFavoriteMurder at gmail.com.

And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at MyFavoriteMurder and on Twitter at MyFaveMurder. Goodbye!