Secrets Can Be Deadly Read online

  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)

  Sophia 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, he 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?

  13 Tuesday, May 24, 1977 (Sam)

  I had two days to finish searching the house. Then, I’d pack the few things I owned, drive to the nearest bus station, and buy a one-way ticket to Florida. Grandfather might find the car, but he’d definitely never find me. My final city destination had yet to be determined. I’d saved three hundred dollars. It would last me long enough to find a job and earn a steady income.

  I’d eat breakfast, then visit Grandfather. The worst part of my day would be over. Then the search could continue.

  “You’re early,” Grandfather said.

  “I need to return a few books at the library and get groceries. Thought I’d do that before I started cleaning.”

  “You’re not working today?” Grandfather grunted.

  “I have the week off, remember?”

  “Why would you need a week off work? I need to talk to Red.”

  “It was Red’s idea. He wanted me to get my things in order before I started working full-time next week.”

  “What do you need to get in order?”

  I was thinking about what I’d say when Red walked into the room.

  Grandfather glared at Red. “Why’d you give Sam a week off? You didn’t tell me.”

  Red stood at the foot of the bed. “Morning to you, too. I came by the house to tell you. Instead, I found you lying on the ground groaning. I guess getting you to a hospital was more important at the time.”

  “You’re getting soft in your old age.”

  Red and Grandfather chatted about my new full-time schedule. Little did they know it didn’t matter what they decided. I wouldn’t be around. I sat in the chair, nodding.

  I was getting bored, stood. “I’m going to leave so I can run my errands. I’ll be back to see you tomorrow.”

  I was almost out of the room when Grandfather shouted, “The house better be spotless when I get home.”

  Grandfather’s bedroom was the first room on my search list. I remembered entering this room only once as a child.

  The thunder and rain had frightened me. I didn’t want to be alone. I had walked in the room and tapped my grandmother’s arm. She got out of bed, took my hand, walked me back to my room. “You’re old enough to sleep by yourself,” she told me. “We won’t tell Grandfather.” She walked out of my room and shut the door. I remembered how much I wanted my mom and dad.

  The dresser closest to the door was my starting point. On top was a picture of Grandmother taken in her twenties. She looked happy. Next to the picture was a heart-shaped carved wooden box. Inside, a key. I looked at it closely before tucking it in my pocket.

  The four drawers contained Grandfather’s socks, underwear, white t‑shirts, sweatshirts. Though I’d done the laundry every week since Grandmother died, I was told only to fold or hang the clothes and leave them outside the door in the laundry basket. I never understood many of the things Grandfather wanted me to do. But if I asked, I’d get a beating for being too inquisitive.

  Next, the closet. Ten flannel shirts, six overalls hung in front. Tucked in the back were two suits, two dress pants, two white long-sleeved dress shirts. I’d seen Grandfather dressed up only once, and that was the day of Grandmother’s funeral. Black dress shoes, tennis shoes, work boots, loafers, and slippers lined the back of the closet.

  Atop the nightstand were a lamp and a Bible. We never said grace and never went to church. I expected the Bible to be in pristine condition, but instead found that almost every page had an underlined passage. This revelation surprised me.

  Inside the nightstand drawer were three bottles filled with a white powder. No labels. I opened one and took a whiff. It smelled horrible, and familiar. This was Grandmother’s arthritis medication which Grandfather had made me put in her tea. I wondered why he’d kept the medication all these years. I’d also smelled this same medication at the drugstore—a warning label. I was mad at myself for not being able to remember the medication’s name. I took one of the bottles, stuck it in my pocket, then went back to searching his room.

  Under the bed was a pale blue suitcase. I grabbed the handle and lifted it on the bed. Locked. I took the key out of my pocket, opened the suitcase. I couldn’t believe what was inside.

  14 Friday, February 1, 1980 (Mason)

  At three forty-five, Mason turned on the coffeemaker. He’d need some coffee on his four-hour drive to New Hampton. Alta Vista, where Mark and Lisa Amstead had lived, was in Chickasaw County and New Hampton was the county seat. Mason would visit the recorder and assessor’s offices to find what he could—birth records, marriage licenses, death records. He hoped there would be a helpful clerk to guide him through the process.

  After a cold shower, Mason popped two pieces of bread in the toaster. On one piece
he slathered butter, the other peanut butter. He ate the two slices while reviewing his notes. All the information he’d gathered over the last few weeks was in his briefcase, along with two pens, a legal pad, and a map of Iowa.

  Mason poured coffee for the road, put the rest in a thermos. Last night Sophia had made a sack lunch—a bologna and cheddar sandwich, chips, four chocolate chip cookies, an apple, two napkins. She thought of everything. Mason left the house at four-thirty—on schedule.

  Mason arrived at the courthouse at eight-fifteen. He peered out the car window and looked at the three-story Bedford stone courthouse. Breakfast seemed like a long time ago. Lunch wouldn’t be for another four hours. He decided to eat the cookies while he waited for the courthouse to open at eight-thirty.

  “Morning, sweetie. My name’s Diane Stallick. What can I help you with?” Diane smiled and chewed gum as she stood behind the counter. She was sixty, pleasantly plump, blonde bouffant hairstyle, slight southern drawl.

  “I’m here to do some family research.” It wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t the truth.

  “We don’t get many young men in here for family history. The books you’ll need are in the back room. The pages are pretty fragile, so be careful. No food or drink allowed. No cigarettes, chew, or gum. If you want a copy made, you’ll need to come see me.”

  Diane led Mason down a hallway, unlocked a door, turned on the light. A small table and four chairs sat in the center of the room, surrounded by rows of books.

  “Marriages are on the left, death certificates on the right, birth records in the middle. Take one book at a time. You can use this piece of orange cardboard as a placeholder so you can put the book back in its proper spot. Need anything else, sweetie?”

  “Thank you for your help,” he said. “And the instructions.”

  “You’re welcome. Hope you find what you’re looking for. Be back in a while.”

  Diane disappeared down the hall. Mason wondered what kind of coffee she drank—he could sure use her energy right now.

  Mason would start with the death records, then marriage licenses, and finally birth records. He looked at his watch. Eight forty-five. Time to get to work.

  Diane stopped by at ten. “Are you finding anything?” she asked.

  “A little, “Mason said. “Did you know Mark or Lisa Amstead?”

  “Never heard of them. Talk to Fred Hemsel at the drugstore. He knows all the gossip and just about everyone within a hundred miles.”

  By eleven-thirty, Mason had several pages of notes—information on Mark and Lisa and their relatives going back a couple of generations. He packed his briefcase and headed to the front counter.

  “Thank you, Diane. I got some good information today. Can you tell me where the drugstore is? I’d liked to talk to Mr. Hemsel for a few minutes.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, sweetie. You can walk. Two blocks north. Can’t miss it.” Diane smiled, still chewing her gum. Mason wondered whether the gum was the same piece from this morning.

  The door chimed when Mason entered the drugstore. He heard a man yell, “Back here, sonny. Diane called. Said to be on the lookout for a stranger carrying a briefcase.”

  Mason walked past the front register, an aisle of Valentine candy and stuffed toys, and several aisles of toiletries and medications before he reached the pharmacy counter.

  “You must be Mr. Hemsel. My name’s Mason Pierce.”

  Fred Hemsel was a thin man, late seventies. The deep wrinkles on his tanned, leathery face and hands and slightly hunched back made him look more farmer than pharmacist.

  “Nice to meet you, Mason. Who you looking for?”

  “Did you know Mark and Lisa Amstead? I’m doing some family research.”

  “Sure did. The son lives in Oregon with his wife. Mark had a stepbrother—died a long time ago. Never much talked about family. They went to the Methodist Church and traveled in their Winnebago. Good folks. It’s nice they went to heaven together. My wife’s been gone fifteen years. I miss her every day.”

  “Could you tell me if they had any health problems?”

  “Lisa had knee surgery a few weeks before she died. Otherwise pretty healthy couple.”

  “Thanks for talking to me.”

  Mason walked down the Valentine aisle and picked out a stuffed giraffe holding a red heart. A cheesy gift, but giraffes were Sophia’s favorite.

  Next on Mason’s agenda, a drive to Toledo, the county seat of Tama County, almost two hours south of New Hampton. The other couple who had died in their sleep, the Ponders, had lived in Dysart, located in Tama County.

  Mason arrived at the Tama County courthouse at two. The courthouse closed at four-thirty. He hoped the records were similar to the ones at the Chickasaw County courthouse.

  “How may I help you, sir?” A woman in her forties, straight black hair, sat behind the desk. She stared blankly at Mason until he answered.

  “I’m doing some family research. I’d like to look at the birth, death, and marriage records.”

  “Certainly. Please follow me.” The woman gave Mason the same instructions Diane had given this morning. “My name’s Claire, if you need anything.”

  A small metal table and matching chair stood in the corner. Mason opened his briefcase and got to work.

  “We’ll be closing in fifteen minutes, sir.” Claire’s voice startled him.

  “Thank you,” Mason said. “Just wrapping up.” He wrote the last piece of information on Mae Ponder when a name caught his attention. The name seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He’d need to look over his notes when he got home.

  15 Friday, May 27, 1977 (Sam)

  Grandfather was coming home this afternoon. I had to make sure the house was spotless and all the information I’d gathered over the last few days was hidden. I didn’t want to give Grandfather any indication that I knew his lies—his secrets.

  I’d spend one more week with Grandfather. This time I had a different motive. I was going to gain my freedom, and make Grandfather suffer at the same time. Learning about the secrets had made me stronger, more determined to be in charge.

  I gathered the glass cleaner, furniture spray, rags, paper towels, sponge, and vacuum cleaner, starting in the kitchen, followed by the dining room, living room, bathroom, stairs, and my bedroom. I didn’t clean Grandfather’s room, but walked in to make sure nothing was out of place.

  Red brought Grandfather home after five nights in the hospital. It was five-thirty—I was ready. I had meticulously set up my plan and had enough poison to kill Grandfather.

  Red held the door open. Grandfather slowly walked in—a cane in his left hand. Grandfather surveyed the kitchen to make sure everything was neat and orderly.

  “What’s for dinner? That hospital food made me nauseous.”

  “Pot roast, mashed potatoes, and fruit cocktail. I hope you can join us, Red. There’s enough for the three of us.” Being nice was making me nauseous.

  “Thanks, Sam.” Red pulled out a kitchen chair. “Your Grandfather’s still weak from the fall. It’ll take a couple weeks to get his strength back.”

  I smiled, knowing Grandfather would never regain his strength. Not if my plan and the poison worked.

  I served two plates of specially prepared meat and potatoes. My food was dished before adding the powder. I opened a can of fruit cocktail, scooping it in three glass bowls.

  “Eat up. Don’t let your food get cold.” In the center of the table, I set a small plate of chocolate chip cookies, also made with the powder. “I made cookies for dessert.”

  I watched Grandfather and Red clean their plates and eat three cookies each.

  “These cookies aren’t as good as your grandmother’s.” Grandfather was incapable of giving a compliment.

  Red stood. “I’ve got to get going. Thanks for dinner, Sam. I’ll be back in a couple days to check on things.”

  “Don’t bother. Sam will take care of anything I need. I’ll see you in a couple weeks, after I see the doctor.”


  “Okay.” Red motioned for me to follow him out the door. When we were outside, he whispered, “Make sure he takes his medicine.”

  “I will,” I said.

  When I walked back inside, Grandfather had moved to his chair in the living room. He looked frail, but his voice still commanding. “Turn on the TV. It’s time for Dukes of Hazzard.”

  “Yes, Grandfather.”

  I turned on the TV, changed the channel. I went back in the kitchen to clean the dishes. I wanted to whistle a happy tune, but knew Grandfather would suspect something was out of whack if I did. I was never happy, but today was different. Today I was in charge. Grandfather would find out soon enough.

  16 Saturday, February 2, 1980 (Mason)

  Mason cleared the coffee table, got his notes out of his briefcase. He decided to make a family tree for each of the couples. His gut told him there was something in the notes that would connect the families.

  He started with Mae and Kenneth Ponder, outlining when they were born, married, died, their parents, siblings. When he was writing the names from the wedding announcement, he noticed a familiar name. Evelyn. That was his mother’s name. Did Mae know his mother? Or was Evelyn a different person?

  The Amstead family tree was next. Mark Amstead’s mother had remarried. Her former husband’s name was Bernard York. York. Mae Ponder’s maiden name was York. A connection to both couples.

  Mason looked at his watch—two o’clock. He’d forgotten breakfast and lunch. No wonder he was getting the shakes. The only other time he missed meals was when he studied for college finals. Opening the fridge, he found a red delicious apple a tad past its prime, sliced cheddar cheese, beer. He made a mental note to get groceries later in the afternoon. In the cabinet, he found a can of tomato soup. He opened two drawers before finding the can opener.