Page 2 of My Sister is Going to Kill Me

“I’ve contacted the driver. He’ll take another lap around.”

Mandy gave a grateful squeal and ended the call just before her phone blinked off of its own accord.

“You poor dear.” The Cinnabon lady was gazing at her with tears in her eyes. “I know this won’t fix it, but sometimes a bit of sweetness helps . . .”

By the time the shuttle pulled up at the curb, Mandy had finished a free caramel pecan MiniBon and trashed the sticky evidence. She gave the driver her biggest razzle-dazzle grin and reached for his arm with a loud, grateful “you SAVED me.” Then she beamed her smile all over, like a kid throwing candy at a parade, charming her inconvenienced fellow travelers until they were all smiling about the epic win they had accomplished together.

This was what Liv didn’t understand about lying. When you did it properly, it didn’t hurt anyone. It was a gift that sprinkled magic on people’s ho-hum days. Take this bus driver, who was now pumping Mandy’s hand like he’d earned a Purple Heart by circling the terminals. Or the older man who was patting Mandy’s shoulder and looking down her shirt and whispering that she was a gem for trying to reconnect with her father. Everyone on the bus was waking up. They were brightening. They were all in on this big adventure together. And Mandy had made that possible.

That was the power of a good lie. It made people feel bigger than their ordinary selves. The truth was dingy. It was complicated. It didn’t get you complimentary pecan rolls or extra laps around the airport. The truth wouldn’t set you free. Only a lie could do that.

Chapter Three

Liv arrived at the South Rim lodge fifteen minutes before the welcome briefing. A quick scan revealed no sign of Mandy. Not a shocker, but it still chafed. At least the crowded cafeteria gave her something to focus on. She sat down by the massive stone fireplace on the edge of the dining room, searching the crowd to pick out possible members of their trip.

She had always thought rafting the Grand Canyon required boatloads of money and years on a waitlist. But Mandy had somehow scooped up two free spots on a trip down the lower half of the Colorado. The details her sister had shared were vague—just a single screenshotted email inviting Mandy on an exclusive “Essence Quest”—but the outfitter was legitimate, and Liv’s attention had quickly turned to filling out forms, scrutinizing the itinerary, and absorbing as much as possible about the potential risks on the river. Whenever Liv pressed for more details about who had paid for their spots, her sister simply called it a golden opportunity. Liv just hoped the opportunity didn’t come with strings attached. Or if it did, that those strings didn’t require them to pose for a sexy reindeer photoshoot. Again.

According to the outfitter’s documentation, there were ten guests on their trip, plus three guides. It was a beautiful late-summer weekend, and Liv clocked roughly three hundred people milling around the lodge dining room. Which of them would she be posted with on the river?

She spotted one of the guides over by the bar, his long hair half tamed by a Wild Adventures hoodie. He was early. She liked that. He was flirting with the waitress, leaning so far over the thick wood slab that Liv could see a dark mess of tattoo ink snaking down his side. A clipboard and a stack of papers lay like long-suffering dogs by his leather-sandaled feet. The man looked part feral, part trickster, part business. Liv appreciated how openly he wore his inconsistencies. Everyone had them. As a profiler, Liv was trained to look for what didn’t fit, to both construct and obliterate the obvious narratives presented by the information in front of her.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Still no Mandy. The guide was now over by the door, calling in a lilting Southern accent for their group to assemble. Liv strode over to join him, forcing herself not to keep scanning the room for her sister. She’d show up. Eventually.

The guide called himself Thor, no last name. His blond mane shone under the fluorescent lights. Thor nodded to the man on his left, and the guests started introducing themselves around the circle.

Some treated the occasion like a cocktail party, while others appeared to be bracing themselves for a grueling tour of duty. For the most part, Liv ignored their words. She was a profiler, not a politician. Occupations, places of residence: All of that would be repeated ad nauseam over the days to come. But this was her only opportunity to form first impressions. To see how people presented themselves in a new situation, with new companions. Some would show up posturing, staking a claim to power unearned. Others would deflect, simper, or hide their teeth in their smiles. She watched for what people hid, listened for what they didn’t say.

First to introduce themselves were a middle-aged brother and sister, Charlie and Devon. Both were in hiking gear, but they wore it differently. Devon was tall, solid and weathered, her well-used clothes aged in comfort and pleasure, whereas her brother, Charlie, was a citified bundle of nerves, his brand-new outfit tacked like an itchy costume to his frame. Next to them was PK, another urbanite, a pretty man in his late twenties with a sleek faux-hawk, his pursed lips suggesting a barely contained intolerance for the rustic lodge, the other guests, or the entire prospect of the trip. Dr. Fiona Moon, an exquisite, angular blonde from Los Angeles, made sure to emphasize the “doctor” in front of her name. Liv was just starting to wonder why such slick city people had come to the Grand Canyon when she looked down at her own ill-fitting Romanian slacks. She was a creature of civilization as much as they were.

The last three guests were from other countries. Across from her, a bearded beanpole named Stefan effused about his first time in the great American West, betraying a hint of a Dutch accent. And finally, there was Imogen, a redheaded teenager from Quebec making duck faces at her phone, and her grandmother, Lucinda. The older, birdlike woman watched over Imogen with a mix of care and derision, as if the girl were a lump of bread dough yet to rise.

“That’s eight of you.” Thor looked down at his clipboard. “We’re missing two.”

“That would be my little sister,” Liv said.

“And mine,” Charlie said.

“Ours,” Devon amended.

The three glanced at each other, a silent meeting of the unreliable sibling club. But then Charlie explained that their sister Babette would be joining the group the next day for the official launch of the Essence Quest. Devon nodded. It had all been arranged with Thor’s bosses.

Thor looked at Liv expectantly, as if she too would have a sensible explanation regarding her sister’s whereabouts. But nothing about Mandy was sensible.

“She’ll be here.” Liv refused to lie on principle, but the truth always bent a bit around her sister. “I’m sure she’s just . . . caught up.” Whether Mandy was stuck in a tequila shooter contest or backstage at a rodeo was anyone’s guess.

Orientation was a perfunctory affair, a flurry of signatures and stern reminders to be at the trailhead early the next morning, bags packed and ready to go. While Thor talked, Liv watched the others. There were no hugs nor cheerful reunions, but some of these people recognized each other. There were subtle nods around the circle, one or two of which were curt enough to suggest past run-ins may not have been entirely positive. Had they traveled together before? Liv wanted to ask what exactly an Essence Quest entailed, but Thor kept rattling through his spiel, telling them any questions unrelated to the next morning’s departure would be best answered once they reached the river.

“Four thirty a.m. Or we’re leaving without you.” Thor directed his final words at Liv.

She resisted the urge to tell him he was wasting his breath suggesting that she had any control, let alone influence, over her sister’s movements.

“She’ll be here,” Liv repeated.

It took a slow lap around the dining room and a disappointingly dry snickerdoodle for Liv to quash the desire to call out an APB on her sister. She was wiping the last of the crumbs into a trash can when she felt something brush her hip.

“Hey, foxy. Miss me?”

Mandy dumped her overflowing backpack on the floor and opened her arms for a hug. Liv stared at the impossibility of her sister, the inevitability of this moment. Her disappointment fizzled into something stickier and more complicated. Mandy looked frenzied and bright, like a handful of Skittles exploded into human form. Her dark curls cascaded over her red leather jacket. Behind her, a young man in a polo shirt hovered with a tray and two frosted glasses filled to the brim.