Chapter 8 #2
Traci leaned forward, her features sharpening.
“Well, interesting that you mention that. I tried to tell those cops that, but they didn’t seem to think it was important.
She rarely came alone. Poor thing.” She clucked her tongue.
“But she did that day. I thought it was important, you know?” She chewed the pad of her thumb as she cocked an eyebrow, waiting for my reaction.
“It is interesting,” I agreed solemnly. It was. Anything out of character or out of someone’s pattern caught my interest. “Do you remember if she bought anything?”
“I sure do, honey. Hang tight.”
Traci hurried to the back office and returned with a few pieces of paper, which she spread out on the counter.
“When the cops were here the first time, I had these ready for them when I heard they were looking for Allison.” Her eyes softened as she spread the papers out.
“I felt sorry for her. There wasn’t much I could do, but …
” She shook her head, her eyes not meeting mine.
“I did go back through and make a copy of the receipts for the cops of the stuff that Trent bought in here and the stuff that she bought that day. Here.” She slid them over to me.
The two photocopies were a bunch of receipts, but she’d organized them by date. The last one was the day Allison disappeared.
“The system uses codes, so I made the officers a cheat sheet to line things up, ya know?” She turned the last piece towards me and leaned onto the counter.
“This is amazing. Thanks so much, Traci. This is a big help.” My eyes scanned over the receipts and back, trying to line things up. “She bought a rope and a tarp?”
“Yep. And some duct tape and zip ties.” Her nail tapped over on the little cheat sheet she’d made. “See?”
“Huh. And …” My eyes flew over the receipts, my brain scrambling.
“I’m sure. It was her that day who bought them. He was at the mill that day at work.” I nodded, my brain still working as I examined the receipt. My finger traced the items on Trent’s receipts. “Here.”
She gave me a self-satisfied smirk. “I knew you’d catch it.”
“He bought almost the same five things just two months earlier?” I pulled back a little as my mind raced with the possibilities. Murder kit? Kidnapping kit? “And a shovel.”
“Cops said it didn’t mean anything. That they’d take the information, but that was all.” Her pencil-thin eyebrows pulled together as her brow wrinkled in a frown. “It’s weird.”
“It is weird,” I muttered. “I’m not exactly sure how it all fits together, but it definitely stands out to me, Traci.” She nodded and gave me a long look.
“So, if you’re gonna talk about it on your show or whatever? I don’t mind if you have to put my name.” She shrugged a little, her shoulders hunching. “Trent’s a dick, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem, and I already told the cops this stuff.”
“I’ll be talking about Allison’s disappearance on my podcast, but if someone wants to remain anonymous, I always respect that.” There was a chance that she wanted to change her mind, but I didn’t think so.
“Nah, it’s fine. Really. You want that caulk? Or was that just an excuse to come in here?” Her eyes narrowed.
“I want it.” I tried to sound believable.
She gave me a blistering smile and then turned so I could follow her through the small store, weaving through crowded aisles. “I have three different kinds. Weatherproof, like for outdoor use. Or stuff for indoor near a tub and shower, and then painters caulk.”
“The weatherproof stuff for outside.” Seemed the most useful kind. Who didn’t need caulking when you had twelve cabins to take care of? Traci nodded sagely as if she didn’t know I was shining her on, but walked me back up to the front counter and rang me up.
“I appreciate you being willing to come forward. It’s all super good information.” I picked up the tube of caulk. “If you think of anything else, you can reach out. My contact info is on the card.”
“Sure thing, doll. Good luck. I sure hope you can figure it out. That poor thing.” She shook her head sadly.
Back in the car, I jotted down a few notes about my conversation with Traci before taking some pictures of the hardware store.
I’d already gone around town yesterday and snapped plenty of photos to help me get into the groove.
Later, when I was back at the cabin, I would start organizing things to piece them together and help clarify my thoughts on Allison’s timeline.
Some of the pictures would go on the website right before the first podcast. That was when things would start cranking.
People would start posting, and everyone would get busy helping me solve this.
The reality was that someone probably killed Allison Finch. The question was who? It was true that you needed to focus on the basics when investigating a crime and motives. I’d look at all of those things … but someone who knew her was at the top of my list.
While driving past the mill where Trent Finch worked, I stopped to take pictures.
Later, once I had a better understanding of the case, I planned to talk to him, too, but not yet.
Traci had already confirmed that he’d been a dick to her, and even if the police had cleared him, he didn’t have an alibi.
I turned the car toward Dinah’s Eats — a diner that looked like it should smell like pancakes and heartbreak, and it did. The police report didn’t mention questioning anyone there, but it was worth a try.
Margo, the waitress, had kind eyes and a voice like someone who’d seen the worst and smoked three packs of cigarettes a day while she did it.
She said Allison came in alone once a week.
“She’d tip three dollars for a coffee. She’d fold those dollar bills in half.
Crisp, like she did it in advance. I always thought it was a little kooky, but she was a cutie.
” She clucked her tongue. “That husband of hers. He comes in once in a while for the hash. The corned beef one, not the pork.” She gave me a look that said I should know that already, but I kept myself still and didn’t mention that any kind of hash made me want to vomit.
All those pieces together? Who even knew what they ground up in it?
“He’s a piece of work. He actually laughed about the cops wasting their time on the whole thing.
Can’t imagine someone not looking for her.
She couldn’t have been older than my granddaughter. ”
A man at the counter chimed in with another comment about Trent’s temper. “That boy is angry all the time. He should stay in King Valley and stop bothering us over here,” he muttered into his coffee.
I perked up. The Finches rented a home in King Valley, nearly twenty-five minutes away from Briar Falls, but Trent made the drive over for the mill work. I wasn’t totally sure why Allison would be coming here at all.
“He works over at the mill, huh?” I mumbled over my coffee towards the man at the counter.
The older man looked at me carefully for a minute. “That’s right. Got that job ‘cuz he’s friends with Barry.”
My brain scrambled to figure out if I’d seen a ‘Barry’ in any of the information I’d pulled on Trent Finch and how that would slot into making a difference to him being able to get a job at the mill, but then Margo supplied, “Chief Galloway’s boy. He and Trent are friends.”
Ah, well, that was interesting. I filed that away for later.
After finishing my coffee (which was terrible) and leaving a generous tip for Margo, I headed to my car to record everything.
My thoughts were disorganized but rapid, woven with facts and feelings, and the instinct that something here was off.
It was an obvious conclusion that the husband was responsible.
He sounded like he was an abusive fuck, and he was friends with the son of the police chief.
It seemed like a slam dunk in the corruption category.
Taking a deep breath, I made my final stop at the gas station outside of Briar Falls. It had been documented in the police report that Allison had stopped to fill up.
The pimply faced teenager didn’t have much to add to the story, but had been apologetic.
“I don’t know, man. She was just upset,” he shrugged. “Said she was getting free.”
Getting free.
The same words Jane used to say when she was overwhelmed. The same words I had ignored the night before she disappeared.
The sky bruised purple on the drive back to Wildwood Meadows.
The ridge to my right cast long shadows, swallowing chunks of the road in darkness as I thought about all the people I’d spoken to, starting with Traci, then Margo, the others at the diner, and the gas station attendant.
They’d seen her, but they hadn’t heard her.
That made me mad.