Page 115 of My Sister is Going to Kill Me

“Sometimes, the simple companies are the most lucrative,” Lucinda said. “Imogen says I should get interested in these new platforms, the power of social media. But companies like Hitch or Babette always seem like paper tigers to me. I can’t tell where their roar is coming from, or if it’s real. Give me a cash business with a one-sentence value proposition. That I can understand. That I can make money from.”

“Do you think it’s possible there’s something wrong with CareFree?” Liv asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What you just said about paper tigers . . . I’ve been narrowing in on the person behind these murders, assuming whoever killed Babette and Stefan did so to capture the value of the new product line. But what if there is no value in CareFree? What if the value is somewhere else?”

Lucinda stared at her. “I’m not following.”

Liv shook her head. “You’re right. I just keep talking myself in circles and not getting anywhere. I’m sorry. It’s too hot.”

Her hands were turning pink in the heat. She looked longingly at Lucinda’s long sleeves and paddling gloves. Covering up was the smart thing to do.

“Do you want a hat?” Lucinda asked. She reached between two coolers and dug out a pristine Babette ball cap. “Imogen ended up not needing mine after all.”

“Are you sure?”

Lucinda nodded. “Let me help you.”

Liv wanted to peek at the inside brim, but Lucinda was already smoothing the hair back from Liv’s forehead, pressing down the hat, and cinching the back closure to a snug fit. The tea tree crystals felt good where they pricked Liv’s skin. Whether it was a placebo effect or not, she was already cooling down.

“Thank you,” she said. “I just wish I could figure this all out.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Lucinda said. “We’re alive. We’re moving.”

“For now.”

“For now.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Mandy’s victory felt sour. She had achieved one of her goals: She’d stopped their raft from traveling further from Liv and the others. But she hadn’t considered how much stopping would feel like being stuck. She’d destroyed their boat, infuriated her father, and beached them on a pile of cracked rocks that, according to Thor, was not named Bloody Ledges because of a Wild West showdown, but in honor of all the rafters who’d stubbed their toes on the brittle slabs, dotting the sandstone with blood.

“Cuts don’t heal easy in the desert,” Thor said. He was the only one who seemed unfazed by their new situation. “Hard to put you back together when the heat and the dryness want to rip you apart. Watch your step.”

Guy, still barefoot, plunked himself down with a frustrated groan. Mandy offered him the water filter and a dented thermos. At least those had been securely strapped in with the crate of energy bars and the radio. But her dad waved her off without a second glance.

“So, Captain,” Thor said to Mandy, “what’s next?”

“Yes,” Guy said. “Please illuminate us on your brilliant plan.”

“Well,” Mandy said. “We’ve got food and water. And the radio. I’m assuming it works even if it’s gotten wet. We can call the park police.”

“And tell them what?” Guy asked. “That we stole a raft and left two dead bodies and a murderer behind us?”

“I was thinking we could do one better.”

“What’s better?” Charlie asked. He looked tired, but less jittery than he had on the river. Maybe being on dry land—even a bloody sandstone ledge—felt safer to him than the motion of the water.

“We’re not just going to report a crime,” she said. “We’re going to report a criminal. If we can tell the police who the killer is, they’ll see us differently.”

Guy let out a dry bark. “Now you know who the killer is?”

Mandy stared at her dad in frustration. She hated to see him this way, biting and bitter, especially when it was directed at her.

“I don’t know who murdered them,” she said deliberately. “But I’ve narrowed it down. And I think, with all of us”—she gave Charlie a small nod—“we can figure it out.”

Before Guy could protest further, Charlie leaned forward. “What do you know so far?”