Secrets Can Be Deadly Read online

  Grandmother would be calling me for breakfast soon. Till it was time, I sat on my bed, pillow propped against the wall. I reached in my backpack and pulled out three tattered journals. I turned to the first page of the first journal, curious to read how much I’d blocked from memory.

  On the third page, You’re going to die was written five times. I read how Grandfather took me to the barn and whipped the back of my legs because I’d left my shoes in the living room. Left a book on the table. Forgot to rinse a glass.

  Flipping a few more pages, a drawing of a gun. I wish I had one of these to kill him. Grandfather bought a new whip and tried it out on me. He said I deserved it. I don’t remember that day, which is a good thing. I don’t want to remember all the times I disobeyed his rules, whipped for it.

  Drawings were scattered through my journal—knives, hangings, chainsaws, axes, guns. The entry next to each picture indicated that I’d been taken to the barn and beaten. The beatings had stopped on my fourteenth birthday. I read the journal entry two weeks later. I’ve never met Red face to face. He comes to the farm but always stays outside with Grandfather. I think I need to thank him for stopping the beatings.

  “Sam, come down for breakfast,” Grandmother hollered from the bottom of the stairs.

  Every morning at seven-fifteen, the same five words. I learned at a young age to obey what Grandmother told me or Grandfather would take me to the barn. Grandfather had the five-minute rule. If I didn’t do what I was told within five minutes, there would be consequences. I didn’t want to have breakfast with my grandparents today because they wouldn’t mention my birthday. There would be no presents. I made the mistake of mentioning my birthday when I turned ten. I got a whipping.

  I sat in the corner chair at the kitchen table. Another of Grandfather’s rules: I wasn’t to leave the table until both he and Grandmother were finished eating. The one and only time I disobeyed that rule, the trip to the barn had been especially violent. I had to make up a story—a tractor accident—when the kids at school saw the scar on my neck. I could never tell anyone about the beatings. Grandfather taught me that sometimes it was best for one’s health to lie.

  Grandfather didn’t like to talk when we were eating. He grumbled at the small black and white television. I was never sure if he was grumbling because what was on the news or what he was eating. Grandmother was quite, ate slowly. Her arthritis had worsened. She had a hard time lifting her fork.

  While eating my oatmeal, I dreamed what it would be like to have my family back. Mom, Dad, my brother and I eating bacon, waffles, eggs. My memories of my family have faded. There are no pictures to remind me of their faces.

  An hour passed. Grandmother and Grandfather were still sitting at the table. Usually Grandfather only stayed fifteen minutes, thirty tops. I’d eaten all the oatmeal and stale toast I could stomach and needed to go to the bathroom.

  “May I be excused, Grandfather?” I whispered. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Grandfather turned. “Fix your grandmother some tea first.” He stood, pushed his chair under the table.

  I poured water in the teakettle and turned on the gas stove. Reaching in the cupboard, I grabbed a teacup, saucer, tea bag. Grandfather pulled a small glass jar from his overalls pocket and scooped a spoonful of something white, powdery into the teacup.

  “It smells horrible,” I said.

  “It’s for your grandmother’s arthritis. Add a teaspoon of honey and it’ll be fine.”

  The teakettle whistled. I poured the water, mixing the ingredients together. The spoon was almost to my mouth when Grandfather jerked my arm. “Don’t ever take a taste of grandmother’s tea! If it wasn’t snowing so hard I’d take you to the barn for a lesson.”

  I lowered my head and meekly replied, “I understand.”

  “Now, take this to tea to your grandmother. She’s waiting.”

  School was over for the week. The weekend meant chores. I was in the bus line when I heard a car horn. I turned and saw Grandfather driving Grandmother’s Rambler.

  “Get in. Quick!” Grandfather yelled.

  Grandfather had never picked me up from school. I wondered what awful chore he had planned for me today. We drove three blocks before I got up the nerve to speak.

  “Why did you pick me up?”

  “We need to go to the funeral home,” he said abruptly.

  Grandfather was wearing his everyday overalls. Not the sort of clothes you wear to a funeral—and why would he want me along?

  Another five blocks. I cleared my throat. “Why?”

  “Grandmother didn’t wake up from her nap this afternoon. Arrangements need to be made.”

  I was stunned. Grandmother hadn’t been feeling well the last three weeks, but I never thought she’d die.

  “It’s just you and me now, Sam.”

  6 Friday, January 18, 1980 (Mason)

  Mason was glad the work week was over. He was tired of being George’s constant companion.

  Chief Franklin stopped at Mason’s desk on the way out. “Nice job training George this week.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  “Next week George will have his own tasks. You think he’s ready?”

  “Yeah. He’ll be fine.”

  “Good to hear. Why don’t you go home? It’s getting late. My wife’s called me twice wondering when I was coming home.”

  “Just wrapping up. Spending the evening with my dad.”

  “Say hello to Walter for me. Have a good weekend.”

  “You too, Chief.”

  Mason was ready to get back to a normal work routine.

  Mason showered and put on a Cubs sweatshirt and jeans. He decided to call his father to make sure he hadn’t forgotten dinner plans. His father picked up on the third ring.

  “Hi, Dad. Ready for dinner? I can pick you up in ten.”

  “Make it twenty,” Walter said. “I just finished painting the second coat in the bedroom. Took longer than I thought. Need to clean up real quick.”

  “Twenty it is. See you then.” Mason turned on the TV just in time to catch the weather.

  Walter Pierce had started another home project. Since his retirement from manager of Community Bank last year, he was updating each room in the house.

  The phone rang. Before Mason could say hello, the voice on the other end said, “Have you thought about my note?”

  “Who is this?” Mason snapped.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  The town had one Chinese restaurant. China Buffet sat near the center of town next to the movie theater. Most of the customers were leaving to see Kramer vs. Kramer when Mason and Walter arrived. They were almost finished eating the sweet and sour chicken and moo goo gai pan when Mason decided to talk about the note.

  “We don’t have any secrets, do we, Dad?”

  Mason’s heart beat faster. He watched his father carefully for his reaction. He’d turned from son to detective.

  “Of course not. Why would you bring that up?”

  “A note was left on my car this week. FAMILY SECRETS ARE HARD TO HIDE. Any idea what that could mean?”

  Walter looked down, moving rice with his chopsticks. Mason noticed his father was chewing his food slower. Saying nothing. Avoiding eye contact.

  “Dad, is there something you want to tell me?”

  “No.” Walter pointed to the moo goo gai pan. “You gonna finish that?”

  “It’s all yours.” Mason had lost his appetite. He wouldn’t tell him about the phone calls. Not now. He didn’t believe his father.

  The waitress brought the check and two fortune cookies. Mason picked the cookie closest to him. “Let’s see what’s in my future.”

  Mason cracked it open, read his fortune.

  THE TRUTH WILL BE DISCOVERED.

  7 Thursday, January 13, 1977 (Sam)

  Today I could legally leave Grandfather’s house and he couldn’t do a thing. My eighteenth birthday. This place felt more like a prison than a home. It might
have been, had my mother not abandoned me. Definitely not after Grandmother died. Only one family member left, and I hated him.

  Graduation was five months away. All I needed was my high school diploma. My dreams would come true. I’d move away, start a new life. I’d invite friends over, eat whatever I wanted.

  Grandfather controlled my life. He went to town every day and knew everything that went on. In a small town, you can’t sneeze without everyone knowing. I skipped school one day last year and Grandfather took me to the barn after I lied to him. I was excused from gym class two weeks while my back healed. Grandfather told the high school principal I’d tripped on a cord and a hot iron had scalded my back.

  The bright sun reflecting off the snow made it hard to look out the window. I made breakfast and dinner every day, lunch on the weekends. I didn’t like cooking, but Grandfather told me it was my duty. Today I was going to fix biscuits and gravy. My mouth watered as I bounded down the stairs. I reached the last step and noticed the table was already set. On my placemat—a bowl of cereal filled with milk and a half-filled glass of water.

  Grandfather pointed to the table. “Sit and eat. I’m driving you to school today.” Grandfather stood against the kitchen counter, drinking his coffee.

  I sat and looked in the bowl. Mushy corn flakes. I took the first bite and gagged. I started coughing, reached for the water. The milk was rancid. Grandfather must have made this for me last night and left it out overnight. I knew it was his way of teaching me a lesson. There were two choices—don’t eat the cereal and get a beating, or eat the cereal and get sick. I chose a day in the nurse’s lounge rather than give Grandfather the satisfaction of a beating. Each bite of the soggy corn flakes tasted worse than the one before. My water was gone. Five spoonfulls remained. I took a deep breath and polished it off.

  “We need to leave in a few minutes.” Grandfather grabbed the car keys and walked out the back door.

  My stomach started to churn. I washed the glass, bowl and spoon, put them away, then put on my coat, grabbed my backpack, and headed out the door.

  Grandfather pulled the pickup next to the house and honked the horn. “Come on, Sam. Don’t want you to be late for school.”

  I’d barely closed the truck door when Grandfather started driving down the driveway.

  Grandfather cleared his throat. “Now that you’re eighteen and an adult, your role is changing.”

  My role is changing? I wondered what Grandfather had up his sleeve.

  “I got you a part-time job at the drugstore. You’ll start Monday. You can drive Grandmother’s Rambler. I’ll be watching the mileage, so no driving with any kids. You’ll work 3:30 to 5:30 Monday through Friday and 8:30 to 4:00 on Saturdays. Your supervisor will be Red. He’ll give me reports every week. Once you graduate, Red will give you a full-time job. Understand?”

  “Yes, Grandfather.” I looked out the windshield. Two goats stood by a wire fence, chewing tall grass. As we passed, the goats raised their heads. Neah, neah, neah. Were they laughing at me?

  “You’ll still have your regular chores. Dinner every night at six-thirty. That’ll give you plenty of time to get home from work and fix a meal.”

  “Yes, Grandfather.”

  That’s all I could manage to say. My life had just dramatically changed, once again, and I couldn’t do anything. Now I had a job I didn’t want. I looked out the passenger window. We drove by several houses, wondered if any happy people lived there.

  I thought for a minute, then realized Grandfather actually did me a huge favor. I’d been reading medical journals the last few years, and had notes on prescription drugs I thought one day would be useful. I’d somehow steal these drugs. A drugstore was the perfect place to work.

  Grandfather pulled up to the school. “Oh, and by the way, you’ll give me half of each paycheck. Time to repay me for all I’ve done for you over the years.”

  “Yes, Grandfather.” I got out of the pickup and watched him drive away. Standing made my stomach ache. I ran behind a group of bushes and vomited.

  Mrs. Harris, my fourth period English teacher, came over. “Are you okay?”

  “Breakfast didn’t agree with me, I guess.”

  “Come on, I’m taking you to the school nurse.”

  Happy eighteenth birthday.

  8 Monday, January 21, 1980 (Mason)

  Two 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.

  The 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 t
hey 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?