Page 26 of My Sister is Going to Kill Me

Liv leaned over her, blocking the view. “You’re not the god of this place. You don’t get to decide who we are out here.”

Mandy sat up. “I was making a joke, Liv. Pumping you up. You’re going to be a big special agent someday. I was just saluting that future.”

“I don’t need your salute.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of being the same person?” Mandy asked. “Isn’t this the perfect place to dream? Just a little bit?”

“I don’t feel the need to impress a group of strangers by pretending I’m something I’m not.”

“We’ll never see these people again,” Mandy insisted. “Why not have a little fun?”

“Lying isn’t fun. It’s dangerous.”

Their first night on the river, and they were already caught in the sister vortex. It always happened this way. They’d be doing something perfectly normal—or something epically amazing—and then there’d be a wobble, and the universe would dump them back into one of their old traps. There was nothing Mandy could do to catapult them out of it. There was only time, and hoping it wouldn’t happen again.

But it always did.

Finally, Liv spoke. “You get our stuff. I’ll find a camping spot.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

At the luggage tarp, PK was holding court in a sea of Babette-branded duffels, the dinged-up yellow dry bags piled discreetly off to the side. He held a small device that looked like a cross between a light meter and a sci-fi tricorder, waving it in front of Imogen’s face. The young woman tipped her chin up and closed her eyes in a pantomime of rapture, her phone held high in the air.

“For you, PureImogen, a 5.8 pH toning diffuser and an oxygenated meta-hydrology mask.” PK reached into one of the duffels at his feet and came up with an assortment of white vials. “And this is for the backs of your hands. So you don’t get . . . you know.”

He tipped his head in the direction of Imogen’s grandmother.

“Wrinkles aren’t contagious,” Lucinda sniffed. “Or dangerous. They’re a sign of wisdom.”

“In our business, madam, they’re a sign of death.”

Lucinda shook her head and stalked away.

“What is that?” Mandy said, pointing at PK’s device.

“A nanoclimatizer. Proprietary.” PK pulled it back to himself protectively. “It analyzes the precise temperature, humidity, UV index, and air particulates in a ten-foot radius and delivers the ideal skin care regimen for your environment. Babette invented it herself.”

Stefan snorted. “If only she had invented an alarm clock so she would be here on time.”

“She’ll be here,” PK said.

Imogen opened one of the vials and took a cautious sniff. “Bergamot. Smells like an old lady tea party.” She spritzed herself while waving her phone in the air. “Gotta love a mist that burns a little, though. I can practically feel my pores tightening. And when you find yourself in a desert miles away from a humidifier, diffusers can’t be choosers.”

She clicked off the recorder and turned back to PK. “This footage is mid. A tease. I need access to the real stuff. To CareFree.”

PK smiled thinly. “I’d prefer to wait until Babette gets here. Perhaps for now you could focus on capturing carefree moments on the trip.”

“Like, strip naked and cannonball into the river? I don’t think so.”

It sounded pretty great to Mandy.

“Whatever the essence of CareFree is to you,” PK said. “That’s Babette’s vision.”

“Her vision, but someone else’s money,” Stefan said. “My boss and I expect great results from CareFree.”

“You’ll get them,” Charlie said. “The numbers don’t lie.”