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Hi there, and welcome back to another episode of Poppy Killed Mommy, the ongoing saga that is my life. My name is Nikki, and I'm the daughter of a murdered woman. It's been about three weeks since CrimeCon. So much has happened. I feel like this is gonna be a really long episode. So let's just pick up where we left off, and I'll tell you all about the Las Vegas CrimeCon experience and what's happened since I've been back. Before this trip, I was ready to be done with this and kind of move on with my life. And now I feel the exact opposite. It has recharged my battery for justice and accountability. This is exactly why I'm glad I'm documenting all of this in real time, because now you get to experience this roller coaster right along with me. When I recorded my last episode, I was exhausted. I had hit a wall. I was frustrated, I was discouraged, and I was, quite frankly, ready to give up. I felt like I had spent years talking about the same thing, years telling the same story, years asking the same questions and getting nowhere. And I was tired of hearing my own voice talk about it. I really. I don't enjoy the sound of my own voice. But as it turns out, Crimecon was exactly what I needed, and I can't wait to tell you all about it. My friend Stacy, she flew in from Washington on Wednesday night, and she settled into the spare room and made herself right at home. She got acquainted with the zoo that is my house. God bless you, Stacy, for your patience. On Thursday morning, I had to head off to work like any other normal day, though, because summer school had just started, I couldn't skip out on the kids. So while I was teaching, Stacy stayed behind and held down the fort, keeping dickie Birdie, and the rest of my animals company. But then, like, raising the anxiety, knowing that, like, as soon as I'm off, we have to get going, we have to hit the road. So when I got home that afternoon, we wasted no time and we rushed out the door, we threw our bags in the car, loaded everything we thought we needed for the weekend, and started the drive to Vegas. And I was a wreck with nerves. I was freaking out. And just as I was starting to settle down, chill out, we'd been on the road maybe 30 or 45 minutes when it suddenly hit me. The merch bag. We forgot the fucking merch bag. The business cards, the brand new postcards, the stickers, temporary tattoos, everything I had printed specifically to hand out at Crimecon. I looked over at Stacy and I said, oh, my God, we forgot the bag. Now, to be fair, Stacy had made a ton of amazing merchandise herself. She had made magnets, and she had keychains that she'd done on our fancy Cricut thing. And she had plenty of things for people to take home. But I was straight, like, panicking, because in my mind all I could think was, how are people supposed to find me? The year before, when someone asked for my contact info, I literally had to find a scrap of paper and a pen and write it down by hand. It was so embarrassing. This year, I was determined to look like I knew what I was doing. And 30 minutes into the drive, I realized I left the most important bag sitting at home. So we turned around, adding more than an hour to the drive. Back at home in Cave Creek, I found the merch bag exactly where we left it. Crisis averted, and it was back on the road to Las Vegas. The drive felt like it lasted forever, probably because we started it twice. And part of that was because there was construction on U.S. 93. I have no luck, I swear. Driving to Crimecon, at one point, there was traffic at a complete stop. We sat there for what felt like an eternity while they alternated traff traffic through a one lane section of road. In reality, I'm sure it was only probably 15 or 20 minutes, but when you'd already turned around and having to start over, this felt like much longer. I had worked all day and we'd spent hours in the car. And somewhere around 1 in the morning, I was barely awake in the passenger seat when it happened. We crested the hill and suddenly Las Vegas appeared before us. Lights everywhere. The Ferris wheel glowed in the distance. The first thing I saw was the Eiffel Tower. Hotels stretched to the Sky. And just like that, dude, I was wide awake. All of the nervousness, all of the exhaustion, all of the hours in the car disappeared. We were finally here. Thankfully, Stacy had warned me that the traffic in Las Vegas can be brutal at almost any hour, because even at one in the morning, there were still cars everywhere. We made our way to the Flamingo. The entire place was overwhelming. Everything in Las Vegas is bigger than you expect it to be. The buildings are taller and the crowds are larger. And for the first time in my life, a bellhop walked up and took my luggage from the curb and rolled it into the hotel for me. And I felt way more important than I actually am. It was a pretty cool experience. But what I wasn't prepared for was all the walking. We parked that car Thursday night, or technically, I guess, early Friday morning, and we did not get back to it until Sunday. Everything was walking all weekend. And a lot of people ask me throughout the weekend, what happened? Why are you limping? The truth is, I have sciatic nerve issues in my right side. And last year, I found out I have arthritis in my hip. And the more walking I do, the more. The worse it gets. And then, like, the limp becomes noticeable, and then the limp is, like, unavoidable. By the end of each day, I was, like, limping noticeably. The stairs were brutal. My hip hurt, my side hurt. And throughout all of it, I was pushing Dickie Birdie around in his stroller like he was a tiny celebrity. Eventually, we made it up to our room on the 10th floor. The room was beautiful. The view was pretty good. Could have been better, could have been over the courtyard, but I was very happy to look at the other casinos. And for three nights, it was only the low, low cost of roughly $1,000. I nearly choked when I saw the bill. Vegas is expensive. After a few hours of sleep, Friday morning arrived. I woke up determined to start the weekend right and immediately discovered there was no complimentary coffee in this room. Apparently, that's not a thing in Vegas. So I wandered downstairs until I found coffee, and I bought Stacy a coffee, and I bought myself two small Red Bulls. The total came to $32 for coffee and two tiny cans of Red Bull. Welcome to Las Vegas. After the caffeine kicked in, though, we got ourselves together, took Dicky Birdie out for a potty break, and made our walk over to Caesar's Palace. It was finally time for day one at CrimeCon, and as it turned out, that Friday would become the biggest day of the entire weekend. After what felt like an eternity Pushing Dickie Birdie to Caesar's Palace. We finally made it inside. And when I say Caesar's palace is massive, I mean fucking enormous. We pushed his stroller up escalators, across the bridge, downstairs, around corners, through what felt like an endless maze of casinos, restaurants, and crowds. Finding the elevator alone was a challenge. And there weren't really signs telling you where CrimeCon was. Most of the time, we were just following random people wearing Crimecon badges and hoping that they knew where they were going. Eventually, we found the elevator and we made it up to the Promenade level. And when we got there, we got lost all over again. I'm not even exaggerating when I say we probably spent 30 minutes wandering around, asking directions, getting pointed one way and then another before finally finding the Expo Hall. By the time we arrived, I already felt like I had completed a marathon. We found our booth towards the back of the Expo hall and started setting up. Generation Y was nearby and the murder sheet was right behind us. Everywhere I looked, there were creators I'd watched, listened to, or followed for years. From our booth, I could see Cheryl and Dale across the room. If I looked down another row, I could see the Gabby Petito Foundation. And as we finished setting up, word came that the doors would be opening shortly. And that's when the reality started to sink in a little bit for me, because I knew what was coming. Later that afternoon, at 4:15, I would be joining Crime Weekly live on stage. All I had to do was make it through the next few hours. And I didn't have to do that alone. My Aunt Wendy and my cousin Stephanie, who's actually named after my mother, showed up Friday afternoon. My mom's oldest friend, Cheryl from Chicago, arrived shortly thereafter. I mean, that was. It was a privilege and remarkable. I haven't seen that woman since I was probably, what, four or five years old? Bless you, Cheryl, for making the trip. I knew Friday was going to be emotional. I just didn't realize how emotional. The next few hours passed in a blur. People stopped by the booth and we shared my mom's story. We gave away merch. We met incredible people. We laughed and we reminisced. And for a little while, it felt less like a true crime convention and more like a family reunion centered around a woman who should still be here. And then Suddenly, it was 3:30 and it was time. Our entire group gathered together and began the journey to the ballroom where the Crime Weekly Live was being held. Even kind of knowing where we were going, finding it felt like navigating another maze. When we did arrive, there was already a line stretching outside the room. People were waiting to get in. And that was the moment that my nerves really kicked in. And they made us wait outside with the line. So I'm staring at all these people and they're staring at me. Yeah, yeah. That was really freaking me out. I wasn't just nervous. I was sick to my stomach nervous. Eventually, the doors opened and we made our way inside, though, and I calmed down just a little bit. I got my family settled on the left side of the stage, and Dickie Birdie was safely parked with them. Then I turned around and I headed backstage. Wow. Yeah. Like Alice through the fucking rabbit hole right there. There I met Stephanie Harlow and Derek Levasseur. The production team fitted me with the microphone and explained how everything would work. There would be a microphone on stage, and there would be another attached to me. I had to leave my drink behind. Someone handed me a crimecon cup. People moved quickly around me, checking equipment, adjusting sound levels, giving instructions. It was organized chaos. Then the lights dimmed. Stephanie and Derek were introduced. The crowd erupts. And I remember standing there backstage, listening to all of the people cheering, thinking, oh, my God, they're about to hear my mom's story. A few minutes later, Derek calls me on stage. Someone shines a flashlight towards the stairs leading up to stage. And then I walked out. Weeks later, I still don't know if I have the words to describe what I saw and what I felt. But I'll do my best. Standing on that stage, looking out across the room, seeing all those faces, hearing the applause, knowing that people had shown up to hear my mom's story. It's a moment I've replayed in my mind every single night since I've come home. But the truth is, I don't remember a lot of it. People have asked me what it's like being on stage with Crime Weekly. And honestly, parts of it are fuzzy. I remember sitting down and I remember somebody coming over and adjusting the microphone. I remember looking out at the audience, and then I remember the first question being asked. And after that, I just talked. I didn't have notes, and I didn't have a script. I didn't have anything memorized. I just told the truth. And maybe that's why it came so natural, even though I was absolutely terrified. Because it wasn't a performance, it wasn't acting, it wasn't a presentation. It's my life, it's my mother, and it's my story. I know it better than anyone else because I've been living it for 33 years. I remember pointing out my Aunt Wendy in the audience, and I remember making eye contact with people. I remember asking for help. I remember telling the audience that you're my grand jury, because that's how I've come to see this journey. At the end of the day, all I've ever wanted was for people to listen. Just listen. Look at the evidence, listen to the interviews, read the reports, and come to your own conclusions. For years, nobody wanted to hear it. You're just a grieving daughter, and you're just an emotional woman. You're just somebody with a story and a cell phone. But over the last five years, something has definitely changed. One person listened, and then another, and then another. And then a podcast and then a newspaper and then a convention full of people willing to hear what really happened. Because this is all we've ever. Attention, awareness. People willing to listen. If I can't get justice in a courtroom, then at the very least, I can put the facts in front of the public and let them decide what they believed happened that night. That's why I release the interrogations. That's why I share the police reports, and that's why I continue to tell this story. You are the jury. You are the people evaluating the evidence. You're the people deciding whether this case deserves another look. Standing on that stage felt validating in a way that's difficult to explain with my limited vocabulary. For so many years, I've heard people say things like, you need to move on. It's been 30 years. You need to let it go. But, guys, you don't get over losing your mom. You don't get over being 10 years old and having your world ripped apart overnight. You just learn to live with it. You learn to function around it. But part of you stays frozen in that moment forever.
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Today.
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That's J E R R Y AI Libsyn.
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Derek suggested getting a letter together so listeners could contact public officials. And one of the Questions that came up was, where do we go from here? And honestly, I still don't know. In 2022, I wrote to the Arizona Attorney General. I wrote to the Department of Justice. I wrote to the Yavapai County Attorney's Office. The Department of Justice sent an FBI agent to our house. The FBI agent attempted to contact the Sedona and was turned away from assistance because federal agents can't simply take over a homicide investigation unless they're invited in. So I gave up writing letters. But since Crimecon last weekend, I have filed complaints. I have contacted agencies. I have reached out to elected officials. Just yesterday, I contacted Governor Katie Hobbs. I followed up again with the Arizona Attorney General. I sent a letter to Senator Mark Kelly. Boom. My NASA guy. I have filed with the Arizona Ombudsman. I think I'm saying that right. Only to be told that they have no jurisdiction anyway, so it doesn't matter if I can say their name. Right? Right. So where do we go? I don't know. Maybe it's the Arizona Public Safety. The State police. Right. I haven't gotten there yet. Still trying to get there. Or maybe it's another state agency. Maybe it's somebody I've never even heard of yet. If you know the answer, I would love to hear it. Please drop me a line, because my mom's case has never been about one person. It takes a village with her case. It always has. And maybe together, we'll eventually find the right door to knock on. But when the panel was over, I walked off stage with Stephanie Harlow, and we both immediately needed to find the bathroom. It was such a normal, human moment after one of the most surreal experiences of my life. And I just can't thank Stephanie enough for listening. And thank you, Crime Weekly, for giving me the platform. And thank you to crimecon for allowing me to be there. Thank you to every single person who stopped by my booth. Thank you to everyone who attended the live show. Thank you to everyone listening. Now, after almost 33 years, people are finally hearing my mom's story in large quantities. I know I've been getting it out there in drips and dribbles for years, but it's the mass delivery like Crime Weekly, that, like, you know, I really need. And we're getting there. And that means more to me than I can ever properly put into words. And this was just day one. After the live show ended, I found my family outside the ballroom, and I reclaimed Dicky Birdie. Everyone kind of split off after that, though. My Aunt Wendy and Cheryl and my Cousin Stephanie. They stepped outside for a cigarette and a moment to themselves. Stacy headed back towards the booth because she's a fucking champion running that sucker. And I suddenly realized I had a very important responsibility. I needed to find a place for Dickie Birdie to potty. Which sounds simple until you're standing in the middle of Caesar's Palace. So there I was, navigating my way through the casino. I'd barely found out how to get around the first place, trying to find an exit, then trying to find my way back inside again afterwards. By the time I finally made it back to the Expo Hall, I was completely lost, frustrated, out of breath, and wondering if I would ever find my booth again. Eventually, I did. Everybody regrouped. We spent another hour or two talking, meeting with people and enjoying the aftermath of the live show. Honestly, parts of Friday are a blur. What I remember most is being exhausted, though. When the Expo hall finally closed, we started back through Caesar's palace and over to the Flamingo. By the time I reached the hotel room, I could barely walk. My hip was screaming, my sciatic nerve was shooting down my leg. I remember collapsing onto the bed while Stacy went downstairs to grab food, because there was absolutely no chance I was making another trip through that hotel. Eventually, I did get some sleep, and Saturday started exactly like Friday. We pushed Dicky Birdie through the Flamingo, through Caesar's palace, and got completely lost again. Somehow, despite already having done this once, we could not find the Expo hall again. By the time we finally arrived, I was frustrated, I was tired, I was sore, my body hurt, and the emotional weight of the day before hit me all at once. I remember sitting there and I realized something. I didn't want to be there. I was completely overwhelmed, and I knew a panic attack was coming. I had had enough of them to recognize the signs, so I did what any normal person would do. Like I hid. I crawled under the T. I started crying. I had my panic attack. I asked for my dog. Stacey handed me Dicky Birdie, and I sat underneath the table petting my dog while trying to get myself under control. Meanwhile, people still kept stopping by the booth. I could hear conversations happening above me. People were saying that they had attended the live show, and people were saying that they wanted to support the podcast. And people were saying all sorts of kind things. And those voices started pulling me back out, one conversation at a time and one supporter at a time. Eventually, Dickie Birdie, and I crawled out from under the table and we sat in front of the table for a while. I Started talking to people again, and before long, the panic attack had passed. The truth is, telling the story over and over again is hard. It's necessary, but it's hard. It's not fun. This isn't fun for me. It never has been. Every conversation requires reopening wounds that have never completely healed. But if telling the story is what gets people to listen, then I guess I'll just keep telling it, right? Later that afternoon, Aunt Wendy and my cousin Stephanie arrived and agreed to watch the booth so Stacey and I could attend a panel featuring Nicole Schmidt, who's Gabby Petito's mother, if you didn't know, and Megan Tomlinson. Is that a name that you're aware of? It's fairly new in the true crime community. Now, this is where the story gets a little crazy, because I knew Megan before her mother was murdered. It's one of those stories that sounds really unbelievable, but how it's all tied in is super wild and crazy. I first met Megan on TikTok. I mean, she found me one day when she was scrolling. She saw me, and she, like, kept scrolling and then scrolled back. I caught her attention, and at that time, that's exactly what I was trying to do. I was trying to figure out how to get people to stop scrolling and listening. And it certainly worked with her. We became chummy, and she suggested a podcast. I wasn't tech savvy, and I didn't know how to build a website. I didn't know how to launch a podcast. I didn't know how to do anything. I mean, I could do anything by myself. But Megan did, and she offered to help. What started as assistants quickly turned into friendship. And she helped me with ideas, and she helped me with planning, and she helped me with anything digital, because this is before I even knew what ChatGPT was. So I'm, like, completely hopeless. And during those early days, I needed someone to hold my hand through the entire process. But a few months later, everything changed. I had met Megan in the summer. July, I believe, of 2024. By September, we were actively working towards making the podcast happen. Like, we were getting the equipment. We were, like, trying to, like, research stuff and ideas and websites, all sorts of stuff. She even named the podcast. Then October arrived. One night, she texted me, my mom is missing. And at first, I wasn't worried. I'm going to admit, I did not panic over this. I was like, you'll find your mom, dude. I thought there'd be an explanation. But the days kept passing, and she kept freaking out even more. And then she finally did find her mother. She tracked her down in an intensive care unit, and the outcome was devastating. And I remember feeling completely helpless. I knew the pain she was experiencing, and I just felt so bad for her. So I gave her some space. And as Megan began navigating her own investigation and search for answers, you know, we naturally spoke less. She had her journey, and I had mine. By the end of 2024, I realized I was going to have to build Poppy Killed Mommy by myself. And once again, that is the name. The name for the podcast was named by Megan. I was going to call it Daughter of a Murdered Woman until Megan suggested those words. And I knew. I instantly knew she was right. I asked my dad if I could convert a closet into a podcast studio, and instead, he helped me build a real one. While Megan was advocating for her mother, I was writing scripts and building a studio. While she was searching for answers, I was preparing to tell my mom's story. And somehow all those roads led back to CrimeCon. There I was in May of 2026, sitting in an audience, watching Megan speak on a panel about solving her mother's murder. And all I could think was how unbelievable life is sometimes. When we met, she was helping me tell my mother's story. And now I'm watching her tell the story of her own mother. Today, she's turned that experience into advocacy through a silver lining of hope, named after her mother, Hope. And I couldn't be prouder of her. During the panel, Megan mentioned me and talked about how we first met. It was one of those full circle moments that almost doesn't feel real. The day before, I had been on stage telling my story. Now I was sitting in the audience listening to hers. When the Q and A started, I walked up to the microphone and I shared the story you just heard. I told everyone how we met. I told them how proud I was of her. And I meant every word. Because watching Megan stand on stage wasn't just inspiring, it was a reminder. A reminder that sometimes people do get answers, Sometimes people do get justice. And sometimes the fight is worth it. And this was CrimeCon Day 2. After the panel, Dickie, Birdie, Stacey, and I made our way over to the meet and greet with Nicole, Schmidt and Megan, which, of course, was another fucking hike. At this point, I'm pretty sure half of Crimecon was just walking from one place to another. We eventually made it there, spent a little time talking with both of them, took some pictures, and then headed back towards the Expo hall to relieve my Aunt Wendy and My cousin Stephanie at the booth. When we got back, my aunt looked exhausted. She had spent a couple hours sitting there surrounded by people telling my mom's story. And you could see the emotion all over her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was fighting off a cold. She had had an emotional weekend. I honestly don't know how many people she talked to during those couple of hours. But if you happen to have stopped by the booth and met my Aunt Wendy, consider yourself lucky. As soon as we arrived, though, she was ready to call it a day. So sometime around 5 o', clock, we said our goodbyes. Aunt Wendy and Stephanie headed out and Stacy and I stayed behind to finish out CrimeCon Day 2. Eventually, the expo hall closed and we began the long, limp, literal limp back through Caesar's palace and over to the Flamingo. This time, however, we learned our lesson. Instead of waiting until we got back to the room starving, we stopped at the food court. On the way, we ordered a stromboli. And let me tell you, after two days of endless walking, the stromboli was one of the greatest things I have ever eaten. The food was really good in Vegas, I will give them that. When we finally got back to the room, I was ready to crash out. Dude, I was done. But unfortunately, the people next door were apparently not Stacy. She was already asleep watching Forensic Files. And Dickie Birdie, he was passed out cold. And meanwhile, the people next door were just jamming the fuck out. I tried to ignore it, I really did. But I'm one of those people that like a sensory thing. I can't have sound like that kind of sound, tv, music. I can't fall asleep to it. And yeah, eventually I had to call security, which felt terrible. I hated to be that dick that calls security, but I needed to sleep. Once things quieted down, I did get some of the best sleep of the entire weekend. Those hotel beds were amazing. And I was dog tired. The pillows were incredible. Didn't want to get up for day three, I was so sore. But it was checkout day, the final day of Crimecon. We packed everything together, checked out of the hotel, and started preparing for our last few hours at Caesar's Palace. And like I said, by that point, my body was done. My hip hurt, my sciatic nerve was flaring up, I was limping, like way noticeably. Meanwhile, Stacy turned into a fucking pack mule. She made trip after trip, hauling luggage, merch, supplies to the car while I tried not to fall apart. By the time we finally made it back over to Caesar's it was somewhere around 9 or 10 in the morning. We had like, we had to wait till 2:30, said the contract, before I could like pack up and leave. So it was only a half day. And we spent those final hours doing what we had been doing all weekend. Talking to people, networking, sharing my mom's story, taking photos, making connections. I got another opportunity to take pictures with Nicole Schmidt and the Gabby Petito Foundation. Megan stopped by the booth and grabbed some merch. I got pictures with her. I introduced her to a few people looking for resources and support. And I felt like it was just one full circle moment. The weekend had started with me wondering if I still had the energy to keep fighting. Now I was surrounded by people who understood exactly why I couldn't stop. Those final couple of hours were bittersweet. We were exhausted and we were ready to go home, but we really didn't want it to end. By 2 o', clock, most of the expo hall was already packed up. Booths were disappearing and people were saying their goodbyes. But I wasn't ready to call it, man. It said 2:30 contract, 2:30. I was dead set to honor this contract, right? I wanted every last minute. But eventually, sometime around 10 after two reality one, like it was over and we started heading with the crowds towards the elevators. A man and his wife slightly ahead of us overshot the elevators and I called him back, hey, if you need the elevator, it's right here. The man turned around, hearing me, and there was Joseph Scott Morgan. Now, if you're a fan of true crime, you already know who I'm talking about. Oh my God. He's like a death investigator, forensics expert. He's always on Nancy Grace. He hosts his own podcast, Body Bags with Joseph Scott Morgan. Like, he's always on the news, dude. I was having one of those moments where your brain realizes you're standing next to somebody really famous. And we rode the elevator together and we exchanged a few words and I. I call. Stupidly, I called him famous and he corrected and he said infamous. And as badly as I wanted to be that person, to launch into my entire life story and pitch my mom's case and ask for a picture and monopolize the elevator ride, I didn't. And I regret that to this day. But it was the last day of CrimeCon and everybody looked exhausted and everybody looked ready to go home. So I left the man alone. I will admit, the true crime nerd in me was having a moment, though. Eventually we walked out of Caesar's palace exhausted. I never want to go Back. I am sore, emotionally drained, but strangely energized at this point. I waited what felt like forever while Stacy made the long journey back through the casino to retrieve the car. And my mind is just spinning. With everything that has just happened, all I could think about is what's next. I don't know what got into Stacy that day, though, but she drove like an absolute mobster. The trip back to Phoenix felt half as long as the drive out. Maybe it's because we were exhausted, or maybe it's because we had so much to talk about and I was already filing, like, reports, like with the Ombudsman on the way back to Phoenix. Like, I got right on the Internet and I started networking. Maybe it was because there was no construction stopping us every few miles. Who knows? Whatever the reason, it felt like we were back in Arizona before I knew it. By Sunday night, we were sitting at home on my couch watching some true crime doc. Dicky Birdie's passed out, all my other dogs are passed out. And shortly thereafter, Stacey heads to pass out. And the next morning, reality returned. Stacy had to catch a flight. I had to work. Crimecon was over. Or at least that's what I thought when I had left for Crimecon. I was burned out. I was frustrated, I was discouraged. I was ready to quit. And when I came home, I felt the exact opposite. After sending her off to the airport and heading off to work, I found myself asking the same question I've asked for years. Who can I contact? Who haven't I tried? What door haven't I knocked on yet? So I started knocking. I contacted the Arizona Attorney General. I contacted Governor Katie Hobbs. I wrote to Senator Mark Kelly. I contacted the Arizona Ombudsman, Bud Budsman. I hope I'm saying that right. The Ombudsman responded already and told me that they had no jurisdiction. The Attorney General's office essentially pointed me in a familiar direction. They were just kind of telling me that there's nothing they could do. But here's some advocacy if you want to help, like an advocacy website, group, whatever. But I kept going. I didn't let that stop me. I filed a complaint with the doj. I have not heard back on that yet. I emailed Joseph Scott Morgan and told him about our elevator ride. Can you please help me, sir? I continued sending emails. I have continued filing complaints. I have continued looking for anyone willing to listen. And I know what you probably are thinking, Nikki. Haven't you already done all of this? Yes. Yes, I have. That's exactly what makes this so frustrating. Because sometimes this journey feels like one giant fucking circle. I write letters. I contact agencies. I tell the story. I hit a dead end. And then somehow, I find myself right back at the beginning, doing it all over again. Normally, that feels discouraging. This time, it doesn't. This time it feels different. Because CrimeCon reminded me why I started. It reminded me that people care. It reminded me that people are listening. It reminded me that my mom's story still matters. And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel defeated. I feel rejuvenated, feel motivated. I'll feel ready to fight again. Bring it the fuck on. And I did not expect that. I thought CrimeCon was going to be my Hail Mary, my one big final push, my one last attempt before I stepped away. Instead, it did the exact opposite. It reminded me that justice and accountability are still worth pursuing and fighting for. So here we are, almost 33 years later, still telling the story, still asking questions, still looking for answers, still trying to figure out where to go from here. Three weeks ago, I was exhausted. I was frustrated. I felt like I was pushing a boulder uphill by myself. Then CrimeCon happened. And somewhere along the way, my mindset changed. But see, I had an ace in my pocket. Because at the same time, I knew I had an interview waiting for me. As soon as I got back from Crimecon, I had already been talking with a reporter from VT.com I sent her a message and said, hey, I'm back from Crimecon. I'm ready when you are. By Monday afternoon, she sent over her questions, and by Monday evening, I had all the answers submitted. And that's when it hit me. Crimecon had barely ended, and within 24 hours, I had already completed another major interview. Boom. Mic drop. For the next week, I made it my mission to contact somebody every single day. That first week I was back, I resubmitted my mom's case to Crime Junkies. I emailed the prosecutors. I emailed journalists. When I say I emailed the prosecutors, I mean like the podcast the prosecutors. I emailed random journalists. I was emailing anybody and everybody. I pulled up a list of the top true crime podcasts in the country, and I started working my way through them, one by one. You betcha, you betcha. Now, not everybody did say yes. True Crime Garage did decline to cover my mom's case, which is very sad because We've been at CrimeCon together. Last year they said that they were too busy, and this year, I left, like, a handwritten note on their, like, Their table. Please help me uncover my mom's case. So far. Crickets. So true. Crime Garage. If you're listening, dudes, I would please hook me up, Ann. But I mean, it's okay if you don't want to cover my mom's case. I guess not every door opens, but a lot of them have, and that's what matters. One of those doors was a connection I made at CrimeCon with two women from unspoken Truth Media. Since Crimecon, we've been in constant contact. They sent me a Google Drive and I had no idea what this was. I was like, oh my God, this is so fancy. Instead of like emailing the audio files one by one, all I gotta do is go click, click. And there it is. Oh my gosh. Technology is a beautiful thing. You've got everything. The audio recordings, the interrogations, the 911 call, the documents, the case material, 33 years of information. They even have the crime scene photos, bro. Now what exactly they're planning to do with it, I honestly do not know yet. But something is happening. Things are moving, things are shaking. Haha. At the same time, I've also been working with an independent journalist I met at CrimeCon. This is also huge. I've got so much going on. Oh my God, this is so exciting. Tomorrow, he and I are spending the day in Sedona. So actually, as you're listening to this right now, it should be Saturday. And as you're listening to this, I am filming with an investigative independent journalist. Boom. Another mic drop. He wants to film the house. He's filming the Sedona Police department. He's interviewing me, he's interviewing my dad. He's putting together a deep dive investigative piece on my mom's case. A few weeks ago, I couldn't have imagined any of this. And now it's happening tomorrow. Right now for you. Literally tomorrow. I need to get some sleep. But I'll be up editing this episode because I have to get it out to you because I love you all. But let's back up what happened yesterday, because something big happened yesterday. Two and a half weeks after submitting my answers to the vt, they released their article. I have to say, it's extremely well written. It's already a 40 minute episode. If I had more time. You know what? I'll read it to you in the next episode. It's extremely well written. I'm not going to read it in this episode because it's already pretty long, but I will put the link in the story notes. I might read it in the Next episode. But you need to please go read it, share it, do all the things, please. It's a fantastic piece. And before I close, there is another huge update that I've been waiting to tell you at the ending of this. Like, another big bomb moment back in April. I've already told you this. The author of the A and E article obtained Russell Peterson's phone number, remember? And I've been, like, reaching out to him, like, hello, do you want to tell me your side of the story? Ever since then, though, whenever a new article is published, my friend Stacy, the same Stacy who came to CrimeCon with me, she sends it to him. Every article, every time. So it's been like three now. Until yesterday. There has been complete silence until yesterday. After the latest article was released, he responded, two words, thank you. That was it. Thank you. Stacy replied and told him that she was reaching out on my behalf. He then asked who she was. She introduced herself, he apologized and said that he thought she was somebody else. Goodbye. With, like, a wavy emoji. Then she asked him if he would be willing to sit down with the investigative journalists. His response? I don't know what you're talking about, and I'm not interested. And that was the extent of the conversation. Now, you can read into that however you want. Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it means something. For the first time, after all the articles, after all the media attention, after all the outreach, after all the years he's responded, and whether that's significant or not, I'll let you decide. What I can tell you is that tomorrow I will be standing in Sedona with the investigative journalist, filming a story about my mom. Three weeks ago, I felt defeated. Today, I feel energized. For the first time in a long time, I feel like we're climbing the mountain instead of standing at the bottom looking up. We haven't reached the summit, not even close. But we're moving, baby. And that's enough for me. I'll let you know what happens next week after this big day. Tomorrow, today. Thank you for listening.
- [40:56]
D
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