Our card this week is Marjorie Christy Luna, the four of spades from Florida.

From the outside, Green Acres seemed like a picture-perfect place to grow up.

A park, a school, a corner store stocked with sugary, sweets, and arcade games,

all within walking distance.

For Christy and her friends, weekends were spent roaming the neighborhood and playing outside

barefoot. But this storybook community had darkness lurking just under the surface, and it

reared its ugly head one May evening in 1984.

More than 40 years later, Christie's friends are peeling back the layers and piecing together memories from their childhood, finding that what actually lay beneath was much darker than they

ever could have imagined.

I'm Ashley Flowers, and this is the deck. It was Memorial Day weekend, 1984, and Greenacre's small-town police department was probably preparing for a bit more action than usual.

Hopefully nothing too bad, but it was possible that they would get a call to shut down some out-of-hand fireworks,

bust a rowdy backyard barbecue maybe.

But on Sunday, May 27th at around 10, 15 p.m., police got a call for something far more serious,

something I'm almost sure they didn't see coming in their close-knit community.

A mother phoned to say that her eight-year-old daughter, Marjorie Luna, who went by Christy,

hadn't come home that evening.

Detective William Springer with the Palm Beach County Sheriff's Office recounts that Christy's

mom, Jenny, told police that she, her boyfriend, and her two daughters had just

returned home that afternoon from a weekend getaway.

They drove up to Titusville, came back, stopped at two parks, Jonathan Dickinson State Park,

and then they stopped at the Duke Boys Park.

Then they came home.

...