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Back The Sorority Murder Save as PDF
Chapters (61)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. From the Missing Journal of Candace Swain
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. From the Missing Journal of Candace Swain
  18. Thirteen
  19. Fourteen
  20. Fifteen
  21. From the Missing Journal of Candace Swain
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-One
  28. From the Missing Journal of Candace Swain
  29. Twenty-Two
  30. Twenty-Three
  31. Twenty-Four
  32. Twenty-Five
  33. Twenty-Six
  34. Twenty-Seven
  35. Twenty-Eight
  36. Twenty-Nine
  37. Thirty
  38. Thirty-One
  39. Thirty-Two
  40. Thirty-Three
  41. Thirty-Four
  42. From the Missing Journal of Candace Swain
  43. Thirty-Five
  44. Thirty-Six
  45. Thirty-Seven
  46. Thirty-Eight
  47. From the Journal of Candace Swain
  48. Thirty-Nine
  49. Forty
  50. Forty-One
  51. Forty-Two
  52. Forty-Three
  53. Forty-Four
  54. Forty-Five
  55. Forty-Six
  56. Forty-Seven
  57. Letter Found in the Journal of Candace Swain
  58. Forty-Eight
  59. Acknowledgments
  60. Booklist
  61. Excerpt

Candace was a neat person. She never left her desk a mess. She remembered where she put everything.

She looked in all three desk drawers; papers were disorganized. This wasn’t how she left her space.

She reassessed her room. Annie’s side was neat, as it always was, her bed made, three oversize, fluffed pillows covering half the bed.

Candace looked at her own bookshelf. The books were jostled, as if someone had pulled every book out to look inside and put it back without care. Her small bird-of-paradise that she had growing by the window had been knocked over: soil had spilled on the floor, but someone had righted the plant again. One of the stems had broken.

Someone had rifled through her things. Why? Why would anyone want to look through her stuff? And how did they get in?

She sat on her bed and didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, she was scared. She realized she couldn’t trust anyone, not her friends, not her roommate, not her teachers—someone had been looking for something, but what could they possibly want? Money? No, that was silly.

She stared at her overnight bag and felt the blood drain from her face. She knew exactly what someone had been looking for.

And who.

She grabbed her bag and her car keys and left.

Fourteen

Wednesday

Regan woke up early Wednesday morning to find her father already eating breakfast in the nook. It was one of Regan’s favorite rooms, and it reminded her of when life was less complicated, less sad.

“There’s plenty left,” John said when he heard Regan in the kitchen. She poured coffee, then dished up potatoes and eggs and sausage.

“And you said you couldn’t cook,” she said as she sat down.

Her father, who still preferred a physical paper to the internet, put his sports page down. He said, “Breakfast is easy. I can make you some toast.”

“This is good.”

She sipped her coffee. She hadn’t talked to her dad, not more than a few words, since she’d walked out on Monday night. “I’m sorry about Monday.”

“I know.”

“It’s hard for me to talk about it.” By it she meant the murder of her son. She didn’t want to say it out loud. That probably wasn’t healthy, but she didn’t care.

“Regan,” John said, “I miss him. It’s not the same as your loss, but I miss Chase.”

She cringed hearing his name spoken. “I know.”

“When you’re ready to find answers, I’ll be here for you. You know that.”