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her latest masterpiece: chicken-fried steak, okra, mashed potatoes, and butter beans, everything slathered in thick, beefy gravy.
    One point I’ll concede—Whitney is a phenomenal cook. Lights out. I can’t imagine how she maintained her figure, eating like that, but I was happy to be along for the ride. Her culinary prowess was the sole perk of sharing a roof.
    “Tory!” Whitney flashed synthetically whitened teeth. “Now that you’ve debuted, have you thought about how you’d like to give back to the community? We’ll need to get you admitted first, but there are several interesting committee openings in the Mag League.”
    I froze, mid-bite. “The what?”
    “The Magnolia League.” Mascaraed lashes fluttered in surprise. “Surely you’ve heard?”
    “Can’t say that I have.” Voice flat. I didn’t like where this was going.
    Whitney turned disbelieving eyes on Kit. “The Magnolia League of Charleston is only the most exclusive young women’s service organization in the South. I’m sure all of your debutante friends have already joined.”
    “My debutante friends? Who would they be, exactly?”
    “I don’t understand.” Whitney cocked her head like a sparrow. “I’m referring to the wonderful group of young ladies with whom you shared your introduction. Why, you’re practically sisters now! Members of a debutante class are lifelong friends. You girls will be grouped together when you join the League.”
    Blargh.
    I’d thought this nonsense dead and buried. Apparently my debut was merely a prelude to a life sentence.
    I tried to be diplomatic. “I’m not sure that’s a good fit for—”
    “It’s a perfect fit. Tory, this is simply what you do as a member of polite society. It’s also a tremendous honor. Only daughters of the finest families are even considered for admission.” Whitney’s lips thinned. “Frankly, you’re lucky to still be invited, after this nasty court business.”
    My jaw clenched. I fought an impulse to say something I’d regret. Whitney describing the Gamemaster’s trial as some kind of embarrassing inconvenience drove me bonkers.
    “It’s completely up to you.” Kit gave me a hopeful look. “Might be fun?”
    “You simply must continue with your charitable work.” Whitney practically whined.
    “I’ll think about it.” Changing the subject. “Everything good at work, Kit?”
    “What?” Kit lowered a forkful of mashed potatoes. “Oh, fine, fine. Business as usual. The hurricane damage has been repaired, and the monkeys seem unaffected. Overall, we were very lucky.”
    “We need to pay better attention to the social side of things.” Whitney folded her napkin and placed in on her lap. “Your employees need diversions, living out here in the sticks.”
    Meaning you do, you harridan.
    “There’s much more to do in the city,” I said innocently. “When is your place due to be finished?”
    “Not for weeks yet,” Whitney murmured.
    Kit dodged my eye. “What diversions did you have in mind, Whitney?”
    She perked up. Had been waiting for the question.
    “We should host a block party. Right outside, on the front lawn. We could rent a white pavilion, tables and chairs, and serve barbeque and iced tea. Maybe have some games. Croquet. Or even badminton! And door prizes, of course.”
    “Oh, of course,” I repeated.
    Kit gave me a warning look.
    Whitney clapped her hands, delighted by her own idea. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful? And LIRI should cover the entire cost. A gesture like that would show the neighbors how much you care about their well-being.”
    “Great idea,” Kit said automatically. “You should organize it.”
    Whitney positively beamed. “I’d be honored. Tory, you can help!”
    “Fantastic.”
    Double blargh.
     

Tuesday
    I braced myself for the coming storm.
    Downtown. Tuesday morning. 7:00 a.m.
    Time to face the music.
    Shelton, Hi, and I stepped off Hugo, exited the marina onto Lockwood Drive, and walked south to Broad