My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 88

Episode Date: September 17, 2018

This week’s hometowns include going to jury duty on acid and a car accident mystery.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. Hi.

And welcome to the mini-soad. This is my favorite murder, the mini-soad where we read you your stuff. So let's start it off. This subject line of this email is $10,000 at the Goodwill. Hey, y'all. Love the show. Way too much to be healthy. I was at work this week and was extremely sad that I'd already binged all of the episodes.

I was scrolling through to see which one I was going to listen to when I saw that I somehow missed a mini-soad. As I was excitedly listening to mini-soad 50, I heard y'all read about how someone found $10,000 cash at the Goodwill. Funny story, my grandfather was an old school drug dealer and used to hide his money in all kinds of crazy places under the dog house, under my dad's baby stuff and the attic, under trees and apparently in clothes as well. When he went to jail, when my dad was young, my grandmother divorced him and donated all

of his clothes to Goodwill. He was released a few years later and came back to the house to collect all of his things and subsequently to find all of his cash. According to my dad, my grandfather laughed in my grandmother's face when he realized she had literally given away over $12,000 worth of cash that was sewn into all of his jackets throughout the house. Maybe the murderer who wrote in about her love for vintage clothing somehow found my to-be inheritance.

Anyway, keep up the good work, ladies. Can't wait to see you in Atlanta this fall. Stay sexy and stick to legal occupations so that you can use a bank like a normal fucking person. Love, S. Why do people hide money in things that can be given away? Or just not hip their wife to, like, what is going on? Oh, man.

Just tell one person. Like, the shit I find in my purses, I'm like, and it's not money, but it's like, how the fuck did this get in? Oh, my God. Thank God I don't have money to hide anywhere. Okay, this is called, they dusted the cat food container for fingerprints. Hi, excellent podcasters, and you're assorted furry creatures. Stephen, I guess that means you, too.

One day in October, a few years ago, I was working from home at around 10 in the door, at around 10, the doorbell rang. And when I peeked out the window to see who it was, I caught a glimpse of a creepy man and a wife beater. No fucking way I was opening the door to that. After I failed to answer the door, he cut across my yard to my back fence and opened the gate. By now, my brain had slowly kicked in, and I had picked up the phone and dialed 911.

The man banged hard on my back door, and I fled to my bedroom closet like a small child. No sooner had I given the operator my address and told her what was happening than he had busted the lock open and was in my house. Fuck. 100% don't know what possessed me to do this. But I marched out of my bedroom and yelled, get the fuck out of my house. Because my house is so tiny, I practically ran him over as I emerged from the bedroom, and I scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

She turned and ran, and as he fled through the kitchen, he picked up a plastic container of cat food that was sitting on the counter. He yelled, get away, bitch, and flung the cat food at me. I swear I'm not making that up. I stood in the kitchen and watched him get into a maroon Pontiac, which sped away. I told myself to remember the license plate, but I was too freaked out. In just a few minutes, a couple of police officers arrived. I told them the story, and upon hearing what the perpetrator had touched, that had touched

a plastic container, they called a forensics team. I wish I had thought to take a picture of the giant crime scene van that pulled it outside my house. It was cool and totally horrifying at the same time. They told me they got a few prints, but since I never heard anything about the crime after that, I assume they never caught the guy. The moral of the story is, if a shady guy rings your doorbell and further tries hard to make sure no one is home by pounding on your door, freaking yell something.

As always, stay sexy and keep a container of cat food handy in case the crime scene technicians can use it, Krista. So I think he was banging on the doors, and no one yelled anything. So he was like, great, no one's home, I'm going to break in and burglar this place. I just like the idea that she was so scared in the beginning, and then somewhere in there, in her own bedroom closet, she just was like, you know what, fuck this shit. That's really exciting. She waited to scream, get the fuck out of here until he was inside of the house.

Something came over her. He was like, I'm not fucking hiding in here. Well, she's lucky. Yeah, she's very lucky, but it was just cat food container. And also, how rude. But it's also so weird that they would fingerprint. I don't know. That's cool.

Okay. The subject line of this one is, accidentally went to jury duty on acid. Dear Karen, Georgia, Steven, and Puts, in 2012, I graduated from Illinois State University and moved in with my boyfriend, now husband, the same day. He had been staying with his dad in Indiana, so we found an apartment in nearby Valpariso. Probably not Indiana. We were young and without children, so we participated in a lot of partying. After living there for three years, I was selected for jury duty.

Being a lifelong true crime fan, I took the calling very seriously. I read the instructions thoroughly and was prepared to arrive at the courthouse on Monday morning. This Saturday before I was supposed to go, my boyfriend and I went to Chicago to look for apartments as we were planning on moving back home. We ended up finding the perfect place and signed the paperwork that day. That afternoon, we decided to celebrate the new apartment by taking some acid. Oh, no.

Of course, the jury duty was on the forefront of my mind, so I figured I'd take the acid now, trip through the night, return to normal Sunday, and arrive Monday morning ready to go. At first, my plan worked. By Sunday evening, I was no longer tripping. The only problem was that I couldn't fall asleep. To solve this problem, I took two sleeping pills and passed out. I woke up Monday morning feeling exhausted and just not myself.

For some reason, I bypassed the business casual outfit I had laid out, put on jeans and sneakers, and showed up with wet hair. By this time, I'd realized that I just needed to focus on getting through the day and that taking the sleeping pills was maybe not the best idea. I was directed to a room to wait for instructions. A woman with a flowery dress walked in and began telling us how the day was going to go. I was staring at her dress and trying really hard to focus on what she was saying when

all of a sudden, the flowers in her dress started moving. I shifted my gaze to the floor and then the geometric pattern, that geometric pattern was also moving. Yep, the sleeping pills had somehow made me start to trip again and I was about to enter a courtroom. By the time we made it to the jury box, I had woken up and was ready to participate. The case was about someone who was being accused of selling heroin and the cops had used confidential informants to charge him.

Let me say right now that I don't support the sale of heroin, but being that I was on drugs, I wasn't processing things normally. For the 30 minutes that I was in the courtroom before the judge asked me to leave, I managed to tell the prosecution that confidential informants are snitches. Oh no. I believe, I believe I said, you mean snitches? That I don't trust the police and that I made a small speech about the heroin epidemic. That part's not bad, but totally not appropriate at the time.

Somehow I got myself home, passed out in the middle of my living room floor on top of my laptop. Stay sexy and don't take drugs before jury duty and it's signed your fan page. Oh my gosh, she's flagged now, like her name is flagged as someone to watch. The idea that there must have been a point in like her standing up and giving a speech where she came to talking. Because the decision to stand up and make a speech was not a conscious one. There's just no way.

Which is like started happening. And then it's like, what the fuck am I doing? Oh no. I'm talking about snitches. You're ruining it for yourself. Holy shit. Okay. This one is the time my friend's elderly neighbor got arrested.

And there's a photo that I think Stephen's going to pull up for us. Uh oh. Okay. This is the story when my friend's elderly neighbor got arrested. So my friend and I grew up on Cape Cod in a town called Yarmuth. They spelled it out for me. Thank you. Oh nice.

At the time, my friend's parents had just decided to move out of her childhood home and move to Florida. None of the kids were living there at the time, but her youngest sister, who was in her mid-20s at the time, moved back in while her parents were figuring out what to do with the house. Cape Cod has the highest per capita elderly population in the state. So her sister thought nothing of the old guy that lived next door. And one day she hears some commotion outside and sees cops and a SWAT team members and such surrounding this old guy's house.

So naturally, she goes out to investigate. I guess the cops had to tell her several times to go inside because it wasn't safe. And she said something like, it's my property, I can be out here. But eventually she goes inside, don't go out there. So once the old man came out of his house and finally surrendered to the police, it turned out that this old man was no old man at all. He was really a 31-year-old who had been hiding from the police for four months. He was wanted for drug trafficking charges.

But instead of leaving town, he decided to wear a movie grade old man mask and stay in town. No way. I'm not sure how the cops figured out it was him. Maybe someone ratted him out or something, but it actually wound up being national news, which we all thought was hilarious. After all this, this now semi-famous picture, see below, it's more Stephen, of this mugshot next to a photo of him wearing the old guy mask, was his Facebook profile picture for

a while. Let me see. Holy, no. He looks like a troll from a troll movie. It's now an important part of the local folklore. Stay sexy and trust no one, not even your elderly neighbor's Cara. This guy looks like he was on Gilligan's Island and it's like Gilligan's Island old man makeup.

Yes. It's not good. He looks proud of himself. It's nice of her to say movie grade, but... It's insulting to movie makeup artists, too. I mean, you know what it is, is I bet you that's a false nose for sure. And I bet you he looked at something online. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

It looks like him as an old man, for sure, though. It's not a great job. He probably downloaded his picture into a Benjamin Button style app where it's like, what would you look like super old and then did some kind of makeup thing on that? How do you kind of fun to walk around town as an old man and let people treat you differently probably? That's right. It's like a real Tyra Banks in the fat suit style social experiment.

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I'm Candice DeLong and on my new podcast Killer Psyche Daily, I share a quick 10-minute rundown every weekday on the motivations and behaviors of the criminal masterminds, psychopaths, and cold-blooded killers you hear about in the news. I have decades of experience as a psychiatric nurse, FBI agent, and criminal profiler. On Killer Psyche Daily, I'll give you insight into cases like Ryan Grantham and the newly arrested Stockton Serial Killer. I'll also bring on expert guests to dive deeper into the details, share what it's like to work with a behavioral assessment unit at Quantico, answer some killer trivia, and even

host virtual Q&As where I'll answer your burning questions. Today, Prime members, listen to the Amazon Music Exclusive Podcast, Killer Psyche Daily, in the Amazon Music app. Download the app today. This is just simply titled Car Accident Mystery. Hello, MFM fam. Love your podcast. My wife works in the ER and came home one day with this crazy story.

She got a call that a patient was coming in after a rollover motor vehicle crash. EMS reported she was ejected from the vehicle and found in the bushes near the accident. When the patient arrived, she was unconscious, but other than a scrape on her knee looked unscathed. Due to her lack of consciousness, they decided to place a breathing tube, which is standing procedure with this standard procedure with this type of thing. The moment after pushing the meds to intubate, the patient began screaming hysterically. But since the meds had already been given, they had to intubate anyway.

They sent the patient to a full body scan, but nothing was found. The social worker thought that the patient looked familiar and said that she would investigate. Meanwhile, my wife sent the patient to the ICU and went on with her shift. At the end of her shift, she went back to the social worker to follow up. And it turns out this patient has munchausen syndrome. When talking to the police, this woman was never even in the car. It turns out this bitch was walking down the street, witnessed a car accident and then threw herself into the nearby bushes.

What the fuck? When EMS arrived, she played dead, pretending to be unconscious, and EMS assumed she was ejected from the car. The whole time the nurses and doctors were evaluating her, she was awake. Oh my god. My wife estimated that from the ambulance ride, trauma admission to ER, and then the ICU stay, it cost her $30,000 in medical expenses. Holy shit.

Love you guys. Just Erin. Oh my god. That's awful. How sad though. It's terrible. It's terrible, but what I'm laughing at, because I should explain why I'm laughing so hard, just the coincidence that a person with munchausen is walking down the street when a terrible,

I mean a rollover car accident is a huge thing. And the first thing she thinks of is, I'm going to dive into the bushes and get me a piece of this action. Yeah, and it's like, oh, you might get fucked up from this more than you fucking, well, I have a car accident, one, two, a little bit, but it's light hearted, so don't worry. Oh my god. This was called MNESOD number 27 update. Light hearted.

Hello, MNFM team. You read my submission about my EMT dad back on MNESOD number 27, and I thought I would provide you an update. A small refresher, when I was a kid, we had come upon a flipped over minivan on the side of the desolate road with a mom and several children trapped inside. I was a bit fuzzy on the details when I remembered my dad coming back to the car covered in blood after performing life saving measures. Casual.

After that episode aired, I told my brother, listen, and once he finished, he messaged me, wait, you didn't even tell them the best part. And then she says, what best part? So my brother went on to tell me that, yes, everyone in the car survived. Somehow the woman was able to get my dad's contact info and sent him a Christmas card every year, giving him updates about the kids and continually thanking them for saving their lives. One year, she sent him a small guardian angel pin that my dad put in his truck.

Cut to a few years later, my dad and my brother get into a horrific car accident near our home. The truck was T-boned and completely totaled. Fortunately, my dad and my brother walked away without a scratch. Whoa. Yeah. My dad was really upset as he was unable to get the pin out of the car before it went away to whatever smashed up cars go.

But I'm 100% sure that this was a butt load of good karma coming back his way for saving that whole family years prior. Just wanted to give you guys an update. Can't wait for my rad dad to walk me down the aisle next month. He truly is the best. Stay sexy and make sure to cross-reference your stories with your siblings before you submit them to a podcast. So Jenna.

That's hilarious. Wow. Oh, thank God they lived. I mean, how? Jesus Christ. Both of the car accidents. Shit, man. They're the worst.

So bad. I hate them. Well, send us your shit. Send us your cars and horse stories. My favorite runner Gmail. And stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Goodbye.

Bye. Elvis, you want a cookie? Yeah. You're welcome.