Sanctuary

A lot of people that have been listening to this show for many years don't even realize

“we have a sister program called Nightmares.”

It's a different kind of a show, it's still about true crime and they're still about true stories, but it's a shorter show and it doesn't have any 911 calls or blaring clips. It's great for playing when you're going to bet, if you like to hear my voice, I prefer going to sleep. Telling you a true crime tale.

Anyway, we're going to play you a whole episode right here on this feed to see if you like it and if you do, I ask that you search for sort and scale nightmares or just nightmares and subscribe to it. If you already do, then apologies for the extra episode in your feed. Rhonda Smith sits in the office at Trinity Evangelical Lutheran Church, leaning her head

on her hand with her elbow on the desk.

“Her computer screen casts a soft blue light in the quiet room, shining in her eyes as she”

scrolls through, yet another dating profile. She exhales a little louder than she means to. She thinks about her last relationship, he loved about an hour away.

At first, the drive didn't seem too bad, but over time it felt longer.

Her conversations faded, and the end they both agreed the distance wouldn't work. The breakup was mutual and clean, but still disappointing. She clicks to the next profile. There was a time when rejection like that would have overwhelmed her. Even small setbacks felt like proof that something was wrong with her.

Those were the years when depression crept in and stayed too long. It also felt more familiar than hope. She didn't trust herself to be alone with her thoughts.

But that was before she found the church.

Rhonda leans back and lets herself smile. She joined the church a couple of years ago, not to find faith, but because she needed structure, she needed a place to go, something steady. Over time the congregation got to know her and accepted her. With Pastor Shreeve's support, she started to rebuild her life, slowly, and carefully.

Now she has a routine she has friends, people who count on her, and who let her count on that. That balance means more to her than anything she ever expected. She thinks about her plans for tonight. She's having dinner with Greg, a man she met, and her bipolar support group.

She might be someone who understands the hard parts without her having to explain. He might be someone who truly gets her. She reaches for the mouse to look at the next profile. Suddenly she hears a sound that doesn't belong in the quiet building. Rhonda sits up in terms.

She gasps, barely having time to raise her hand. Then everything goes dark. Welcome to Sword and Scale Nightmares, true crime for bedtime, when nightmare begins now. There's something people don't talk about much when it comes to stress. The way it shows up on your face, fatigue, dullness, skin that just looks worn down.

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Alright, let's continue. Judy Zellner pulls into the church parking lot just after noon. Gravel crunching under her tires. When she gets out the cold, winter air, things are nose and makes it hard to breathe. She notices a car she doesn't recognize so she pulls her coat tighter and hurries to the door.

Judy fumbles for her keys and her heavy coat, but finally finds them.

“When she puts the key in the lock, she realizes it's already unlocked.”

She gets ready to scold whoever left it open since everyone knows this door should stay locked during the week. She goes inside closes the door and locks it behind her. Inside the old church, the familiar smell of wood, bibles and dust, greets her. The building is quiet as she walks toward the office.

She sees the light as on, which isn't unusual. Pastor Shreeves often leaves it on, sometimes the radio also. She steps into the office and calls out softly, but no one answers. She sets down her purse, hangs up her coat, and her footsteps echo in the empty space as she moves through the office.

As she gets closer to the receptionist's desk, she notices something that shouldn't be there.

“It takes her a moment to understand what she's seeing, just long enough for confusion to”

turn into dread. A woman's body is crumpled up on the floor in an unnatural position, blood everywhere. Her dark brown hair matted with it, duty freezes, her breath catching in her throne. Her mind flashes absurdly to episodes of CSI. She doesn't touch anything.

Suddenly she worries the person who did this might still be there. She grabs the cordless phone and runs for the door, panicking. When the dispatcher answers, she stumbles over her words. Outside, she waits, pacing and cry, trying to keep warm in the January cold. The minute's drag on, every sound feels too loud, and the stillness is heavy.

When the sirens finally arrive, they break the silence with both relief and fear.

Paramedics rush past her, their boots heavy, their voices quick and focused. They don't notice her. Judy hears herself speak before she realizes it. Look behind the desk, she says. Paramedics find the woman, and see something Judy missed.

The woman is still breathing. They kneel, check on her, and move quickly. Judy notices the air now smells metallic. The paramedics gently move the body and roll her onto a stretcher. They lift it, and the wheels snap out with a hollow sound.

Judy steps back and gives them space as they approach the door. Her heart pales as they pass. The sheet shifts and the woman's head turns.

It's the first time Judy sees a face, with an audible gas, she says, "That's my friend

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Go to LeCurre.com that's liqruru.com and use promo code s-w-o-r-d at checkout. Pennsylvania State Trooper Joseph Stumpo arrives at the church after the ambulance's act.

“The last emergency lights flicker against the stone walls that have stood since colonial”

times. The church was established before the United States even existed. It has served the same rural stretch of Bucks County for generations. It's cemetery filled with names that often repeat on headstones. Stumpo has worked on crashes, burglaries, and domestic assaults.

He's never worked on a homicide.

Inside the building remains orderly. The side door shows no signs of forced entry. The office light is still on. The hallway is quiet except for low radio traffic as officers secure the perimeter. In the small office the scene is clear.

The desk sits in the center of the room. Behind it, dark blood stains the carpet in the large pool.

“The paramedics marked the outline of the body with tape before moving her, keeping the”

spot where she fell. The shape is unmistakable. Stumpo looks around the room carefully. Nothing is overturned.

Drars are closed, papers are still stacked on the desk.

There are no signs of struggle or a search for money or valuables. If this were a robbery the room would show it. If it were a random violence someone likely would have forced their way in. Instead the scene suggests someone was close. They stood near the victim, fired, and left without disturbing anything else.

Stumpo steps back in the hallway and looks towards the sanctuary beyond the office. For centuries this church was a place of routine and ritual. Today, it is the scene of a shooting. Both finds Judy's elder and her car in the church lot. The engine running to keep warm.

Her hands are wrapped tightly around a tissue as he asks her to walk him through the afternoon. Stumpo listens as Judy speaks through sniffles, telling him that she didn't know anyone would be there and about the unlocked door. She nearly starts crying when she gets to the park about finding Ronda. He takes notes as Judy talks about Ronda.

She says Ronda started coming to the church a couple of years ago. Ronda spoke openly about her money and her career troubles, all related to her bipolar diagnosis. She had been hospitalized before. There were times when she struggled deeply, even talked about hurting herself.

But lately Judy says Ronda seemed stable. She was dating and making plans for the future. Once a couple of weeks ago, she stood in front of the congregation and thanked everyone for their support. Judy's tears burst forward.

But Stumpo has to ask an uncomfortable question. Did she ever mention having a gun? He asks. Judy shakes her head, no. In a quiet church in the middle of the day with no forced entry and no witnesses, one

possibility stood out. Ronda was alone at a history of depression and was found with a bullet wound. Stumpo writes this in his notes, though he doesn't think it really fits. By the time Stumpo reached the hospital doctors confirmed what he suspected, Ronda had been shot in the head, but she was shot twice at close range.

hand and forehead.

Quickly from a shot that missed.

“Prime seeing texts later found a bullet lodged in the church office ceiling.”

She also had stifling, a sign that the gun was fired up close. Stumpo asks the necessary question, "Could she have done this to herself?" He listens and takes notes as doctors explain that the way she was found makes it unlikely to shots to the head are rare in suicides. When the angles didn't show any kind of hesitation, which is common, it's a little harder

than you think to put a gun up to your head and pull the trigger. Also, there was no gun at the scene, Stumpova. He closed his no pad and thanked the doctors for their work. He asked them to keep him updated about her condition, but they didn't think she would survive the night.

The damage was too severe. The gun was alive, but barely. Her head and right eye were heavily bandaged.

“She lay motionless with her tongue protruding from her lips.”

She was brain dead. Stumpo would learn later that her parents made the heart choice to let her pass that night. As he leaves the hospital, he thinks over the details of the case. His theory has changed.

What he first thought might be suicide now points to somewhere else.

Ronda did not shoot herself. Someone else did. Later Mary Jane Fonder, a member of the church called Ronda's parents, Jo and Joanne Smith. She said she wanted to bring over a pie. Joanne thanked her, but said she didn't want it.

They weren't up for company. They were still trying to make sense of what happened. She Jane came anyway.

“When Joanne opens the door, she recognizes her right away.”

She sees her at church, an older woman who sang in the choir with Ronda. Mary Jane stands on the porch holding a pie dish with both hands. Her wig sits a little off-center. She speaks softly offering condolences in a tone that sounds practiced. Joanne invites her inside.

Mary Jane sits at the kitchen table and folds her hands in her lap. She talks about the church, about how shaken everyone is, and about how much Ronda meant to the congregation. She asks questions about Ronda as a child, her favorite things, and what she was like growing up.

An hour passes by, then another. Jo thinks to herself, this lady can really talk. As they talk, Joanne notices Mary Jane's shoes, the cracked and worn thin in the souls with the edges starting to separate. Before Mary Jane leaves, Joanne offers her a couple of pairs of Ronda's shoes from the hallway

closet. It feels like a small gesture, a way to thank her for coming. Mary Jane accepts them, tries them on and walks back and forth to see if they fit. After thanking them and saying goodbye, Mary Jane leaves. The pie stayed in the kitchen counter after she left no one touched it.

Trooper Stumpo meets with Pastor Greg Shreeves at the church in the days after the shooting. He tries to size him up before starting the conversation. Shreeves is tall and well-built, a former professional golfer who entered the ministry as a second career. He carries himself with calm assurance, the kind that comes from years of public presence.

His transition into pastoral life had been welcomed by the congregation, mostly the women who thought he was just dreamy. When Stumpo asks about Ronda, Shreeves explains that she was a member of the church who had struggled in the past with bipolar disorder. She had canceled and encouraged her. He helped her find structure. She was improving.

Then Stumpo asks if anyone in the church had been behaving unusually in recent months. Shreeves mentions Mary Jane Fonder. She is a long time member, devoted, rarely missed a service. At first she seemed harmless, she talked to much, trapping people in lengthy conversations

in. She never seemed to wear her wig correctly, even backwards sometimes.

Then she started requesting meetings with Shreeves. She waited after services to talk to him. She wanted private conversations that drifted beyond church matters. Then it got worse.

multiple times a day for days on end.

“The messages became longer, more emotional, and less connected to anything specific.”

It was almost a stream of consciousness, Shreeves said. Eventually, he had to turn off his answering machine and block her number. Mary Jane just used her cell phone after that and kept calling. Then she started leaving the food for the pastor. Except she would leave it inside his home, entering without his permission while he wasn't there.

After that, he started to lock his door. Then there was the time they decorated the church bulletin boards together. Out of nowhere Mary Jane said, "You can't deny what's going on between us." Shreeves said he stopped her right there and told her that she'd crossed a line.

“She was no romance between them. When Stumpo asks whether Mary Jane had reacted to”

his work, with other parishioners, Shreeves recalls comments she made about how often he met with Ronda. The remarks were not confrontational, he says, but they carried an edge. Stumpo writes the name down carefully. Mary Jane Funder He closed his notebook and thanked the pastor for his talk. As he prepared to leave he couldn't shake what Shreeves said, persistent phone calls on wanted visits,

comments about relationships that didn't exist. None of it was a crime, but it was a pattern for sure. Mary Jane was worth looking into. After leaving the church, Stumpo meets with the police chief to update him on the case's progress. When he says the name Funder, he notices the

“chief signal for him to stop. I know that name, the chief says.”

Years earlier in 1993, when the chief was still a patrolman, there had been a call to the Funder residents. Mary Jane's father Edward had disappeared. She said she heard him walk

out the front door and he's never been seen again.

Churches were conducted. Neighbors were questioned. The property was examined nothing was ever found in the case when cold, in fact it's still open to this day. Stumpo feels renewed at this lead. The last time Mary Jane's name came across the chief's desk, she was a person of interest in her father's disappearance. The interview room at the state police barracks is quiet.

Stumpo sits across the table from Mary Jane. Beside him is Trooper Robert Egan, an older more seasoned veteran investigator, brought in his backup. Egan doesn't speak much at first. He just watches. Just like everything they had heard about Mary Jane, she starts to fill the silence. She starts rambling on about any and every subject on her mind. The troopers just let her talk. She talks about the church about how much it means to her.

She talks about pastor Shreeves. He's a real man. Pastor Shreeves. He's a hell of a man. A real man, she says. The troopers continue to let her ramble. She goes on and on, jumping from one subject to another than back again. You know the type. Eventually the conversation

circles back to pastor Shreeves. I'll tell you. I always liked the pastor. I had very

sexual kind of feelings, warm feelings about the man. She says. Then the conversation shifts to Ronda. She talks about gatherings at the church, dinners and social outings where it seems Ronda was welcome, but she was not. She brings up the Sunday service where Ronda stood up and thanked everyone for their help. The whole world's going around this lady and I don't know it. She says. She claims she wasn't jealous, but she keeps returning to all the attention,

support and inclusion, Ronda got. So, it sure sounds like she is. Eventually the troopers bring her back in on January 23rd the day after the murder. Her alibi is precise. She had a hair appointment and Quaker Town at 1130 a.m. She signed in at the salon at 1122 a.m. The salon confirmed it. But Mary Jane wore a wig that day and she left it behind. Investigators collected it and sent it off for gunshot residue testing. If she had fired a gun that morning,

residue would have gotten on that wig. For sure. The test results showed that two of the three

it didn't call many suspicions either. Egan asks about her gun. She acknowledges owning a

“38 caliber Rossi revolver for protection. The same caliber gun that shot Ronda.”

But she explained she got rid of it many years ago. Egan asks how she got rid of it and Mary Jane replies. "I threw it in Lake Nakamix in years ago. She went on to explain that she got depressed after all the negative publicity surrounding her after her father's disappearance and decided to get rid of it after thoughts of harming herself." The troopers glanced at each other. In their

experience, people don't discard guns this way, unless they have something to hide. Stumpo asks

the question directly. "Did you shoot Ronda?" Mary Jane leans forward and says, "I didn't do it." Both investigators noticed that at that moment Mary Jane's voice changed. It dropped lower,

“deeper, or softness disappeared replaced by something harder, something”

angrier. As quickly as it changed it changed back in Mary Jane went back to rambling. As the interview stretched on Stumpo and Egan saw a pattern. She admitted having romantic

feelings for the pastor. She described exclusion from the church and social events.

She focused repeatedly on what Ronda had and what she did not. She denied being involved, but she may have just inadvertently revealed her motive. After the interview the troopers didn't have a confession. They didn't have a weapon, but they did have enough suspicion to escalate. They decided to seize her car. She didn't find it, but she did mention getting a lawyer.

“Stumpo said, "That's fine, but we're still taking your car."”

When the forensic test results return, the findings are positive for particles consistent with gunshot residue. There weren't heavy concentrations not enough to arrest her, but three separate areas tested positive. The turn signal, the driver's door handle, and the driver's seat. The troopers decide to apply pressure until Mary Jane they found gunshot residue, just to see what she did next. Then they waited. Soon after, an eight-year-old boy was

fishing at Lake Nakamixen with his dad. The water in the lake was low. But the boy and his father didn't know was that the lake was low because of the police's previous attempts to find the gun. After a while, the little boy gets bored fishing for trout and gets distracted when he sees a gray heron. He tells his dad and he's going to get a closer look and starts making his way towards the large bird. Then a glint catches his eye. An object sticking out of the shallow water.

The boy runs over and picks it up, thinking he's found a toy gun. But once it was in his hand, the weight gave it away. It was a real gun. The little boy ran to his father to show him. The father panics when he sees his son with a gun, and gently snatches it from him. The gun didn't appear to be rusted. It wasn't something you'd expect to find under water. He opens the cylinder and finds three spent casings and two live rounds.

He dumped them in his hand and, at that, they were done fishing for the day. The boy and his father went home and called the police. . The revolver recovered from Lake Knockham, makes an assent to the Pennsylvania State Police Crime Lab. The 38 caliber Rossi Revolver pulled from the shallow water is the gun that killed Ronda. They stake out the church waiting for Mary Jane

to arrive. When she does, they approach her. She isn't hysterical, she isn't combative. According to investigators, she looked at them and said, "I figured you'd be coming."

"I didn't do it," she said. But now the denial has to compete with the gun

“pulled from shallow water. Prosecutors argued that on the morning of January 23, Mary Jane went”

to the church knowing Ronda would be alone in the office. She brought her 38 caliber Rossi Revolver.

The first shot grazed Ronda's hand and forehead. The second shot struck the right side of her

head at close range. Then Mary Jane left. She drove to a scheduled her appointment and signed in at 11.22 a.m., like nothing ever happened. Prosecutors would later lay out a simple theory. Mary Jane didn't just kill the stranger. She killed the rival.

“For months, she had become attached to pastor Greg Shreeves. She called him a, quote, "real man,"”

admitted she had very sexual, warm feelings for him. She interpreted pastoral kindness as intimacy. But then Ronda entered the picture. Ronda met with the pastor for counseling. She received financial help from the congregation. She stood before the church and publicly thanked them. She was welcomed into social gatherings. Mary Jane was not. In the week before the murder Ronda's life appeared to be stabilizing. She was working at the church, dating, rebuilding.

To Mary Jane, that attention felt like displacement. Mary Jane was convicted of first-degree murder.

She was sentenced to life and present without the possibility of parole. Even then she maintained her innocence. I didn't do this terrible thing, she said. Years passed. From prison, Mary Jane started writing letters to the authors who documented her case. The tone of those letters was different from that of the woman who sat in that interview room and sustained she had done nothing wrong. She wrote about having vivid dreams in which

she was back inside the church office. In those dreams, she had the gun. In those dreams, she saw Ronda fall. She started to question herself. She wondered whether something had happened

“that she couldn't fully remember. She suggested that maybe she'd gone to church just to talk.”

Maybe things escalated, maybe. She blocked out. She never clearly confessed, but she stopped

insisting she had not been there. Mary Jane died in prison years later. No accountability was ever taken. The questions about what happened to her father in 1993 remain unanswered. And whatever clarity she may have reached in those dreams, if any, is gone. Right along with her. Life at the church went on. The Pew's Philp, the choir, say. The office light came on each morning. Pastor Shreeves kept Mary Jane's name on the prayer list long after the trial ended. He prayed

for her. Just as he had once prayed for Ronda. In the end, one woman sought belonging and found it and the other. This took attention for love. If you enjoyed the show, please consider joining plus at swordnscale.com/plus. But if you can't, consider leaving us a positive review on your preferred listening platform, sweet dreams, and good night.