“I’m so sorry, Whit. I never wanted you to know.”

This can’t be happening. Jackie didn’t really kill Mrs. Riscoff. Did she?

Before I can process any of it, Harrison makes a move to grab the gun, and I scream. Jackie pulls the trigger and a shot explodes. My ears ring, and I cover one with my free hand.

Harrison falls to his knees, and Jackie stands over him.

“You’re lying,” Harrison says. I don’t know where Jackie shot him, but his voice sounds strangled.

“I don’t need to lie about anything. I slipped that bitter, angry excuse for a woman the rest of the fentanyl, and now you can see her in hell.”

Oh my God. Oh my God. With my ears ringing and tears streaming down my face, I stare at Jackie as she aims the barrel of the gun at Harrison’s body.

“This is for trying to kill me and my niece.”

She pulls the trigger, and I scream again.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing and seeing. I can’t believe any of it. My head pounds from the percussion of the shot, and my heart bleeds for the Riscoffs.

Aunt Jackie has to be lying. She has to be. How can what she said possibly be true? Because if she killed Mrs. Riscoff with fentanyl . . . what does that mean? Did she kill Ricky too?

When my aunt turns to face me, I barely recognize her. Her green shirt is splattered with blood and gore, and the triumph on her face terrifies me.

“Please tell me you made that all up for his sake. Please. Please, Jackie.”

I beg my aunt because I don’t know what else to do. This isn’t the woman who cleaned me up after I crashed on my bike, and put Band-Aids on my skinned knees. This isn’t the woman who treated me like her own daughter when my family fell apart. Jackie has always been my champion. My supporter. A rock for us all to lean on.

She can’t be a murderer. It’s not possible.

The glow of triumph on her face fades several degrees when she takes in my horrified expression. She closes her eyes for a beat and when she opens them, I’m staring at my aunt again.

“I’m sorry, sweet girl. I had to. Sylvia was willing to do anything to keep you and Lincoln apart. She was going to have someone kill you, Whit. I couldn’t let her do that. Not to you.” She pauses as tears trickle down her face. “I couldn’t let her take you from us. So when she’d rather die than let a Gable marry her son . . . I knew that was the only way. One of the maids found the fentanyl left in one of the rooms, and I confiscated it. It sat in my drawer for months, and I forgot about it. But it was like the hand of God helping me protect you, Whit. I knew she wouldn’t suffer.”