In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(78)

“Like this golf tournament?”

“Exactly like this golf tournament. It raises money for the school. Some families have fallen on hard times with the economy, and the money helps pay for books, teachers’ salaries, those things.”

“And a football stadium to be named after your father?”

“No. The funds aren’t used for that.”

“Straight out of your pocket?”

“The company’s pocket.”

“You drove a Ford Bronco in high school.”

Reynolds looked mildly surprised at the sudden change in topic. “This is a trip down memory lane. That’s a long time ago. Yes, I drove a Ford Bronco, back before OJ made them infamous.” He smiled, seemingly at the recollection. “It was canary yellow with running lights across the roof, a roll bar and black canopy, oversize tires, a winch mounted to the front grille, and one of those foghorns. If you couldn’t see us, you could hear us coming from a mile away. I’m not sure it could have been any more obnoxious. We’d pile in that thing and drive through town after games, and Hastey would blow the horn. People loved it.”

“Did you hunt?”

“My father did. I wasn’t much for killing animals. I liked to go four-wheeling, though, especially after a hard rain. That car would be caked in so much mud you couldn’t tell the color.”

“You ever go four-wheeling in the clearing?”

“The clearing off 141?”

“Yeah.”

Reynolds seemed to give it some thought before answering. “Probably once or twice, but that was more of a weekend party destination. We’d get six or seven cars out there, turn on the headlights, crank the music, and drink beer.” He shrugged. “It was harmless stuff.”

“How’d you hear about Kimi Kanasket?”

Reynolds rocked back on the legs of his banquet chair and slid the tips of his fingers beneath his belt buckle. His gaze shifted to the ceiling, and he spoke deliberately, as if trying to recall. “I believe we heard sometime that Sunday. We played the championship game Saturday night, and after the game we all went out—players, coaches, parents. We stayed the night in Yakima. On Sunday we boarded the bus and caravanned home. I believe someone said something on the bus. I remember being shocked. But it could have been an article in the paper . . . maybe on Monday. But don’t quote me. That part is a bit hazy.”

“What was your reaction?”

Reynolds shrugged one shoulder. “Same as everybody else. Shock. Dismay. It’s a small community, smaller back then. Everybody knows everybody. You think you’re invulnerable at that age. Then you hear something like that. It’s a shock. It was a shock.”

“So you knew Kimi?”

“Absolutely. We all knew each other.”

“What was your relationship with her?”

“Friendly. Kimi was smart and athletic. She was going to state in track, and I think she was also going to UW. We weren’t great friends, but I knew her.”

“You weren’t romantically involved?” Tracy was taking another shot in the dark. Reynolds was far too comfortable. She was hoping to shake him up.

Reynolds chuckled. “Kimi and me? No. First of all, you didn’t try anything with Kimi.”

“Why not?”

“Because she had a brother and a boyfriend—I forget the guy’s name, but I remember he was a Golden Gloves boxer and had a temper.”

“Tommy Moore?”

“That’s it. Tommy Moore.”

“How do you know he had a temper?” Tracy asked.

“He and Kimi’s brother got kicked out of school for fighting.”

“Do you know what they were fighting about?”

“Back then there was a beef about the school’s use of the name ‘Red Raiders.’ They said it was insensitive to Native Americans. I’m sure it was, though not as insensitive as a white kid wearing war paint driving a spear into the turf.” Reynolds lowered his chair. “Things were different back then. The old people in town got upset over the protests and dug in their heels. Me? I didn’t care what they called us. For me it was all about winning. I just wanted to finish undefeated and cart that state championship trophy off the field at the end of the season.”

“You said you took buses to Yakima Saturday morning and returned Sunday morning.”

“That’s right.”

“What did you do Friday night?”

“That’s easy. I stayed home. You didn’t go out the night before a game and play for Ron Reynolds. He wouldn’t have cared that I was his son and the starting quarterback. He would have benched my butt.”

“So you didn’t go out at all?”

“No. I stayed at home.”

“You’d be surprised then if I told you that Archibald Coe told me yesterday that you all went out together Friday night?” Again, Tracy was looking to rattle Reynolds and get him out of his comfort zone.

“Very surprised,” he said, shaking his head. “You spoke to him yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“How did he seem to you?”

“Fragile.”

Again, Reynolds paused, seeming to give this some thought. “Maybe Archie wasn’t thinking straight or got things confused in his head, given his apparent state of mind.”