My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 381
Episode Date: April 29, 2024This week’s hometowns include a convincing Halloween costume and a friendly dog named Boone. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices...
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This is exactly right.
What happens when 20 extremely athletic Canadians, who thrive on competition and won't settle
for less than number one, find themselves on a team?
Taking on jaw-dropping obstacles all across Canada is one thing.
Working together on a team with some pretty big personalities is another.
It's a new season of Canada's Ultimate Challenge, and sparks are gonna fly.
New episodes Sundays. Watch free on CBC General. people feeling smooth. Smooth like...
New McCafe Cold Brew. Try it with French vanilla or caramel cream. At participating McDonald's restaurants in Canada. My favorite murder.
Hello and welcome to my favorite murder.
The mini-sode.
Hey.
How do we do that good?
We're so good at this now.
So satisfying to be good at something after eight years of trying.
Want to go first?
Sure.
Okay.
The subject line of this email is my ride with a murderer and an update on house bars.
And then it says episode 412 in parentheses.
Hey, y'all, let's get down to business.
You asked about house bars in episode 412.
I live in Wisconsin and
right down the road from my family's cabin is a classic house bar. Yes, it is in a grandmother's
living room and they do walk out of the kitchen to serve patrons. It's also the place where
they ID'd me to make sure I was 18 and old enough to purchase cigarettes, not to make
sure I was 21 and able to drink. Apparently the sheriff at the time had a thing about
underage smoking, but not so much about underage drinking. It's a cozy little place and still
thriving today. I mean, don't be afraid to throw in the name of the bar so we can give
them some like free promotion. Sure. We'll call it grandmother's living room. Okay. I
also have a hometown story about how I rode with a murderer more times than I can count.
Years ago, I worked for a large company and the campus was widespread.
Oftentimes, employees leaving would hitch a ride from the security team to their cars.
I regularly talked with the guard on duty when he would take me to my car, and his story
rocked our world when it all came crashing down.
He murdered two women within a short period
claiming sexual encounters gone wrong.
What?
Like it's still murder.
Why would that be?
He left their bodies in a ditch on the side of the highway.
When the story broke, they didn't have a suspect.
Days later, the cops were closing in
and our security guard mysteriously
stopped showing up for work. He was found and apprehended and to the best of my knowledge is still rotting
in jail to this day. The story doesn't end there. Most of us at the office were creatures
of habit and always parked in the same spot. One employee regularly parked next to him
and days before the women were found, they moved to a different spot because his car
reeked of gasoline. Not only did he take the lives of the women, found, they moved to a different spot because his car reeked of gasoline.
Not only did he take the lives of the women,
he doused them in fuel to cover up the smell
and drove around with them in his trunk for days.
I can't even count the number of times
I sat next to him chatting about the weather
right up until the day he disappeared.
It still spooks me every time I think about
how many of us were alone with him, with our guard let down, you know, because he was there to quote unquote
protect us. May his victims rest in peace. Well, stay sexy and don't blindly trust every
person in uniform, but do visit home bars. Thanks for all you do. And for the joy you
bring to so many of us. Hailey, she, her.
Hailey. Oh my God. Like the close encounter that you have, I don't think you ever let that
let go of that for the rest of your life. You're always.
How could you?
Yeah. Like there's no reason it couldn't have been one of them. It's just.
It's the feeling of then you're racking your brain, like, did I ever get a sense?
Was I ignoring it?
Or was there no sense to get, which is even scarier?
I think a lot of the times,
there's probably no sense to get, you know?
Especially with sociopaths who are so good at it.
Yeah.
That's their whole, that's what they work on
all their lives.
Oh my God, that's terrifying.
Yeah. All right, here's another scary one. This is. Oh my God, that's terrifying. Yeah.
All right, here's another scary one.
This is called, my cat maybe saved my life.
Hello MFM family, fur babies included, your favorite.
As I was listening to some hometown stories,
I had a memory surface that I thought you'd like,
or maybe not, about how my cat, or really my ex's cat,
who really did not like me, might have saved my life.
We adopted this kitten off the street
who immediately took a liking to my ex
and an immediate dislike to me and everyone else.
She would walk into any room I'd be in
just to hiss at me and turn around and walk out.
It's like high school.
Oh my God, growl at visitors and swipe at people's feet
as they walked past.
My brother had a cat like this.
Needless to say, we had an understanding.
I'd fill her bowl and stay the fuck away from her.
My ex had taken a job out of town about two and a half hours away,
which meant he was gone Sunday through Friday and just home really on Saturday.
Well, I had just become a stay at home mom for our then six month old.
When he went out of town, I would usually sleep
with a huge-ass kitchen knife tucked between the mattress
and the bed frame because you never fucking know.
One night after settling my daughter down
for the millionth time, I walked back into my bedroom,
grabbed my book, and started reading.
That's when this cat comes creeping into the bedroom
like she's stalking a mouse, hops on the bed with me,
and stands over my
legs all without breaking eye contact with my giant bedroom window. The eyes were the
size of dinner plates and I immediately got chills. I calmly grabbed the knife and my
cell phone and who did I call? My fucking ex, two hours away. I said, quote, your cat
is staring out the window. I've never seen her eyes this big. There's either a coyote out there or someone is watching me. End quote. We both
knew he was too far away to do anything. So he told me to stay inside. Absa fucking Lily.
And he would call our friend who lived a couple blocks over to come and check it out. Within
five minutes, I saw headlights pull into the driveway and heard our friend knocking on
the door, calling out to me. I opened the door, gave a quick rundown to our friend, pointed the direction of the side of the house where my bedroom window would be, and he
started walking over there. When he got to the corner, he stopped, saw a tall figure standing
outside my window, and then we both heard footsteps running away. I ran inside, my friend ran after the
figure. So brave. So brave. By this time, I'm hysterical.
Not only was there someone outside my window,
but this fucker stood there long enough
for multiple phone calls to be made
and my friend to drive over.
Whew.
After a few more minutes,
my friend comes back to the house
and immediately calls 911, finally.
The police came, got statements from me and my friend,
who unfortunately lost the creep while chasing him,
walked around my house and told me that there were a lot of shoe prints outside
my bedroom window.
But that was probably because I lived next to an empty field and suggested that I buy
curtains.
No curtains.
No curtains.
Are you kidding me?
I have my curtains drawn most of the day.
That to me feels like countryside or suburbia living where it's like, but we're way out
here.
Right. Totally, totally.
When I walk by people's house at night
that don't have their curtains drawn for their living room,
I feel awkward for them.
You know?
Right.
It's just weird.
Needless to say, I begged my friend and his wife
to sleep at my place.
And the next morning I took myself, my daughter,
and my favorite cat to my mom's.
Thanks for reading, stay sexy, and maybe call 911 first. Hug a cat
and don't get murdered. Tiffany. The cat is the reason.
The cat's the reason I love it. And on top of that, I think one, the fourth thing on
that list should have been and get curtains. Draw those curtains.
Yeah. That's what the cop said. Suggested I buy curtains.
Buy them. Like they're not, it's not like, oh, I just didn't really close it.
That's crazy.
They don't have any.
Yeah.
Wow.
Luckily that turned out that way.
And luckily it's like the friend so brave as we said,
but it's like, don't chase some stranger anywhere.
Don't get chased.
No.
Because even if you catch them, like, they're gonna what?
Do what?
Nothing.
Yeah.
They could have anything on them.
They could, anything could be going on.
Like, no, no.
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Goodbye.
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Goodbye.
This says, Mount St. Helens eruption and my granny's fuck politeness.
Hey, MFM crew, I listened to the Mount St. Helens eruption episode and I thought it was
the perfect time to write in and tell you about the aftermath that resulted in my two
sweet little grandmas having to fuck politeness.
My grandparents were living in Spokane, Washington at the time of the eruption.
I've heard stories of the darkness that filled the sky and the ash that proceeded to fall
for days.
As a little backstory, my grandma loved collecting pieces of nature.
My mom often described road trips in our family's RV and my grandma filling the RV with rocks and
logs from across the USA. Logs! Like anything could be in there. I know. Oh God. Just like that Lucille
Ball movie with the trailer being weighed down because she had filled it with rocks.
That's a great reference that literally is like a century old.
My grandma was the same way and it is a trait that has been passed on to my mom and myself.
So after the eruption, my grandma was on a mission to collect ash.
Do you remember, you're too young, you were born. But there was a whole thing that happened after Mount St. Helens,
where like you could just get a little
commemorative vial of ash.
Yeah, I have definitely seen something like that before.
Well, I had a Mount St. Helens pen that had ash in it.
Ooh, who made those?
That's smart.
I feel like either maybe someone gave it to us in Portland
or someone just gave it to
me as a gift knowing, but anyway.
I love that Mount St. Helens made merch.
Yeah.
Oh, there's always, those merch makers have always been out there.
They're like, Oh, something happened.
Wouldn't you like a little bit of this mountain in a vial?
Okay.
So grandma was on a mission to collect ash.
She and my great grandma took to the streets with jars gathering keepsakes from this natural phenomenon.
While on the streets, they were approached
by a handsome and well-dressed man.
He was very charming and began telling them
how he had tons of ash he had gathered
and that they should come back with him to take some.
Sir.
I mean, it's all here.
Why do we need to have your fucking ash?
There's tons.
My grannies were the sweetest and most angelic people I've ever met.
They saw the best in everyone and were polite to their core.
However, something about this seemed off.
They declined his offer and he continued that it would be no trouble and tried to push them
to come with him.
They trusted their gut and made some excuses before scurrying off home.
Sometime later, my grandma's watching the news
and is shocked to see the man she encountered on the screen.
The charming gentleman had been Kevin Koh,
known as Spokane's South Hill Rapist.
Oh, what the fuck?
Charged on six counts of rape,
he is believed to be responsible for numerous counts of indecent
exposure, indecent assaults, and at least 43 rapes.
Holy shit.
It was a huge story at the time, as he was the son of Gordon Coe, the editor of the Spokane
Chronicle, a paper that was in charge of the program to receive tips on the rapist's identity.
To make it even crazier, his mom was later arrested for hiring a hitman to kill her son's
prosecutor and judge.
What the f—how have I never heard this fucking story?
It was a terrifying time in Spokane between 1978 and 1981 when so many women feared being
attacked.
I'm so happy my sweet grandmas trusted their guts
and fucked politeness.
Stay sexy and don't go home with a man
if he is offering you jars of volcanic ash.
SSTGM, Lindsay.
Wow.
I mean, he went up to two grannies,
I'm assuming, during the day.
Like that's how bold he was.
Yeah.
Like that's scary. Well, and if there were total 43, it would be very interesting to know where on his chronology
because that is so, that's almost like you're at the end where you're just kind of doing whatever
and you can't control yourself. Oh my God. Eerie.
This is called Pennies. And then it says, gotta keep trying, fingers crossed.
It worked.
Hey Karen Georgia, an entire MFM crew.
I'm a listener from day one
and your voices have accompanied me on countless walks,
providing laughter, tears, sometimes laughter through tears
and strength to get me through
some of my most difficult moments.
I remember a while back you asked for grandparents stories,
so here it goes.
My grandpa Ray, who was my mother's father,
was quite the man, a tall, kind, and gentle man
who loved to be surrounded by his family.
The stories and jokes he would tell were hilarious,
and he always had the ability
to make everyone feel welcome and included.
In January 2011, my grandpa became very ill,
which was extremely out of the ordinary for
him because I don't remember him ever being sick, not even a common cold. He ended up in the hospital
and was diagnosed with terminal colon cancer that had spread throughout his body, meaning he didn't
have much time left. During his final days, my mom stayed with him and asked him to give her a sign
after he had passed to let us know he was okay. He told her he would leave pennies and explain that when he and his brother were little,
their mother would give them money as a reward for good behavior. My grandpa's brother received
nickels and my grandpa received pennies. Then he proceeded to explain that he was given pennies
rather than nickels because his mother said that pennies were dirty money and that that's what he was given because of his mischievous behavior.
Oh, I can't believe this kid did not have a complex.
Anyone from back then absolutely did.
Yeah, it says, ha ha, classic grandpa.
After my grandpa passed, my mom told me to keep an eye out for pennies as that's what my grandpa's
sign would be. I was skeptical and thought she was just trying
to console me during this really upsetting time.
I was pretty sure the odds of finding a penny were slim
since pennies haven't been part
of our Canadian currency in years.
Oh.
Because originally when I read this, I was like,
oops, you see pennies all the time, right?
There's literally one over there.
Right, but not in Canada, I guess. That makes sense.
That's very compelling.
So that makes the story even better.
Yeah.
And about six months later, when I was going through a really rough time and getting ready
to move into a new apartment, on the stairs as I walked into my new place, there it was,
sitting right in the middle of the third step, a penny. I immediately burst into tears and thanked my grandpa
for watching over me.
Over the years, I have found more pennies in random places
and always during big life events.
I found one on the morning of my cousin's wedding,
when it was other granddaughters,
another one in my car after an accident,
and in my carry-on bag while packing for a trip.
You get the idea.
It gives me such comfort knowing that my grandpa
is still with me even after all these years.
SSDGM, Stephanie, she, her.
Grandpa Ray, coming through.
Aw.
That's very sweet.
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Goodbye.
Okay, oh. There's no safe like simply safe. Goodbye. Okay. Oh, the subject line of this email is I mustache you a question. It just starts.
I'm on the clock, so I'll get right to it.
I work at a creative company on the small but mighty advertising team.
One of our current roles is to write ad copy, though we're not technically copywriters.
Fortunately, one of our co-founders has an amazing background in writing and has so
graciously volunteered to help our two-person team out. This week, while
profusely thanking that very busy co-founder for her help, she admitted
that reviewing and rewriting a Word doc was actually therapeutic for her. What a
weirdo in italics. I joked that she was going to secretly apply for our open copywriter position,
and the three of us had a good laugh about her showing up to the interview with a stick-on mustache and a fake accent.
As we were joking about other disguises, I remembered the lightbulb moment I had a few days earlier.
I hadn't shared it with anyone yet, so I had to tell them.
When I was in kindergarten, I had a sweet teacher named Mrs. Hollatz. She was
friendly, warm, and probably smelled like freshly baked cookies. On Halloween, I was so bummed that
she was sick and had to send her husband, Mr. Hollatz, in as her replacement that day. I can
still remember his mustache and the news boy cap he wore. I was sad Mrs. Hollits didn't get to see my costume, a generic store-bought
princess, and was honestly a little scared of her husband. But the day went by smoothly
and fortunately Mrs. Hollits was back and better than ever the next day. What are the
chances? I thought about that Halloween the other day, no clue why given that it's April,
and how weird it was that the school just let some random husband come in and teach
a bunch of costumed five-year-olds.
And only then did I realize that Mr. Hollits was actually Mrs. Hollits in costume.
It took me over 25 years and the adult understanding of public school security to realize it.
I called my mom yesterday to verify and she almost laughed me off the phone.
It was a calculated risk telling this story at work. Who wants to employ someone that slow? But
I had to share and I was relieved to see my boss Katie laughing hysterically and our co-founder Karen
insisted that I share this story with MFM. And when Karen Kilgareff tells you to send in your
hometown, you send in your hometown,
you send in your hometown.
Yep, that creative company I work for
is a little place called Exactly Right Media.
You tricked me.
Say sexy and question everything, Mr. Anna Little.
Anna!
And then it says, PS, I couldn't find a picture
of Mrs. Hollets or Mr. Hollets. And then in parentheses it says, were they even real? find a picture of Mrs. Hollett's or Mr. Hollett's.
And then in parentheses, it says, were they even real?
But here is a pic of me from that Halloween for your viewing pleasure.
She's cute, but apparently not super observant.
Look at little Anna.
Oh, little princess.
Oh my God.
That's so funny.
It was so funny.
It was so hilarious.
So I told her to write it in. So funny. It was so funny. It was so hilarious. Oh my God.
So I told her to write it in.
Wait, is it you who gets relaxed
by reading a Word document?
Yeah.
Yeah, you love editing.
I really do.
You're good at it.
It makes me feel better.
It's almost like you're a writer.
That was a twist-a-roo.
I loved every minute of it.
Loved the story.
That was so funny.
Little surprise for it, not only the listener, but for Georgia too.
Yeah. When she said that, I was like, you have to write that story in. But then
Anna Little is our, she works in our ad copy department. She's truly one of the most delightful
people and so funny. And the way she told that story, I was just like, everybody has to hear
this story. It's so good to be, I think she's in her late 20s
and she just realized her kindergarten teacher
was dressing up as her own husband.
So cute.
I wonder if any of the students knew, you know?
If one of the students knew,
then all of the students would know.
Yeah, that's true.
Yes, they would kind of get it and giggle,
but also five-year-olds. It's pretty young. I don't know
Okay, how about a bad dog and hot dog story in one? Hell? Yes. Okay
I don't know when this comes out, but we're having we have hot dog March real soon
summertime hot dog March that I think people are going to go wild for
Because literally every staff member is like I want that hot dog shirt really bad
I fucking love it. Because literally every staff member is like,
I want that hot dog shirt really bad.
Okay, and me.
Dear ladies, when you asked for bad dog stories,
I knew I had to tell you about my childhood dog Boone,
an 85 pound Rhodesian Ridgeback.
Sweetest dogs, right?
Yeah, and beautiful.
And then it says edit,
then you asked for hot dog stories,
so I decided to resubmit this one.
Boone loved food. One time he jumped on the counter
and ate a dozen Krispy Kreme original donuts.
Oh, that boy.
So bad for that dog and also so sad for them.
Yeah, oh my God.
No more. Totally.
You couldn't have eaten 11 of them, bro.
Like what the fuck?
Another time he wandered across the street to our neighbors
and ate two raw steaks they had thawing out in their sink.
He just let himself in.
Two.
That's a lot of meat.
Yeah, but this next story is by far my favorite.
I was home alone one day when my dad called
and said the workers at the gas station up the street,
they knew us and Boone, said Boone was up there.
Not sure how he got out,
but I walked up there to retrieve him.
I walked in, Boone was wagging his tail,
and that way dogs do when they're happy to see you,
but they know they're in trouble.
The gas station worker told me Boone had jumped up
and ate like five hot dogs off the warmer rollers.
I asked him if he needed me to pay for them, and he just said, no, it was time to dump them and clean the warmer rollers. I asked him if he needed me to pay for them
and he just said, nah, it was time to dump them
and clean the rollers anyway.
Which means like, oh, you better,
your dog's about to have a-
Yeah, they've been on there for three months.
Oh my God.
I thanked him for letting us know Boone was up there,
clipped his leash on and drug him home.
Drug him home, I love that.
On the way home, we passed some neighbors,
I didn't know, having a barbecue on their front porch.
They yelled, hey, it's Boone.
Does Boone wanna come over for a hot dog?
I yelled back, no, Boone just had some hot dogs
and he's in trouble.
Apparently Boone would gallivant around the neighborhood
looking for handouts.
During Boone's last days, he refused to eat anything
except a McDonald's hamburger.
We bought him one every day.
Stay sexy and eat a hot dog for Boone. Crystal, she her.
Oh, I think my dog George was half Rhodesian Ridgeback.
That totally reminded me of George, the like you're in trouble, but you're still wagging your tail.
Yes. And also eating, well, climbing fences.
I don't know how Boone got out,
but George would literally climb an eight foot fence,
get out of the backyard and then just wander around
my old neighborhood, which everybody hated me.
It's like, you don't want to upset the animal people.
You don't want to come off like some asshole
that just is like, well, whatever, my dog got out.
Let's the dog out all the time, yeah. Like one time I went, it was twice when I was working You don't want to come off like some asshole that just is like, well, whatever, my dog got out.
Let's the dog out all the time.
Yeah.
Yes.
Like one time I went, it was twice when I was working at Baskets and I had to leave,
leave work and come and get her.
And the guy, when I went to pick her up at this house, the guy was the, like the dad
or husband of the family was sitting on the front steps, just like staring at me, like
he hated my guts.
I was just like, sorry, this has affected you so badly. You fucking asshole. Like I
don't want her to do this. Right. I left work to come get her. This is not acceptable behavior.
And I've also checked every fence. Like I've done all these things. That was the one where
my neighbor Rick finally goes, I would have never believed it if I didn't see it myself, but I watched her come up over this
fence, do a front flop into the hedge and walk away.
He's like, I know how she's getting out.
Cause he kept helping me like put things up and horrible.
Oh my God.
Well, write your stories in guys at myfavoritemurder.com, whatever it may be.
Yeah, we love to hear snippets of your life, stories of your grandma, anything related to hot dogs.
Maybe you have any stories of disguises. Oh, disguises that actually worked.
Yeah, disguises that worked or how they miserably failed either one. Yeah, right. Yeah. And also,
stay sexy. And don't get murdered.
Goodbye! Elvis, do you want a cookie?
This has been an Exactly Right production. Our senior producer is Alejandra Keck. Our
editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Liana Squalace.
Email your hometowns to MyFavoriteMurder at gmail.com.
And follow the show on Instagram and Facebook at MyFavoriteMurder and on Twitter at MyFaveMurder.
Goodbye!