Hi, friends! Welcome to the party! Today, I’m introducing one of my favorite series while conducting an interview with the author. I’m not gonna lie, ya’ll, I’ve gotten a little picky when it comes to suspense in the recent past. I don’t know if it’s the sheer abundance of mystery books I’ve read or that my mind takes a very investigative turn, but I can usually pick out the villain in any mystery as soon as they’re introduced. I’ll be reading with a cat in my lap and say, “There he is. I’ve got my eye on you, ya little scamp.” After getting a super judgmental look from my furry friend, I hope against hope that I’m wrong. I want to be surprised, I do, but that seldom happens. Then, I feel the bitter sting of disappointment. In the words of Adrian Monk, ‘It’s a gift . . . and a curse.’ Let me tell you, the the only disappointment I felt while reading C.C. Warren’s Holly series was due to the fact that I am gainfully employed and couldn’t read the whole lot in one sitting. #adulting
Without further ado, here is my interview with the lovely C.C. Warrens. At the end, I’ll share how you can get a free copy of ‘Criss Cross!’ Huzzah!!!
Are any of your characters based on real people?
husband would tell you yes, and on an unconscious level I suppose some of them
are. It wasn’t my intention, but reflecting back, I can certainly see it.
and my dad have a similar temperament. My dad (Mark) is technically my stepdad,
but like Marx is for Holly, he’s my father in every way that matters.
is in a wheelchair like my husband, and like him, she’s insanely competitive in
(the man and the cat) is based off a gray, blue-eyed cat I had when I was a
teenager. From there, Jordan did pick up some of my husband’s better
qualities—his patience and understanding, and the gentlemanly way he comports
Holly, appearance aside, has quite a few of my quirks and characteristics (including her love of coconut shampoo and marshmallow hot chocolate), but as a whole, she’s designed to represent a lot of abused and neglected children that I’ve worked with.
2. Which of your characters do you relate most with?
relate the most with Holly. Her social awkwardness and mischievous attitude are
similar to mine. As a kid, I used to cut the centers out of the cakes and
brownies mom baked just to drive my dad bonkers.
I’m also a disaster in the kitchen, and I occasionally catch things on fire. I could set off the smoke alarms by boiling water, and frequently did in our old apartment.
3. What kind of research do you do, and how long do you spend researching before beginning a book?
I do things a little backwards by researching as I’m writing. I’ve never calculated the time it takes, but I’m sure it takes a while. An example of this is Criss Cross, which is set in New York City, a place I had never been at the time. After I finished writing some of the scenes, I did some research to figure out where things might have taken place.
4. Stephen King advises authors to ‘Kill their darlings.’ Have you edited any scenes out of your books that you particularly loved? If so, would you give an example?
Oh yes. Every book is a struggle because I write scenes that I love, only to realize that they just don’t fit with the overall manuscript. In my current WIP, I had written a scene where Shannon takes Holly shopping for court attire, and Holly gets frustrated because she’s so petite that all of the suits make her look like a kid playing dress-up. Unfortunately, while it was a cute scene, I had to take it out.
5. How do you select your character’s names?
There is no method to my madness there. Jordan and Holly have existed in my head since I was a teenager, and I knew I would want to write a book with them in it someday. The others… your guess is as good as mine!
6. Do you read your book reviews?
I do. Some authors say you shouldn’t, but I find the positive feedback from readers motivating.
7. How long on average does it take you to write a book?
Before my current WIP, I would say about six months. This one though, it’s a tangled web of complication, and it’s taking a lot longer.
8. Do you believe in writer’s block?
Absolutely. Though for me, writer’s block isn’t so much a lack of ideas. It’s when my brain gets stuck on one particular idea that I just can’t seem to maneuver around.
9. What is your favorite childhood book?
10. What is your favorite genre to read? Why?
I love suspense. I’m drawn to cop shows like Blue Bloods and NCIS, and having them in book form is even better!
11. How many drafts of your book do you generally write before publication?
Haha… I couldn’t even tell you. Truly. I lose count. I think I had about eighteen versions of Criss Cross before I settled on the final copy, but that’s just a guess.
12. If you had the opportunity to live anywhere in the world for a year while writing a book that took place in that same setting, where would you choose?
I’ve never thought about it, but I loved forests and rolling hills. So someplace like that.
I don’t know about you, but I enjoyed learning some of the aspects of C.C. Warren’s creative process! If you haven’t read her series yet, you are missing out in a big way. I’m attaching a link to her website below. Sign up for her newsletter and she’ll give you a free copy of Criss Cross in e-book format. The characters are unforgettable, and the plot will leave you on the edge of your seat, breathless, and reaching for book two. You won’t regret it!
Remember how the mischievous Ferris Bueller claimed to be Abe Froman, the Sausage King of Chicago in an effort to trick the snooty host of an upscale restaruant? If you weren’t living under a rock in the 80s and 90s, chances are good you’ve seen Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. But did you know there was an honest to goodness Sausage King of Chicago? Well, there really was such a meat monarch. And his story is a little–unsettling.
Adolph Luetgert was born in Germany in 1845 as the third of eleven children. After dropping out of school and leaving home at age fourteen, he became apprentice to a tanner. Determined to make his fortune, Adolph set out for London when he turned nineteen. He met with no success and in sailed to New York, hoping to make a name for himself in the Land of Opportunity. He soon transitioned from the Big Apple to the Windy City. He worked as a tanner until he’d saved enough to establish his own business in 1872. He attempted to make a fortune in Liquor, but in 1879 he switched to sausage. A good call really, since he made his fortune in the meat industry.
Like most people, Adolph didn’t wish to live the life of a wealthy recluse. He married Caroline Roepke in 1871. They had two children before she passed away in 1877. A quick two months later, he met and married a woman named Louise. Two months really isn’t that fast . . . is it? Not when you have as much in common as Louise and Adolph. Both had emigrated from Germany. Both had worked menial jobs (Louise was a domestic servant) and pulled themselves out of poverty by their proverbial boot straps. The couple had four children together, though only two lived past the age of two.
In 1893, the sausage business reached its apex when A.L. Luetgert Sausage and Packing Company supplied weenies for the Colombian Exhibition in Chicago. A high honor, indeed. At the conclusion of the World’s Fair, Chicago’s economy took a serious hit from the depression embroiling the rest of the nation. Sausage orders nose-dived, and Luetgert found his customers unable to pay in full for orders he’d already shipped. In an effort to recoup his losses, Adolph tried to sell the sausage business, but a potential buyer swindled him, binding him tighter in his financial straight jacket.
Though born into poverty, Louisa had grown accustomed to a posh lifestyle. Hey, it’s easy to get spoiled. One day off work turns me into a lady of leisure. Adolph kept the unhappy truth of their financial predicament from her as long as possible. When Louise learned how the bank roll had shrunk, she began having heated ‘discussions’ with her hubby. Money was at the heart of each argument. Neighbors reported that the altercations were loud and often violent, and some recalled hearing Louise’s threats to leave her husband. Poor Adolph, right? Dude can’t catch a break. First the economy, then a snake in the grass, now Louise.
Well, the rumor mill churned out a few tales of Adolph’s infidelity. It was true, he kept a bed in his private office at sausage factory and slept away from home most nights. That could easily be explained. Why go home when Louise met him at the door with her claws out, ready to nag him to death about their finances–or lack thereof? The gossip took a more believable turn when Adolph and his housekeeper, Mary Siemering, were caught kissing at the factory. Later, a wealthy widow, Christine Fields, alleged Luetgert had courted her. If this was true, I’m sure Adolph saw her as a nice big dollar sign.
May 1, 1987, Louise Luetgert disappeared, never to be heard from again. Adolph claimed she’d made good on her threat to leave him. He guessed she’d returned to Germany, no doubt with another man.
The night before his wife’s disappearance, Adolph had worked late in the basement of the sausage factory. The night watchman helped him turn on the steam , then Luetgert sent him to the drug store for some patent medicine. When his employees arrived for work the next morning, they found foul-smelling reddish sludge in and around a large vat in the plant. Similar looking scum was discovered on the basement floor. When the watchman saw this, he grew suspicious and alerted the police.
Investigators drained the vat and found bone fragments, metal corset stays, and a pair of rings–one engraved with the initials ‘L.L.’
Police also learned that Luetgert had recently purchased a large amount of arsenic and potash, a powerful alkali used in soap-making. The next morning, Adolph Luetgert was arrested for Louise’s murder. Authorities believed he’d poisoned his wife and dissolved her body in a vat of boiling potash.
To say the trial was a spectacle would be a gross understatement. People flocked from all over the region to catch a glimpse of the accused killer. The absence of a body was a major monkey-wrench for the prosecution. How could it be proved the bone fragments belonged to Louise Luetgert? Forensic science wasn’t even an inkling in investigative minds at this point in history. Talk about a problem. The prosecution found an expert to testify that the bone fragments in the vat belonged to a petite woman. On the other end of the spectrum, the defense’s bone analyst claimed there was no way to determine the fragments were even human, let alone the bones of Mrs. Luetgert. Each side experimented by boiling cadavers in potash. Each side proved it’s claims.
After closing arguments, the prosecution failed to convince twelve honest men that Luetgert killed his wife. The jury was hung.
During the second trial in 1897, Adolph testified on his own behalf for a total of 18 1/2 hours. He claimed the potash was used to make the soap that cleaned the factory. He said the bones were not human, but animal. He also stated that Louise had gone insane and ran away. This new jury didn’t need as much convincing as the first. Verdict: guilty.
Adolph spent the remainder of his life in Joliet Prison. He died in 1899 of natural causes. He claimed innocence until the day he died.
Many myths surround the death of Louise Luetgert. Before the trial began, she was spotted in twelve different states but never found. One famous tale was that she was seen boarding a ship bound for Europe. Adolph believed this sighting confirmed his suspicion that she’d fled back to Germany. Unfortunately for him, his beloved wife was never seen or heard from again.
What do you think? Did the Sausage King poison his wife and dissolve her body in a vat of potash? Is it possible Louise got a little tired of her husband’s philandering and decided to cut bait? It’s easy to explain away bones at a sausage factory. But what about the engraved ring and corset stays? Could Louise have planted those items in the vat to incriminate her husband?
We may never know the full story of the Sausage King of Chicago. One thing I know for sure, the one on Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was a lot more fun.
The year was 1870. Settlers moved to the untamed West in droves. Looking for new beginnings. Working the land. It was a time when neighbors helped one another. People never hesitated to lend a hand. Unfortunately, this wasn’t always the case.
The Bender family moved to what is now Cherryvale, Kansas in Labette County. Aside from the fact they were Spiritualists–not a common religion–they gave the impressions of a normal family, determined to settle the West. With an eye for turning a profit, John Bender Sr., ‘Pa’ claimed a 160-acre plot along the Great Osage Trail (now called the Santa Fe trail). He built and inn to accommodate travelers who were headed to points farther West. His son, John, who often went by the name Thomas, claimed an adjoining plot, though he never built a house or planted crops there. The other two members of the family were ‘Ma’ and Kate. Kate was purported to be a psychic medium and Spiritualist healer. While Ma and Pa spoke only German, the younger Benders were fluent English speakers.
The inn they built was a simple one-room cabin with a sheet hung to separate the the space into two distinct areas. In the front portion, a small mercantile and public gathering space was operated. The back of the house provided privacy for the family’s living quarters. Sounds a little crowded to me. Why Thomas didn’t build a shack on his land in the name of elbow room is a mystery in it’s own right.
Travelers were given the gold-standard of hospitality. Or, at least the best accommodations one room and a sheet can supply. Weary wanderers often stopped by the inn for a meal and replenishing of the most basic necessities at the Bender’s inn.
Kate Bender, who was reported to be a real head-turner, also encouraged visitors with her psychic and healing abilities. Most of the inn’s clientele constituted men traveling alone. The majority opted to spend the night. Hey, why sleep on the ground outside when you can stay in a house? Not to mention the many dangers on the trail posed by bandits, disease, accidents, or conflicts with the local Native Americans. No, staying with the Benders was on par with a night at the DoubleTree by Hilton . . . compared with the perils of the Osage Trail. Right?
While it wasn’t unusual for migrants to leave for points unknown never to be heard from again, a noteworthy number of men seemingly dropped off the face of the earth after visiting Labette County. It took several years before any real suspicions arose. Without modern conveniences like ‘The Nightly News with Lester Holt’ and ‘Buzzfeed,’ word traveled slowly. Letters lagged for months before reaching their intended recipients. Thus, the family and friends of those missing men believed everything was fine as a frog’s hair split four ways for quite some time before realizing something sinister may have occurred.
In March of 1873, Dr. William York, a well-known physician from Independence, Kansas, disappeared after disembarking from a train in Cherryvale. His two brothers, knowing their kin would never leave so suddenly of his own volition, determined to find him. His brothers were Colonel Edward York and Kansas Senator Alexander York. These two boys had the ways and means to find their lost brother . . . or at least discover what happened to him.
Colonel York headed the investigation in Labette County. He questioned the Benders, but they denied any knowledge of his brother’s disappearance.
A group of helpful townspeople, along with Pa and Thomas Bender, met at the local school house. They discussed forming a search party to find the missing Dr. York. The strategy was to scour the countryside and surrounding farms and homes. Unfortunately, the weather shifted, and the folks never had a chance to search.
One day sometime later, a neighbor noticed the Benders animals wandering the farm land foraging for food. Their hungry cries alerted him that all was not well at the Bender’s inn. Upon investigating the one-room house, the neighbor found it empty. The family wagon was no where to be found. Food remained on the shelves in the kitchen. Clothes lay neatly folded in their proper place. But there was no trace of the Benders.
Everything in the house appeared normal. Until some poor unsuspecting soul opened the trapdoor behind the canvas sheet and stumbled upon a scene straight out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie.
The trapdoor led to a dank cellar. The sharp metallic scent of death hung think in the air. Blood covered the walls and saturated every surface. Stunned, the townsfolk moved the house off its foundation and dug underneath. Nothing.
The next area to investigate was the freshly plowed garden near the house. Neighbors later recalled that the garden always appeared newly worked. For all the effort the Benders lavished on their little slice of heaven, they never had a harvest. Or planted anything. Not vegetables anyway.
Volunteers worked through the night. The first body unearthed was that of Dr. William York. The back of the physician’s head had been smashed, and a slash across his throat spoke the brutality of his last moments alive. Soon, more bodies with similar injuries were found beneath the Kansas soil. Though sources are unable to find common ground as to the number of the Bender’s victims, estimated totals tend to flit around a dozen. Some believe they may have murdered up to twenty-one people. One source said a little girl was found in a grave. She’d reportedly been buried alive in a plot with her parents.
Those investigating the scene pieced together the Bender’s M.O. Inn guests were encouraged to sit against the canvas partition separating the public and private areas while dining. One of the Benders would then strike their visitor on the head with a hammer from behind the curtain. The trap door was then opened, and the body dropped down to the cellar. There, another Bender would cut the poor victim’s throat before emptying his pockets of valuables. Yes, the entire family murdered somewhere between twelve and twenty people for something as petty as a few thousand dollars and some livestock.
When a man named Mr. Wetzell heard the investigator’s theory, he recalled a strange encounter he’d had with the murderous family. While dining at the inn, he declined the recommended seat before the curtain. At this possible upset of their carefully constructed plan, Ma Bender lost her cool and grew belligerent and abusive toward Mr. Wetzell. The two male Benders then emerged from their positions behind the canvas and Wetzell shrewdly beat a hasty retreat. Another traveler, William Pickering, shared a nearly identical tale.
As you can imagine, news of these heinous crimes spread like a 24-hour stomach bug. Curiosity-seekers and reporters flocked to the abandoned inn to catch a glimpse of the house where so many met a violent end. The Minneapolis Star-Tribune reported an estimated 3,000 people at the crime scene with more trains scheduled to arrive. The house was disassembled and carried away one piece at a time (yes, you can sing that to the tune of that one Johnny Cash song) by people seeking a memento.
Senator York offered a $1,000 reward for the capture of the Benders, and the governor added a sweet $2,000 to the pot. The reward was never claimed. In the following years, women were arrested as Ma or Kate, but none of them were positively identified. Though reports of sightings of Ma and Pa and then of Kate and Thomas were made in different states throughout the West, the homicidal family was never definitively seen again. What became of that fearsome foursome is still a mystery. Did they open another inn and recommence their butchery elsewhere? Maybe with a new name. It’s possible.
It was later discovered that only Ma Bender and Kate were actually related. The name ‘Bender’ may not have been the legal surname of any of the bunch. This made tracking them down virtually impossible. Pa was born John Flickinger early in the 1800s in either Germany or the Netherlands. It is believed Ma was originally named Almira Meik. She married a man named Griffith with whom she had twelve children before he met and untimely end. Before marrying Pa, Ma married several times. Oddly enough, each of her husbands died from mysterious blows to the head. Was Ma Bender the criminal mastermind behind all these killings? It makes me wonder.
One interesting tidbit I’ll share, though it may be completely false, is Laura Ingalls Wilder’s claim to have known the Benders. While giving a speech at a book fair in Detroit in 1937, she said, “All I have told is true, but it is not the whole truth. There were some stories I wanted to tell but would not be responsible for putting in a book for children, even though I knew them as a child.” One such story was her brush with the Benders whose inn was situated between the Ingalls’ home and Independence, Missouri.
According to Wilder, her family would stop at the Bender’s inn on their way to Independence. While Pa Ingalls would get water from their well to refresh the horses, he never stepped inside the tavern. Since this was the only place for travelers to stop, her father’s aversion to going inside struck her as odd. She also mentioned the fresh turned dirt in the garden, though nothing was planted or harvested from the plot.
She told the book fair attendees,
“The night of the day the bodies were found a neighbor rode up to our house and talked earnestly with Pa.
Pa took his rifle down from its place over the door and said to Ma, ‘The vigilantes are called out.’ Then he saddled a horse and rode away with the neighbor. It was late the next day when he came back and he never told us where he had been.
For several years there was more or less a hunt for the Benders and reports that they had been seen here or there. At such times Pa always said in a strange tone of finality, ‘They will never be found.’ They were never found, and later I formed my own conclusions why.”
Could this be why the Benders were never heard from again? Did our beloved Pa Ingalls join a mob and put an end to their killing spree once and for all? Who knows?
While Wilder’s story is intriguing, her time line is off by a few years. By the time the Bender’s investigation began, the Ingalls were reportedly no longer living in Kansas. Maybe Laura got her wires crossed on the timing of her family’s move. No matter what the case, it’s an interesting rabbit hole to fall into.
After 146 years, the only thing that’s certain in the case of America’s first serial killing family is this: We’ll never know where they went. Or if they continued killing elsewhere.
This case solidifies my notions in regards to crimes committed throughout history. Without the aid of forensics, surveillance cameras, and all the technology at our disposal, it was pretty easy to get away with murder or any crime really. Jesse James robbed over twenty banks. He didn’t die in a hangman’s noose or at the hands of a town sheriff. No. He met his end when one of his own gang members shot him. As far as I can tell, as long as you weren’t in the room when law enforcement showed up, you were golden. At least, that was the case with the Benders . . . or whoever they were. We don’t really know that either.
What do you think? Do you believe Laura Ingalls Wilder’s story is true?
Doesn’t Belle Gunness look so warm and nurturing in this photo with her children? Okay, she really looks like a bit of a meanie. But in this case, the picture isn’t worth a measly thousand words. This photo is stirring a hundred thousand words inside my brain that may shape into a pretty sweet story one of these days. Here’s a little tidbit I hope will keep you reading. These children here . . . they’re the ones that were left after some pretty unsettling stuff went down.
Belle Gunness married her first husband, Mads Sorenson, 1893. I used to think people were too busy building sod houses and plowing with a pair of oxen to get into any real trouble in those days. Thank you, Laura Ingalls Wilder, for making me believe the good ‘ole days were good. I now realize they’re just ‘ole. Trouble followed poor Belle like Short Round followed Dr. Jones in Temple of Doom. It was strange, yea verily, suspicious how often tragedy befell the Norwegian emigrant.
Houses she owned mysteriously burned to the ground . . . more than once. Insurance has been around a while, and shrewd as Belle was, she was beyond prepared for such a disaster. Greenbacks or silver dollars (not sure what she preferred) lined her pockets as one property after the next became an insurance claim looking for a place to happen. Now, I sell insurance for a living and have developed a decided mistrust for people, so I find it fascinating no one was auditing this woman.
You think insurance fraud is bad. Let’s raise the stakes a skosh, shall we? Mads Sorenson died of what the medical examiner determined to be strychnine poisoning when not one but two life insurance policies were in force. They would only simultaneously be in force for one day . . . the day one ended and the other began. Just a coincidence? I don’t believe in the kind of coincidences where people get two insurance payouts for the same claim. Oddly enough, the M.E. changed his tune and labeled poor Mr. Sorenson’s death as heart failure. Hmmm.
Not only were the men she married subject to sudden death, her children were in equal danger. After Belle’s business burned to the ground and she collected the insurance money, two of her children (not pictured above for reasons that will become obvious) died from acute colitis. The symptoms of this disease are identical to the symptoms of strychnine poisoning. Well, that sounds like a familiar poison. I wonder why. Probably another coincidence. NOT!
With her fat bank roll, Belle Gunness purchased a 42-acre farm in LaPorte, Indiana where she moved with her three remaining children. This begs a serious question . . . Where was CPS? As if she hadn’t done enough damage, that farm burned down too, and she collected the insurance from the loss.
Belle married Peter Gunness in April 1902. He was a widower with two daughters. Soon after the wedding, one of the girls died mysteriously. Her new husband knew something was rotten in Denmark (or in this case, Indiana) and send his other daughter to live with relatives. Swanhild Gunness was one fortunate little girl, as she was the only child in Belle’s life to survive childhood. For reasons I will never understand, Peter stayed. Not a good choice, Pete. He died in December 1902 when a meat grinder fell off a kitchen shelf and landed directly on his head. Because that kind of thing happens all the time. Right . . .
Believe it or not, the coroner found evidence of strychnine in Peter Gunness’ blood. Real shocker. There was an inquest, but Belle could have won an Oscar for her performance. She cried the giant tears you’d expect from a brokenhearted widow who’d just lost her husband in a totally unplanned meat grinder incident and got off the hook scot-free. And I can barely cry my way out of a speeding ticket.
With her second husband cleanly out of the way, she discovered a new method of money making. Mail order grooms. She lured financially well-off men to her new farm house, telling them to bring their life savings and sink it into her thriving farm. These men were never seen again. It’s estimated forty men disappeared answering Belle’s ad for a wealthy husband. When their correspondence was later discovered, investigators learned Belle would admonish her would-be husbands to ‘not to tell anyone you are coming!’ Yeah, that wasn’t a suspicious request at all. Maybe I’ve got a distrustful mind, but if someone told me to meet them at the Chick-fil-A and keep it a secret, I’d be worried. For one, if I’m going to Chick-fil-A, I will be too excited to keep it a secret. The sauce is swoon-worthy. For two, inordinate need for secrecy is how kidnapping stories on Dateline start. PSA: If someone want to meet you and demands you keep it secret, do yourself a favor. Stay home. Binge watch Investigation Discovery shows and eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Trust me on this.
April 28, 1908, Belle’s farm house burned to the ground. When authorities searched the barn, they discovered the charred remains of her three children, Lucy and Myrtle Sorenson and Phillip Gunness along with the corpse of a headless woman. They believed the body belonged to Belle Gunness. It looks like the story is wrapped up, doesn’t it? All tied with a neat, little bow. Belle Gunness, the woman we know as Lady Bluebeard, is dead in what feels like a stroke of poetic justice.
Hush up, Porky Pig, because this is nia-nia nia-not all folks!
A man named Asa Helgelein traveled to LaPorte in search of his brother, Andrew. Asa was dead certain Gunness had murdered his brother and pressured the authorities to scour that farm for Andrew Helgelein’s body. Investigators found eleven bodies in the hog pen. Since pigs are omnivores, it’s honestly not a bad way to dispose of bodies. It’s weird that I think this way. I need to get help. One of the bodies they discovered belonged to Jennie Olsen, Belle’s foster child. So, not only were this mad woman’s kids not being removed from her custody, the state was giving her fresh victims! Totally insane!
In the barn’s ashes, investigators found bridgework belonging to Belle Gunness. Since the unidentified body was missing it’s head, the coroner decided the teeth were sufficient evidence of Belle’s murder.
With the police swarming the place like ants on a lollipop, the searchlight was honed on the farm hand, Ray Lamphere. Though he was the prime suspect, he was only charged for the arson, not the murders.
Years later, on his deathbed, he gave a shocking testimony. Belle Gunness had killed her children and faked her own death. The pair had been romantically involved, and Ray would have done anything to please Belle . . . even help her dispose of her suitor’s bodies. Days before the fire, they traveled to Chicago and brought back a housekeeper. Hers was the decapitated body in the barn. Belle had pulled out all her teeth to make it look like she’d died with her children.
Investigators had difficulty stomaching a story so bizarre. I mean really . . . who does that? In 2008, DNA tests were preformed on the headless remains, but were inconclusive.
This begs so many questions. If Belle got away, where did she go? Did she kill again? To make this even spookier, mystery swirled around a woman named Esther Larsen in Los Angeles, California in 1931. She bore a remarkable resemblance to Gunness would have been roughly Belle’s age. In her pocket she carried a picture of children who could have been the doubles of those Lady Bluebeard lost in the fire in LaPorte, Indiana. She was awaiting trial for poisoning a man.
What do you think? I’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter. Could Esther Larsen have been Belle Gunness in disguise?
Okay, so I have goosebumps on my arms right now. This story is so wild, that Hollywood couldn’t come up with something so full of twists. When my writer’s brain comes into play, I think of all the villains in literature who are men. So few women. That may need to change. In this day of technology, there are so many more possibilities. Online dating. Facebook. Chat rooms. So many ways to meet people you think you know . . . but do you really? I’m getting that tingly feeling. When I get around to writing my next series, echoes of Belle Gunness’ story may resound in one of those books. Stay tuned.
Thanks for joining me on this amazing journey! Please tell me the the word ‘journey’ didn’t make me sound like a contestant on a reality game show. I promise I’m in this for the right reasons…I should stop.
I can’t wait to delve into mysteries both real and fictional with you. Most of my communications will be done via videos on a weekly basis. Not only will I share reviews on mysteries/suspense/thrillers I read, but will dish on bizarre true crimes for the detective in all of us.
Perhaps I’m a little over-the-top about mysteries, but I believe part of each one of us loves such stories. We like to see good win and evil lose. Who isn’t a sucker for story that ends with the bad guy rotting in prison? There must be someone out there who doesn’t share my fascination with crime and solving it. Whoever you are…I’m sorry. You’re missing out.
Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend.Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read. -Groucho Marx