In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(79)

Tracy let Reynolds’s answer linger. The detective part of her again thought the timing of Coe’s death just too convenient after he’d lived years with whatever demons had tormented him. “Anyone who could vouch for you, Mr. Reynolds?”

“For what?”

“For the Friday night that Kimi died.”

“Sure. My dad.”

“He’ll say you were home?”

“That’s what he told that deputy who came by the following week.”

The answer surprised her. “A deputy came by and spoke to your father?”

“Yeah. That’s what I recall. He came by and wanted to know if I knew Kimi and said he was just following up on some things. He asked if I had been out Friday night and maybe had seen her. I told him what I’ve told you—I was home and went to bed early. Like I said, winning that state championship was foremost on my mind. I imagine he would have filled out a report or something, wouldn’t he?”

“One would think,” Tracy said.





CHAPTER 28


Tracy left the clubhouse feeling like she was in the middle of a game of chess and it was her move. Eric Reynolds’s statement about Buzz Almond paying a visit to his home the week after Kimi disappeared had thrown her off her game. No such report existed, at least not in the file Tracy had, and Buzz Almond certainly appeared meticulous about including everything in his file. If Reynolds was telling the truth, Tracy had little doubt Buzz would have documented their encounter and kept it. And if he had, that meant someone had removed the report from his file.

Tracy considered the logic of someone doing that. If someone was aware Buzz kept a file, that person might be reluctant to destroy it, concerned that would draw too much suspicion. Instead, he or she could have opted to just destroy one essential element of the file, a portion that might have implicated a specific person but that nobody would have missed unless they knew it existed in the first place, a portion that might have been useful to an investigation but could not be duplicated. Lionel Devoe, Stoneridge chief of police, certainly would have known how to search for, and gain access to, a closed file.

The alternative was that Reynolds was lying, and Buzz Almond had not driven to the house to question his whereabouts that night. That would have been risky, but not if Reynolds already knew, or at least believed, the file—or the incriminating portion of it—had been destroyed. As for any concern that telling a detective that Buzz Almond had questioned him about his whereabouts that night could cause people to speculate that Buzz Almond considered Reynolds a suspect, Reynolds had a ready-made alibi.

Ask his father.

In which case, Reynolds could have offered the information to convince Tracy that law enforcement had already been down that dead end.

Still, if Buzz Almond had questioned Reynolds’s whereabouts, it meant he at least suspected exactly what Tracy suspected. That Reynolds and the other three Ironmen had some role in Kimi’s death.




Tuesday, November 23, 1976



Buzz Almond parked his Suburban in the driveway of the modest one-story home at the end of the cul-de-sac. Pine needles from the surrounding trees covered the wood shake roof and overflowed the gutters. The flower beds were barren, and the lawn was buried beneath leaves fallen from the now-bare limbs of the maple tree in the center of the yard. Parked in the dirt-and-gravel driveway was a Ford Bronco.

Dressed in Levi’s and tennis shoes, Buzz zipped up his winter jacket as he approached the Bronco. The fall sunlight glinted off the windshield, which was clear but for dappled spots of sap from the trees. It didn’t have a crack, chip, smashed bug, or smudge on it. The rubber bead around the glass also looked new. Buzz circled, running his hands along the fenders and doors. Despite the recent weather—rain and snow—the Bronco also looked like it had just come out of a hand car wash, with not a speck of dirt on the body or in the cracks and grooves of the oversize tires.

When he reached the passenger side, Buzz paused to remove his sunglasses, then stepped closer. After a moment he stepped back and took a different angle, comparing where the right fender met the passenger door, separated by a thin seam. He ran his hand between the two. The fender and the hood were a slightly different shade of yellow than the door.

“You interested in the car?”

Buzz Almond looked up as Ron Reynolds came out the side door of the house. Reynolds looked every bit the part of the high school football coach, in an Adidas sweatsuit and a white ball cap with the red initials SH woven on the front.

“How much are you asking for it?” Buzz asked. The sign in the window simply said “For Sale” with a phone number.

“Twenty-five hundred.”

Buzz did his best to look disappointed. “That’s a little more than I was looking to spend.”

“It was the last year Ford made the half cab, and it’s got all the extras—bucket seats, roll bar, running lights, front winch. Did you see the ad in the Sentinel?”

“No,” Buzz said. “I was just driving by.” He’d first seen the Bronco in the Stoneridge High School parking lot, ran the plate, and determined it was registered to Ron Reynolds. He wasn’t so much interested in the car as he was the tires—oversize all-terrain tires.

“How many miles you got on it?” he asked.

“Just under forty-four thousand.”