“Coming, coming!” a voice called from inside.
Taylor James opened the front door, looking nothing like the vibrant woman in her Sigma Rho picture. Through the screen, she appeared ghostly—hollow features, sunken eyes, underweight. Her hair had highlights that had mostly grown out. Stale cigarette smoke filled Regan’s nose.
“You know, I work nights, so this is early for me.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. James. My name is Regan Merritt, and I’m investigating the disappearance and murder of Candace Swain some years ago. It’s my understanding that you were one of the last people to see her before she disappeared.”
“Are you a cop?”
“No, ma’am. I’m just an investigator.” She itched to say private investigator, and she could probably get away with it, but she wasn’t licensed and didn’t want to imply that she was. Her dad had brought up the subject a few months ago—that maybe she should consider private law-enforcement or investigative services. One of his buddies who’d retired early after being shot in the line of duty ran an agency in Scottsdale, mostly former law enforcement. But Regan didn’t know what she wanted to do now that she was no longer a marshal.
Though having that PI license would be a real plus right now.
“The Flagstaff police talked to me back then. I told them everything I knew. I have nothing to add.”
She was about to close the door, but Regan said, “Have you listened to the podcast about Candace’s murder? Three episodes aired over the last week and a half.”
Her face drained. “No,” she said.
Regan wasn’t sure that Taylor was being honest. She pushed, lightly. “But you’ve heard of the podcast.”
“Sigma Rho sent out an email to alumnae. No one wants to be involved with this farce.”
“I’m following up on a caller who said that you and Candace were not actually arguing about Abernathy, the homeless man who was seen at the sorority the night she first disappeared.”
“First disappeared? What does that mean?”
“You might want to listen to the podcast. There have been several revelations. For instance, four people have come forward saying they each saw Candace after Friday night. Two sightings on Sunday, another on Monday night, and one Tuesday morning.”
“Like I told the police when it happened, like everyone knows, I didn’t see Candace after she left the party.”
“You told the police that you were arguing at the party about whether to call campus police about the homeless man.”
“Exactly. He was harassing people, and he scared everyone except Candace, but maybe she should have had a little more fear because then she would still be alive.”
Through the screen door, Regan watched Taylor grab a pack of cigarettes from a small table in the entry. She pulled a lighter out from the package, shook out a Virginia Slim, and lit up. Relief crossed her face as she inhaled.
“Why do you people want to stir shit up?” Taylor said. “Candace is dead. She’s gone. Nothing is going to bring her back. All you’re going to do is create problems and get people hurt.”
“How so?” Regan asked.
“I’m not going to talk about this.”
“Are you scared of someone? I can help you. I used to be a US Marshal. I can get you protection.”
“A marshal? What the fuck? What’s going on? You said you weren’t a cop.”
“I’m not a cop anymore, but I am investigating Candace’s murder. I was a marshal, and I can help you if you’re scared.”
Taylor took another long drag on her cigarette. Blew it out through the screen at Regan. She didn’t react, not knowing if Taylor was trying to intimidate her or if she was just rude.
“I’m not scared,” Taylor said, but her manner said otherwise.
“What was your argument with Candace really about, Taylor?”
“Look, the cops said some weird dude from where she volunteered killed her, the same freak that was hanging around for months. And yeah, I was pissed off at Candace for not taking care of the situation sooner by calling in the police.” She took a long drag, then exhaled. “If you were a real investigator, you would know that. Candace and I used to be best friends, and then we weren’t. Now she’s dead, and sure, I feel like shit that we couldn’t get through our problems, you know? So just drop it. That podcast is a fucking stupid idea, and if that asshole thinks he’s going to find her killer or some such nonsense, he’s got a screw loose. Go away and leave this all alone.” She slammed the door, and that was that.