Page 6 of By the Time You Read This (Raisa Susanto #3)

Chapter Four

Delaney

Three months before Isabel’s death

The first time Delaney saw Lindsey Cousins, the girl had been coming off a boat—the sea in her hair, the sun on her face, moving with the quiet confidence everyone who could sail seemed to carry.

She was young and pretty, with an athletic build and wavy brown hair she wore tied up on top of her head. She had a heavy sprinkling of freckles that were probably teased out by the sun, and an easy smile that guaranteed she’d get more tips than the other boy working the tourist sailing trip.

This was a small-group charter, so Delaney was slotted with two couples who had come as a group and two other women who had gleefully reported that they’d been friends for fifty years—longer than either of their marriages had lasted.

As she worked, Lindsey bantered with all of them, her eyes drifting toward Delaney every once in a while as if trying to figure her out.

Delaney had been so careful all her life. She’d never left a digital footprint, and there were no photos of her to be dug up except for—apparently—in the old local newspaper in their tiny town. And even those had perished in a timely fire not long after the night of the confrontation between Isabel, Raisa, and Delaney.

She had made sure not to be captured in any pictures at Isabel’s trial nor during the media shitstorm that had followed.

There was no way for Lindsey Cousins to know that the single woman on her charter on this random Tuesday was Isabel Parker’s sister.

How would she react?

With glee?

With horror?

Delaney couldn’t guess. She would never understand someone who glorified her sister’s killings.

Raisa probably thought Delaney had done so. Delaney would never be able to convince her otherwise, and frankly she had no interest in attempting to anymore.

Lindsey hadn’t approached Delaney until they were out on the open water. “You having a good time over here?”

“Of course,” Delaney replied. She wasn’t good at this in-person sleuthing. Show her a chatroom of two dozen incels and she could narrow in on the actual dangerous one within an hour.

This, though? This involved interacting with actual people, and that had never been her strong suit.

“Oh, good.” Lindsey gave her a crooked smile that came across as a little self-deprecating—as if she realized how naturally beautiful she was and had to atone for it. She was very good at this, which was probably why she had a job in tourism. “Can we tempt you into partaking in a glass of bubbly?”

Lindsey’s shipmate stood behind her, his mouth in a flat line, like he’d never heard of the concept of a tip in his life. In his hand he had two champagne flutes, both of which were going flat.

“Sure,” Delaney said, trying to match Lindsey’s smile. She was certain it had come out a grimace, from Lindsey’s reaction.

But Lindsey was a pro. She whirled around for Delaney’s glass and then shooed the dude away. “So what brings you to our neck of the woods? You a Twilight fan? I was always Team Jacob. I know, I know. But it’s my one pop culture hot take.”

It was a valiant effort. Delaney probably looked like someone who might visit the town of Forks, which had turned into a somewhat creepy shrine to the novels and movies. But Lindsey, who had to be nineteen if she were a day, was trying to use millennial in-group speak as she did it, which made it grate against Delaney’s practiced ears.

“I want to see the woods,” Delaney said, and watched the gears shift in Lindsey’s brain right before she launched into recommendations on some of the area’s best trails. Delaney had the sense that if she’d said she wanted to fly airplanes or roller-skate across the peninsula, Lindsey would have nodded, all bright-eyed and eager to offer suggestions.

She was one of the most socially adjusted sociopaths Delaney had ever encountered.

“I’m really into true crime,” Delaney said, not very gracefully, to be sure, but she was done waiting for the right moment to cut off Lindsey’s clearly well-rehearsed spiel on Olympic National Park.

Lindsey stuttered to a stop, but like the good little practiced sociopath that she was, she simply grinned and prompted, “Oh yeah?”

“I heard Isabel Parker ended up in jail around here,” Delaney said, watching the sunshine facade crack slightly under this unexpected pressure.

“Who?” Lindsey asked, taking the route Delaney would have recommended.

“I think she killed a bunch of teenagers up in the Cascades,” Delaney said, dumbing down her voice, injecting it with just enough innocent curiosity to make it believable.

Lindsey looked like she’d sucked on a lemon. It must have been torture not to correct Delaney. “Oh, I hadn’t heard about that one. I don’t really have time for podcasts. Well, I better check on the gals.” Lindsey gestured to the older ladies, who had commandeered their own entire bottle of champagne. Lindsey winked, back in control of her face. “You just let me know if you need anything, you hear?”

And with that Delaney did what she’d thought would be impossible—she’d chased Lindsey off. The girl avoided her the rest of the pleasure sail, to the point where the man at the rudder started throwing Delaney looks just to make sure she was okay.

Delaney tipped Lindsey generously, knowing that it wouldn’t make her feel bad about avoiding Delaney all night. Sociopaths didn’t feel bad about things.

But it would make her wonder.

Lindsey took the wad of cash with the same self-deprecating, natural smile she’d welcomed them all with. A persona so perfected she could deploy it even when rattled. “Thanks, hon.”

Delaney almost laughed at that. She had to be twenty years Lindsey’s senior.

“I think it’s smart,” Delaney said. At Lindsey’s confused expression, she continued, “That you don’t listen to true crime podcasts.”

Lindsey hummed.

Delaney shook her head. “Nothing good ever comes from those.”