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This was where she lived now, she supposed.
“What are you doing in Gig Harbor?” Delaney asked.
“Headed up to Olympic.”
A hiker. That made sense. He had the vibe of one. Delaney’s eyes slid to his feet again. No black toenails. No calluses.
Those weren’t feet that had been in boots and wool socks for days on end.
Maybe he was a Seattle tech bro who fancied himself a bum. A weekend hiking warrior who stared at a computer the rest of his life.
“How about you?” he asked when she didn’t say anything further.
Delaney donned her Lana Parker persona, even sans wig.
She was tired of her own brain, tired of the what-ifs, tired of the chess game she felt like she was playing against her dead sister. Roan probably was exactly who he said he was. And right now, she craved the relief that came with turning her brain off in this particular way more than she feared the consequences if she was wrong about that.
So she stood up, holding out her hand as she did.
“I’m playing a game,” she said. “Do you want to join in?”
He followed her to her hotel room, because they always did.
Excerpt from Emily Logan’s Blog Posts
Three months before Isabel Parker’s death
LC and I (separately but at the same time!) watchedDon’t F**k with Catstonight and we could not have been more hooked! If y’all have been living under a rock, it’s an old (2019!) documentary about a dude who killed two kittens by suffocating them in a plastic bag via a vacuum cleaner. (Yeah Sicko Alert!) Some amateur sleuths launched an investigation and eventually figured out that he actually had also killed a girl (cue my surprise *end sarcasm).
I think the whole story shows how helpful it is to enlist as many people as possible to help solve cold cases, but LC isn’t convinced. I don’tneedto convince her per se, but it would be cool if she could like throw me a bone or two. She’s a cynic, though.
Professor OB (perv, but good teacher) will be happy with the paper, though. I’m like using real life examples to support my argument in favor of amateur sleuths and everything. Apparently that’s important when it comes to psychology research.
I wrote four-thousand words last night after watching the documentary, way more than I need for the essay. But I don’t think that’s where I’m going to stop. This topic isso cool, and I have to keep working on it. Maybe it could even be a book one day, who knows!
LC made fun of me when I said that, but she has like a C+ in the class, so what does she know. (Okshe knows a lot, and she has a C+ because Prof OB doesn’t like that she’s remote. ButAnyway.)
I need to start making a list of family members to talk to—people who might hate my ideas in every single way.
Some people wouldn’t have the balls to actually go talk to them, but I’m better than those people.
Chapter Sixteen
Raisa
Day Two
When Raisa finished reading Emily Logan’s blog posts, she pulled up St. Ivany’s contact and hit “Call.”
The hospital’s loudspeaker crackled to life just as the woman picked up, and Raisa waited until she could hear herself before asking, “What was this class?”
“What?”
“What was this class?” Raisa repeated with what she thought was profound patience. The waiting room was bright because of the fluorescent lights, but the night sky had gone dark outside. The doctor hadn’t come out to give her any update on Kilkenny. She didn’t want to think about whether that was a good or bad sign, because in what world was that a good sign? “The class that Emily Logan took with Professor OB, who is a perv but a good teacher.”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Raisa said, and then hung up. She had no time for fools. Not now, especially, when she swore Kilkenny’s blood was still caked beneath her fingernails.