Georgia in the Pines

A suburban mom terrifies an anchorwoman and shakes up a town

As she strolled the hallways of Silver Palms Elementary on that Tuesday morning, Kristi Krueger wasn't the Channel 10 anchorwoman seen on television. She was the suburban mom, the one who went by her married name, Templin. And she was there to tell administrators she'd be bringing cupcakes to school at lunchtime for her daughter's sixth birthday.

But she felt a sense of danger. She'd just seen Georgia Roberts, her nemesis, out in the parking lot yelling at a father. She suspected she might be next. She thought Roberts, another mother of a kindergarten-aged girl, might try to sabotage the birthday. Krueger was tired of hiding from Roberts in the school's hallways, sick of the unwanted gifts, irritated at having to hear how pretty she'd been on TV, appalled by the entire fantasy world Roberts seemed to live in. This was stalking, Krueger believed.

As she walked out a doorway, there was the waifish dark-haired Roberts with anger in her eyes. "You bitch! You bitch!" Krueger says the other mother screamed at her, grabbing her arm. "How could you do this to my daughter? You are going to get yours!"

Scenes of suburban bliss for Georgia Roberts and the twins
Scenes of suburban bliss for Georgia Roberts and the twins
Above: Roberts took this photograph of Kylee (left) and Krueger's daughter, Kelsie, at a birthday party in January 2001. Left: Kylee celebrates on the soccer field in her princess crown and sash.
Above: Roberts took this photograph of Kylee (left) and Krueger's daughter, Kelsie, at a birthday party in January 2001. Left: Kylee celebrates on the soccer field in her princess crown and sash.
Georgia Roberts performs her magic in the courtroom.
Colby Katz
Georgia Roberts performs her magic in the courtroom.
Kristi Krueger speaks with prosecutor Nathan Avrunin: "My nightmare continues."
Colby Katz
Kristi Krueger speaks with prosecutor Nathan Avrunin: "My nightmare continues."

A school counselor, James Maisel, quickly separated the two women.

"Now you've gone too far!" Krueger yelled back at Roberts.

The incident marked a turning point in a heated war between the two suburban moms. It also set up this past summer's headline-inducing stalking trial, in which Roberts stole the show. Though seemingly driven by irrational forces, she manipulated the chaos, turned it into a game to be won. She laughed, wept, ranted, and cajoled in court -- underneath it all was a near-ferocious tenacity. In the end, it was up to the jury to decide if she was a delusional stalker or a devoted mommy. "I am like an onion. I have layers," Roberts says. "You peel a layer and there is another one. And another after that, and after that. Sometimes, as with an onion, you may cry. I can make you cry. I am raw. I am worth it."

She did make Krueger cry, especially after Roberts won the game: The jury acquitted her of aggravated stalking and battery in July. But it's not over yet. The same jury split on a lesser-included misdemeanor stalking charge, and a new trial is scheduled for December.

The obsession, the courtroom theatrics -- it's all been played out before. Roberts concedes that she seems always to be trying to relive her childhood, which was marked by isolation and death. The Krueger saga has several parallels to the last time Roberts made headlines, in 1986, when she killed her friend, Angela Puccetti, with a shotgun in what police determined was an accident. Krueger, in many ways, was to Pembroke Pines what Puccetti was to Roberts' Chicago-area high school: the popular blond everyone knew and seemed to admire, the girl who had it all. Puccetti, a cheerleader and homecoming queen, was once Roberts' ticket to the popular crowd; in Krueger, she saw a local celebrity who could take her to the social stratosphere of Broward County.

She was virtually run out of Pembroke Pines, but she won't soon be forgotten. Before she arrived, nobody had seen anything like this mad mother, this suburban tsunami, who wreaked havoc on the town and says she did it all for the children.


Georgia Roberts' life in South Florida was filled with the stuff of children: Mickey Mouse, big stuffed animals, clowns, and Santa Claus. She liked nothing better than to dress up her toddler twins, Kyle and Kylee, in cute outfits and show them off around town. All three usually wore big plastic sunglasses. "I do wear sunglasses constantly, because I don't want people to see the hurt in my eyes," Roberts explains in her dramatic way. "I've been wearing them since I was 20 years old. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul -- I don't want people to see mine."

Roberts says her existence revolves around her little boy and girl -- that their 1995 birth gave her a new chance at life. "When I wake up my children, I blow butterfly kisses on their faces or I tickle their toes," she says. "If I die in a freak accident, my kids need to know that they were loved, desperately loved."

While her twins remained constant, husbands came and went. In 1998, Roberts married a boyfriend named Ronald Fagan but a year later divorced him to marry Gary Roberts, the twins' father, who moved to the Pines from Chicago to win back his family. Considering that in the past, she'd had him arrested on charges ranging from sexual assault to battery, it was easy to predict the new marriage would be volatile.

But Gary Roberts, who worked as a reporter at the Coral Gables Gazette, embraced suburban life. Soon, he was coaching little league soccer and tagging along to kiddie events with his twins and wife, who would invariably saddle him with a disposable camera to be used upon her orders.

But he was just backup -- Georgia Roberts was the real Kodak commando. She went to events armed to the hilt with a still camera and at least one of her three camcorders, along with a backup battery in case technical disaster struck.

She quickly became known by Pines officials as the manic mother at events with names like Bunny Brunch, the Golden Nugget Hunt, and the Masquerade Munch. "I liked my children to sit up front where we would be the first in line, and we would videotape," she recalls. "I wanted a spontaneous shot. If something happens to me, I want my children to know they did things when they were little and had true little expressions on their faces. The magic starts to wear out when they get older, you know."

For Roberts, enjoying her kids' lives became a veritable blood sport. At the events, she would fight with other mothers and officials, often in a bid to get to the front table with the mayor and other dignitaries. "She would be my only mother I would fear at events," Pines special events coordinator Frances Novo recounted in a deposition.

Things really got out of hand at Bunny Brunch 2000, when Roberts started hurling bagels and donuts at city workers after they stopped her from taking the leftover morsels home. When told to return the food, Roberts began "yelling, screaming, and actually threw the stuff at us," Novo said. "If she didn't have the box [of bagels]... would she have smacked me? I don't know."

During the conflict, she also argued with her husband, who became so angry that he broke the key off in the family car's ignition. But the world wasn't any wiser. The Miami Herald, in its story on the event, ran an adorable photo of little Kyle searching for eggs.

The ultimate event was Pines Day, a celebration of the city's birth, which involved a parade, a huge cake, and the crowning of the Pines' pageant winners. In April 2000, Roberts entered Kylee in the Little Miss Sweetheart Princess contest for 4-year-olds, and she was chosen the winner. Kylee made the Sun-Sentinel, and officials called upon her to represent the city at ribbon cuttings and other major events.

The victory emboldened Roberts and confirmed her suspicion that her twins were special, yet her conflicts only worsened. She says the scenes did no damage to her kids' psyches. "The confrontations were habitual, so the kids really didn't know I was making a scene," Roberts explains. "But I don't believe I was being unreasonable. I don't see why I can't sit at the front table with all these fat people who are feeding their faces with bagels and donuts."

During Snowfest 2000, Roberts felt she'd earned the right to skip the line, especially since Kylee was Little Miss Sweetheart Princess, and Kyle was slated to perform as one of Santa's elves. "This is f-ing ridiculous," Novo recalled Roberts saying. "My child should be in the f-ing front."

Novo told Roberts to wait like everyone else, which only intensified the profane rant. Finally, the mother, in a rage, threw her son's green elf costume at the mortified city official. "I said, 'Here, bitch, take it back,'" Roberts recalls.

Gary Roberts made earnest though rather feeble attempts to control his aberrant wife, which would usually lead to public marital spats. Renee Nunez, the city's soccer program coordinator, remembered several flare-ups in which the couple would get into "nasty fights on the sideline and would use the f word in front of the children," she said in a deposition.

Nunez also said that Roberts, even though she was one of the "most protective mothers you'll ever find in your life," could be rather rough with her kids. She remembered that Roberts once "snatched [Kyle] and just, like, forced him to the ground like a spike" while posing the boy for a picture on the field.

Roberts admits that she "manhandles" her kids at times but says she makes up for it with love. "Sometimes I'm stern and I'm pushy and I'm verbally aggressive with my children," she says. "But I know they know I love them... Those kids adore me; they worship me."

The adored mom kept her eye on Pines Day 2001, when Kylee would ride on the city float, cut the cake, and bestow her crown upon the next princess. "When my little girl is in high school and some girl calls her a piece of shit or some boy rejects her, all I wanted to do was be able to tell her that when she was 5 years old, she was the Pembroke Pines princess," Roberts says, her voice choked up with emotion. "I was going to give her some self-esteem I never had."

But the parade conflicted with another major event --the birthday party of Kristi Krueger's daughter, Kelsie. Roberts boasted all over town that Kylee was invited to the party. She told officials and other mothers that she and Krueger were great friends, name-dropping in a bid to get special treatment.

But the friendship was news to the anchorwoman. She was scared of Roberts.


Krueger lived only a couple of miles from Roberts, but they were a world apart. While Roberts had no real occupation, Krueger was "an award-winning health reporter and effervescent anchor," as her promotional bio on the WPLG website puts it. The daughter of a former general manager of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Krueger graduated from the University of Florida, won an Emmy, and was named First Lady of Broward. Roberts dropped out of college and never won an award in her adult life.

Krueger lived in Pembroke Pines in a half-million-dollar home with an SUV and Lexus in the driveway among the affluent in the gated community of Silver Palms. Roberts dwelt in a $200,000 house in strictly middle-class Towngate and drove a Saturn.

The two women seemingly had only one thing in common: They were both mothers of daughters who attended Silver Palms and practiced gymnastics at the nearby Park Avenue Gym. Roberts' version of the relationship begins in her living room, watching Channel 10: "I noticed this blond lady who was cross-eyed, and she was paired up with a black guy wearing a lot of makeup, which would be Dwight Lauderdale. She seemed to go out of her way to be friendly... I thought either she was the nicest person in the world or the phoniest."

Soon, Roberts says, she began to see the broadcaster all around town. As she toted her then-toddler twins on errands, she'd see Krueger at drug stores and gas stations, at Chuck E. Cheese, Winn-Dixie, Publix, and a Barnett Bank branch.

In the spring of 1998, she finally spoke with her favorite broadcaster. The twins, who were almost 3 at the time, were dressed up to see the Easter Bunny at Pembroke Lakes Mall. As Roberts snapped photos, Krueger happened by and told her, "Your kids look just like two porcelain angels. They'll outshine the Easter Bunny."

Around Halloween, Roberts claims she bumped into Krueger again, this time as she was leaving a store with her twins. Krueger politely held the door for them and picked up a stuffed animal that fell out of Kyle's hands. "I remember that she was wearing shorts and I noticed her legs -- I don't want to say they were big, but they were chunkier than I thought they would be," Roberts recalls.

That December, Roberts and Krueger happened to wind up in the same line at a Home Depot, where they chatted about their respective houses. In August 2000, they chanced upon one another at a Barnes and Noble bookstore, where they had a long conversation and Kylee first met Kelsie. Ten days later, they met outside a Toys R Us and decided to have lunch together at Miami Subs. "I followed her shiny gold Lexus," Roberts says.

You might call it a highly improbable series of coincidences, but Roberts calls it the chronology of a budding friendship. Krueger, though, says it's all a figment of Roberts' twisted imagination.


When Kristi Krueger talks about Georgia Roberts, she's talking about her own personal nightmare. She says the woman has tormented her since they first met at the Park Avenue Gym shortly after the 2001 school year began. Roberts approached, said she was a huge fan, and began to recount facts about the broadcaster's life -- that her son had been treated at the Dan Marino Center for headaches, for instance -- that Krueger felt were too personal for a stranger to know. "She showed me pictures of her daughter winning Pembroke Pines princess -- it was just an assault of information," Krueger recalled in a deposition. "A friend and I both agreed this is a mother we need to stay away from."

The following school day, Roberts gave her daughter a present to give to Kelsie, a little "Tommy Tooth" throne to hold her first lost incisor. Krueger threw it away. After that, Kylee gave Kelsie many other gifts, including videotapes of cartoons and stickers to take home.

Roberts would also find Krueger in the school hallway every morning and tell Kylee things like, "Go over there and say hello to your best friend, Kelsie, and tell Kelsie's mommy how pretty she looked on television last night."

"She was pushing a friendship that Kelsie really had no interest in," Krueger said in the deposition.

To avoid her persistent admirer, Krueger changed the time of her daughter's gymnastics class and began using the back door at the school each morning.

She says Roberts also would often eat lunch at the school and sit with Kelsie, prying information from her, asking personal questions like, "[Are] your mommy and daddy in love?"

"Georgia asked my daughter, 'Who's going on your skiing vacation?' And my daughter said, 'Troy, Mommy, Daddy, and Elizabeth.' Elizabeth is her doll," Krueger recounted in her deposition. "Later... I hear lovely stories of how Georgia is telling numerous people that I have an illegitimate daughter named Elizabeth who I had with probably one of my father's football players when he was the coach with the Buccaneers."

Roberts also started popping up at Publix on Monday mornings, when Krueger, a self-described "creature of habit," did her weekly shopping. She claimed that one morning, she decided to go 90 minutes later than usual but still found Roberts there, walking up and down an aisle with three items in her buggy. She said Roberts rushed up to her and said, "Oh, you're late today shopping -- so am I."

Krueger claimed that unsettling incident prompted her to switch supermarkets. But nothing would stop Roberts. "Every time I turned around, she would be there," Krueger says now. "She was living in this fabricated world, and I was the starring character."

When Krueger substitute-coached her daughter's soccer team, Georgia Roberts was there snapping pictures. This kind of thing went on until Krueger became fed up and called assistant state attorney Tony Loe, who was recommended by a friend. After Loe told her to try to settle it outside the courtroom, Krueger asked Roberts to stop dropping her name, making up stories about her, and following her around. Roberts was upset but agreed.

But it was only the beginning. In early April 2001, Roberts waited for Krueger at the school one morning and told her in tears that Kylee had to be invited to Kelsie's April 28 birthday party. "She's a pageant princess -- how could you deny her?" Roberts asked her. "I know you think I'm stalking you. I know I scare you, but I'm not really scary."

When Krueger rebuffed Kylee's mother, Roberts told the broadcaster that other mothers were jealous of them, since both of their daughters were so special, and that Silver Palms might become another Columbine or a "Texas cheerleader situation."

With this prospect of violence, Krueger's patience ran out.


While Roberts denies much of Krueger's story, the gist is certainly true: Roberts was obsessed with Krueger, and the anchorwoman was genuinely frightened. Roberts confesses to overstepping her bounds; she says she was seeking "validation" -- one of her favorite words -- from Krueger. Newscasters "come into your homes on a daily basis, and you feel like you know them, but you really don't," Roberts explains. "At some level, I crossed the line. I was too much of a pest. I lost my mother, and my father never validated me, and that makes me feel insecure, and that causes me to talk a lot. I got a little kick by being on par with this woman."

Roberts insists she never had lunch with Kelsie; she found out about "Elizabeth" from Kylee, who mistakenly thought it was a real child. "It was just gossip," she says.

For Roberts, Krueger was on the highest social plane, while other mothers occupied an almost subhuman level, and she herself was somewhere in the middle. "Those other mothers validated their lives through Kristi more than I ever did -- they were total phonies," she says. "They couldn't stand that someone like me could shop at Nordstrom's once in a while and then go have a big greasy hamburger at Denny's, which is still my favorite restaurant. They looked down on that. In that way, it was like high school all over again. I knew I was better than them."

As things were boiling over with Krueger, Roberts was busy battling with one of those other mothers, Hilda Sultan, whose daughter Alexis was in Kylee's kindergarten class. Roberts and Sultan had once been friends, enjoying play dates with their children, but both women say the relationship ended when the other became obsessed with her child.

Roberts began telling everyone that Sultan might try to sabotage Pines Day to harm her daughter out of envy. Sultan, a licensed psychologist, says the allegations began only after she rejected Roberts.

"She has a narcissistic need for control, power, and attention," says Sultan, who once complained to an assistant principal after Kylee won the lead of a school play over Alexis. "She has a thirst for status, and she targets whoever she perceives to have status, be they doctors or anchors or beauty queens. Then she tortures them. I believe she sadistically enjoys all of this."

If Roberts relished the Silver Palms fiasco, her joy lurked somewhere beneath apparent desperation. She became apoplectic about the fact that Kylee wasn't invited to Kelsie's birthday party -- and apocalyptic about Pines Day.

The imbroglio, in some ways, mirrors Roberts' dispute with her former roommate in Chicago, Laura Peveler, that prompted her to buy the shotgun that ultimately killed Angela Puccetti. "She was doing the same thing she did with Angela, saying someone was out to get us, saying that she and I needed to be protected from Hilda Sultan just like she said back then that she needed protection from Peveler," says Krueger, who didn't find out about the shooting until after Roberts' arrest.

Both Sultan and Peveler are third wheels in the respective dramas, and both claim Roberts unwittingly sucked them into the picture. Ultimately, Roberts blames both: Peveler for the shooting of Puccetti and Sultan for the meltdown with Krueger.

And it was getting creepier. According to Krueger, Kylee told her at school, "My mommy says I have to wear a bulletproof vest [at the parade] because somebody is going to take me out."

The week before the climactic Pines Day was filled with a rising tension:

Monday, April 23:Roberts complains to Pines Police Officer William Felix that Sultan pulled Kylee's hair at the school, a claim that was never substantiated. Roberts mentions Krueger's name several times, so Felix checks the story with the anchorwoman. "The only mother who is unstable, the only mother I'm frightened of... is Georgia Roberts," Krueger tells Felix.

That afternoon, the frustrated Krueger confronts Roberts in the school parking lot and demands she back off, leaving Roberts and her twins in tears.

Roberts claims an enraged Krueger pounded on her car window. "I swear to God it scared the shit out of me," she says. "I was so sure it was going to be Hilda and so relieved that it was Kristi. Then the bitch starts dragging me out of my car. She grabbed me hard. It was like a death grip."

Tuesday, April 24: The alleged wrist-grabbing incident occurs in the school and Krueger goes back to Loe, who instigates a police investigation. Roberts later files a restraining order against Sultan. "She is obsessed with my twins, namely Kylee," Roberts wrote in the order. "Jealous and vindictive that Kylee will be on parade float... and cutting cake for Pembroke Pines birthday."

Wednesday, April 25: Sultan and Krueger each file restraining orders against Roberts, whose next move is to call Pines police and complain that she's received a call from the WPLG office. She plays a recorded message from a "deep, almost disguised type male voice... that pretended to be Dwight Lauderdale," according to Officer Jennifer Arguri.

"You better leave my anchor bitch alone," the voice says. The cops never got to the bottom of that one.

Playground cruelty also rears its head, as Kelsie and Alexis chant at Kylee, "Your mother is crazy, and she's about to go to jail."

After Kylee bursts into tears, a teacher makes Kelsie apologize.

Thursday, April 26: Roberts files a rambling five-page restraining order against Krueger. "I would like Kristi Krueger Templin to stop smirking in the hallway of my kids' school," she writes. "She is just another mom... My kid is a pageant winner and I like her to shine on her own, not be linked with a reporter's kid."

The order is denied by a judge, but that doesn't stop Roberts from passing copies around the school and gym. "She just wants me not to be able to have the party, that's what she wants," Krueger tells police in a sworn statement.

Friday, April 27:For Krueger, it is crucial that Roberts be stopped before Kelsie's party the following day, so Loe makes a special trip to the Pines Police Department and rushes through an arrest warrant, which is signed by Circuit Judge Marc Gold.

Pines Day, April 28: About 2 a.m., police knock on the door of Roberts' house, where Kylee's crown, sash, and red dress are out for the big parade, as are the little girl's curlers, makeup, and lip gloss. Roberts, in her Mickey Mouse shirt and Winnie the Pooh bottoms, is charged with aggravated stalking and taken to jail. "I was crying the entire time," Roberts recalls. "All night, I was in a cell with the prostitutes. Then they put me in my own cell because I was crying so hard."

At 9 a.m., she calls her husband on the jail phone. "Get Kylee to Pines Day," she orders. "Forget about my bail -- just get her to the parade!"

Kylee winds up missing the parade and the cake-cutting but makes it in time to pass on her crown. "I wasn't going to let Krueger take that away from my daughter," says Roberts, who posted $5,000 bail later that day. "But she didn't make it on that float, and that's exactly what that bitch wanted. That bitch wanted to take away my Pines Day, the only thing I cared about in this world. And she laughed about it."

Krueger's party, guarded by an off-duty policeman, goes off without a hitch.


In May, the stalking trial opened in Gold's courtroom in downtown Fort Lauderdale. While acting as her own attorney, Roberts scampered about frenetically day after day, often rolling her eyes and gesturing toward the jury box and gallery. She talked so fast that court reporters couldn't keep up, and she peppered her discourse with mundane details, products of her "photographic memory."

Like a child in class, she would stand on her tiptoes and insistently raise her hand to be called upon by Judge Gold, who would scold, "Put that hand down -- we are not in high school!" or, "Not another word from you!"

Gold found her in contempt of court three times, fined her, and sentenced her to two days in jail for her antics. But nothing would stop her defense.

It was a ridiculous spectacle but also an effective one: While making a mockery of the courtroom, Roberts mastered the case. She tore the prosecution's arguments to pieces, which wasn't that difficult considering that her star witness was Leslie Haywood, the Pembroke Pines detective who led the investigation. He testified that Loe pressured him to make the arrest though there was no probable cause. Haywood didn't believe the facts substantiated an aggravated stalking charge, which requires that there be a "credible threat" of violence.

There was also a long line of other witnesses, including city officials, school employees, and a team's worth of soccer moms, who can be surprisingly vicious. After Denise Kilanowski, a room mother at Silver Palms, testified that everyone was afraid of Roberts, the defendant objected, at which point Kilanowski said, "I'm going to get up, come over there, and you're going to get it."

But the highlight of the long trial came on May 22, when Roberts cross-examined Krueger for four hours on the stand. The defendant repeatedly established that Krueger had gotten details of her story wrong. Most important, James Maisel, the school counselor who witnessed the alleged wrist-grabbing that prompted the battery charge, told the jury that Roberts had never touched Krueger.

While Krueger testified, the two mothers also had a few personal asides:

Roberts: Are you testifying that I'm delusional?

Krueger: I don't think I'm qualified to say if you are delusional. I think you are a liar... I think you have a fantasy that I was your friend, that we did a lot of things together we never did...

Roberts: So I'm not a very credible person?

Krueger: Well, I don't know what you are, but when a mother is talking about Columbine and Texas cheerleader murders and I've got a 5-year-old little child I love very much, I was not about to take any chances with her life or mine.

Roberts: You know that I love those twins more than my own life, don't you?

They argued about their relationship:

Roberts: We did not see each other on my birthday at Walgreens?

Krueger: It is another fantasy.

Roberts: It is a fantasy? You don't want to be at Walgreens with me because we engaged in conversation and you gave me a little gesture hug?

Krueger: Oh, I never gesture-hugged you. Trust me.

And at the end, Roberts laid down the guts of her defense:

Roberts: I have never threatened you, your life, your sweet little girl, have I?

Krueger: Yes, I think you have. You said, "You will get yours" and you talked about violent things, and I have no idea what you meant by any of those things... There are too many awful stories of people who just snapped, and you seemed to be very close to that. I wasn't going to take any chances.

Roberts: But I didn't snap, did I?

No, she didn't, and that last point was the clincher for juror Neil Riddles. The aggravated stalking charge didn't stand up because there was simply no credible threat, he says. For Roberts to tell Krueger "You will get yours" wasn't enough to send a woman to prison for up to five years. "If you can't show that when she was talking about Columbine, Roberts was threatening Krueger's family -- then the prosecution really has a big problem," explains Riddles, who is a CEO for a financial services firm. "The rest of the case falls apart."

The battery case, Riddles says, was "a real easy one," because Maisel said it never happened. Krueger insists the school counselor simply must have missed it: "She grabbed my arm -- she touched me."

Riddles was sympathetic to the anchorwoman. In fact, he was one of only two jurors who felt that Roberts was guilty of the lesser-included misdemeanor stalking charge, which doesn't require a threat of violence. Other jurors dismissed the case out of hand and criticized Krueger for using her influence to bring the charges.

When the not-guilty verdict came down on July 2, Krueger's husband called her with the news. She was in a store buying educational supplies for Kelsie. "My knees buckled; my heart stopped," she recalls. "I fell to the ground, and I was trembling all over. I got so weak, I couldn't stand up."

Though Roberts still faces the stalking charge, it is Krueger who dreads the next trial. She's willing to drop the case if Roberts agrees to a year of counseling. "I wish someone would convince her to accept that plea," she says. "I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to take her children away from her. All I want is for her to get help. I want to be her last victim."

During a September 8 hearing, prosecutor Avrunin offered Roberts the plea bargain in open court. "My answer is no," Roberts told the judge. "I will have a jury that will acquit me immediately."

"My nightmare continues," Krueger says.

One reason Roberts wouldn't take the plea bargain is that she intends to sue Krueger for malicious prosecution. And, though it's a dubious case, she's already counting the money. "All I want is for that bitch to replace my car," Roberts said outside the hearing. "I'm going to have all the rest of the money go to Project Innocence."


While her calendar book is again filled with her children's special events and birthday parties -- the twins had 32 kids at their last one, she claims -- Roberts isn't as active at their Orlando-area school because she is afraid a background check will show her felony arrest. She hates rejection. "I'm low-key now," she says. "Boy, have I changed my tune. I'm working at a very, very discreet level with the PTA moms now."

Still, she shows up in the cafeteria to have lunch with her kids and occasionally visits their classrooms. "My kids are so wonderful -- they get along with everybody," she says. "My daughter scored 138 for IQ. She has a photographic memory like mine. My kid is smart like I am. I'm just screwed up."

Of course, she's still at war, and not only with Krueger but also with her husband. A drunken New Year's Eve argument in 2001 landed Gary Roberts in jail on a charge of resisting arrest ("I just couldn't believe that bitch called the cops," police reported him saying as they hauled him away.) Then his wife filed for divorce. Yet both still live in the two-story suburban house and rotate use of the master bedroom by the month. "I've got this huge walk-in closet," she says. "Krueger probably doesn't even have one as big."

While Georgia says Gary is a loving father and a kind man at heart, she also blames him. "It all stems from my asshole husband -- he's my problem," she says. "If he just gave me some validation, I wouldn't seek it from other people."

She hints that her validation is now coming from an unlikely place: soccer dads.

"If I have a nice figure and I want to wear little shorts like Britney Spears wears, too bad," she says. "I look hot. I'm a rebel, and society doesn't rule me. I always think of the Jon Bon Jovi song" -- here she starts singing -- "'It's my life/It's now or never.' If I was ever going to stalk anybody, it would be Jon Bon Jovi."

She laughs before happily continuing:

"When I'm on the sideline of the soccer field, these fathers are looking at me and talking to me, and the mothers are giving me dirty looks. So maybe it is now my chance to be the head cheerleader from high school. I mean, some of them undress me with their eyes, but I like their company. Men are nice. I've never liked women. They are bitches."

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