My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 227

Episode Date: May 17, 2021

This week’s hometowns include a creepy neighbor story and a haunted university. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is exactly right. We at Wondery live, breathe, and downright obsess over true crime. And now we're launching the ultimate true crime fan experience, Exhibit C. Join now by following Wondery, Exhibit C, on Facebook and listen to true crime on Wondery and Amazon Music. Exhibit C, it's truly criminal. Hello! And welcome to my favorite murder, the mini-soad.

It's Minnie. You know. And Mickey. Are we allowed to say that legally? Oh, hold on. There's a knock at the front door. What's this? It's a lawsuit.

It's a lawsuit from Walt Disney's frozen body. Hey, this is the mini-soad where we read you the stories that you so kindly write in that are so wonderful and varied in topics, you know. Oh, and if you have one, whether it be a hometown, a powerful grandma story, a small child being pushed out of a tree story, please send it to my favorite murder at gmail.com. And guess what? Nowadays, if you want one extra story each of us tell a week, you can go on, I don't know, you can go on the fan cult.

And if you haven't ever like, you're like, why don't they ever read my story? Well, we now accept stories in the fan cult. If you have a story, especially if you belong to the fan cult and you have a story that you're like, it's an absolute travesty. They've never read this. Call your ass on over to the fan cult and post it in the forum. Yeah. And we also read those, some of them on this actual show because we don't want to save

them only for the fan cults years. So, you know, I might get picked there too. I have so many, there's so many perks and bonuses from the fan cult. That's at my favorite murder.com. Yeah. We have so many things to provide for you. But first, a mini-soad. That's right.

Do you want to go first? Sure. Do you want to go first? Okay. I'll go first. Okay, do it. I'll change things up. Where did I put it?

Did you not know we were doing a mini-soad? I found it. Okay. You're just a big crossword puzzle on your laptop. I find it. A hometown story. Sisters, sleepwalking, and Scott Peterson. Oh.

I did look up Scott Peterson in our email because I covered it last week, friends. Okay. Karen and Georgia, this is it. The heartbreaking story of Lacey Peterson and the cruelty and absurdity of Scott Peterson will haunt my sister, mom, and me for so many reasons. But the one I want to share for my hometown involves sleepwalking.

I was 10 years old when Lacey Peterson disappeared and murder flooded the news and nation. And it shook my little 10-year-old heart. I grew up in the Bay Area, Concord, and was fascinated by the candlelit visuals and community searches for this beautiful mother-to-be. Every week night, immediately following dinner, my mom would turn on the seven o'clock news, and my seven-year-old sister and

I would sit in raptured watching the breaking coverage as details emerged. We did this for weeks. Weeks. All this murder and mystery before bed culminated in one fateful night of sleepwalking and little sister terrorizing. Mary and I shared a room. She was top bunk and I was bottom bunk.

Soon after falling asleep, I jolt out of bed and flip on all the lights in our room and begin a desperate search. Sound asleep, I start frantically pulling all the clothes out of our shared dresser, shirts scattered on the ground, pajamas all over the toy box, piles of clothes on the bed. My sister blinks awake as I begin ripping the drawers clear out of the dresser. At this point, Mary is crying in confusion and I am screaming at

her. Where are the body parts, Mary? Where are the body parts? Oh, my God. I know. My mom rushes into the room to the chaos of our destroyed bedroom. My younger sister wailing on the top bunk and me standing there scared and blinking, trying to help find Lacey.

Safe to say, our mom eliminated the evening news before bedtime and my sister and I channeled our energy into hiding under a blanket on the living room floor to watch unselfed mysteries. And are you afraid of the dark after school? Please be assured, Mary is okay with no lingering side effects. However, I do still have occasional night terrors. XOXO Katie. PS, I also want to say thank you for getting me through my traumatic

divorce. I never felt alone when I had you too. When the silence was unbearable and my thoughts were too much, you were there with me and that then was there when I needed to hear some girl power sensitivity and badass survivor stories. Katie, thank you. Oh, yeah. Thanks, Katie.

I'm glad you. I'm glad you had something. That's really nice. Yeah. It's nice that it's us and our, our listeners and friendly murdering us. Yeah. That's really, I think a good thing to remember too as a person

who clearly likes true crime still to this day, but was traumatized by it as a child. Like it's not no big deal. And that's I think how people do become murdering us. Eventually is they see these things and suddenly their world cracks open because they say, oh my God, this woman could disappear or this woman could be murdered and it's a whole new reality. So, you know, there's a lot of people like to write in jokingly and

be like, my kid listens along with me. Be careful. We don't, we're not going to tell you how to parent. We don't know. Yeah. Please be careful. I mean, it worked out fine for us, but maybe your kid isn't as resilient as we are.

Yeah. Just fucked up. Yeah. All right. Let's see. The subject line of this email is creepy neighbors can really can be dangerous. Salutations Karen, Georgia and pets.

I grew up in Farmington, New Mexico. I don't know if we get that many emails from New Mexico. We don't. Yeah. I feel what's up. Yeah. I feel like it's ripe for stories. I don't know why.

Yeah. It was one of those now coveted free range nineties childhoods where a mob of us neighborhood kids used to roll around on bikes all summer and getting and get into low grade trouble, you know, things like getting busted playing ding don ditch or once letting the air out of our neighbor kids. Do you know my sister and I were walking around with my nephew yesterday walking the puppy and he, we, my sister and I explained

ding dong bitch to him. And oh, he goes, let's, let's go ring that Nate, that doorbell and my sister and I like, no, but we used to do that. Five year old Joe. It's called ding dong bitch. It really pisses some people off. Truly. We knew all of our neighbors.

There was the older single woman Tracy who didn't have kids and was super willing to give to give us candy and hang out with us on her lawn for a bit. There was a frosty across the street who was older and kept his lawn neat with a military like precision. And there was the creepy guy three doors down who had two mean chow chows and mostly kept to himself as kids. We were aware of this creepy dude who worked on a shitty Chevy

on the street and never acknowledged our existence until one day in 1992 when I was seven. My friend Nikki and I were walking past his house and he was working on his car and he looked at the two of us and asked us to come over there. We of course did so because we were stupid. He told her and myself that we were very beautiful and gave us both small boxes with necklaces in them.

I think they were just cheap plastic costume jewelry, but it felt very fancy to us. We went home and told our parents whose creepy radar was more tuned than ours and they took the necklaces away telling us to stay away from him. I never had any other interactions with this guy. I don't know if my parents went and talked to him after the necklace incident, but he went back to not acknowledging us.

A few months later on July 9th, 1992, my dad and sister and I were in Colorado at a family reunion, but my mother had stayed behind because she had to work. That night a police officer, 39 year old Victoria Chavez, who had been on the job for merely 18 months, was patrolling the neighborhood. She was spotted by said creepy neighbor and thought she was there to arrest him because surprise, there was a warrant out

for his arrest. When he saw her drive by his house, he grabbed a shotgun, ran outside and gunned her down while she sat in her patrol car. Everyone in the neighborhood, including my mom, heard the middle of the night gunshot and immediately ran outside to see the policewoman in her cruiser. Our next door neighbor even got into the car to check her pulse. She died on the scene and left behind a husband and two small

children. When we returned from our trip, we heard the story from our mom and all the other neighbors. The thing I remember most about this was the memorial that was held in front of the house where she was killed. There were at least 100 people dressed in black to mourn the life of this young mother. I still cry a little when I think about it.

I believe it turned out the creepy neighbor who I cannot find the name of for the life of me had some serious mental health issues and was sent to jail. I love listening to you ladies. You always make me laugh. Remember to stay sexy and don't trust your creepy neighbors. Ann. Oh my God.

Yeah. The stories where it's like something was wrong and then something proved to be wrong. I know. Or just terrifying and that poor woman. Also something proven to be wrong through children and people not, you know, back then it was kind of just the beginning of that awareness.

But I feel like these days people are so aware where like if a kid says anything weird, it's just like it's people really pay attention. Man. Maybe comparatively. Oh my God. Yeah. How tragic.

How tragic. Okay. No title. It just starts y'all. I'm from Texas. So that should cover it. Have I got a vintage treasure hometown for you. About a decade ago, my grandmother's brother Jerry died.

His wife also named Jerry, but with a G. Love it. Became the sole owner of their incredible Houston home. Think perfectly curated rooms built with the most beautiful antiques and perfect wallpaper to match. Georgia would die. On a rare visit to her home. My eyes settled upon a beautiful suite of Noritake,

China with gold chasing and sprays of lovely blue forget me knots. Oh, those have a story Jerry says and proceeds to tell me this crazy tale during the pandemic. I actually called my grandma Jane to double check the account. That's right. Trust no one. My great grandfather Roy was part of this crazy Irish family with

seven siblings in Houston, Texas. And when I say crazy, I mean, there is brothel owning, street fighting and debauchery of all types. Hell yes. Represent. Uh-huh. As a postal worker. And then it says, Hey, I'm really hitting the Minnesota topic

Venn diagram here. Roy was definitely the black sheep. Unfortunately, his sister Alice Mary ended up marrying to a horrible abuse of alcoholic asshole named Fred. At some point she decided she finally had enough and shot him dead point blank when she, when he came home from work. Whoa. Upon returning from school, her eldest son Steve apparently

stepped right over the body completely unconcerned. Or lightly traumatized or thoroughly traumatized. Well, it says I can only imagine the level of abuse and trauma they must have endured to have elicited that sort of reaction. She was determined to find the highest powered lawyer in town to plead her case, but didn't have enough money. So she started selling her things, including her China set, which my great grandparents Roy and Eileen bought from her to

help out. I want to say great job on naming the names of these grandparents because we always want that. Grandma Jane remembered the entire family. Children included gathering around the radio to listen to the final verdict. Not guilty. Wow.

She remembered Alice's son Steve running around the house with absolute joy and alleges that Alice was the first woman acquitted for murder in Texas because of the level of abuse she sustained. Ugh. Not a hundred percent sure on that fact, but you know, do we really have to be a hundred percent sure about everything? My great Aunt Cherry gets me the China set on the spot and they

use it practically every day. As I sip tea and eat dinner off my plates, I think of my badass women ancestors and can't wait to pass the set and the story along to my daughter Clementine one day. Stay sexy and call your grandma. She's probably got some great stories to share. Julia L. Oh, man.

I just want to see that China. Send us a picture. I mean, Noritake. That's good stuff. That's bone. Yeah. China. That's important.

Yeah, I believe so. I didn't know that. That's my weird obsession when I go into like antique stores and stuff, I go and look at the dishes for so long because I didn't know that. Yeah, I just like it. And the, that old stuff was just so beautifully made. It was like when you got gifted China for your wedding or whatever,

it was a very big deal. You know? Yeah. Well, I got my grandma's China when she passed. My mom just thrusted it, brought it over one day and was like, here's grandma's China, which I kind of was like, what do I need China for? But I'm like the person that gets all the old shit and it's

really beautiful. I'm glad I got it. And I know also my grandma bought it piece by piece every week. Yeah. They couldn't afford the whole set. And so it is really special in that way. Yeah. It meant so much to her.

Yeah. It was like a pro, almost like a, it was like a long-term goal of having a set of China. It was a big deal to have the whole set. Yeah. And it came out at Hanukkah. It was a big deal for my grandma. So I thought I have it.

Yeah. That's a good. Also, I feel like dishware, you, you don't realize, but you look at it as a kid, like my mom's China was very plain. It was just gold bands on the inner and outer circles. Yeah. But like the second I see it, it's just like all those memories or

it's one of those kinds of things. So I, I love that Julia has that times 10 in her. Totally. Her thing. That's very cool. And a rad story. All right. Let's see.

The subject line of this is cursed college. Hello to all of the creatures belonging to the God of Abraham. Oh my God. And then in parentheses, it says, I know, I know you'll hate this, but I think it's hilarious and exclusive. I love it. I do too. It's just so, it's very extreme sounding.

It is. I hope we all belong to the God of Abraham and I hope he's one of the nice ones. Okay. This is a little long, but worth it. Believe me. I attended the university that film American animals is based off of, which is a movie I actually saw in the theater.

The true story of that heist is crazy, but the college itself has a crazy history. The schools is Transylvania University in Lexington, Kentucky. It's a small liberal arts college with about a thousand students. The school was established in 1780 and is, I believe the oldest school west of the Appalachian Mountains. The best part of the school, it's cursed. Hence the subject of the email.

In the early 1800s, there was a professor named Constantine Raffinesque. Oh my God. Right. There are multiple stories that either Raffinesque came to class very drunk and rowdy or had an affair with the president's wife. Either way, he was soon fired, but before he left, he cursed the school.

Of course, no one ever really believed this until shit started going down. Since the curse, every seven years, something traumatic has happened. The oldest building on campus burned down twice. So the school thought that they would fix the problem and get Raffinesque to uncurse the school. There's a question mark near uncursed.

But Raff, as we like to call him, had passed away in New England. Not a problem. They had his body exhumed and brought him to be buried in a tomb in the current administration building. No, no, no. I don't know anything about curses, but that does not sound like the way.

Well, like that's not the solution to bring the cursor right into. And it just stirred his dead body. Yeah. And also, did this guy not have a family that'd be like, excuse me, college? No. That's no thanks.

He actually hated it there. Yeah. We're going to bring him back. Okay. So, yeah. Okay. Wait. So they had his body examined and brought him to be buried in a

tomb in the current administration building. And then in parentheses, it says the same building, which has burned down twice. Oh my God. Since then, though, something crazy still happened. A girl was found murdered in her car in the 70s. The building burned down again. The book Heist American Animals is based on happened.

And most recently, a deeply disturbed former student walked into the coffee shop with a machete and attacked students. Everyone survived. Thank you to two amazing badass ladies who worked at the coffee shop. Whoa. These are a lot of stories I would like to read. In the 90s, scientists looked at Raph's supposed body.

The results, there are actually two bodies in the coffin and one is female. So the curse is not broken. Right? This could be an email of lies because this is unbelievable. Okay. It is a tradition for the students to celebrate Raph week or the week of Halloween.

There's a drawing students can enter to spend the night in Raph's tomb. So we gladly continue this narrative. Yeah. They don't give a fuck. Oh my God. Like most American things, the school in the surrounding city has a problematic history and probably deserves to be cursed.

But the current faculty and staff challenge students to fight for the rights of all. Nice. It can be an amazing place to learn. I hope you enjoyed this story. It's my favorite one to tell. I'm also an archeologist. So please remember not to take treasure from anywhere without

permission. Oh my God. This is an epic fucking story. This person needs to start their own podcast. Thank you, Indiana Jones. It doesn't belong to you. Stay sexy. Go to a cursed school.

So it gives you an icebreaker. Utilize your privilege to help others and don't get murdered. Mac. Mac. I have to say I'm list. I'm disappointed in my guidance counselors at high school because had they told me anything about this school, I would have tried harder to go to this college, only this college.

Right. We had no idea what the possibilities actually were. It's like college. It's like some big open campus. You have to walk everywhere. But it's like, unless you go to Transylvania. Totally. In Lexington, Kentucky.

Oh my God. Yeah. If there's high school students listening to this, please stop listening. But also, let's get a bunch of murderinos to go to this fucking college. Right. Yeah.

High school and beyond. You don't have to be a young person to go to college. That's right. Any time in your life. That's right. But why would you? Okay. Don't bother.

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Goodbye. Bye. Hello. When I found cocaine in an old policeman's jacket. Howdy misses muse mutes and mustaches. Look at that. Look at that. Who loves them? They do. I was listening to the latest

mini-soad when you opened up the floodgates to found in pockets stories. I knew I had to tell you the story about the time we went to a dibs party at my bartender friend Jerry's place. Have you heard of dibs parties? The I.S. You mean the ice cream that you can get at the movie theater? Oh, Dippin dots, dibs dots. OK, a dibs party is when someone is moving and doesn't want to take all their shit with them.

So they have all their friends come over to wish farewell, drink and auction style called dibs on all the things that the owner doesn't have the patience to shluck to goodwill. Genius. It can get pretty funny and pretty heated. Would recommend 15 out of 10. That sounds stressful, but amazing. Yeah, it sounds like we used to have at work, we would have the white elephant Christmas thing where everybody has the gift.

And then as I can't remember the system, but basically you keep getting to take gifts away from people and give them the gift you have. And there was one year where who is a Roz Chast who is that unbelievably hilarious cartoonist that's been in the New Yorker for years? Yeah, there was a Roz Chast like compendium of all her cartoons. And people were getting pissed because everyone kept taking it. It was like whatever you had, you were trying to get that book.

And there was like a real fight between people at the end. I mean, you could just buy it. You know, I know. What'd you say? So funny. You could actually people really fighting out like. Oh, yeah, yeah. They were pissed. The whoever didn't. I think I was definitely one of the people where I was like, that sucks.

And I didn't even think about the fact that I could buy it. I just wanted the one you wanted to win. I wanted what I wanted. Fair enough. I didn't have a big apartment at the time. So I tended to my whiskey whilst watching lamps, dishes and side tables got as they got handed to the new owners. It wasn't until a few glasses in that Jerry opened up his closet

to reveal an old police patrolman's jacket. It was spectacular. Polyester deep blue with a dark furline collar, quilted lining, knitted cuffs and bright brass buttons and zippers that closed its plethora of pockets. That was an excellent description, I will say this person loves alliteration. They know you're right. You're right.

Most of the patches had been carefully removed, but the 70s polyester had faded so much that you could clearly make out the star shape on the lapel. Before it was even held up to the masses, I jumped out of my chair, drunkenly screened at the top of my lungs and grabbed the jacket out of his grasp. Jerry moved on to a collection of grungy plaid button down shirts. And I immediately put on my new favorite clothing item.

I didn't stop talking about it for 10 minutes. Perhaps that's why shortly after winning my item, my boyfriend at the time decided I was done and drove me home. Smart on the drive. I took the jacket off and started going through the pockets, not much at first, gum wrapper, penny, linty fluff, all the usual stuff. All went out the open window of the car litter bug. Yeah, drunk littering.

Then I opened the tiniest zipper pocket on the upper sleeve. Ooh, a tiny little bag with a rock in it, a little white rock. How cute. Eh, don't need this. I didn't collect rocks, so out the window it went. Oh, shit. I put the coat back on, nuzzled down in its polyester glory and gently passed out.

A week or so later, Jerry called. I started in with the pleasantries and he cut me off to ask, uh, hey, do you still have that jacket from the dibs party? Sure, I replied. It's my favorite. Thanks again. Good. Yeah.

Okay. He cut me off a second time. Did you go through the pockets at all? He inquired quickly. Uh, I don't remember. I quavered. Of course I remembered, but I wasn't about to wrap myself out. Well, turns out I was right to keep quiet about it.

Apparently that cute little rock that I threw out the window. It was cocaine. Yeah. Yep. A whole rock of it. Having never seen coke in real life, I had no second thoughts or inkling that it was valuable. I still have no clue how much Jerry's stash was worth. I just threw it out of the window thinking that I was checking an ugly quartz crystal

out into the night. I often wonder if he kept looking for it in other pockets of other jackets or if someone found it on the street and knew what it was. I hope to God a kid didn't pick it up. I eventually gave the jacket up, but still chuckle a bit when I think of it. Love you ladies and all that you have done to make me feel safe and normal in this crazy and abnormal world. Stay sexy and always check your pockets.

Okay. I mean, I don't know if I would recognize that rock of cocaine and also I feel like little baggy white rock is like, yeah, but is that, is that not crack? No, you crush it up and it's coke. Oh, wow. Or is that a crack rock? I mean, I don't know. I think it's only crack if you smoke it.

I don't know. Guys, write in and let us know how cocaine and crack works, please. This is really important. Jesus Christ. I really hope it just got like washed away in rain and I mean, it could have gone very, if you found that, tell us how it went. Have you ever found drugs? That's a great one to write in.

Yeah, that's true. Also, I hope Kay learned a very valuable lesson about littering drugs and everything else. Drugs, money, lint. Quit throwing shit out the window. Truly. Unless it's a penny because then that someone might have good luck, but I guess it's good luck if you find coke too. Oh, that's true.

Depending on your lifestyle. Yeah. There used to be, UCB would have, upright citizens would have New Year's Eve parties and then you know, the people who intern there would then have to clean up afterwards. And I just remember the hearing a story of them finding a big bag of cocaine at the end of the parties, but they're all like good kids. And so they thought of the one guy that wasn't a good kid and they were like, Hey, buddy, we found your cocaine.

It was this cocaine. I want out him. Good plan. Yeah. If that story took place in Los Angeles, it could have been anybody's cocaine. The good, the good kid thing. I'm not buying it all. They're all like college kids and shit.

I don't know. All right. Here's the last one from me. I won't you read you the subject line. Hi. I stressed about the intro too long. So I'm not doing one. Perfect.

You did it. Yeah. You nailed it. I've asked my parents for hometowns for ages with no results until one day my dad mentioned the story that my mom anxiously tried to stifle for fear that somehow the cops or DCF or someone would come after her for despite the fact that I'm almost 30. And well, that's it's not actually a crime. It doesn't fit in a hometown category, but honestly, are there even really categories

anymore? Fair. No, there are not. Anyways, I grew up in the early nineties in a little coastal town in Massachusetts. My mom often took my little brother and I to a playground about a mile from our house. One on one particularly hot summer day. She accidentally locked us both in the car. Oh, I'm nothing, but I shouldn't be.

Look, it happens. I feel like, you know, it happens. Panicking and immediately frantic about our inevitable suffocation in the heat. A helpful stranger offered her own car so my mom could speed the mile down the road, grab the spare keys and get us out. Wow, mom. That's just so trusting that a random lady let you take her car and you left us with a total stranger.

He interjected at this point. Well, yes, my mom said, because I took her little kid in the car with me as collateral. Oh, my God. So I knew she wouldn't kidnap you too. What I love about that is that she couldn't have kidnapped them because they were stuck in the car. But I guess when you're panicking, logic doesn't really come into play. Because also the woman could have just gone to the house herself and grab the keys.

But that's double trusting. Yeah, that's yeah, I think they probably also I think it was like two moms looking each other up and down and being like, are you an asshole? I'm not an asshole. Okay. But also be like, if we call the cops, this is going to be really embarrassing and I'm going to look like a bad mom. Let's fix it ourselves.

Help me fix this lady. So naturally we now retell the story as how our little sister came to be a part of our family. Like a joke like the mom's story. Anyway, please don't come after my mom DCF. And just so you know, the subject line of this was the time my mom used a small child as collateral. Oh, my God.

It's short and oh, so sweet. Yeah. Stay sexy and kidnap children to ensure your stay safe. Question mark. Caitlin. Epic Caitlin. Epic. More stories like that.

And we don't need long stories that can be short and sweet and great. Like just panic logic going out the window when you're panicking. How about that? Yeah, that how about or moms uniting for a for a cause. Protecting each other and covering each other's asses knowing full well. They probably have done the exact same thing themselves. And hindsight being like, wow, I got real lucky. Oh, maybe a high hindsight, great hindsight stories of luck.

Yeah. Or how John something was looking back. Yeah. We're opening it up guys. It's just getting wider the chasm of chasm. Chasm. It's chasm. My favorite murder hometown topics is getting wider and wider.

Yeah. Soon. I'll fall in. Also don't. We're in. And don't forget. You can. You can jump into this chasm with your own subject line of really

anything and we'll probably buy it off of you. That's listening. Yeah. Thanks for writing in. We fucking appreciate you. And stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Elvis, do you want to cookie?