This is exactly right. This episode of My Favorite Murder is brought to you by Aha, what I hacked is Aha you ask or more likely, why are you talking like that.

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Hey, goodbye.

Hey, Karen. Yeah, you know, I know here's the thing I know about you, if I know anything, is that you love slipping into your cuchi slides. You love checking the time on your Cartier watch. That's like one of your hobbies, the in Jersey.

And when you leave the house, one of your favorite things to do when you're on your way out is just sling a sleeping bag over your shoulder.

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Hello and welcome to my favorite murder, the many soad in that.

Q Hi, just a little just a little tiny email reading a service provided to free. Right, because you send them and we read them because you guys participate and we appreciate it. Do you wanna go first? Sure. All right. This is called Dirty Jobs and stingy mobs. Hello, extended spooky family. A while back, I was listening to a hometown that included a story about a mob boss in Tucson, Arizona. My ears perked up and I texted my mom immediately.

I asked, am I remembering correctly that your dad painted a mobster's house when he was younger? To which he replied he did. They provided him with a bodyguard all day and paid him in cash and wine. Some weeks later, they called him back to chip bullets out of a wall repair and repaint it for them.

Which, by the way, I want to mention that do you paint houses in mob speak is a is basically saying, will you assassinate someone for us? There's a book called I heard you paint houses about this guy's involvement in the mob. Hmm. And so maybe you got to look into your grandpa a little more. Wow. Georgia's mafia fun fact.

This is a whole new area. That's right. About my grandfather and great uncle. Both painted people's homes and businesses for years, interiors and exteriors outside of the Arizona sun. This was like the 50s. So it resulted in a lot of stories and a lot of skin cancer. And then I said, wear sunscreen, everyone. My mom then shared with me that the mobster family, my great uncle works for owned a restaurant in town. He got tired of waiting for the family to pay a pass to invoice he'd given them for painting their restaurant.

So my yeah. So my great uncle took my grandfather and some other family members to eat there. One night they ordered lots of wine and lots of expensive food. When the bill came, my great uncle refused to pay it, wrote a note on the check and told the server that the owner would understand and just left them then the balls.

The restaurant was absolutely used for money laundering and I'm honestly surprised that my grandfather and great uncle lived to tell the tale. Apparently they got all of their work as painters through word of mouth, no contracts or anything official, and they were on the good side of a lot of influential people in town. According to my mom, one of the local congressmen even gifted my grandfather a tiny handgun you might find on a lady's garter belt that had once been held as evidence from a crime for a time and was told, I don't know and was told to not tell anyone that he'd been given it.

I'm so glad that you chose that Tucson home town a few months ago, because I got the chance to learn all of these truly bananas things about my mom's side of the family.

Stay sexy and maybe don't dine and dash when the mob owns the restaurant for real. Lucille Petit Lucille.

That is so balls. It's so ballsy. You are basically you're just like, yeah, now you owe me money. The Mafia. Right.

But continue to hire me to do work, by the way. Don't know what's up there that. Yeah. Well I bet they liked it though. I bet you that that's one of those like you can see a Tony Soprano type being like I respect you for that. Yeah. That guy's got hutzpah. I love the idea of giving the gift of a secret tiny gun.

I mean, what's better than that of I don't tell anyone gift is like the best gift you could give someone this subject line.

If this is my murder, you know, mom's crazy hometown. Hello to my favorite humans and animals. You all rock. Let's skip the pleasantries and dig deep into this one and take command of the email at the top is what I always say. It's the crucial. My mom has always been a huge fan of true crime content and made me the martarano I am now as a kid. She would always tell me messed up stories. I always made her tell me over and over again.

She would always tell me messed up stories. I always made her tell. OK, there's probably supposed to be a period in there somewhere, but I like the way I read it the first time, some of which I definitely had no business hearing at my age. I have a million stories, including a crazy one, about how when my grandma was giving birth to my uncle in her home in Italy during the sixties, a man who had a hammer fall on his head from scaffolding ran into the nearest door.

My grandmother's with his head cracked open and blood everywhere, screaming.

My uncle literally came out of the womb purple from the trauma.

Oh my God. But that's a story for another. No, it's not. I love. I love. I have. User story, I love someone telling most of the story and that being like, never mind, you know, you're going to have to wait for the movie. I want to tell you my favorite of all, my mom's hometowns. This story has everything. So Bucklin, my mom grew up in Hoboken, New Jersey, known for its proximity to Manhattan and being the home of Carlos Bakery, a.k.a. kickbacks from.

Oh, and this here's the rest of the sentence.

For most of her formative years from the 70s through the 90s, there was a history teacher at the local high school who was beloved by everyone who had him.

Mr. Soki, in 1998, 20 years after my mom graduated from said high school, Mr. Soki was shot dead as he was heading to his car to leave for the day. The gunman then walked a few blocks and shot himself. This was one school had just let out, so there were tons of student onlookers. Holy shit. Here's where it gets crazy.

The gunman was the husband of another former teacher at Hoboken High School. Apparently, the gunman became convinced that the two teachers were having an affair. He kept sending threatening letters and phone calls to Mr Hockey. The kicker is that it wasn't true. The poor guy was shot dead over an affair that never existed.

I mean, Catalyst's even if it had happened, it's there's no excuse for that. But that's just fucking extra tragic. Yeah, exactly. The catalyst for this conspiracy theory is that Mr. Salkey and his wife sent the man's wife a Christmas card in 1994 because they worked together.

Oh, my God. But guess who doesn't send family Christmas cards to mistresses? Right after dozens of harassing calls, the family chose to hire a lawyer and not humor the deranged responses. It's believed that he was then stalked for a lengthy period of time. This story is so unbelievably sad and it's obvious the guy really needed a psychological help. This is why access to good mental health services isn't so important. Thank you both for all that you do. You've got me through this unbearable pandemic and I still hope to see you at a live show one day.

Stay sexy and don't get murdered. Just.

Wow, what a sad story.

Yeah. Ghost sex at a Jewish camp. Actually, my last two stories are ghost stories. Hi, Karen, Georgia. Steven, at all this week, Georgia did her quilt episode about ghosts, and I thought you might enjoy this story. Like Georgia, I also grew up going to a Jewish summer camp. But in Wisconsin, like many summer camps, this one had its very own ghost. Her name was it's either Sussie or Suzy. I'm going to go with Sussie.

Her name was Sussie. The version of her death story that I know. I'm sure there are many. It goes like this.

The founders of the camp bought a big piece of property with an old White House called the By Eat, which literally just means house in Hebrew on it, I think rickety stairs, a big porch, absolutely spooky as fuck as the camp grew by, Yeats was converted into the camp library, a study room and bedrooms for the visiting rabbis.

According to the legend, a young girl was staying at the Bii, likely a rabbi's daughter something, and fell down the stairs, breaking her neck and dying. She haunts the camp to this day. My connection to the Camp Ghost. There was a work program for seniors in high school where you could be a junior staff member doing basic maintenance, like taking out the trash, weeding and cleaning the public spaces.

What high school student doesn't live like in a good a good weeding? Exactly.

You don't get paid, but it was a chance to go to camp for free with less rules. One oppressively hot night, the other girls and I convinced our unit had to let us sleep in the bed on the first floor because it had air conditioning like Wisconsin summers with no air conditioning in a cabin. Can you fucking imagine we dragged our sleeping bags to the main room, enjoying the candy we'd smuggled in and the AC at one point, another girl stop whatever camp gossip we were talking about, claiming she heard something.

We all immediately shut the fuck up and heard a muffled girl's voice and thumping coming from the back of the bite. We froze, terrified for murder real reasons. I decided that investigating the sound was a good idea. So two other girls and I got up and crept slowly towards the noise. You're either a get the fuck out of there or go towards towards the noise kind of girl. Yeah, I think I'm the latter. Which was coming from the small library next to the main room.

The library was dark, so I pushed open the door and flicked on the light, expected to see some paranormal activity or maybe even sassy herself.

Instead, we found two of the college age counselors having sex in the corner. Yeah, we screened, slammed the door shut and immediately ran back to the other girls to tell them what happened and celebrate this trophy worthy piece of camp gossip. Yes, we never saw Stacy, but I can't help but wonder how many sneaky camp cookies were interrupted. A small girl goes or just random campers, stay sexy and watch where you do it. Steph from Chicago, Illinois.

Illinois' P.S. Thank you so, so much for all the work you do to make this podcast happen. Mondays and Thursdays feel like the chance for me to catch up with my awesome older cousins each week. You really do mean so much, so much to so many people.

Thanks, stars. And I want to say it wasn't the bite for us at my Jewish camp. It was the the swim house. What does that called? Like the swimming pool office's pool house. Pool house. Think I made out in the pool house with my. Oh yes. Yes I did. Did it smell so good.

Like chlorine love, beautiful, clean the smell of chlorine and a little bit of mold.

Yeah. I wonder if there even was a ghost at all or if every time the younger kids thought they heard a ghost, it was just the older counselors hooking up. Absolutely. But I wonder if I'm older counselors hooking up ever actually got haunted? Because that seems likely.

I mean, all of these are possibilities for the horror movie. We're going to write about this by 8:00 and that in the corner eating popcorn, being like, yeah, yeah, bring it this. The subject line is just explosion story. Great. Hello. Hello.

I heard some phone explosion stories on a Minnesota couple of weeks ago and figured I'd write in with mine in May not twenty nineteen. I was living with my parents in the North Chicago suburbs, having recently finished with my master's degree. One night I was watching TV with my mom when all of a sudden there was a massive bang which shook the house. Having previously lived in apartments with dumpsters, it sounded it felt a lot like when the garbage trucks were just dropped the dumpsters on the ground.

But given that it was 10 p.m., it clearly wasn't that. After looking outside to make sure nothing crazy had happened, my mom and I promptly declared it to be title title case, not our business, and went to bed. A.B. It wasn't until the next morning when I would find out what happened. Ten miles away from my house, there was a silicon manufacturing plant. And and on the night of May 3rd, twenty nineteen, the plant exploded and I mean exploded.

The blast was not only felt strongly at my parents house ten miles away, it was reportedly felt as if as far as 20 miles away from the plant itself. As it turns out, one of the products they were making that night had the potential to produce flammable gases. And that night something went very wrong. The company, of course, denies any wrongdoing.

However, they were fined one point six million dollars by OSHA for a grand total of twelve, quote, willful safety violations, unquote, including the minor detail of not having flammable gas detectors for people lost their lives in this incident, including one man who reportedly ran back into the building to make sure the rest of his team was able to escape. It seems like a miracle that anyone survived at all. For a long time, nothing remained of the building except for several large metal tanks.

However, it's now finally being rebuilt. I currently live less than a mile from the facility, so I certainly hope it doesn't explode again. Stay sexy and always follow OSHA regulations.

Cantens Wow, that's so terrifying. I feel like and huge. Yeah, I just feel like that doesn't happen as often. Like a house. You know, we have hot water heaters, we have gas and all this, you know, it's just right there in these neighborhoods, especially old houses. And the fact that it doesn't happen more often. It happened in my town of Irvine once. And I just as a kid did it and we drove by the house and I just remember being terrified of it.

Just one house exploded. One house exploded. I think it was just a gas leak, you know, nothing nefarious, but it's just so scary, so scary and just so hard to predict and fix. I don't know. Yeah, it's scary. Well, it's so sad. And he ran in to save people. What I hear he there's like a real hero in that story, which is pretty cool. Yeah. I wish you knew that guy's name.

Never mind your own business.

Always go out and check out like it is not our I mean I guess the the theory behind you hear something as like loud like an explosion but you can't see anything. What do you like. Well yeah.

Go do go drive around. Yes. Yes. What are you busy. What do you have.

Work early. It's the only reason to talk to neighbors is when something goes wrong. Put on a fun light jacket and go stand in the street and cross your arms.

I do gossip. Look around, wait for someone else to come out. It turns out the only reason I'll ever talk to neighbors is something bad happens. And now that Cookie wants to meet every single person we walk by, she's just ruining my avoidance of people.

Oh, yeah. If you have a puppy, you're you're avoidance of people goes right out the window. She goes to people and sits like when they're coming and there's like, what's up?

We're best friends and then they freak out because it's a puppy sitting well in the sun, assholes. And then I'm like, oh, yeah, good. Yeah. There's a lot of people that don't like dogs, but she's so cute. It's really amazing what they expect us to share online these days. So true. I mean, do you really need my location, birthdate and my mother's maiden name?

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This episode of My Favorite Murder is brought to you by Aha, what I hacked is Aha you ask or more likely, why are you talking like that.

What's wrong with you? Are you all right. Well nothing is wrong. It's all right because we've got aha. Aha. Is the sparkling water with a bowl too. And one flavor combination and every can that's every single can. Not almost every can. Every last can a has flavors like blueberry, pomegranate, lime and watermelon or peach and honey will make you wonder how you were ever refreshed without them. Some flavors like mango and black tea or even caffeinated caffeinated sparkling water.

They're on to something as caffeinated flavors really put the spark in sparkling water. Look for a job anywhere. You buy sparkling water, you definitely won't regret it. And there's a good chance you'll never want to drink any other sparkling water ever again. You can thank us later when you're tickling your tongue with those bold flavors and big bubbles, the sparkling waters. Can I get an aha.

Hey, goodbye.

OK, how am alone haunted piano? How do they're short, sweet and slightly spooky story here. A few years ago, my husband and I had just recently bought a home together. He had left for the night to whip it up to his brother in town about an hour north of our house. So I was alone in our new home for the first time, allowing me the freedom to watch any soap operas I wanted and use the bathroom with the doors open.

Man to live it up, girl. Just keep those doors open and fart as loud as you want. Oh my. Be yourself. I was enjoying myself and I sitting at the top of the stairs talking to my brother in law on the phone when suddenly the piano started playing scared shitless. I hung up the phone. That's that's the wrong move, first of all. Yeah.

You stay on the line, open and and listen silently as the eerie but pleasant tune filled our home and echoed off the walls and through are mostly empty home. So like no furniture that's even double terrified nightmare town.

The music continued for almost a full minute. Then silence fell over the house, making it suddenly feel huge and full of dark corners. When I finally got the courage to walk downstairs, I checked their windows and they were shut. I checked their speakers. They were off. I did all in my power to promise myself that this music came from inside our home. It sure did. The kicker, we do not have a piano. No.

What do you know? I thought just the kicker was going to be it's a player piano.

It sure is shitty because they don't even have a piano.

Oh, shit. Oh well you do now. Do now get one in case that ever happens again. You can blame it. You sure you have one. You can't see it. I truthfully believe that someone joined me that night. Someone who and their former life love to play the piano. They accompany me on my evening alone, brought me a housewarming present and have since never returned. Oh, my husband and brother in law.

Still to this day, give me a hard time about the haunted piano. That's why you stay on the phone. You say Doug or whatever. It's you here at the piano. Guess what? We don't have a piano come over right now. Witness always keep the witness nearby. It's right. But I will forever stand by the music that filled the walls of our house this night as I sat alone at the top of our stairs. Thank you for reading, Zeshan.

I want to say, as someone who isn't afraid of ghosts, allegedly to make it into a positive thing is the best thing you can do. Like talk to them if you're scared and be like, welcome to my home.

You know, I feel like that's the way to not freak yourself out is to think it's a positive spirit or someone who loves you as someone who does believe in ghosts and has been hugged by one.

All right, bullshit.

Move out of that house. Get away. You're kidding yourself. Someone played the piano. So you played a ghost piano again when Vince is gone for the night because real. For real and Cookie's barking at the corner, I can't believe.

Wait, but what could that have been like a neighbor turning the radio on an iPod. But you forgot you had dying in a drawer, maybe moving in. Right. Rattled the drawer and then. Yeah, I just ran out. Do you have classical music on your iPod like your old.

No, the older pianist is your were you just having a memory? Is there toxic mold in your house?

Were you high or are you high as a kite loose and music kind of.

That's that was a real good twist. That was real good.

OK, the subject line of this one is a Lamees fan robbed my boyfriend.

I can't even imagine what it's going to be like.

Dear Karen, Georgia, Stephen, animals and listeners. A few years ago, a guy I'd recently started dating invited me to go skiing with him. But this is this is a pretty normal thing in New England, though, a bit aggressive for a third date. We had a great time. And when I when we got back home, I invited him into my apartment for some dinner. Nice. He parked his car in the street, leaving two pairs of skis and all his ski gear in it, boots, poles, etc.

. The next morning, no judgment, please. He went out to his car and found the side window smashed and everything stole.

While he waited for the police to arrive, he noticed a plastic bag in the back seat. In it, he found all his tax documents and a four page letter from the thief. Yes, that's right. The thief went through everything he stole, realized the tax documents had no value to him, but a lot of value to my boyfriend and returned them. The letter apologized for ruining my boyfriend's day and explained what led him to breaking into the. My God, the thief also said that he hoped this would be a turning point for him, like the candlesticks were for Jean Valjean.

Oh, my.

I'm a huge, miserable fan and went crazy when I saw this reference. My boyfriend, who had never seen Lamees, had no idea what I was talking about. Anyway, the note went on into such so much detail that any detective with the slightest interest could have solved this crime. But alas, the police didn't have much sympathy for a guy who had ski's stolen out of his car in a posh part of town. Naturally, I was certain my new boyfriend was going to break up with me after the robbery, but he stuck around a few weeks later when dropping me off at work, I said, have a great day.

And he replied, Stay sexy, don't get murdered.

Oh, needless to say, I realized pretty quickly that he was that way. Fast forward four years and we'll we'll still be happy as ever, despite our wedding being postponed a year at Mirch idea. Fuck you. I'm a covid bride.

Oh. That's genius. Oh, my God. Thanks for all you do, Susie, Susie. We caused a wedding. A marriage.

Oh, we've been there for Susie. And let's just say Dave, because it is Susie and Dave and me and George all the way down the aisle.

We caused a wedding causing a car accident.

I love the thief. That's just like I really hope this turns things around. I also love one that's like here's why I'm in this position and I hope you can understand. And like, you know, you're in a posh part of town. So hopefully, like, you have insurance and replacing this isn't a big deal for you. But for me, this I'm able to pay for my school books to go to theater school. But for me right now, the black market ski trade is so lucrative that I could not walk by.

What if what if he were like, here's the thing. This is the name of the pawn shop I'm going to palm them off to. You know, you can buy them back at a discount. Just give me a day or two. I'm going to make it really easy for you to buy back your rented skis because I'm a good person, ultimately. Good Samaritan. Anyway, right back soon, love.

Jerry, I mean, obviously, the tax document thing could have ruined his entire life. Yeah, that is pretty much it's a he's a mensch, is a thief, you know. Yeah. Yeah. Like when he said he could have sold those to someone who he's a robber with a heart of gold. He's like, I don't want what's worst for you in life. I just need what I need to get by. I need a couple hundred bucks to buy my Lamees DVD because I refuse to pirate it.

That's bad morals. What if he was literally taking the cash that he made off of Saeki, rented ski boots and skis and went and just straight over and bought tickets, front row tickets to Lehmann's and he just can't stop and changed his ways because of it?

Yes. Oh, this is turning out to be a beautiful story. Oh what a mini.

So hey, you love many and want more. Were each doing one extra story every week for the fan cult. They're called many, many Soad, so make sure you check that out. We also have videos and Lusby answer your low stakes advice on the there's like a ton of other videos and fun stuff on the fan call it. So go to my favorite murder dot com to check that out.

And if you're not interested in that than want, you go ahead and stay sexy and don't get murdered by Elvis.

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