Page 73 of My Sister is Going to Kill Me

“I’m calling it in,” Big Pete kept repeating. “And then we’ll make camp.”

“Don’t call it in,” PK said. “Not yet. She deserves—”

“Camp where?” Charlie asked.

“Failure to report is a crime. And wherever we camp, we’ll all stick together.” The guide sounded as exhausted as he looked.

“But you said we could go back up to where she—”

“I lied,” Big Pete said. “It isn’t safe to hike back up there at night.”

“You . . . lied?” Devon looked shocked.

“You cannot call it in,” Guy said. “If we’re camping, we’re stuck here at least another day. The least you can do is let the information stay with us. If you alert the authorities that Babette is dead while we’re trapped in this valley of media black holes, there’s no way we can craft the message around it. Babette Sauvage is an international icon. Not to mention CEO of one of the biggest private companies in her industry. The news is going to get out—and out of control.”

“True,” Stefan said. “This is a problem.”

“Not my problem,” Big Pete said.

“How much money would it take for it to become your problem?” Guy asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Just a little delay. Until we get back to the rim. We’ll pay you for it.”

The guide looked disgusted.

“This isn’t about business,” Guy insisted. “It’s about honoring Babette. She worked so hard to share her truth with her fans. We owe it to her to take the time to tell her story properly.”

Stefan nodded. “It is our responsibility.” He turned to the guide. “And your responsibility is to guide us safely through this chasm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Big Pete said.

“You’re part of the narrative, too,” Guy said. “When it gets out who died, everyone and their brother is going to scrutinize the particulars. I’d hate to see you report something prematurely that gets twisted to paint you or your tour company in a bad light.”

Big Pete stared at Guy and Stefan for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. Then he turned, took off down the beach, and leapt onto the supply boat. For a moment, it looked like he was going to paddle away and leave them to their squabbles about criminal conspiracy, which would probably serve them right. Instead, he drew back a tarp and hauled out a beat-up lockbox. He clicked the hasps open, and the green metal lid swung up to reveal a radio that looked like it had spent the Cold War hunkered down on a Russian submarine. He started flipping switches and turning knobs to bring the thing sputtering to life.

“Park police!” the box shouted. “What is your emergency?”

The head guide scrunched his face closer to the buzzing radio, as if he were trying to keep the conversation between just him and the machine.

“This is Wild Adventures trip leader Pete Otaro. I’ve got a private rafting group at mile one thirty-six, Deer Creek Falls.”

“Your emergency?”

“There’s a dead body.”

“Where?” The box squealed and popped, like a toddler with a megaphone. Even over the rushing water, everyone could hear.

Big Pete glanced around nervously. Stefan, Guy, and PK were basically shooting lasers at him. For that matter, so was Liv. But she wanted him to do the right thing.

“We encountered the body up past Deer Creek Patio. In the Throne Room.”

“Was anyone else there?”

“We encountered her alone.”

“No other injured parties besides the body?” It was ugly, that word “body,” the way it reduced Babette to an inert object. A discovery, not a person.