“Maybe,” Regan said carefully, “but someone who was there claims that their argument wasn’t solely about Abernathy.”

“I can’t imagine what. Taylor spoke to the police. She told them everything she knew.”

“I tracked down Taylor, asked her about that night, but she wasn’t very helpful.”

Rachel looked surprised. “You talked to Taylor?”

“I just want to get the facts straight.”

“Taylor has a serious drug problem. I don’t know that she’d remember what happened yesterday, let alone three years ago. Her problem started at the end of her senior year—related to the fact that one of her closest friends had been killed. I was the one who took her to rehab the first time, got her cleaned up. But a second time? I can’t do it. It hurts too much to help, only to have her go back to her old ways.”

“She seemed to be doing okay. Thank you for your time, Rachel. Let me know what Vicky says about talking to me.”

Regan left, thinking about the conversation. Rachel was protective of the sorority, but Regan still didn’t understand why she didn’t want the truth. Yes, the police were generally best at solving capital crimes, but they were stuck. Young had said as much. So having Lucas shake things up was a good thing. Rachel’s concerns seemed minor and almost petty, as if she had a personal problem with Lucas.

Still, maybe Vicky Ryan would talk to her. If not, Regan might just have to seek out other sorority sisters.

Regan had said to Lucas that someone had lied to the police; Young had confirmed the same gut feeling. Who? And why?

Someone in the sorority knew more than they had told the police, and whoever it was may be too scared to come forward. Both the letter to Lucas and the call they got about Candace driving on campus Sunday night had been anonymous. Even Annie’s reticence to call in to the podcast was odd. Was something more going on with the sorority? Too many people were acting odd, almost scared.

Regan slipped on her sunglasses, breathing in the fresh spring air as she crossed campus to the public lot. It was a beautiful afternoon, and the sun revitalized her. Even being on campus wasn’t as weird as she’d thought it might be. There was a warm, familiar nostalgia as she recalled friends and events during her four years here. Playing spontaneous games of beach volleyball in the sandpit in the middle of campus; hiking to the bottom of the Grand Canyon with her geology class; going to the football games with Jessie and their small group of friends. Regan never had a large friend group, but the friends she had were good ones, men and women she still kept in touch with.