A quiet night, a birthday, and then nothing
It began with a birthday.
On December 29, 1999, Lauria Bible asked her parents if she could sleep over at her best friend Ashley Freeman’s home in Welch, Oklahoma. It was Ashley’s sixteenth birthday. The girls had spent the day with Ashley’s mom at a local pizza place, giggling and grazing like any pair of teenage best friends.
Lauria’s father said she left with a smile and a promise. “I love you, Daddy,” were the last words he’d hear from her.
The next morning, just before dawn, a passing motorist spotted flames pouring from the Freeman mobile home and called 911. By the time firefighters arrived, the trailer was fully engulfed. Inside, only one body was found.
It was Kathy Freeman, Ashley’s mother. She had been shot in the head.
The wrong theory and a missed body
With just one body recovered, local authorities quickly drew a conclusion: Danny Freeman, Ashley’s father, must have snapped. They believed he had killed his wife, set fire to his own home, and fled with the girls.
The scene wasn’t sealed as a homicide site. No deeper search was ordered. By that night, the case was already headed in the wrong direction.
Lauria’s parents, Jay and Lorene Bible, returned the next day, unable to sit still at home. They walked the rubble on their own. What they found turned the case on its head.
In a part of the trailer that investigators had overlooked, Jay noticed what looked like a human shape. It wasn’t a trick of the light. It was Danny Freeman—shot execution-style in the head, just like his wife.
The initial assumption that Danny had been the killer now fell apart. Two parents were dead, and the girls were gone. And the police had missed a body.
Tensions with police and a long local memory
The Freemans weren’t popular with local law enforcement.
The year before, their son Shane had been shot and killed by a deputy after allegedly stealing a car. His death was ruled justified. The Freemans disagreed. Danny Freeman made it clear he believed his son had been murdered. He accused deputies of harassment. He said he was planning to sue the sheriff’s office.
Danny’s brother would later tell reporters that deputies had tried to intimidate Danny. The family suspected that the tension had played a role in the murder. The case, they believed, hadn’t been handled properly from the start. With Danny suspected at first, and a body missed entirely, their concerns gained traction.
But no solid leads emerged. No sign of the girls. No phone call. No ransom. No confirmed sightings.
Just a scorched home and two grieving families.
Rumors, dead ends, and false confessions
Over the next decade, two convicted killers claimed responsibility for the murders. Both were lying.
Tommy Lynn Sells and Jeremy Jones each confessed to killing Lauria and Ashley. Jones, in particular, said he had done it over a drug debt, claiming he shot the parents, then drove the girls to Kansas and threw their bodies into an abandoned mine.
The mine was searched. Nothing was found.
Jones later admitted he had made the story up to get better food and more privileges in prison. It worked. For a while.
The confessions were retracted. The case remained frozen. Officially, Ashley was declared legally dead in 2010. Lauria’s fate remained listed as unknown.
A new lead breaks through the silence
Then, in 2018—almost two decades later—the quiet cracked.
Ronnie Dean Busick was arrested and charged with four counts of first-degree murder. Two other suspects were named—Warren “Phil” Welch II and David Pennington—but both were already dead.
Busick wasn’t just a name pulled from nowhere. At least a dozen people had come forward over the years, saying that Busick, Welch, and Pennington had boasted about what they did.
They told witnesses they killed the Freemans over drug money. They said they had taken the girls. Held them captive. Assaulted them. And killed them.
There were rumors of Polaroids. One woman who had lived with Welch said he kept a briefcase of photos—photos showing the girls bound, gagged, lying on a bed. Welch appeared in some of them.
She said she heard all three men brag about what they’d done. The girls, she claimed they said, were eventually dumped in a pit. Possibly a cellar. Possibly a mineshaft in Picher, Oklahoma, a town now abandoned because of toxic waste.
“Until they are home with us, this will never be over”
The Bible family had heard whispers of the Polaroids for years. But without physical evidence, the case couldn’t move forward. Now, witnesses were speaking. Busick was charged. The other two men—dead—escaped justice.
Even with the arrest, the answers remained incomplete.
Busick eventually pleaded guilty—not to murder, but to being an accessory. He admitted he knew what had happened and helped cover it up. He gave up nothing about where the girls’ bodies were. He said he wanted to talk to the Bibles. Lauria’s mother did speak with him. But he claimed not to know where her daughter was.
Busick was sentenced in 2020 to 15 years. Ten to be served in prison, five on probation. Because of good behavior and credits for time served, he walked free in May 2023—after just 38 months behind bars.
The Bible family released a statement: “Until they are home with us, this will never be over.”
The cellar that never gave answers
In October 2021, investigators searched a root cellar on a property that had once belonged to Pennington. Busick had mentioned “the root cellar” repeatedly. His stepdaughter said he warned everyone never to go near it.
Police dug. Searched. Waited.
Another dead end.
No remains were found. No evidence surfaced.
Despite multiple witnesses, partial confessions, and years of scattered tips, no trace of Lauria Bible or Ashley Freeman has ever been recovered.
A case that still holds its secrets
The story of Lauria Bible and Ashley Freeman never had a final chapter.
What began with a birthday sleepover and a promise—”I love you, Daddy”—ended in fire, confusion, and silence. Police botched the early investigation, missing key evidence. Locals whispered about cops and corruption. Killers talked too much. Witnesses waited too long.
There are no tombstones. No known burial site. Only rumors of photographs and pits in poisoned towns.
Ronnie Busick is walking free.
The Bible family keeps searching.
And two girls from Welch, Oklahoma remain—officially—missing.
