Page 101 of My Sister is Going to Kill Me

“Anyone can invent a product worth selling,” Guy said. “But the thing that lights up buyers is the promise, not the product. It isn’t the pen, the condo, or the face cream. It’s the letter they’re going to write with that pen to win their lover back. It’s the home that makes them feel secure for the first time. It’s the cream that’s going to take their pain away. It’s the promise that makes it worth buying. And those four departments—what were they again?”

“Love, attention, distraction, and yearning,” Charlie said.

Guy licked his chapped lips. “All fundamental human desires. When a product’s promise matches a universal desire, BAM! You’ve got yourself a hot ticket.”

Her dad kept riffing on his grand theory of no-lose investing. But Mandy ignored his bloviating and thought about what he and Charlie had just said.

Love, attention, distraction, and yearning. CareFree was in the distraction department, poised to help millions of people forget their worries. And Stefan had also invested in Hitch, the social media platform. It made sense.

Distraction was one heck of a drug. But the Regent Group’s other departments sounded just as powerful.

Love.

Attention.

Distraction.

Yearning.

There was something else there. It was only when she fully tuned out her father’s rambling that she could see it.

“Remind me,” she interrupted. “What was it Stefan repeated when he was dying?”

“Huh?” Her dad was midway through a story. “Oh. Lady. He seemed to be arguing with a woman who was accusing him of being disrespectful. A lady.”

With that, Guy turned back to the other two. While he riffed on the power of yearning and an investment he had made in a podcaster-slash-spiritual medium, Mandy focused on what he’d told her.

Lady, Stefan had said. Love, attention, distraction, yearning. L-A-D-Y.

She didn’t think the acronym could be a coincidence. The question was: What on earth did it mean?

Chapter Forty-Three

At first, Liv tried to chart her experience of CareFree scientifically, consulting her watch every thirty seconds and waggling her bare hand in front of her to check if her perception had changed. But after four minutes, she decided she didn’t have time for that. Her skin felt refreshed, as if the cream had peeled back some of the stress of the past twenty-four hours. And all her fingers appeared to maintain their proper proportions.

She looked up to where the others were staring at the breakfast they’d made but had yet to touch. Big Pete must have broken the news. They looked numb and scared. They wouldn’t want hard questions, terrifying truths, or a plan to find the killer in their midst. They would want reassurance or, at minimum, the semblance of it. They would want a lie.

And Liv? She wanted Mandy. But she felt almost loose enough to emulate her sister. She was ready to throw out the book. Burn the ships.

She decided to start with a small act of liberation: destruction of evidence. Liv took Mandy’s note out of her pocket and wadded it up. Then she paused. It wasn’t enough to bury it in her bag or under the sand. She’d memorized its contents and didn’t want anyone else to see it.

What would her sister do in this situation?

It was obvious. And disgusting.

Liv stuffed the note into her mouth and chewed the paper gummy, letting the sandstone dust grit her teeth. One hard gulp, and it was gone.

It was surprisingly satisfying to fully commit to the obstruction of justice. Liv felt lighter now. She was on the CareFree path. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and marched up to the group with their perfectly sliced pineapples. She resisted the urge to scan their knives for traces of blood. She opened her mouth—so empty, so full of possibility—and began to speak.

“I have an announcement to make,” she said. Her voice sounded unnaturally buoyant, as if she were conducting a circus instead of a murder investigation. “As you know, sadly, we lost our dear friend Stefan Eriksen during the night.”

Dear friend? Where were these words coming from? And why had she placed her right hand against her chest? But it seemed to be working. Everyone was paying attention to her, and they looked, if not happy, not angry either.

“I have sworn an oath to tell the truth.” She could feel her heart beating under her fingers. “And the truth is that Stefan was murdered.”

Honesty: That was in her wheelhouse. But here came the lie. A lie to encourage everyone to let their guard down and, hopefully, let her in. The best way to find a killer among them, she’d realized, was to tell them the killer wasn’t there.

“The harder truth is that we know the person who murdered him.” A twitchy murmur rippled across the group. Fiona took a step back, and Devon switched the grip on her fork to a decidedly stabby position. Even Lucinda, who had been placidly peeling an apple, stopped moving.