Page 121 of My Sister is Going to Kill Me

“A guide.” Charlie shook his head. “I knew it.”

“I don’t think Marc was truly a guide,” Mandy said. “He was a plant. A mercenary. I think Lucinda planned it all. Think of the hats. Imogen said they got accidentally delivered to their room at the lodge, and they came to the rim a day early. Lucinda probably embroidered the threats in them herself.”

“Not mine,” her father said. He adjusted the cheap Grand Canyon ball cap on his head.

Mandy nodded. “Marc brought Babette’s custom hat back up to the rim for her. But he had to buy a souvenir one for you, because no one knew you were coming.”

“Do you think Babette’s hat had a threat in it?” Charlie said.

“If there’s something in that hat, Liv will find it.” For the millionth time, Mandy wished her sister was here with them, but this time, she didn’t need Liv to save her. If anything, she wanted Liv to see what she’d accomplished on her own.

“Imogen was streaming everything that morning up at the luggage drop,” Mandy continued. “She even gave her grandmother a quick shout-out on her last post before we started hiking down. If Babette watched Imogen’s post when she woke up, she would have seen Lucinda on the video. The person who wasn’t invited was Imogen’s chaperone, and CareFree’s secret investor. Babette would have known Lucinda showing up without telling her meant trouble.”

“So Babette went for help,” Charlie said.

“Me,” Guy said.

“You,” Mandy said. “But she signed that intense NDA, so she couldn’t tell you who you were after. And she never got a chance to confront Lucinda. Marc killed Babette on the hike down, and Stefan figured it out. When he was raving on the beach about how the lady had gone too far, how the violence wasn’t necessary, maybe Lucinda felt threatened. Or just disrespected. And she killed him with the knife Marc had given her.”

“It’s a lot of ifs,” Charlie said.

“But it fits,” Mandy insisted. “Stefan mentioned that he invested in Hitch, the social media platform Imogen is on. If Lucinda is the money behind the Regent Group, it makes sense that she could pull the strings to get her granddaughter selected as the fresh face of CareFree. Lucinda could plant who and what she wanted for your new product, and for her own purposes.

“And her company is called the Regent Group,” Mandy continued. “A regent is an agent of the king, like a lord or a lady. Like Lucinda.”

No one said anything for a long moment.

“What purposes?” Charlie finally asked.

“What?”

“You said she could plant who and what she wanted for her own purposes.”

“To make money, I guess,” Mandy said. “Can we focus on what’s important here? Our sisters are trapped with a murderous grandma.”

Guy snorted.

“What?” Mandy said.

“You have to admit . . . it is kind of a wild accusation.”

“But the knife, and Marc, and Hitch, and—”

“You’ve got a lot of interesting points,” Guy said. “But what I don’t hear is the reason why Lucinda Duvray would want to kill Babette. Let’s imagine you’re right. Let’s say this little Canadian lady is the brilliant investor behind CareFree, and Hitch, and a slew of other companies. Let’s say Marc works for her and he killed Babette, and she got pissed when Stefan said she was nuts and she killed him for that. Which means she’s also a secret knife aficionado or a former ninja. But let’s put that aside. If Lucinda is the big money behind CareFree, why would she murder Babette? What purpose would that serve? Why would she kill the woman who was going to sell CareFree to the world?”

He was right. It didn’t make sense. Regardless of her management skills, Babette Sauvage was a born saleswoman. Even in a world where everyone was replaceable, a spokeswoman like Babette was not. She was the brand. She was the megaphone. She was CareFree.

“I don’t know,” Mandy admitted. “But if Lucinda is a killer whale—as strategic and ruthless an investor as you say—she must have a reason.”

Chapter Fifty-One

Night was upon them, but no one on the supply boat considered rest. Big Pete drove the oars through the water well past sunset, the geological strata darkening and peeling back millions of years of canyon formation with every mile they sped downriver. Something didn’t feel right. Despite the dark slate sky, Liv could still feel the sun beating her in waves. The water—once sparkling Technicolor, now a jumble of somber grays—seemed to be rising toward her, its roar growing more distinct and variable, as if it were speaking a language she only knew in dreams.

The roar got louder, and the boat spun sideways to a halt.

“Upset Rapid’s ahead.” Big Pete’s voice was swallowed by the growling river. “We can’t go on.”

“But my brother—” Devon said.