The Mystery on Twin Peaks Drive: The Case That Refused to Die

On a cold December morning in Washington State, a mother’s world shattered with a single phone call.
“Your daughter has taken her own life,” the voice said. But Barb Thompson didn’t believe it. Not for a second.

Her daughter, Rhonda Reynolds, was 33—beautiful, strong, and one of the youngest female state troopers ever hired in Washington. She had survived a tough childhood, a high-stakes career, and a broken marriage. She was days away from starting over.

And then—suddenly—she was gone.

What police ruled a suicide never sat right with Barb. There were too many questions, too many contradictions. The gun was on the wrong side. The note didn’t sound like a goodbye. The people closest to Rhonda were hiding something.

For thirteen years, Barb refused to let the case die. What she uncovered would turn a quiet town into the center of one of the most haunting mysteries in modern American true crime.

Rhonda Reynolds grew up on a horse farm outside Spokane, Washington. Her mother, Barb, raised her alone after Rhonda’s father left when she was three. The girl was wild, fearless, and endlessly curious—racing horses, climbing fences, and chasing any challenge that crossed her path.

By the time she was a teenager, Rhonda already knew what she wanted to be: a police officer. She believed one person could make a difference, and that justice was worth fighting for.

At 22, she made history—becoming one of the youngest women ever accepted into the Washington State Patrol. Colleagues described her as brave, disciplined, and unshakably loyal. “She was tough,” one said. “But she had this warmth. You wanted to be on her side.”

She married a fellow trooper, helped raise his three children, and seemed to have built the life she always wanted. But beneath that confidence, cracks were starting to show.

In the mid-1990s, Rhonda’s career took a devastating hit. After an on-the-job injury, she was accused of collecting disability pay while still receiving a salary—a bureaucratic tangle that humiliated her and ended her dream job. Around the same time, her marriage collapsed.

She turned to her church for guidance, seeking marriage counseling from a respected local minister named Ron Reynolds. But fate took a cruel twist: Rhonda fell in love with her counselor.

By 1998, Rhonda had married Ron, a school principal and father of five. She moved into his home on Twin Peaks Drive—a house that overlooked two snow-capped mountains, Mount Rainier and Mount St. Helens. To outsiders, it looked like a fresh start. But to those who knew her best, something felt off.

Arguments flared. Rhonda accused Ron of seeing his ex-wife again. He claimed she was spending recklessly, taking out credit cards in his name. The marriage—barely a year old—was collapsing.

By December 15, Rhonda had packed her bags. She was flying home to Spokane the next morning. She told her mother, “I love you. See you tomorrow.”

She never made it home.

The next day, police arrived at the Reynolds home. Rhonda was found in the bedroom closet, a gunshot wound to the head. The weapon—a .32-caliber revolver—lay near her left hand. The scene, investigators said, looked like suicide.

But almost immediately, nothing added up.

Rhonda was right-handed, yet the gun was by her left.
There was no clear suicide note—just a lipstick message on a mirror: “I love you. Please call me.”
Her body lay curled under an electric blanket, her face serene, as if she were sleeping.

Her mother arrived in shock. Ron—Rhonda’s husband—showed no tears. And when Barb looked around, she saw something that made her blood run cold: Ron’s ex-wife, wearing a bathrobe, walking out of the bedroom.

“I knew in that moment,” Barb later said, “that my daughter didn’t take her own life.”

Police insisted otherwise. The case was closed in days, ruled suicide. Barb refused to accept it. She started her own investigation, knocking on doors, filing public records requests, demanding the truth.

And that’s when a stranger reached out—Ann Rule, one of America’s most famous true-crime authors. Together, the two women made an unlikely team: a grieving mother and a bestselling writer chasing a mystery that wouldn’t rest.

For over a decade, Barb fought every system that had failed her daughter—local police, coroners, and prosecutors who refused to reopen the case.

She collected inconsistencies:

The gun had been moved before photos were taken.
No fingerprints were found.
No gunshot residue tests were done on Ron or his teenage son, Jonathan.
And multiple witnesses recalled Rhonda sounding hopeful—not suicidal—the night before she died.

Finally, in 2011, her persistence paid off. After 13 years, the state of Washington convened a rare coroner’s inquest—a public hearing to decide whether Rhonda’s death was suicide or homicide.

Over five days, forty witnesses took the stand. Forensic experts testified the gun’s recoil and bullet trajectory didn’t match suicide. Friends described Rhonda as planning a new beginning, not an ending. Even seasoned detectives admitted the original investigation had been “terribly mishandled.”

When the jury returned, the courtroom fell silent.

“We, the jury, find that the manner of death of Rhonda Reynolds was homicide.”

Barb wept. After thirteen long years, someone finally believed her.

Then came the twist no one saw coming.

The jury didn’t stop there—they named two people responsible: Ron Reynolds and his son, Jonathan.

The coroner issued arrest warrants on the spot. Cameras rolled as father and son turned themselves in. But before the day was over, the county prosecutor refused to file charges. Key evidence had been destroyed years earlier. The suspects walked free.

Justice, it seemed, had slipped away again.

Today, more than two decades later, the Mystery on Twin Peaks Drive remains unsolved. The official death certificate now reads “homicide,” but no one has ever been charged.

Ron Reynolds resigned as school principal and faded from public view. His son Jonathan insists on his innocence. “We didn’t do it,” he said in a rare interview. “We’ve been living a nightmare ever since.”

Barb, now in her 80s, still lives on her horse farm. She keeps Rhonda’s photo by her bed. “I promised my daughter I’d find the truth,” she says softly. “And I won’t stop.”

Author Ann Rule’s book, In the Still of the Night, immortalized the case—one mother’s fight against an entire system, one woman’s quest for answers when the world told her to move on.

In the end, the story of Rhonda Reynolds isn’t just about a mysterious death.
It’s about faith, love, and the terrifying ease with which the truth can disappear.

It’s about a mother who refused to be silenced.

And it’s a haunting reminder that sometimes, justice isn’t found in courtrooms or files—but in the unbreakable heart of someone who refuses to forget.