Page 95

“So did he really die by suicide?” Raisa asked. “Or did Essi kill him so he wouldn’t snitch to the feds?”
“Damn,” St. Ivany muttered. “Okay, so what does that have to do with either of our homicides?”
Was that the first time St. Ivany hadn’t tacked on apotentialwhile describing Isabel’s death? Raisa couldn’t remember, but it sounded newly serious. “Honestly? Maybe nothing. She took advantage of the fact that Isabel had victims in the area, and continued figuring out a way to make money while her other source evaporated.”
“I better flag this for the boys down in California,” St. Ivany said. There was some ruffling, like she had now fully resigned herself to getting out of bed.
“Sorry,” Raisa said, squinting out into the night. “I’ll send a note to the lead on the FBI investigation.”
“Cool. Let’s touch base in the morning?”
“Yeah,” Raisa said. “Hey, is Delaney still at the hotel?”
“She found the AirTag,” St. Ivany said, with a sigh. “It’s disabled. I’ll send someone over to keep track of her.”
She’ll lose them easy enough,Raisa thought.
“See you in the morning,” Raisa said.
It would be a long five hours between then and now.
Raisa eyed Essi’s book. It had given up a few answers, but she still felt like she was missing something.
Something small, even.
Which meant reading the book in its entirety again.
She finished faster this time and still couldn’t put her finger on what had her itching for a third read.
Whatever it was, going through each page, sentence by sentence, wasn’t going to shake it loose.
So she showered and thought about sleeping.
Instead, she slipped under the plastic on her old room to grab the box of Isabel’s things, everything she’d gotten from the correctional facility. When Raisa had come to Gig Harbor, it had been with the purpose of figuring out who had killed Isabel. Since then, she’d been pulled in a million different directions.
Here were Isabel’s belongings, though, and she’d barely made her way through them so far.
She returned to Kilkenny’s room and then sorted them out, carefully going through the wallet. Checking every centimeter of the watch for a hidden compartment.
The only thing that really stood out was the landscape painting that Raisa was sure had been done in some art therapy class. But Isabel wouldn’t have saved it just because she’d been proud of it.
She wasn’t wired like that. She was proud of her victim list; she was proud of how long she’d operated before getting caught. Beyond that, she didn’t understand how to feel proud about normal things. Like a painting.
So why had she kept it around?
The landscape was of a ridge of mountains. They made Raisa think of the hiking trails in the Biggest Fan letters.
She touched her fingertip to the canvas, dragging it along the surface until it connected with a thin brown line.
A hiking trail.
It was a visual clue, one Raisa wasn’t sure she would have found if she hadn’t been up all night existentially contemplating her life.
Raisa followed the trail all the way to the corner of the painting, where it dipped over the side. Instead of ending, it continued on toward the back.
Which was thicker than it should be, she realized.
Raisa quickly unearthed the Swiss Army Knife she kept in her bag at all times—a tradition that felt terribly old-fashioned but had been extremely useful too many times to get rid of it.