He handed her a crumbled note. She read it. “You were going to leave her this?”
“I didn’t know if she was home. She didn’t answer the front door when I rang the bell, but I saw her car in the carport. I thought I’d leave the note on the windshield.”
“What information were you going to share?”
“Everything. All the research I’ve done, the facts of the case, the anonymous letter. I wanted to push her about what they were arguing about. I thought—maybe if I told her why I was so invested in Candace’s murder, that she might be willing to help.”
Regan hesitated. There was something odd about Lucas’s tone, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She was about to ask why he was invested in Candace’s murder, because it sounded like there was more to it than what he’d originally told her.
“It’s my fault,” he said.
“No, Lucas. This isn’t on you.”
“But it looks like she overdosed. There was a needle on the ground. What if she listened to the podcast? What if she did know more like we thought and killed herself on purpose out of guilt? Or...or she was upset and wanted to just get high but took too much? I don’t know, but this is wrong. It’s not fair.”
“Taylor’s choices are her choices, Lucas. Not yours. You can’t be responsible for what other people do. Go home. We’ll talk about this in the morning, at breakfast.”
“I’m sorry. I should have called you before I came here.”
“Yes, but I understand. It’s going to be okay.”
Lucas retreated to his truck and drove off.
Regan walked back to Prince as he was writing his report. “Deputy.”
“Are you the US Marshal or the deputy from Maricopa?” he asked. “For my report.”
“Good memory. Former marshal.”
“I didn’t work under Sheriff Merritt, but everyone liked him. I voted for him.”
“So did I, once, when I was still living here. I’m biased.” She smiled, putting the cop at ease. “Did Lucas tell you about his podcast?” She wanted to know exactly what Lucas had said to the cop. She had this nagging feeling he wasn’t telling her everything.
Prince nodded. “I asked him why he was here so late, and did he know the woman? He said he wanted to talk to her about a podcast he was doing about her best friend’s murder, and because she had been avoiding his calls and she works late, he’d hoped to catch her when she got off work. He was shaken, but that’s to be expected. He was clear when he answered my questions. Do you think something else is going on?”
“I couldn’t say. I’ve been helping Lucas and I talked to Taylor yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“You can have the detective call me if he needs to, but I don’t know what more I can say. All I know is that she was a recovering drug addict but apparently had been clean for a while. Went through rehab a while back.”
“I’ve responded to far too many overdoses in my time, and often people who have been clean have the worst reaction. They don’t realize they can’t go back to the previous levels of self-medication.”
“I hear you there.” It was a logical conclusion.
“But I’ll make sure the detective has your contact info. The paramedics said it was a likely overdose, but we’ll make sure there’s nothing else going on.”
She thanked the deputy and walked back to her truck.
Did Taylor James overdose by accident?
Or did she OD on purpose?
Either way, Lucas was going to be troubled.
It didn’t sit well with Regan, either. Something was off... It wasn’t the first time she’d thought that, but the feeling was getting stronger. Now she had to figure out why.
Twenty-Three
Three Years Ago
Saturday, April 18
Candace had failed.
She sat on a rock, high up in the mountains as the sun set, and considered her options.
Go back to campus and pretend nothing had happened. She’d probably have to explain where she’d been and what she was doing; she would lie, of course. Because without evidence, she couldn’t tell anyone the truth.
Go home. Find a way to take her finals online. Go do something with her life, anything, and get away from the toxic people at Sigma Rho. Try not to let the guilt destroy her.
Right. Because that’s worked so well for you...
Go to the police. Tell them everything and...then what? Ruin her life, ruin others’ lives, through innuendo because she had no proof of anything? No evidence, just her clouded memory. And if Taylor denied telling her the truth back then—what Candace knew to be the truth—why would anyone believe her now? And if they did believe her, what could they do about it?
Her head ached. She’d been living in a tent for the last four nights searching for answers in the middle of nowhere. She was tired and sore, and she hadn’t showered, though she’d jumped in a small freezing-cold lake yesterday because she stank.
Four full days of searching for the body...and nothing.
Maybe Taylor had lied to her. Maybe she didn’t remember correctly. Maybe Candace’s research was flawed.
But she knew what the problem was. She had some tools—a shovel, rope, lights—but she couldn’t go deep into any of the mines. It was too dangerous. She’d spent far too long trying to figure out how when she really should have spent the time figuring out what to tell the police.
Candace still didn’t know what she was going to do, but she needed to at least go back to NAU and return the truck she’d borrowed—borrowed without permission—and pack up her dorm. She couldn’t stay in the sorority, not anymore. She should have moved out long ago, but she hadn’t had the backbone until now.
Richie would let her stay with him, she was pretty certain. If she hadn’t burned that bridge along with all the other bridges she’d crossed.
When she packed up her tent and her supplies, she took one long look at the mountain she had scoured for four days. The proof was here. She just couldn’t find it.
She climbed into the truck, and as soon as she had cell-phone coverage, she took the prepaid phone she’d bought before she left Flagstaff and called Taylor. Taylor answered immediately.
“Hello?”
“Tay, it’s me. Candace.”