“That’s too much.”
“My treat, you get the tip. Saturday morning, I’m picking you up at six.”
“I’ll pack the picnic.”
“No, I’ll pack the food. You never bring enough to eat.”
When Jessie left, Regan finished her toast and called Lucas Vega to confirm. He sounded pleased that she’d agreed, then she said, “Let’s establish some ground rules beforehand, good?”
“Yeah, sure. Come to the studio at seven, an hour before we go live?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I got an email last night,” Lucas said. “Can I forward it to you? I think it’s legit, but she didn’t sign it, and the email address is anonymous.”
“Sure.” She rattled off her personal email.
“Thanks, Regan.”
She ended the call, and less than ten seconds later the email came in. Regan read it twice.
One sentence really caught her eye:
they say they want to protect candace’s image, but it’s really more the sorority’s image they care about.
Who did she mean when she said they? The sorority as a whole? A group within the sorority? Did someone there know more than they’d told police?
She read the message a third time and determined that the sender was likely a senior—possibly a five-year student—who had been a freshman or sophomore when Candace disappeared. She didn’t say that Lucas couldn’t read the note on the podcast, just that she wanted to be anonymous. This might give them a jumping-off point tonight.
Regan chatted with Susan for a minute while she paid the bill with the money Jessie left, then she walked out, heading over to her truck. She thought about going home and talking to her dad—she hadn’t spoken to him since she’d walked out last night. That hour-long walk in the cold hadn’t tempered her anger. She controlled her temper well—had learned to at a young age—but the tension left her with a headache that hadn’t dissipated even after four aspirin, coffee, and food.
Not fair maybe, but nothing about life was fair.
She had just clicked the unlock button on her key fob when she heard someone call her name. She turned and almost did a double take.
“Tripp?”
“Regan Merritt, didn’t expect to see you, but sure glad I did.”
Tripp Garza strode over and gave her a tight hug. She hugged him back. She’d known Tripp practically her entire life—he was her brother JT’s best friend since kindergarten.
“I didn’t expect to see you. When I got back here in October, Dad said you were still deployed.”
“I was, took my papers in January. I gave near half my life to the army.”
The last time she’d seen Tripp was when he was best man for JT’s wedding. That was eight years ago. Back when she had a husband, and a son, and a job she loved.
“What are you doing now?” she asked.
“Same thing you are,” he answered.
She didn’t know what to say to that. What did he know? Was he also here to figure out his life?
Tripp added, “I went to see JT a few weeks ago.”
He didn’t have to say anything else. She had told her brother everything that had happened in Virginia and why she came home. She had expected his complete confidence, but she should have known better. JT and Tripp had been inseparable growing up; she shouldn’t be surprised they still shared everything now.
“Well.” She cleared her throat. She had nothing to say about it.
Tripp said, “Don’t blame JT. I asked.”
“So you’re home trying to piece together the remnants of your life, too?”
She sounded angry; maybe she was. She didn’t want to think about Chase, but he was all she had been thinking about since her dad’s comment last night. The pain was still too raw, too fresh, even though he had been killed eight months ago. She feared it would never go away, that she’d live with this constant pressure on her chest, the never-ending grief of losing the most important person in her life.
“Hell, I can’t even find the pieces to stitch back together,” he said, his tone far lighter than his words. “One day at a time.”
She nodded because she understood exactly what he meant. “You staying in town?”
“I’m thinking about taking the GI Bill and going to college. NAU.”
She laughed; she couldn’t help it. Tripp had barely survived high school, and she couldn’t see him in college.
“I know, I know. I don’t expect to finish. I just have no fucking idea what to do anymore and thought taking a couple practical classes might help put something together.”