Secrets Can Be Deadly (5 page)

10
Saturday, January 26, 1980
(Mason)

M
ason stopped at the community college library to use the microfilm reader. He had a manila file folder and the two dead couple’s names, hoping he could find newspapers articles that would shed light on his mystery. His instinct was telling him the couples hadn’t died of natural causes.

Since he didn’t have an exact day or month the first couple died, he searched almost an hour before
finding an obituary for Kenneth and Mae Ponder in
The Dysart Reporter
.

Kenneth Robert Ponder, born October 21, 1933. Mae Suzanne Ponder, born July
 3, 1934. Kenneth and Mae were united in
marriage on
July 31, 1954 in the Little Brown Church in Nashua, Iowa. Kenneth and Mae died peacefully together on August 15, 1979. Their love was a testimony for everyone to live by. Funeral services will be held at Overton Funeral Home on August 24 at 10:30
am
.

Nothing
unusual. Mason printed a copy for his file.

Next, he looked for Mark and Lisa Amstead
’s obituary. Since the deaths happened only a few weeks ago, he had to search through physical newspapers in the archives. He found the obit in the third newspaper.

Mark Samuel Amstead, born February 17, 1929. His adoring wife, Lisa Louise Amstead, born November 15, 1931. Mark and Lisa were married on December 9, 1947 in the Little Brown Church in Nashua, Iowa. Mr. Amstead owned the local car dealership until his retirement last year. Mark and Lisa spent their lives dedicated to each other, and in the end, died together in their sleep on January
 4, 1980. The couple is survived by their son Robert Ponder (Jessica) of Portland, Oregon. Funeral services will be held at Pinecrest Funeral Home on Saturday, January 12 at 10:00
am.
In lieu of flowers, donations may be directed to the Cresco nursing home.

Mason
made a copy of this obit as well, tucking it in his folder with the other one.

He noticed
only one thing in common—both couples were married in the Little Brown Church. Murdering married couples because of the location of their wedding? Couldn’t be. Too strange.

Mason
had to make a choice—either stop wasting his time or follow his instinct.

I
nstinct had made him a good cop. He decided to start his own case. Mason made a list of things to research. Did either couple have any enemies? Did anything unusual happen before their deaths? Did they know anyone in common? Did someone benefit from their deaths?

Mason
knew he couldn’t use police time to work his own case. He’d use vacation days. Maybe it was nothing, but his gut was telling him to continue.

Mason arrived at Carl Barnes’ house at seven-fifteen for monthly poker night. He saw Todd’s car parked on the street and wondered whether the fender would ever get painted.

Mason
walked in the back door and set two twelve-packs of beer on the counter.

“You’re late,”
Jeff said. “Good thing you remembered the beer.”

“Ready to lose your money?”
Mason said.

“Who wants pizza?” Paul bellowed as he entered the house.

“What took you so long? You eat half the pizza before you got here?” Jeff grabbed the boxes and opened them on the kitchen counter. “I knew it. You ate two slices.”

“I actually only ate one.
Gave one slice to a homeless guy.”

“Feeding the homeless?
” Todd said. “Your girlfriend making you do a good deed a day? I overheard my mom telling dad about the church’s new thing
Help Others, Help Yourself
.”

“It was a nice thing to do for someone. Maybe you should try it one day.” Paul
put Todd in a chokehold and mussed his hair.

“Okay
, boys, break it up. I’m ready to play poker,” said Carl.

“Where was the homeless guy?”
Mason asked.

“He was hanging out under the tree at
Pizza Hut,” Paul said. “I almost didn’t see him. He was all in black. Not a big guy, didn’t say much.”

Mason
made a mental note to contact Pizza Hut next week to see if they had any issues with a homeless man.

Mason
changed the subject. “Okay, who’s the wise guy that’s been leaving me notes and calling me?” He looked at their faces.

“My heav
y breathing on the phone too much for you?” Jeff laughed.

“
Mace can’t handle my sweet love notes.” Paul batted his eyes, put his hands over his heart.

“
Can you guys be serious a minute?
Please
,” Mason said.

“Sorry
, dude,” Jeff said. “Wasn’t me.”

Nobody confessed and
Mason’s friends looked genuinely surprised when he told them about the notes and phone calls. None of his friends had good poker faces.

Jeff
helped Carl set up the table and chairs, while Mason, Paul, and Todd got out the playing cards and poker chips. The guys settled in their seats and Carl dealt the first hand.

“So
, Carl, when do we get to meet this mysterious Katrina?” Paul said. “I’m starting to think she isn’t real.” The rest of the guys laughed.

“Very funny,”
Carl replied. “I’ve only been seeing her a week. Haven’t spent a lot of quality time together, what with work, finding a place to live, and her family issues.”

“Warning sign
, dude. Family issues. Time to walk away,” said Jeff.

“She lost touch with her brother. Her mom died when she was young and her dad was a deadbeat. She’s had a hard life, but managed to pull it together.”

“And you’re just the guy to make her world all better?” Mason said.

“Tease me all you want. I’m going to take all your money and we’ll see who’s teasing whom at the end of the night. Let’s play poker.”

Mason dealt the last hand at two o’clock
. No big winner tonight, unless you counted who drank the most beers. Jeff won by a landslide.

“Let me give you a ride home.
I’d hate to arrest you for public intoxication,” Mason said.

“Fine
, mister policeman.” Jeff slurred his words.

“I may have to tuck you into bed
.” Mason grinned.

Jeff
tried to stand without swaying. “You’re such a funny guy.”

Jeff
managed to stay awake for the four-block ride home. Mason made sure Jeff got safely inside before driving home.

Mason needed
sleep. Sophia expected him at her apartment in six hours for church. He lay in bed, hands clasped behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. His friends weren’t the culprit, so who could be writing the notes and making the phone calls? Someone from his past? Someone he put in jail?
Stop thinking and go to sleep
.

11
Monday, May 23, 1977 (Sam)

I
mages of people filled my dreams. Headless people. Wandering in a moonlit cemetery.

Every two hours
I’d wake up, turn over. I tried to remember my dad, my brother, my mom. I was nine
when I lost my family. There’s one thing I remember vividly—the barn and the terrible beatings Grandfather
would give me for not following his rules.

Someone screamed.
I sat up in bed and listened, not moving. It was just the dream. It was seven-thirty. Time to start the day. A long hot shower—that’s what I needed.

I set the diary on the kitchen table and kept staring at it while making breakfast—burning the toast and overcooking the eggs. I put them on a plate anyway. One of Grandfather’s rules was that no food ever went to waste. I was still following his rules and probably always would. I wondered what mysteries would be uncovered this morning.

M
y hand rubbed the dark blue suede diary. It was still soft all these years later. I imagined my mom caressing the cover. I opened it and began reading. She wrote about her friends, going to basketball games, sleepovers, and the movies—things I was never allowed to do. I thought my mother had the perfect life, until I read the entry from September 21. That was the day she learned she was pregnant. The last line of her diary:
My life will never be the same.

I read the diary again. This time
, paying attention to the smallest details. I wondered why my father was
never mentioned, and why my mother hadn’t written any more entries in her diary. I speculated that Grandfather found the diary and took it away as
punishment.

Six hours passed.
So many questions. The only person who had any answers—Grandfather. I couldn’t ask him. He’d know I’d been in the attic.

Grandfa
ther would be expecting a visit. He’d question why I hadn’t visited him sooner. I had to come up with a feasible excuse. I grabbed an apple and headed out the door.

The last time I
’d been to the hospital was when my tonsils were removed right before my ninth birthday. The only thing I remembered was the smell of alcohol. The nurse at the front desk told me Grandfather was in room 418, sharing a room with an elderly man who had slipped on a wet sidewalk and broken his hip.

The door stood slightly ajar. I knocked, walked in.

“Can’t they give him pain medication so he stops
moaning?” That was Grandfather’s way of saying hello.

“I can check with the nurse on my way out.”

“What took you so long? I expected you this morning.”

“I was going to come after breakfast. I noticed
the car had a flat, so I put air in the tire. Then I saw grease on my pants. Grandmother always told me to get a stain out right away. By the time I washed my pants, it was time for lunch. I started reading and lost track of time.”

“You’re going to be late for your own funeral.”

“Yes, Grandfather.” I was still acting like a coward. “When do you get to go home?”

“Doctor says I have to stay here at least three more days. They
’ve got to monitor my lungs, plus my blood pressure is too high. And, I got a concussion. Good thing Red stopped by, otherwise I might have been on the ground for hours and died.”

All I heard was
three more days
. That meant I had
more time to search through the house to see what other secrets would be revealed before I left for a new life.

12
Sunday, January 27, 1980 (Mason)

S
ophia always looked lovely. Mason gazed at her from the pew as she sang in the choir. Reverend Blake’s
service today was on forgiveness. He read Psalm 103:8-12.

The
Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. He will not always chide, nor will he keep his anger forever. He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us.

Mason
occasionally looked at his father, sitting three rows ahead. Mason always sat in the last pew in case he needed to make a quick exit. His dad never raised his head to look at Reverend Blake, which seemed odd—only looking up when the choir sang.

Mason and Sophia exited the church to find groups of people gathered on the church steps. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his dad waving. Walter was across the street under an oak tree. Mason waved back, kissed Sophia, walked down the steps. He waited for a break in the traffic, then rushed across the street.

“What’s going on, Dad?”

“I’ve got to go out of town for a few weeks. An old friend is dying of cancer. I want to see him one last time,” Walter said, avoiding eye contact.

“Sorry
, dad. Who’s the friend?”

“Richard McFarland.
Old high school buddy. We played football together. Haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“When are you leaving?”

“In a couple hours. I’ll call you when I start home.” Walter turned, walked towards his car.

Mason
took a few steps forward and yelled to his dad. “Have a safe trip!”

Richard McFarland didn’t sound familiar. It was odd that his father
had never mentioned the name, or that he was leaving town on such short notice.

Mason
found Sophia in the crowd, took her hand, held it tight. Sophia finished talking to her roommate, Ruth, then gave Mason a kiss on the cheek.

“Charlotte and her boyfriend broke up last night. Ruth and I are going to swing by the apartment
and spend the afternoon with her. Maybe you can spend the day with your dad.”

“He’s going out of town. Sick high school buddy. Besides, I’ve got some paperwork to finish
, and go through George’s reports to make sure he filled them out right.”

“Don’t work too hard. I’ll come by tomorrow night and fix dinner. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Mason gave her a kiss and a hug, then watched her walk to Ruth’s car.

Papers lay across the coffee table. Mason’s list of questions was growing. He couldn’t make a connection between the two dead couples. Not yet.

Mason decided to drive to his dad’s house to borrow the family history binder. Maybe it would give him ideas on the types of documents to look for. Flipping through the pages, h
e realized he had information on his dad’s side of the family dating back to the 1820s. There wasn’t anything about his mom or her family.

What are you hiding, Dad?