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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.

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