Page 30 of By the Time You Read This

“I sleep very well at night, thank you,” Essi said. “In my extremely expensive sheets.”

“All right.” Raisa wasn’t there to judge anyone. She was there to find a suspect.

And ... Isabel’s death would be a blow to Essi’s lifestyle. She could probably ride this particular wave for a little, but eventually she would become yesterday’s news, and yesterday’s news didn’t command any attention. No attention, no subscribers, no followers, no money. It would be in her interest to keep Isabel’s notoriety burning for as long as possible.

They had also come here looking for someone out for vengeance, and that clearly wasn’t Essi, either. She was a bottom dweller and an opportunist, but she didn’t come across as some madwoman on the hunt for revenge.

Kilkenny glanced at Raisa, and she could feel him reaching the same conclusion.

“Is there anyone who follows you who is a true believer?” he asked. “Someone who really had it out for Isabel.”

“I mean,Ihave it out for Isabel,” Essi said, looking between them. “Oh, you mean do I know anyone who actually wanted to kill her?” She paused, seeming to put it all together. “You think this was murder?”

She didn’t wait for them to answer. “You think I might have killed her.”

“We were hoping you could provide us with some insight into who in your circle might actually be dangerous,” Kilkenny said.

“Hmm.” Essi tapped one of those impossibly long, trendy nails against the boat. “There are some true believers, as you call them, but none who would have the balls to actually do anything about it.”

“Would you provide a list of those names?” Raisa asked. People didn’t realize what others were capable of until they actually snapped.

“Sure thing.” Essi gave her a little salute. Then she accepted the notebook Raisa handed over along with a pen. It only took a minute or two before she gave them back, with six names written down. “This is a little outside the box, but have you looked at the other side? Those little cult members who worship her, I mean.”

They were headed to Gabriela Cruz’s apartment next. Apparently the girl was local, which meant she either moved there for Isabel or got interested in her because of the proximity. Raisa hoped it was the latter.

It was interesting, though, that Essi suggested it. “Why do you think we should?”

“Love and hate being two sides of a coin,” Essi said, shrugging again. For some reason, it came off as less casual than the other times she’d done it. No longer careless. Maybe she was worried they would stay focused on her, or maybe Raisa was reading into things. “I might be obsessed with making money off Isabel, but they’re obsessedwithher. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if one of them took that a little too far.”

“Anyone in particular you encounter frequently?” Kilkenny asked.

These two groups would be like their own little neighboring ecosystems. Though each was incompatible with life from the other side, they would still know each other best.

“Gabriela Cruz,” Essi said without hesitating. Again, interesting. “She’s their ringleader if ever there was one. She’s always in everyone’s DMs. She’s the one who came up with the FreeBell hashtag. She hosts a Discord channel and moderates the FreeBell Reddit thread. I don’t know how she has time for anything else, if I’m being honest.” Essi rolled her eyes. “Okay, right, I’m being hypocritical, but I found a way to make this my job. She doesn’t get any money for anything she does.”

Raisa wasn’t sure she found Essi’s way any more commendable, but she kept her mouth shut on that one.

“What will you do now?” Raisa couldn’t help but ask. “Now that Isabel is dead.”

Essi shrugged, once more looking casual and carefree. “I’ll find another way to survive. I always do.”

Excerpt from the UpcomingRemember Their Names

By Essi Halla

I’ll never be able to eat casseroles again.

Don’t get me wrong, I can’t complain about the outpouring of generosity that followed news of my father’s death.

Suicide. Homicide. Whatever it was, he was gone. And though he’d never cooked a day in his life—nor had my mother, mind you—our refrigerator was now constantly filled with casseroles that tasted of sawdust and sympathy.

I had never realized we’d had that many friends. My parents were wealthy beyond most people’s imagination. The only reason anyone could even get casseroles to us was because our gated mansion had been seized by the police two months earlier and we were in a major downgrade of a rental in the suburbs of Phoenix. I think most of the ladies that brought them by mostly wanted to gawk at my mother and me.

We still had our fancy clothes back then.

My mother still had some money the feds hadn’t found so we weren’t living on the streets. We even had a maid, so for those few kind souls who were about to feel anything but disgust for us, you should go ahead and rethink that sentiment.

The maid ate the casseroles. Well, she ate some of them, and then took others god-knew-where, after cooking us salmon or lobster or steak.

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