My Guarded Secrets

By Sherrie Lueder and Dawn Taarud

Greg grows up on a farm in Charles City, Iowa. The son of alcoholic parents, neglected and left to fend for himself, Greg is drinking and driving at the age of thirteen. Never getting an allowance, he finds an easy way to access cash...once he masters his father’s signature.
At the age of eighteen, he is ready to leave home and venture out on his own, but his father finds out what he has done and does the unthinkable...putting Greg’s life on hold.
Alienated from his family and feeling deep resentment, Greg spends the next few years in an alcoholic haze. Traveling from state to state and job to job, he struggles with the past he cannot forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sherrie Lueder
• Release date: Aug 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311599230

Sherrie Lueder

MEET THE AUTHORS:SHERRIE LUEDER is the International Multi-Award Winning Bestselling Author of “He Killed Our Janny”: A Family’s Search for the Truth and Author of Until Someone Gets Hurt. Sherrie resides in Wisconsin with her husband where she is currently at work on several other book projects. Be sure to read her newly released books ASPEN, SNOW, BLOW AND BO, and MY GUARDED SECRETS, co-authored with Dawn Taarud-Martinez.TYSON WRENSCH is the Co-Author of Until Someone Gets Hurt (former friend and victim of the con men). Tyson was raised in Cupertino, California and resides in Downtown Las Vegas. He is currently the Western Regional Sales Manager for TransAct Technologies. He previously served as Director of Sales for Players Travel, focused on cruise ship casino marketing events. Prior to that, he was Regional Director of Sales for TableMAX, an electronic table games manufacturer. A graduate of Santa Clara University, with a Bachelor’s Degree in Political Science, Tyson supported himself through college by working for a private investigation firm focused on high-tech, white collar crime in Silicon Valley. The skills he learned in that job proved invaluable in saving his life and helped bring the murderers to justice in this case.~~~~~~MEET THE LITERARY TEAM:KIM HANSEN, Investigative Researcher: Kim resides in Gilbert, Arizona with her husband and two children. She joined Lueder’s literary team in April 2009. In 2011, she was credited for incorporating criminal and justice records and purposed evidence of murder research for her work on “He Killed Our Janny:”A Family’s Search for the Truth. Kim collaborated on Until Someone Gets Hurt, conducted extensive research and assisted with interviews. She is credited for the text design and composition of the final paperback and eBook versions, and book trailer. Kim is currently writing and illustrating a series of children's books THE ADVENTURES OF SHERIFF WILLIKER, inspired by her childhood memories growing up in northwest Iowa. Book No. 1 in the series, "The Case of the Missing Horseshoe," was released March 2014.DAWN TAARUD-MARTINEZ, Investigative Researcher: Dawn resides in Las Vegas, Nevada with her husband. She joined Lueder’s literary team in April 2012. Dawn was recruited by Lueder to assist her and the team with Until Someone Gets Hurt. She worked closely with the team and conducted extensive research and exclusive interviews with the victims and accused murderers in the case. Dawn also owns and operates DM Marketing Pros and Event Planners International. She represents some of the country’s top motivational/sales trainers and speakers. To learn more visit her website at http://dmmarketingpros.com. Dawn is working with Lueder on forthcoming book projects.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Letters

Photos

Afterword

Co-Author Dawn Taarud

Author Sherrie Lueder

Chapter 1

I had to be in bed by eight o’clock, tomorrow was a school day. I dreaded it, not school—but the nighttime. The sick feeling was always there, kind of like having a bad cold, but it was in the pit of my stomach instead, and it got worse at night.

I put on my pajamas and got into bed. I double-checked the alarm to make sure it was set for 5:30 AM. Brutus, my little Pekingese Pomeranian mix, who was also my best friend, jumped onto the bed and snuggled close beside me. I laid there in the dark—waiting—I knew what was coming.

It wasn’t long until I heard a commotion coming from the living room, doors slamming and things dropping to the floor. My body involuntarily flinched as the high-pitched sound of my mother’s voice broke the silence. Each word was slow and deliberate as if she was trying to stab my father with each word.

WHERE-IN-THE-HELL-DID-YOU-PUT-MY-VODKA-AGAIN…you son of a bitch!

Then I heard my father’s deep voice as he yelled back.

Go screw yourself. I DID NOT TOUCH IT! Why don’t you just drag yourself over to the liquor cabinet and get another bottle!

I flew out of bed and ran for the closet. Brutus knew the routine; he was already ahead of me. I pulled the door shut and sat on a little shelf. Brutus jumped onto my lap. Sensing my fear, he whimpered and started licking my face. I kept a blanket in the closet and pulled it around us. My dad or mom never came into my room when they were yelling and fighting. I just felt safer being in the closet. After a very long time, when everything was quiet I tiptoed back to bed with Brutus at my heels.

I was only nine years old, and all that crap had been going on for as long as I can remember. Every single night my mom and dad would constantly fight, yell, and scream at each other. I don’t think they ever really argued about anything important. It was mostly the booze…it seemed like the more they drank, the more they fought.

We had a liquor cabinet in the kitchen, always stocked with Seagram’s and vodka. There were also fifths of booze stashed everywhere. My dad and mom would hide them all over the house because they each would accuse the other of stealing their bottle.

The next morning the buzzing of the alarm clock woke me up. I was still tired, but I made myself get out of bed before I fell back asleep. I got dressed and went downstairs. I had to feed my calves before school.

Brutus followed me into the kitchen and watched me mix up the milk supplement with water and pour it into the bottles. Then I put the teats on each one. Brutus was whining and prancing in circles by the door. I always made him wait for me before I let him out. I looked at him and grinned. Come on boy, now we can go!

After finishing my chores, I sat down at the table to eat a bowl of cold cereal. I always made my own breakfast. I guess I basically had to take care of myself. I always did all my own laundry, fixed my own meals and everything else, because my mom was too sick to do it. I couldn’t count on my dad because he was usually too busy and drunk to help me do anything. My siblings were older and had already moved out. I never realized just how sick my mom really was until I got a few years older.

See ya later boy…I patted Brutus on the head and ran down the driveway to catch the bus. We lived on a farm about five miles east of Charles City, Iowa, a small town of around five thousand. Our family has been around Charles City for generations. My dad’s father owned the livestock sale barn. When my grandfather passed away in 1968, my grandmother held on to the barn until about 1970 when the city ran them out of town, and she was forced to sell it. I don’t know the whole story, but that’s when my dad opened the business.

Riding the bus was one of the highlights of my day. It was about a forty-five minute ride to school. It was kind of a nice time because the bus driver was a real nice lady. I think her name was Mrs. Alcott. Every day after school, I would sit in the seat right behind the driver’s seat, and we would always have a good time talking and laughing. She told me I was so imaginative and funny I should be in Hollywood. Little did I know then, someday I would end up there.

When I got home from school, I never knew what to expect…except from Brutus. I knew I could count on him to be there, always jumping up on me and yapping. I would bend down, scoop the little guy up, and let him lick my face.

One good thing about my parents was that they never physically abused me. They must have had all that out of their system by the time my siblings had grown up and left home.

My dad seemed to have taken all his anger out on my older brother up until the time he moved out. I remember him always grabbing ahold of him and hitting him. Then he would grab him again and bash his head into the wall. There were a lot of hidden holes in our house, behind the pictures.

I thought they must have got me out of their system too; half the time they didn’t even know I was alive.

Chapter 2

School was all right, it was a way to get out of the house. Nothing very memorable happened in grade school…other than the spanking the principal gave me, along with a couple of my friends.

When it happened, it was myself and four or five other kids. The kid that we were picking on also got it. I don’t really remember what we are doing, but we were doing something mean to the other kid, as kids would do.

We all had to go to the dreaded principal’s office, something every kid hoped he would never have to do. We heard horror stories about it—the mean principle and his customized paddle. It was really a boat oar with holes drilled in the end—so it would hurt more. And even worse, the story was that he didn’t spank your butt, he hit the back of your thighs.

I found out the stories were all true…we stood in a row and faced his desk. One by one, he would call us up to get our paddling, then we had to go back and stand in line and watch. No one knew when he would call his or her name, but I’m glad I wasn’t first. I watched three of the kids go before me…then it was my turn. It was a scary thing—he stood there looming over me like a monster with the paddle in his hand.

Greg…bend over and grab your ankles! he shouted.

I bent over, clenched my hands tightly onto my ankles, squeezed my eyes shut, and braced myself. He always took a practice swing first. I heard him take a deep breath, and then exhale, and I felt the breeze from the paddle as it passed through the air. Then another breath and it hit me! Jesus…it hurt like hell. The last one to be called was Jeff, the kid that we were picking on. It was the same routine—except when the principal took a practice swing Jeff yelled and stood up. That really upset the principal so he made him get down again, and he hit him even harder than the rest of us. When it was all over, we were all standing there biting our lips and trying not to cry. When he dismissed us, we scattered like rats, and I scurried off to the coat closet where I could cry by myself.

There was a couple of other small incidents in elementary school when I got into a little trouble, but nothing was quite as memorable as my trip to the principal’s office. That was the last visit for me—I would make sure of it. But soon I wouldn’t have to ever worry about it again. The principal’s office as well as the school, Washington Elementary, was demolished by a tornado.

It was Wednesday, May 15, 1968. I had my Cub Scout meeting right after school. Scouts and little league were the normal things in my life. My mom must have been sober, at least part of the time, in order to get me signed up.

The bell rang so I left and walked to the den mother’s house, which was not too far from my school. Even though it was midafternoon, it was really dark outside. No one had mentioned it at school, but it sure looked like it was going to storm. I heard thunder off in the distance and it began to rain. I started running and had to dodge hailstones just as I ran up to the house.

A few of the boys were there, but we had to wait for the rest of them before the meeting started. In the meantime, we went outside to play in the storm. The hail was huge, almost the size of softballs so we were catching the hail balls in our baseball gloves.

Suddenly the dad and mom came running out of the house hollering and screaming.

There’s a tornado coming, everybody in the basement, HURRY!

The horrendous roar was deafening. It sounded like a freight train bearing down on us. We all ran into the house and headed for the basement. The parents hurried the kids down the steps first. We clambered down and when I thought I reached the bottom I turned to the left. My feet hit the air—I wasn’t all the way down, and I fell off the edge. I landed on top of the washer and dryer, and I pulled myself up. We all ran to the corner of the cold, dark, concrete basement and stood huddled together.

We barely made it to the corner before the terror was upon us. Things were slamming into the house and I could feel it vibrate. I thought about Brutus and my dad and mom, and I was afraid that I would die.

There were steps not too far from us, which led up to the door going outside. It wasn’t too long after we were there when a huge tree crashed through that door. Everyone screamed as it fell and scattered the broken branches and twigs just feet in front of us. We all scrambled to the other side of the basement and scrunched down together. We sobbed as we clung to each other and waited—I’m sure we all thought the house would blow away any second. Before long there was dead silence. As quickly as the monstrosity of nature came—it left.

Our den mother was crying tears of joy. She hugged us and made sure that we were all okay. We got up and walked up the stairs. Most of the house was still standing. But outside was unbelievable mass destruction. It looked like all the TV shows I had ever watched about Vietnam after the B-52 bombings. The sight of it was almost too much for my mind to comprehend.

Later on, we would learn it was an F5 tornado, one of the strongest of several that hit Iowa that day. Thirteen people were killed in Charles City and four hundred and sixty-two were injured. The damage was said to be thirty million. The tornado destroyed almost everything, including all eight of the churches that were in town and three of the schools—one was mine. The really strange thing was none of the bars were damaged at all.

I remember that day very vividly—for a couple of reasons. Of course, the first was the terror that went on for those few minutes. The other was that it bugged me because my certificate for hall monitor was still in my desk drawer at school…I forgot to bring it home that day. I always thought I would get it back but, unfortunately, the school was condemned and later torn down.

Chapter 3

My mom was drunk most of the time and passed out on her bed. When she did come out of her bedroom, she didn’t know where she was going. She would come staggering out, naked, take a few steps and collapse.

I remember when I was younger I would go get a blanket and cover her up. When I was almost thirteen, I was taller and a lot stronger so I would pick her up and carry her back to bed. I pulled the covers up over her and tucked them in under her chin. Then I would set on the bed and watch her sleep. I pushed the hair back from her face and daydreamed about a happy childhood I would never have.

No matter what—I loved my mom, and I would always take care of her and keep her safe. I knew my dad wouldn’t. There were even times that I had to pick him up and put him in bed because he was so drunk. But it didn’t happen that often with him.

I started driving when I was around thirteen. There were countless times when I got home from school that my mother would want me to drive her to town. I thought it was kind of cool because I got to drive our aqua green Buick Wildcat. Occasionally I would gun the engine and watch in the rear view mirror as the dust billowed behind us. That would always get a little smile out of my mom…before she yelled at me.

There was a downside to driving her to town. It usually meant dad and her were out of either beer or alcohol. Sometimes I