“And you’re going to protect her family anyway.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you’re finally getting your shit straight then.” He pauses before continuing. “I’ll talk to Cricket about her family. She’ll stay with me until this goes away. I don’t know how we’re going to convince her mom to move into The Gables, though.”

“Tell her about her promotion and raise. McKinley’s ready to meet with her whenever she’s ready.”

“All right,” Hunter says. “I’ll see what I can do. I make no promises, though.”

“One more thing . . .”

“Do I really want to hear it?” he asks with a healthy dose of skepticism underlying his tone.

“Your wedding at The Gables?”

“Yeah?”

“No charge. Not for a goddamned thing.”

“You can’t—”

“Don’t argue. It’s done.”

As soon as I hang up with Hunter, I head for Jackie Gable’s house. It’s time to fix what I fucked up this morning.

Nine

Whitney

I knock and wait for the sound of the shotgun cocking. Magnus doesn’t disappoint.

“Who’s there? If you’re trying to buy my land for that prick next door, you can walk your ass right back to his car.”

“Uncle Magnus? It’s Whitney.”

The floorboards creak as he shifts to look through the window. “You playing Benedict Arnold now?”

“He gave me a ride. I . . . I got caught without one this morning.”

“Walk of shame? Thought you were old enough to know better, girl.”

I release a long breath and try to ignore the embarrassment that goes with it. “Can I please come in? Or do you want me to walk my Benedict Arnold-Scarlett Letter ass back down the driveway where the press might see me and descend on you too?”

He opens the door. “What press? What the hell is going on now?”

“Can I come in?”

Magnus eyes me up and down like he’s afraid I’m carrying Riscoff cooties. Which, of course, I am. I mentally add a shower to my list of things I need so I’ll feel less like an idiot.

He glances over my shoulder as if looking for the reporters I mentioned. “Get yourself inside.”

I come in and head straight for his percolator to help myself to some coffee. Magnus watches as I take the first sip and release a sigh of relief. Coffee is life, and I’m hoping it’s going to miraculously turn this day into less of a shit show. It’s a long shot, but I’m willing to try.

“You gonna tell me what kind of situation we got now that involves those news vultures?”

I take a few more sips of coffee before I tell him what little I know about the news article Lincoln shoved at me on his phone. Being mindful of Commodore’s warning, I stick to the basics, including the fact that I’m not the executor of Ricky’s estate.

“Sounds like someone got a little greedy and wants a piece of the Riscoff pie. Can’t say I blame them.” He holds out his coffee mug for a refresh, and I oblige. As he sips, he eyes me. “So, whatcha gonna do?”