A beautiful socialite at home in high society. A charismatic businessman from the blue-collar world. 'Opposites attract,' they say—but at what point do opposites repel...and become deadly?

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Phew! Our lives have been busy and we need a breather. We'll be back with you June 3. In the meantime, send us a voicemail intro - you could be in our finale!

Introduce the next Dead Atlanta episode! Call ‪(404) 596-6118‬ and leave us a voicemail. Include:

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It's the early 1900's and you're walking along Peachtree Street visiting a friend you haven't seen in 10 years. Arriving at the address, you're shocked to see a man and woman walking arm in arm over the threshold of the most enormous home you have ever seen. You quickly check the invitation to attend the ball and realize you're not attending a ball in a mansion, you're attending a ball in a mansion on Mansion Row.

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What do you get when you combine a wealthy son with political ambitions, Martin Luther King Jr., and the Civil Rights movement? Mayor Ivan Allen Jr.

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You trudge along the streets of downtown Atlanta in December 1867, your hat pulled low, hands shoved in your coat pockets as you rack your brain trying to come up with the last gift on your holiday shopping list. Nothing seems right! Suddenly, you're upon it: Rich's Department Store. Your neighbors have raved about it for months–maybe they'll finally have something just right. You grasp the handle, and little do you know that as light cascades into the street from the open doorway, you're about to step into not only Rich's but the future of retail.

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You look out the window of your home in Hunter Hills, Atlanta at the Elder residence. The family doctor is walking up their driveway again. What could it be this time?

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TRIGGER WARNING: references to sexual exploitation of minors and suicide.

You're lost. The darkness makes every street look like a smudged charcoal drawing, and you can't figure out which way to turn to get back to your hotel. You spot a woman down Collins Street standing in the road in front of a home and pick up your pace–maybe she can point you in the right direction. Just as you reach her, the doors of the home burst open, men and women scurrying down the steps. Two backlit figures grapple with each other in the open doorway, and suddenly you realize, it's not a home, it's a bordello. Welcome to Atlanta's Red Light District.

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In northwest Atlanta, a cemetery lies quietly buried beneath the roots of an old-growth forest. The graves are ornate, beautiful, and crumbling, broken pieces mixing with the rocks below the leaves. But in this still and silent place, there are still residents. Still stories. Today, we tell them.

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It's an oppressive August day in Atlanta's humidity. You're lying on the edge of Lake Abana in Grant Park, your feet submerged to your ankles in the water for minimal respite. A hat covers your face, blocking the sun above, and you've almost drifted off to sleep when a loud animalistic trumpeting shoots up your spine and rockets you upright. The water suddenly rises to your calves as you rub your eyes, trying to make sense of what you're seeing. Is that an elephant in the lake?

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It's 4:30 am in downtown Atlanta following a long train ride. You wake, suddenly hot and coughing with the scent of burning sugar and cigar smoke in the air, your eyes burning. What's going on?

Introduce the next Dead Atlanta episode! Call ‪(404) 596-6118‬ and leave us a voicemail. Include:

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