I hate myself. I hate my sisters. What is loyalty when they want you to do the wrong thing?
I don’t blame Alexa. She was so out of it that night, and she has someone more important to worry about. She would have come with me to Payson if she weren’t so pregnant and throwing up every morning. She’s scared about the baby, about being a single mom, and I don’t want to add to that. None of this was her fault. She said when I had proof she would back me up. But how can she when she doesn’t remember anything that happened the night Adele died?
I can’t live like this anymore. Damn Lucas Vega for reminding me that there are people out there who loved Adele.
Maybe it was spending winter break with my baby sister who has always, 100% of the time, done the right thing. She would be the first to say she’s not perfect, but I don’t see it. She is kind, she is truthful, she is sweet and loving and smart and helpful. I was going to tell her what happened to Adele and seek her advice, but I didn’t have the courage. And I knew exactly what she would have said.
She’d have told me to come forward. Because it is the right thing to do. I can practically hear her voice: “Better late than never, Candy Cane.” She’s the only person I ever allow to call me Candy, a nickname I hate. But Chrissy says it with love. I miss her so much.
I hate that I’m going to disappoint her. My parents, sure, but mostly my little sister who always looked up to me, when truthfully, I looked up to her because she is a better person than I could ever hope to be.
I’m really scared. When I came back after talking to Alexa, Taylor saw me. Asked me where I was and what I was doing. I lied, of course. I will never risk Alexa, not after everything she’s done for me. But I couldn’t stay in the dorm anymore. Taylor wasn’t herself, she seemed...cold. Different. She gave off a weird vibe. I think she’s the one who searched my dorm room over the weekend. Things were moved and my plant was knocked over. It was her or Rachel. I just think Rachel would have been sneakier and have cleaned up the mess.
I can’t believe Taylor would try to hurt me, but I also can’t believe what we all did three years ago, and that she’s okay with it.
I think I’ve finally figured out where they took Adele’s body. I narrowed it down to three possible places. I’m going to find proof. Taylor can’t know what I’m doing. I can’t let her or Rachel stop me. I have to just do it. Like Chrissy always says: Do, or do not.
I don’t trust Taylor anymore. She knows I write everything in this journal. But in case something happens, I’m writing a letter to Adele’s family to explain what happened and ask for forgiveness.
But mostly, to give them the closure they need. Because if I can’t forgive myself, I don’t expect anyone else to.
Thirty-Nine
Regan realized that what they had discovered was in a sense Candace Swain’s deathbed confession. There was a good chance that a judge would consider it as testimony, but Regan was unsure about the legal aspects of what was admissible or not.
That was Candace’s last entry; she’d never come back to the library after Tuesday. But she’d included her notes on how she picked the places to look for Adele’s body, and copies of maps.
There was also a sealed letter, addressed to Mr. & Mrs. Overton. Lucas couldn’t stop staring at it.
She had to get this diary somewhere safe. It should convince Young that his girlfriend was at best an irresponsible bitch and at worst a killer. But first, she needed to make a copy. Better, she should make a copy to give to the police and give the original to Henry Clarkson. She trusted him, and he was still a registered lawyer, still part of the legal system, even though he didn’t practice.
Until she knew exactly who else she could trust, this was the most valuable piece of evidence they had about what had happened to Adele Overton—and what might have happened to Candace.
“What do we do now?” Lizzy asked. “This is—I mean, I don’t think we expected this when we started the podcast. Did you, Lucas?”
“I don’t know what I expected. I just wanted the truth.”
Regan said, “Stay put. I’m going to copy this.”
Regan went to the library media center and carefully made two Xerox copies of the journal. It started at the beginning of her senior year and was labeled on the first page Candace Swain’s Journal, #6 and ended the Monday before she was killed, based on the dates. She had somehow been in the library that night, presumably to add this last journal entry and research Payson. Why spend the night in the library? Was she scared to go back to her dorm?
Regan felt the pain in Candace’s writing. Her soul-searching and her guilt and her desire to do the right thing, even if she got in trouble, was clear on every page. She was a good person at heart. Torn and alone, wanting to fix everything.
Regan was pretty certain that Rachel had killed Candace to keep her from going to the police. Rachel had made one big mistake: she had moved the body. Did she do that because of who would be investigating? Or because she had been seen near the aquatic center? Perhaps she moved the body to destroy evidence or delay the investigation. Did she have help? There were external security cameras. How had she avoided them?
And why didn’t she take Candace’s body to the Payson mine where she’d dumped Adele?
She had only part of the picture, but she was now certain that it was Rachel who’d told Nicole Bergamo not to tell anyone she saw Candace in the truck. Why, Regan could only speculate. Maybe Rachel thought if Candace were found by the police first, she would tell them about Adele. Then, when Nicole went on the podcast, whoever she told—Rachel or someone else—had known it was Nicole sharing the story, even with the disguised voice.
And now Nicole was in the hospital, in a coma.