Have you done one of those DNA tests, you know, like 23 and Me or Ancestry DNA?

The ones where you spit into a little vial and drop it in the mail and then wait to discover

what your genes say about who you are and where you come from.

It can be so much fun, learning that you're 12% Nordic or that your ancestors come from

exotic places you'd never dreamed.

Or maybe learning how much of you can be traced back to the Neanderthals extinct now for

at least 40,000 years. So fun. Until it isn't. Until the moment you learn

that spitting into that little vial might reveal that you aren't exactly who you think you are.

Because your mother or your father isn't who they claim to be.

And that knowledge, that knowledge might leave you holding a violent, unthinkable, tragic, and terrible truth.

And they got a small beam of light against the mirror.

True, weird, weird stuff.

It was a double funeral that Tuesday afternoon in Omaha, October 21st, 1958.

It had been hotter than usual, 90 degrees just a week earlier. Two coffins rested side by

side. Two freshly opened graves waiting, also side by side. The service was private, held at

Forest Lawn Cemetery. Being laid to rest that sweltering afternoon was a married couple,

William and Opel Arnold. But this isn't a story about growing old together, about a life well-lived

and a hard-earned eternal rest. William was just 42. His wife was only 40.

Their lives were cut brutally short, shot to death in their own home.

Six bullets each fired into their chests from a 22-caliber semi-automatic rifle.

And even more shocking, who pulled the trigger. Fast forward now 52 years to another funeral.

This one on the other side of the world in Queensland, Australia, August 2010.

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