Secrets Can Be Deadly (4 page)

8
Monday, January 21, 1980 (Mason)

T
wo inches of snow had fallen overnight.
Monday
, Mason thought. George would get his first introduction to accident paperwork.

Mason
was excited about seeing Sophia tonight. She always had plenty of stories after a weekend with her family. He needed to tell her about the second phone call and fortune cookie.

Mason pulled in his driveway at six. Parked in the street under the big oak tree was Sophia’s red Ford Mustang. Sophia shared an apartment with two girlfriends, but since Mason worked late most days, he’d given Sophia a key to his place so she could come over after her bank job to start dinner. Sophia fixed dinner for Mason two or three times a week.

T
he aroma of peppers and onions made his mouth water. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

“Hi
, sweetie. How was your day?” Sophia gave him a quick kiss. “I’d give you a big hug, but don’t want to burn the veggies.”

She stirred the onions and peppers in a small skillet. He could see strips of flank steak in another pan. “You want some help?” he asked.

“Could you set the table? Dinner should be ready in twenty minutes.” She kept an eye on both pans, checked the oven.

The phone rang
.

“
Pierce.”

“I’m meeting Katrina tonight.
You think it would be okay if I gave her a gift?” Carl asked.

“What kind of gift?
Diamond earrings? Box of chocolates?”

“It’s a fake flower arrangement made in a soda glass. The lady at the flower shop said that they’re selling a lot of them. I’m going to have it on the table then surprise her by telling her it’s hers to take home.”

“Sounds perfect, Carl. I gotta go. Sophia’s cooking dinner.”

“
Later.”

Mason
smiled at Sophia. “Carl has a new woman in his life. He’s acting like a kid in high school.”

“Go get changed so you can help me
,” said Sophia. “You can tell me all about it during dinner.”

Mason
changed into jeans and a flannel shirt. He got out the plates, glasses, silverware, napkins. Opening the corner cabinet, he pulled out a brass candlestick and white candle.

Sophia
grabbed a plate and arranged three slices of flank steak topped with onions and peppers. She added green beans and a thick piece of cornbread to complete the meal.

She was arranging the food on her plate when the phone rang
again.

“Do you
have
to answer that?” Sophia sighed.

“Could be the Chief,”
Mason said, turning to the phone. “Pierce.”

The voice was slow
, deliberate. “Ask your friend about the dead couple.” Click.

Mason
stood in silence. He had to compose himself or Sophia would know something was wrong.

“Everything okay
, sweetie? Dinner’s getting cold.”

I’ll tell her later
. “How’s your aunt and uncle?”

“Aunt Georgia and Uncle John are the same. Uncle John goes to the coffee shop three times a week to
chat with his buddies. Aunt Georgia had two doctor appointments on Friday. Her skin and bladder issues have gotten worse. We went to the church dinner on Saturday. I heard three different versions of how this husband and wife were found dead in their home two weeks ago.”

Mason
coughed, choking on his food.

“You okay? Take a drink,” Sophia said.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring up dead people.” Mason coughed again, this time taking a drink. He thought about the phone call. “What was the dead couple’s name?”

“Oh, I don’t remember.
” She took a bite of food. “Mark and Lisa Raner. No, that’s not right. Mark and Lisa Amstead. That’s it.”

Mason
didn’t recognize the names. “How’d they die?”

“Ever the inquisitive
detective, aren’t you? Let’s see. One story had them stabbed in their kitchen, another one had them die in their sleep, and the third one had them stabbed in bed. Uncle John confirmed the true version—they died in their sleep. He said their death didn’t make headline news. People who die in their sleep—that’s normal. Being stabbed is big news.”

“So the couple died together? That seems strange.”

“I thought so, too. But, a lady at our table said that another couple died together last fall—some people in Dysart. Last name was Ponder. Heard it at the beauty parlor, so you know it’s true,” Sophia chuckled.

Mason
gave a quick smile.
How could a couple dying in their sleep mean anything? And, what did it have to do with him?

“Earth to
Mason,” Sophia quipped.

“Sorry
, sweetheart.”

“You want to tell me what’s going
on?”

“Before you left for the weekend I mentioned the guys were
probably up to something. I’ve gotten three phone calls and two notes. The call tonight was from the same person. He somehow knows the dead couple…and you. It
might
be one of the guys, but I have a gut feeling it’s somebody else. I want you to be extra careful till I figure out what’s going on.”

Sophia’s smile disappeared.
“When are you going to talk to your friends?”

“
Tomorrow is our monthly poker night.” Mason paused. “Last night I asked my dad about the first note—
family secrets are hard to hide
. He said he didn’t know anything, but his body language told another story. My fortune cookie was
the truth will be discovered
. I’m at a loss what it all means.”

“
You’ll figure it out, I know you will. Help me clear the table and wash the dishes.”

Mason
washed while Sophia dried. They discussed the upcoming week and their work schedules. Neither of her roommates, Charlotte Myer or Ruth Neel, had travel plans this week and Mason felt better.

Sophia
and Mason cuddled on the couch. WKRP in Cincinnati and Lou Grant were on tonight’s TV schedule. Mason tried to pay attention to the show, but his mind drifted to the notes and phone calls. Someone was watching him, watching Sophia. Why?

9
Sunday, May 22, 1977 (Sam)

I
woke up to water dripping on my forehead. A leaky ceiling wasn’t going to ruin the happiest day of my life. I got up and slid the bed three feet to the center of the room so my pillow and sheets wouldn’t get wet. I grabbed a bucket from the bathroom and set it under the leak.

“What’s that racket?” Grandfather yelled up the stairs.

“Sorry, Grandfather. There’s a leak in the ceiling. I moved the bed, put a bucket down.”

Grandfather cursed then yelled again, “Don’t touch the ceiling. I don’t want you caus
ing any more damage.”

Today
, I didn’t care what he said. I took a shower and put on my best clothes before heading downstairs for breakfast.

“What you so gussied up for?”

“I graduate today. Aren’t you coming to the ceremony?”

“Not now.
Got a leaky roof to fix. Rain’s stopped. I’ll eat later.”

Grandfather
marched out the door in a huff. Part of me knew I should go out and help him, but the other part of me was hungry. I needed to be at the school in my cap and gown in forty-five minutes.

I cracked two eggs in a bowl and whipped in some shredded mozzarella and hot sauce
, poured it into a hot skillet, stirring a few times. I buttered two pieces of bread and poured a glass of orange juice. The perfect breakfast for a perfect day.

I devoured e
very morsel. I quickly washed and dried the dishes and went upstairs to brush my teeth and comb my hair. I emptied the bucket, put on my shoes, bounded down the stairs and out the back door.

“Grandfather
, I’m leaving for graduation,” I yelled.

“Come home right after the ceremony. I’ll need some help when you get back.” He turned and continued working
on the roof.

On the drive home, I kept glancing at my diploma on the passenger seat to make sure it was real. I was eighteen, had my high school diploma, and ready to start a new life. Tonight I’d pack all my belongings, along with the three hundred dollars I’d saved, and head to Florida. Grandfather would soon be out of my life.

I heard sirens and pulled to the side of the road. The ambulance whizzed by
, its lights flashing.

As I turned
down the gravel driveway, I saw the ambulance at Grandfather’s house. The last time I remembered seeing an ambulance outside a house was when my daddy and brother died. I sped down the drive, slamming on the brakes when I got near the back door. I ran in the house and saw two paramedics.

“What happened?” I was out of breath.

One of the paramedics looked at me, slung his stethoscope around his neck. “You must be Sam. Your grandfather fell off the ladder and punctured a lung. He’ll be in the hospital in Maquoketa a few days.”

The other paramedic took Grandfather’s blood pressure
. W
hat if he blames me for his fall
? I jumped when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“We’re taking him to the hospital. You can visit him tomorrow,” the paramedic said. “We’ve given him pain medication. The hospital will run tests
, see if he has any other injuries.”

“Who called you? We don’t have a phone.”

“A man named Red called it in. Told us he was here helping fix the roof. Drove to the neighbor’s house to call to the hospital. He left ten minutes ago.”

I glanced at
Grandfather. He looked scared behind an oxygen mask. I saw that his wrists were bound to the stretcher as the paramedics took him out the back door. I’d never seen him like this—so fragile, so helpless.

I stood in the kitchen
, starring at the back door. I heard the siren and turned to watch the ambulance drive away. Pieces of torn paper scattered the floor. Grandfather wouldn’t want the house messy. I started picking up the pieces. As I threw the paper in the trash, I realized it didn’t matter to me anymore if the house were a mess.

I went upstairs
, changed into jeans and a gray t-shirt. No water in the bucket. Grandfather must have fixed the roof before he fell.

After living in this house nine years, it was the first time I felt free and independent.
I wouldn’t have to worry about Grandfather listening to every sound I made. I wouldn’t be in fear of what I did or said that would bring on verbal abuse. I could slam drawers shut, run down the steps, sing, put my feet on the coffee table. I wanted to explore all the rooms that I’d never been allowed to enter.

Since
my first week in the house, I’d wanted to see the attic. I thought back to the one and only time I tried to go up the stairs. “Stop! You’re forbidden to go up there.” Grandmother yelled. “Grandfather has traps and poison for the squirrels and mice that get in the attic. It’s no place for a small child. Good thing I caught you. Grandfather would’ve taken you to the barn and shown you the horsewhips.”

I didn’t learn about horsewhips that day, but did two days later.

Nine years ago, the attic steps had seemed so big. Ten steps—ten small, dusty steps. I’m not sure anyone had touched the stairs these last nine years. I didn’t see a light switch, so I went back to my room for a flashlight. I tapped my foot on each step, thinking Grandfather might have set a trap and my foot would go through the wood. I reached the last step. Cobwebs filled the corners of the doorframe. I gently turned the door knob. It opened. A string dangled from the ceiling three feet ahead. I gingerly walked in, pulled the string. The room filled with light. The attic was smaller than what I’d imagined—no bigger than my bedroom. A few rays of sunlight tried to enter from the plywood-covered window. The only things in the attic were two boxes in the corner. No traps, no poison. Grandmother had lied to me.

Wa
lking over to the boxes, I had to shake the feeling Grandfather would rush in and tell me I needed a whipping.

Duct tape sealed both
dust-covered boxes. Picking up the first, I was surprised how light it felt. The second wasn’t much heavier. I carried both boxes to the living room. Reading mystery novels had been a source of pleasure for me, and now I was experiencing my own mystery. What could be so important in these two boxes that they’d been sealed and stored in the attic all these years?

I went to the kitchen, opened the junk drawer, pulled out a box cutter
, carefully cut the duct tape. I took a deep breath, opened the first box. Inside, a photo album filled with black and white pictures. I quickly scanned page after page. No one I recognized.

Inside the second box
, a diary and two stacks of letters—one bound with string, the other wrapped in red ribbon. The first stack was letters Grandfather sent to Grandmother when he was in the army. The stack wrapped in ribbon was letters addressed to my mother from Grandmother. All these letters had the words
return to sender
handwritten over the mailing address.

The diary was dated 1956. I opened the cover
, saw the word
Evelyn
written in red ink. My mother’s name. This was
her
diary.

My heart
raced. I could learn so many things about my family’s past. What would I look through first? Why hadn’t my grandparents wanted me to see these things?

It was getting dark
, my stomach grumbled. I fixed a bologna sandwich, pickles, and potato chips. Grandfather would never let me eat a meal like this for dinner. He always had to have meat and potatoes.

I sat on the sofa
, started looking at the letters from Grandfather. His handwriting was hard to read. I could tell he missed Grandmother. He signed each letter
I love you
. I’d never heard Grandfather say those words to Grandmother, or me.

Next, I grabbed the stack of returned letters. In each letter, Grandmother said how sorry she was
that Grandfather had hurt her. She pleaded to see her daughter and grandchildren. Grandfather was a mean and stubborn man. Now, I was learning he was this way with his own child, too. Why would my mother abandon me and leave me with Grandfather, given the way he treated her?

The photo album was dusty and I sneezed when I opened the first page.
Pictures from people in the early 1900s, relatives perhaps. I turned a few pages and saw a picture of Grandfather’s house. The trees were small. Three people stood on the front step. The picture was fuzzy, but they looked like Grandmother, Grandfather, and my mom when she was four or five. More pages of pictures of people I didn’t know. Flipping five more pages, I stopped. A baby picture. Written on the photo:
01/13/59—Sam
. I’d never seen a baby picture of myself.

I flipped the next page
. My jaw dropped. Christmas family photographs of Mom, Dad, my brother, and me. Dad’s face was crossed out with a black marker.