In the Clearing

by Robert Dugoni

  Ron Reynolds had refused to plea. He was being held without bail at the Klickitat County jail. The prosecutor was pursuing a second-degree murder charge.

  The ceremony to name the stadium for Ron Reynolds had been permanently canceled, and Eric had withdrawn his father’s name from consideration. Instead, at Eric’s request, the stadium would be renamed Kimi Kanasket Memorial Stadium. The ceremony was to take place at a football game the following fall. Élan Kanasket had called and invited Tracy to attend, and told her that several thousand Native Americans intended to caravan from the Yakama Reservation to Stoneridge for the ceremony.

  Jenny stepped from the gathering and greeted Tracy. The two women hugged. “Thanks for coming,” she said.

  “Wouldn’t have missed it,” Tracy said. Buzz Almond’s final resting place afforded views of the Columbia River Gorge and both Mount Adams and Mount Hood. “It’s a beautiful spot.”

  “My father bought it when they made him sheriff,” Jenny said. “I guess he figured he’d die in office, one way or another. He was always big on putting down roots.”

  Tracy greeted the rest of the family. Anne Almond looked thinner but still stately in a soft blue dress, and the kids were again in their Sunday best, fidgeting like racehorses in the starting gate.

  The same priest who had presided over Buzz Almond’s funeral performed the ceremony, blessing the blue-tinted marble headstone and sprinkling it with holy water.

  Theodore Michael “Buzz” Almond Jr.

  Klickitat County Sheriff

  March 3, 1949–Oct. 25, 2016

  After the blessing, members of the family stepped forward to place items at the grave, as Jenny had informed Tracy when she’d invited her. Tracy didn’t know the significance of each gift, but clearly they meant something to each family member. One of the grandsons left a model airplane; a granddaughter left a small stuffed elephant. Sarah and her brother, Trey, walked hand in hand with Jenny and Neil. Trey left a baseball. Sarah left a tiny plastic pony. When the family had finished, Tracy reached into her purse and retrieved the slip of paper she’d brought with her. She walked to the tombstone, bent to a knee, and placed the final closing papers on the Kimi Kanasket investigation against the blue stone.

  “Rest in peace, Buzz Almond,” she said.

  At the conclusion of the ceremony, Jenny said, “We’re going to have lunch back at the house. Very informal. Can you come?”

  “Thanks,” Tracy said, squeezing Dan’s hand, “but we’re going to get started for Sunriver.”

  Jenny gave them each a hug. “Thanks for everything you did,” she said to Tracy. “It meant so much to me and to my family.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Tracy said. “It was your father. He did all the legwork. This was his investigation.”

  “You’ll come back soon and visit?” Jenny asked.

  “Count on it,” Tracy said. “And when you come to Seattle, you call. You tell Sarah and Trey that Auntie Tracy will take them anytime the two of you want a night on the town.”

  Jenny looked to Dan. “You on board for that, Dan?”

  “If I can handle Rex and Sherlock, I think I can handle a couple of kids.”

  Tracy laughed. “You have no idea,” she said.

  Inside the Tahoe, Dan buckled his seat belt but didn’t start the engine. “If you’d like to go to the reception, I don’t mind.”

  Tracy shook her head. “Thanks, but I want this to be our time together.”

  Dan looked suddenly serious. “Speaking of time together, I have something to talk to you about.”

  “Okay,” she said, uncertain from his solemn tone what might be coming next.

  “I’m going to be moving.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve come to realize that at this point in my life, Cedar Grove is just too isolated, and it isn’t healthy being alone that much.”

  Tracy felt as though she’d been kicked in the gut. “Where are you thinking of going? Back to Boston?”

  “Boston? No. Why would I go back to Boston?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought—”

  “Boston is in the past,” Dan said, still looking serious. “And you know I don’t like cities. Do you want me to move back to Boston?”

  “No. I just . . . I’m confused. Start over. Where are you moving to?”

  Dan smiled, and Tracy realized he’d been playing with her. “I found a little five-acre farm in Redmond that’s got a small fixer-upper on it to keep me busy, and a stream, and plenty of pasture for Rex and Sherlock.”

  Tracy punched Dan in the arm. Redmond was just half an hour from downtown Seattle.

  “Ow. I thought you’d be happy,” he said.

  Tracy tried to be upset, but she could feel her entire face flush and couldn’t keep from smiling. “I’m not sure about this,” she said, playing coy. “What about your law practice?”

  “Well, seeing as how most of my work is down here now, it seems to make sense.”

  “So this is a business decision,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t call it business. I’d call it very personal.” He leaned across the car and kissed her.

  When their lips parted, Tracy said, “But you love Cedar Grove, Dan.”

  “I do,” he said, reaching out, touching her chin, and drawing her closer. “But I love you more.”

  They kissed again, and this time when they parted, Dan sat back. “Besides, I’m not selling the house. I thought it would be a great place for the two of us to get away on the weekends to do some fishing and hiking. Maybe play a little golf.”

  Tracy cleared her throat. “You know I don’t golf.”

  “No, but I can teach you.”

  She laughed. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. The last time you gave me a lesson, we ended up in bed together.”

  “Oh, I remember,” he said. “And as your golf instructor, I’m recommending frequent lessons.”

  “Then I’m hoping my second lesson will be tonight,” Tracy said.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to all the readers who send me e-mails expressing how much they enjoy my acknowledgments. After eleven books, I’ve found this to be a place to not only say thank you, but to express how blessed and grateful I am for everyone in my life.

  First and foremost, while I always get a kick out of reader e-mails and reviews telling me the towns in my books don’t exist—such as Cedar Grove in the North Cascades (My Sister’s Grave), let me say this up front. Stoneridge is a fictional town I created in Klickitat County. Yes, some readers may find some of the details of the town resemble White Salmon, a place I thoroughly enjoyed exploring for two days, but Stoneridge is not White Salmon. Why do I do this? Because it is never my intent to embarrass anyone or the town in which they live, and often readers write to ask me if the events in my novels are true—which is a good thing. Again, I write fiction. The events, like the towns and the characters that populate my novels, are fictional. The details pertaining to the White Salmon River, however, as discussed below, are true.

  That being said, thank you to Maria Foley, executive director of the Mt. Adams Chamber of Commerce. When I arrived in White Salmon, I didn’t know where to start. Maria provided me with materials on the area, including its history, directed me to the local newspaper office and diner, and provided me with the names of several people who could help.

  One of those people was Mark Zoller, of Zoller’s Outdoor Odysseys, which runs guided white-water rafting trips. I stopped by the Zollers’ office during my visit to the area, but, it being winter, the office was closed. I subsequently reached Mark by phone and quickly realized he was indeed the man I needed. Mark grew up on rivers and was guiding rafting trips for his father’s business before he could drive. He possesses a wealth of information and provided me with all the cool details on river flow, temperatures, and the specifics of the White Salmon River, including where someone might dump a body and the path the body would take. Timing did not allow me to actually raft the river before
my deadline, but I walked a good portion of it, and next summer I’m hoping to take my family.

  Thanks also to my friend Jim Russi, a Rotarian in Yakima, for taking an afternoon to give me a tour of the Yakama Reservation and show me some of the beautiful towns there. We’d discussed a barbecue at the end of the day but had a beer instead, and time ran short and we each had to ask for a rain check. Shortly after my trip, Jim lost his beloved wife, Kris, unexpectedly to cancer. I was deeply saddened to hear this news. I will continue to honor Kris by using her inflatable boogie board, which Jim shipped to me. I’ll think of her every time I’m riding a wave. Note to self: make time for the next barbecue.

  As always, the people acknowledged below are experts in their fields. I am not. Any mistakes or errors are mine, and mine alone.

  I am grateful to Kathy Decker, former Search and Rescue coordinator for the King County Sheriff’s Office and well-known sign-cutter, otherwise known as a “man-tracker.” Detective Decker first helped me when I wrote Murder One, and I was overwhelmed at the response from readers interested in her skills. She again was gracious enough to offer her assistance to explain how a tracker can follow signs that most of us would never see. This time I made her task even more difficult, asking her how she would proceed to analyze a forty-year-old homicide, but she was up to the task. It is a fascinating science, and I hope I did it justice.

  Thank you to Kathy Taylor, forensic anthropologist at the King County Medical Examiner’s Office. Kathy’s talents are in such demand that her schedule is hectic and we couldn’t coordinate a meeting this time, but I used a lot of her expertise from past interviews to help with the forensic aspects of a body pulled from a river.

  Thank you to Adrienne McCoy, King County senior deputy prosecutor, who helped me with the nuances of probable cause hearings, charging papers, and how her office would likely proceed given the unusual murder scenario I present in this novel. I am grateful for her patience and expertise.

  I’ve also been fortunate to meet many wonderful people in the police community who are always generous with their time and their knowledge. I have tremendous respect for people who choose law enforcement as a profession. It is often a thankless job under trying circumstances.

  I flat out could not write these books without the assistance of Detective Jennifer Southworth, of the Seattle Police Department. Jennifer first helped me with Murder One when she was working for the CSI Unit. With her promotion to the Homicide Unit, she became the inspiration for Tracy Crosswhite in My Sister’s Grave. She helped with that novel, with Her Final Breath, and again with this novel. I am so very grateful.

  I also could not write these novels without Detective Scott Tompkins, King County Sheriff’s Office, Major Crimes Unit. Scott’s willingness to always help me by sharing his knowledge, or by putting me in touch with others who could provide information, has been invaluable. For this novel I literally sat down with Scott, gave him a scenario, and said, “Walk me through it.” He did, providing me cool details and suggestions along the way. Talk about patience. Scott and Jennifer are active helping the families of victims of crime through Victim Support Services, a worthy cause to which I donate signed novels. Consider it: http://victimsupportservices.org.

  Thanks also to Kelly Rosa, legal services supervisor for the Most Dangerous Offender Project and the Violent Crimes Unit for the King County Prosecuting Attorney’s Office. Oh, and also a lifelong friend. Kelly has helped me in just about every novel I’ve written, and she promotes them like crazy. I thought it time she take a new step in her career, so I made her a forensic anthropologist in My Sister’s Grave. I suspect she’ll be making more cameos in these books. Thanks, Kelly. You continue to be an incredible support.

  Thank you to super-agent Meg Ruley and her team at the Jane Rotrosen Agency, including Rebecca Scherer, who offers terrific suggestions for my manuscripts and is an absolute wiz on everything to do with e-books. You want to know how wonderful the people who work at JRA are? When I traveled to New York and had a business dinner, Rebecca took my daughter out for a night in Manhattan, which Catherine is still talking about. Then the agency secured orchestra tickets to The Lion King. Made me look like the world’s greatest dad! To top it off, Meg and her husband delayed a trip to London to be at the International Thriller Writers awards dinner when My Sister’s Grave was nominated as one of the best thrillers of the year. Great agency, better people. These past two years have been phenomenal on so many levels, and the culmination of ten years of terrific guidance and insight into the business. I am so very grateful.

  Thanks to Thomas & Mercer for believing in Tracy Crosswhite. This is the third book in the series, and I look forward to writing more. Special thanks to Charlotte Herscher, developmental editor. She’s edited all the Tracy Crosswhite novels and made every one infinitely better. Thanks also to Elizabeth Johnson, copyeditor. I asked for the best—grammar and punctuation not being my strength—and they immediately recommended Elizabeth. She pushes me on just about every sentence and word choice, and the books are infinitely more accurate.

  Thanks to Jacque Ben-Zekry in marketing, who is a true force of nature and does an incredible job promoting my novels. Your efforts pushed me to number one in the past, and I hope we will do it again. Thanks to Tiffany Pokorny in author relations for always going the extra step to make me feel appreciated. My family has become a big fan of Thomas & Mercer for all the terrific gifts and little acknowledgments you send. You are the best. Thanks to my publicist, Gracie Doyle. She works tirelessly promoting my books and always has a creative idea and a bit of good news to go with her relentlessly upbeat demeanor. Thanks to Kjersti Egerdahl, acquisitions editor, and Sean Baker, production manager. Thanks to publisher Mikyla Bruder, associate publisher Hai-Yen Mura, and Jeff Belle, vice president of Amazon Publishing. These people all walk the walk when it comes to their authors and their authors’ work, and each has helped me to quickly feel at home.

  Special thanks to Thomas & Mercer’s editorial director, Alan Turkus, for his guidance, spot-on editorial advice, and friendship. I sincerely hope we get to light the “#1” sign again and keep it lit many weeks and months. You have been a true guiding force.

  Thanks to Tami Taylor, who runs my website, creates my foreign-language book covers, creates my newsletter, and otherwise does a fantastic job. Thanks to Sean McVeigh at 425 Media for his help with all my social-media needs. You’re both a lot smarter than I am, and I’m glad to have you on my team. Thanks to Pam Binder and the Pacific Northwest Writers Association for their tremendous support of my work.

  Thank you also to the loyal readers who write to tell me how much they enjoy my books and await the next. You are the reason I keep looking for the next great story.

  By the time this book is published, my son, Joe, will be finishing his first year of college. Today, however, as I write this, he is still at home, and I am reminiscing on just about everything over the last eighteen years. I remembered with sadness the morning I awoke to make Joe his final school lunch. After twelve years, my wife and I calculated that we had probably made him close to two thousand lunches. I’d already experienced his last high school football game, and there was his last prom, his last class, his last assembly, and his graduation dinner and ceremony. I’m not looking forward to his last night at home before we take him off to college. I’ll keep a stiff upper lip, but I’m Italian, and inside I’ll be crying like a baby—just like that final-school-lunch morning when I smeared mayonnaise on his turkey-and-cheese sandwich; and as I stood in the stands and watched the clock tick to 0:00; and when I tried to tell him at that graduation dinner how proud I am of him; and as I sat in the audience and wiped tears as he walked across the stage in his cap and gown with a big smile on his face. You get the point. The thing is, I’m not just sending a son off to college. I’m losing my late-night TV partner, the best sandwich maker in Seattle, my workout buddy, and the audience for all my Seinfeld references and corny jokes. I know this is not an ending but a beginning
, and I’m excited for Joe as he starts what will be a great next stage in his life. I’m proud of you, son. Time to fly.

  While my daughter, Catherine, is not celebrating such a milestone, she did turn sixteen and passed her driving test. She also got to spend four days in Manhattan with me on a father-daughter trip that only confirmed that I am truly blessed. What a great kid. Poised, polite, respectful, and as fun and funny as ever. That is a memory I’ll cherish forever. And she took several hundred photographs to document it!

  Saving the best for last, to the love of my life, Cristina, who continues to stand beside me with each step of life’s journey. Thanks for always being there. Time for us to fly as well. After all, we do have forever . . . and a day.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2015 Catherine Dugoni

  Robert Dugoni is the critically acclaimed bestselling author of nine thrillers. My Sister’s Grave, the first book in the Tracy Crosswhite series, became a #1 Amazon bestseller and a New York Times and Wall Street Journal bestseller. The popular series includes Her Final Breath and the short stories The Academy and Third Watch. Dugoni’s first novel, The Jury Master, made the New York Times bestseller list and launched the popular David Sloane series, which includes Wrongful Death, Bodily Harm, Murder One, and The Conviction. Dugoni’s books have been likened to those of Scott Turow and Nelson DeMille, and he has been hailed as “the undisputed king of the legal thriller” and the “heir to Grisham’s literary throne.”

  Visit his website at www.robertdugoni.com and follow him on Twitter @robertdugoni and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/AuthorRobertDugoni.