That Lisa Stone's life may have ended in tragedy is sadly in keeping with much of what came before. Belying a joyful personality, Stone's life was punctuated with pain and loss, and she was treated for depression and anxiety as an adult. Stone's friends loved her and supported her as best they could, but even as a teenager, there was something sad about their beautiful, talented blonde best friend—a sadness that grew deeper right until the day she disappeared.
At teenage slumber parties, Tammye Markle, a former drill teamer who has also turned detective, remembers their favorite prank to play on Stone—putting mayonnaise in her hair. "She hated it!" Markle says, because of how hard it was to get the goop out of her thick blonde tresses. When they weren't freezing each other's underwear or slopping on condiments, the friends would playfully lock each other in the Markle family cattle trailer.
Mark Graham
Tammye Markle, at home in Houston, keeps track of the search for Stone online through Facebook.
Andrea Grimes
In September, Stone's friends organized a candlelight vigil held beneath a billboard advertising a reward for information
leading to a felony arrest in Stone's disappearance. The vigil was one of several staged to raise awareness and money to aid in her search.
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But these get-togethers with her drill team friends were also when Stone would share her feelings about her sister, who died in a car accident when Lisa was in the eighth grade. "She talked about how hard it was," Tina Wiley recalls. But with the support of her family—a strict but loving Dallas police officer father, a mom who could "light up the room" and two brothers—Stone blossomed into a popular, athletic girl who made lifelong friends with ease.
"Lisa was one of those that would shout from the rooftops if she felt somebody she loved had been done wrong," says Markle, now a grandmother and owner of a recreational services business with her husband. Stone's dedication to her friends, which manifested itself even when she was a child, is part of what keeps the women searching for answers. "She defended her friends no matter what," Markle says, so "we're more determined to do it for her."
But after high school, many of the girls went their separate ways—Wiley to Austin, Markle to Houston. Most of them got married and began having children, though Stone's path was different. The women say they always knew Stone was gay, but none of them talked much about it, and Stone seemed more concerned about it than they did.
"She always worried that people would judge her," Wiley remembers. But "everybody's accepted Lisa for Lisa." Even though the years between high school and their online reunion found Stone involved in partying and drug use, she held long-tenured jobs with Texas Instruments and The Dallas Morning News.
"If you hadn't seen her for years, you could pick up from the last moment," Shannon says. And Stone always had so much to talk about. Wiley says that before returning Stone's missed phone calls, she often would wait until she knew she had a couple of hours to talk. She jokes about Stone even becoming "annoying" with her love of chatting and incessant calling. Though now, she says, she'd give anything to have those conversations again.
Stone's mother died in 1996. Then Lisa's brother, Dennis, died in 1997. She'd been especially close to him. "Dennis was everything to her," Markle says. "She never got over him being gone."
Then, in 2005, her father died. She and a brother, who lives out of state, were the only remaining members of her immediate family. She inherited her parents' house and her dad's truck. According to Stone's Mesquite high school friends, a fight over Stone's relationship with Sherry Henry left her estranged from her brother.
Also in 2005, Stone left the advertising sales job she'd held at the Morning News since 1991, thinking she would be able to live off her inheritance. Henry moved into the house in 2008 and Stone invested some of her inheritance in Henry's T-shirt company, Politeed.com, which prints shirts with conversation-starting phrases like "Are Gay Rights Civil Rights?"
But by the spring of 2010, the money was gone. Stone began calling Wiley, Shannon, Markle and others, asking for help. They would bring her sandwiches and loan her small amounts of money, often asking her, "Where did all that money go?" She'd tell them she "didn't realize" she was running so low. Or that she'd invested too much in Henry's business. Whatever the case, she needed a hundred or so dollars at a time—she said, to pay for utilities or food for the many cats that lived with her after she rescued them from kill shelters.
At first, Stone seemed embarrassed to ask her old friends for money, but they knew she had nowhere else to turn. "She kind of lost her pride in the end," says Shannon, whose loans came with the advice that she needed to work out a financial plan or get a job. Her friends suggested she sell the house or her father's old truck to get some cash flow going, but Stone was cowed by the prospect of searching for a new career at her age.
Because she was such a sentimental person, says Wiley, Stone refused to sell the things that reminded her so much of the family she missed.
On her Facebook page, Stone wrote about not having enough money for gas and composed messages about relationships gone awry. In late April, she wrote: "Some things are not as they appear, and some people just cannot be sincere and loyal." She gushed about meeting a man who claimed to be a former professional football player who had promised her a job and money. But nothing materialized, and Wiley asked Stone if she thought telling the online world about her personal issues might not be the best idea. "I have nothing to hide," Stone told her. She had always been an open book—and a long one, at that.