After a moment of respectful silence Win and Bobby took over, talking them through what came next. Eventually I heard Clayton say, “There’s a door around the corner that opens out to a driveway. It’s sheltered and it’s near the orangerie. The ambulance or whoever comes can use that entrance to transport Pres—ah, his body—to the … ah, morgue. There’s a private back road so no one needs to see any vehicles come or go. I’ll show you where it is. I’d like to keep this quiet as long as possible.”

“Dad.” Alex sounded patient but firm. “Word is going to get out. You know that. Nothing stays a secret around here. Everybody in Middleburg and Atoka was at Hawthorne this afternoon and there are still a few folks upstairs who haven’t left. Victoria’s handling them but she has to make up a story about why none of us are there to say good-bye. The family—us—we need to be the ones to control what’s said about how Grandpop died. Grant’s already driving back to D.C. to the newsroom because it’s going to be a bombshell when this gets out.”

“Are you serious?” Scotty, irate, cut her off. “Did you send Grant to D.C. without telling me?”

“Of course I did. Who do you want to handle it, Scott? The overnight shift on Thanksgiving weekend? The newsroom’s probably full of interns, for God’s sake.” Her words crackled with sarcasm. “Everyone who could take the holiday off did take it off. It’s supposed to be a slow news cycle. We’re down to a skeleton crew. Use some common sense.”