“One of Henry’s students has a podcast. He’s retracing Swain’s steps, trying to find out exactly where she was after she disappeared and before her body was found.”
Her dad frowned. “I forgot about that aspect of the case. I assumed that she died shortly after she disappeared.”
“According to Lucas—the kid who’s running this project—no one knows where Candace was or what she was doing for more than a week prior to her murder. He wants to interview me on his podcast, but I made no promises—other than to listen to the first two episodes and see what he has and if it’s interesting. Want to listen with me?”
“Sure, it’s not too late.” Her dad put his feet up on the ottoman and leaned back.
She glanced at the clock. It was eight thirty. Too late by her dad’s standard was ten o’clock. He was the poster child for the Early to bed, early to rise philosophy.
Regan took out her earbuds and turned up the volume on her phone. Living in the mountains didn’t make for speedy internet, even in the twenty-first century, so she’d downloaded the two recordings earlier.
Music, sort of a contemporary combination of The X-Files and America’s Most Wanted with a jazzy beat, filtered in.
Lucas’s voice was smooth, as if he had some experience with radio, even though he sounded nervous at the beginning. As he went on, he gained confidence, and his voice reflected that.
“My name is Lucas Vega, and I’m the host of The Sorority Murder, a podcast about the cold-case homicide of NAU nursing student Candace Swain.
“The Sorority Murder is an eight-episode program that airs twice weekly, live, on Tuesdays and Fridays. I am asking anyone who has information about the case to call in and share.” He gave a phone number. “Tonight, I’m going to tell you about Candace and what we know about the night she disappeared from the Sigma Rho Spring Fling party three years ago.”
Lucas quickly ran through the victim’s background. Candace grew up in Colorado Springs, the older of two girls. She had a strained relationship with her parents after they divorced when she was fourteen but was very close to her younger sister, now a senior at the University of South Carolina.
“Chrissy Swain remembers her sister as the first person to help a friend, the first person to volunteer at school,” Lucas said.
A female voice came on. “Candy was special. Candy—she hated when anyone else called her that name, but she let me.”
John leaned forward and muttered, “Smart move to interview the sister.”
“We grew up in a typical house with typical divorced parents,” Chrissy said. “It bothered Candy more than me, maybe because she was older, I don’t know. We were both close to our grandma, and we spent a lot of time at her house, especially when our parents started dating other people. That was…well, weird, to be honest. Candy came to every one of my swim meets, and after she went to college she often came back for the weekend if I had a big competition. She would drive me all over before I got my license, even though she was popular and always had dates or things to do. She played soccer, and she was a cheerleader, and she got invited to every party, but if I needed to be picked up after a late practice, she was there for me. I miss her.”
Lucas said, “Candace had been a straight-A student in high school and received an academic scholarship to NAU, where she studied to be a nurse. Chrissy said she was excited about her new career. Because of her volunteer work at Sunrise Center, a homeless shelter and food kitchen in downtown Flagstaff, Candace wanted to work in a clinic in an underprivileged area, focusing on people who’d slipped through the cracks.”
Chrissy said, “Candy was about helping people. That’s all she wanted to do.”
Lucas discussed how Candace joined the Sigma Rho sorority because of the large percentage of women there majoring in STEM. She quickly moved up the sisterhood ranks, becoming a general-council member her second year, the secretary her third year, and vice president her fourth year. She also served as liaison to the Greek Council, tutored at the writing center, maintained a 3.7 GPA over her first seven semesters, and volunteered every Tuesday at Sunrise Center.
“I reached out to the director, Willa March, who knew Candace during that time.”
“Candace was our most reliable and dedicated volunteer,” Willa—by her voice, older—said. “We are a low-overhead organization that relies on volunteers and donations for much of what we do. She served food, talked to our guests as people, not problems. She assisted our volunteer doctor in our weekly clinic. Her murder hit us all hard. The world is poorer without Candace in it.”