The Sorority Murder (Regan Merritt, #1)(84)

Everything Lucas said answered Regan’s questions and concerns. And opened up far more. According to both Candace’s roommate Annie and Richie Traverton, she had changed at the end of her fall semester—just when Lucas was pushing her for more about information about Adele. She had acted out of character, like quitting the writing lab.

“I’m really sorry.”

Guilt? Understanding? Empathy? What was Candace feeling at the time?

Regan wouldn’t think twice about her reaction if Candace was simply empathetic about what Lucas was going through. Lucas overreacted. But Candace was now dead, Taylor was dead, and they were the last two people known to have seen Adele Overton before she left campus.

“I have some evidence,” Lucas said and pulled something out of his pocket. He handed her a photo.

She recognized Taylor and Candace. “Is this Adele in the middle?”

“Yes.”

She turned over the photo. On the back was written Me with my BFFs, last day of classes before finals!

“Where did you get this?”

“Taylor’s house.”

“You said you didn’t go in the house.”

“I went back.”

“Dammit, Lucas.”

“This was all I took, I swear.” He paused. “I wore gloves.”

That didn’t make it better. Before she could admonish him further, he said, “I looked the last day of classes up from that year. November 20. Finals were the next week, then break started on November 30.”

“Did you take anything else?”

“No. I swear. But I think her computer is missing. There were cords for a laptop, but no laptop.”

“The police will have searched her house and made note of that,” she said as she handed the photo back to him. “We’ll keep this between you and me for now.” She was concerned that his impulsive actions might have a permanently detrimental impact on his future career plans.

She wanted to turn all of this over to Detective Young. If she and Lucas could make a compelling case, maybe he would pursue it.

Yet...she didn’t know if she trusted the cop. She wanted to. Nothing in his background said he was corrupt. But he was dating Rachel Wagner, which gave Regan pause.

Why? Because you didn’t like her when you met her? Or because you think she had something to do with all this?

What would Rachel gain by helping Taylor cover up Candace’s murder?

Until Regan could answer that definitively, she didn’t know how much she should tell Young. She wanted to, because it was the right thing to do: it was his investigation. But maybe...she should bring in someone else, such as turn everything over to the sheriff’s department. They technically didn’t have jurisdiction, except for Taylor’s death.

She wanted to run this all by her dad, see what he had to say. He understood the potential problems and legal issues far better than she. For her, the most important thing was to make sure Lucas and Alexa were safe now while she and Lucas kept looking into Candace’s disappearance and homicide through the podcast and follow-up.

Alexa definitely knew more about what had happened to Candace. And she might be the only person still alive who did—which put her in danger and which Regan might be able to use to get Detective Young to revisit the case sooner rather than later.

But none of Lucas’s theories pointed to who might have killed Candace.

“Lucas, I’m going to try to convince Alexa Castillo to talk to me. Can you stay here? Don’t leave the apartment. Don’t answer the door.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious,” she said because he didn’t sound convinced. “We opened up this hornets’ nest tonight. You have been feeding details about Candace’s death out, enticing listeners, implying you have more... What if the killer thinks you can implicate them?”

“But if Taylor killed Candace, why would anyone else come after me?”

“You can’t assume that, not without more evidence. Let me work this out, and I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”



Thirty-Six


It was nearly nine thirty that night when Regan arrived at Alexa Castillo’s house northeast of downtown, on a pine-lined street filled with small, well-maintained, single-story homes that were built in the early seventies. Jessie had lived not far from here when she first moved to Flagstaff with her mom; it was walking distance to their middle school for Jessie. Regan had lived too far out of town, so the bus had been her only option.

Even though the teacher didn’t have an online presence, Regan knew how to locate almost anyone, so a few public database searches and some logical guesses gave her Alexa’s address.

The lights were on, and Regan suspected that Alexa’s daughter would be asleep, so now was the best time to talk to her.

She knocked on the door. The small porch was filled with potted plants, blossoms just now peeking out as winter was fading into spring. The rain had slowed, intermittent drops falling lightly to the earth. But it was cold, and she would have really enjoyed being home with the fire going.

But she needed answers, and Alexa Castillo had them.

A man answered. Early thirties, clean-cut, Hispanic. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Alexa Castillo. I’m Regan Merritt. I talked to her at her school earlier today.”