Defiled

“Jo.” Art was gently shaking her.

“What!” She sat up so quickly that she almost bumped heads with him. “Is Lucy okay?”

“She’s totally fine,” he told her. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The sun was streaming through the bedroom windows. For the first time in ages, she’d missed sunrise. “Oh my God,” she said, her hand reaching for her phone on the nightstand. “What time is it?”

“Eight thirty. I knew you got home late, so I let you sleep in. Lucy’s been fed and she’s keeping herself entertained. But I gotta hop in the car. I have a meeting in Manhattan at eleven.”

“Isn’t it Saturday?”

“Every day is a workday for the foreseeable future,” Art said. “That’s showbiz.”

“Okay, no problem.” Jo yawned and planted a kiss on his chin before scooting around him to the edge of the bed. “Go make good art. I got it from here.”

She grabbed a pair of leggings off the top of the hamper and pulled them on.

“Hey, before you run off, there’s something I wanted to talk about.”

“Sure,” she said as she searched for a top to put on over the sports bra she’d worn to bed. “What is it?”

“I’m going to have a lot more meetings on my calendar going forward. There will be times when I need to spend the whole day in the city. After a while, I’ll need to be there all night, too.”

If he hadn’t been half out the door, she would have climbed right on top of him. This was the Art she’d fallen for—the one who could go for days without sleep when he was in the zone on a project. The one who always had three projects lined up. That Art had been gone for so long that Jo had started to wonder if he’d been a figment of her imagination. And yet here he was, sitting on the side of her bed. He even looked years younger than the man she’d been married to a few weeks earlier. If she hadn’t known better, she would have wondered if the man in her room was a time traveler.

“We have plenty of money for a pied-à-terre,” Jo told him. “Why don’t you look for a small place in Manhattan or Brooklyn?”

“Jo,” he said in his serious voice.

“What?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for the family to be apart. It’s gotten too dangerous. For God’s sake, Josh Gibbon was murdered yesterday.”

Unpleasant memories from the previous day flooded back into her mind. “In Brooklyn,” Jo pointed out half-heartedly. She knew where Art was headed, and she knew he was right.

“He was murdered because of what happened here in Mattauk,” Art replied. “You’ve been telling me that the story is bigger than anyone knows—that there are other people involved in what happened at the Harding house. And you know what? You are totally right. One of them just murdered a podcast host. Do you honestly think our family is safe if we stay here?”

Jo felt like the floor was dissolving under her feet. “So you’re saying you want to leave Mattauk. What about Furious Fitness? What about my career?”

“What about Lucy, Jo?” he demanded.

“Don’t go there,” Jo warned her husband darkly. He’d hit her weak spot. “You know I always put Lucy first.”

Art nodded. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. Look, you don’t need to close down the gym for good. Let’s rent a place in the city for a few months while I work on the play. Put your self-defense club on hold and let Heather run Furious Fitness in the meantime. You can pop in and check on her whenever you like. But I’d feel a lot better if you and Lucy were in the city with me.”

“What would I do all day while you’re at work?” Jo asked.

“Same thing I’ve been doing for the past couple of years,” Art told her.

Jo tried her best to hide how much the idea horrified her.

Two hours later, she was pounding a treadmill, fleeing from a gaping void that was opening underneath her. Lucy sat in one of the windows that lined the street-facing side of Furious Fitness’s second floor, reading a battered copy of Carrie. Several concerned citizens had already informed Jo that the content of the book wasn’t suitable for an eleven-year-old. But Jo went by the rule her father had imposed when she was a child of Lucy’s age. If you’re old enough to understand all the words, he always said, you’re old enough to read it. The rule had driven her mother completely insane, and yet she’d never once challenged it.

As Jo recalled, her parents’ relationship had been a Venn diagram with a thin sliver of overlap. Each had their own distinct spheres of influence. Her father ruled the family finances, the kids’ education, the television schedule, and the yard. Her mother, meanwhile, was the undisputed queen of all social events, children’s attire, meals, and manners. In the house they’d shared for fifty years, her parents’ only common ground had been the dining-room table and the master bed. In her younger years, Jo had found the arrangement old-fashioned and inflexible. She had sworn her marriage would be different. But it hadn’t been. Not really. Now Art was asking to swap spheres for a while. It was a reasonable request. Sensible. Logical. The truth was, she just didn’t want to.

She was running from the thought when she saw Lucy wave to someone who’d just walked up the stairs. Then Claude’s frantic face appeared beside her, and Jo pulled out her headphones.

“Jo! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Claude cried. “People are dropping like flies around here! It’s not a good time to stop answering your phone!”

“Sorry.” Jo hit the cooldown button, and the treadmill slowed to a crawl. As soon as she’d gotten to the gym, she’d shoved her phone into one of the drawers at the front desk. She knew Art would be texting about his plan, and she wasn’t ready to talk. “You heard about Josh Gibbon?”

“It’s all over the news! They say your friend found him—the lady I met here the other day?”

“Nessa.”

“Such a terrible tragedy. And what an awful thing for your friend to see. Didn’t Nessa find the girl down by Danskammer Beach, too?” Claude asked. “Does she have some kind of secret power for finding dead bodies or something?”

“It was my fault that Nessa found Josh,” Jo said, sidestepping the question. “I was the one who asked her to go talk to him.”

“I know. I was there when you asked,” Claude said. “I still don’t understand it. Didn’t he throw you under the bus when he apologized for having you guys on the show?”

“Yeah, but we discovered something new about the murders and we couldn’t go to the cops or the newspapers with it. We were hoping Josh could help.”

“Oh my God. What did you find?”

Jo didn’t hesitate. “Remember Chief Rocca—the cop they interviewed on Newsnight?” she asked, and Claude nodded. “He claimed Spencer took off in his helicopter before the police had a chance to arrest him. But Rocca was at the Harding house right before Spencer fled.”

“I’ve met Rocca,” Claude said. “He’s been at a few parties on the Pointe. You really think he let Spencer escape?”

“That’s exactly what I think. He should have arrested Spencer, but he didn’t—probably because he’s involved in it all. And we know Rocca has a thing for young girls. He tried to drag a teenager into his car in July.”

“In July?” Claude seemed shocked. “But Spencer died in June.”

“Yep, which means Rocca is still at it.”

“How did you find out about all of this?”

“Reliable sources,” Jo said. “Do you think there might be security footage from the Pointe that shows Rocca at Harding’s house?”

“Of course,” Claude said. “The entire neighborhood is covered by cameras. And the guys at the front gate keep a log of everyone who visits and the time they arrive. So yeah, if Rocca was there that night, we can definitely prove it. I’ll be happy to gather the evidence.”

“That would be great,” Jo said. “’Cause until we round up all the bad guys, there’s a chance I could end up dead. There’s no doubt in my mind that Rocca was responsible for Josh Gibbon’s death.”

“Then let’s take the bastard down,” Claude said. “I’m not going to stand by and let him murder anyone else. If he touches a hair on your head, I’ll kill him myself.”

“My husband would prefer that I avoid getting murdered in the first place. This whole thing has got him really worried,” Jo admitted. “Art’s doing some work in the city, and he wants Lucy and me to move there for a while. I know it’s a lot to ask, but maybe we could pause our self-defense program until things get under control?”

“You can’t go to Manhattan,” Claude announced with her arms crossed and her mind clearly made up.

“I can’t?” Jo felt her heart sink.

“Of course not. Brooklyn is a much better place to live these days. Leonard owns a building downtown. The ground floor would make a great location for the first New York City branch of Furious Fitness. If we started a club there, we’d get girls from every possible background, which is exactly what we want. And I happen to know that there’s a great three-bedroom apartment available on the tenth floor. We could throw that in as part of the bargain.”

“You’re serious?” Jo asked.

“Completely,” Claude said.

“Why would you do something like that for me?”

Claude’s nose wrinkled as if the conversation had gone bad. “That is a question no man would ever ask. I’m not your fairy godmother, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told Jo. “I’m doing it because I’ll never be able to find a partner who’s as good as you.”

 

Five minutes after Franklin got up to make breakfast, Nessa opened her eyes to see Breanna and Jordan standing at the end of her bed in front of the window. The sunlight streamed around them, forming heavenly coronas around their bodies. Nessa sat straight up and shrieked at the sight.

“We’re alive, Mama,” Jordan said, reaching out an arm for Nessa to pinch.

“Don’t do that to me again,” Nessa ordered. She could still hear her pounding heart in her ears. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you two at school?”

“Don’t you know the rule?” Breanna asked. “You get a day off whenever your mom finds a dead body.”

Jordan sat down on the side of the bed. “The police say Josh Gibbon committed suicide,” she said. “Did he?”

“No,” Nessa set them straight.

“Who do you think got to him?”

Nessa shook her head. “I don’t want you two getting involved in all of this. You shouldn’t even be here. This town isn’t safe.”

“You think we aren’t involved already?” Breanna asked.

“You think the city’s any safer than the island right now?” Jordan added. “The same man’s been parked across the street from our dorm for the last two nights.”

Nessa’s face must have shown her horror because Breanna jumped in. “Don’t worry, Mama. We know what we’re doing. We saw the man, but we made sure he didn’t see us.”

“We figured it would be best if we all stuck together for a little bit until things settle down.”

“It’s gonna get worse before it gets any better,” Nessa told her two girls. She could feel it deep down in her bones.

“We know,” Jordan said, just as the doorbell rang.

A few moments later, they heard Franklin coming up the stairs. “Nessa?” He kept his voice low. “There’s a lady at the door. She needs to talk to you about a sensitive subject. She says her name is Annette.”

Jordan and Breanna ran to the window.

“You sure have made some weird friends since we’ve been gone,” Breanna said.

Nessa threw on a robe and went downstairs. Before she opened the door, she peeked through the peephole. Waiting on her front porch was an unfamiliar white woman wearing a dressing gown identical to her own.

“Hello?” Nessa said.

“Oh, hi there.” The woman smiled nervously. “You don’t know me. My name is Annette Moore and I live across the street from Harriett Osborne. I saw you both on the news a while back, and I know you visit her house a lot, so I thought maybe you two were good friends.”

“We are,” Nessa confirmed cautiously, wondering what Harriett might have done to the nosy neighbor lady’s yard—and mildly annoyed that the woman had no trouble locating the house where Harriett’s Black friend lived.

“Well, I was making myself a cup of tea about an hour ago when I heard sirens coming up the street. They didn’t pass by, so I peeped out my blinds, and there were three cop cars parked in front of Harriett’s house.”

Nessa closed her eyes and rubbed them with the heels of her hands. “Damn it,” she groaned.

“Harriett opened the door and let the cops in. I thought maybe she’d called them for some reason. Then about fifteen minutes ago, two of them dragged her out and shoved her in the back of a police car. There are still three police officers in her garden. Since pot is legal now, they must be looking for the shrooms.”

“You’re talking about psilocybin? They won’t find any,” Nessa said. “Harriett doesn’t grow mushrooms like that in her garden.”

“I know. Eric grows them for her,” Annette said. “She gave me a baggie the other day. Harriett and I took some together to celebrate my divorce. It changed my life.”

“Harriett.” Nessa groaned again. “Thanks for letting me know, Ms. Moore. I’ll get dressed and go get her.”

“Wait.” The woman reached out and grasped Nessa’s arm. “There’s one more thing. If there’s bail to be paid, it’s on me. I’m afraid I have to insist.”

“Why?” Nessa asked.

“I owe her.” The lady didn’t choose to explain further, but Nessa could see that she took it very seriously. “Women like us need to stick together.”

“All right then.” Nessa wasn’t going to argue. “I’ll make sure you get the bill.”

Nessa closed the door and turned around to find her family had been eavesdropping. They stared at Nessa, waiting for her to make the first move.

“You heard what she said. I gotta get some clothes on.”

“I’ll go keep an eye on the officers in Harriett’s garden.” Franklin was already pulling on the sneakers he’d left in the entryway. “Make sure they don’t find anything that wasn’t already there.”

“I’m going with you!” Jordan followed Franklin out the door.

“I’ll toast you a bagel for the road,” Breanna told Nessa. “You can’t kick ass unless you’ve had breakfast.”

After they’d all rushed off, Nessa stood in the foyer for a moment and listened. Just a few months earlier, her life had been quiet. Suddenly, it was full once again. But the sound of the waves was louder than ever. A storm was on its way.

 

Nessa marched across the Mattauk Police Department parking lot like a woman on a mission. Though she’d never thought of herself as a pushover, she’d always preferred playing nice when she could. But not today. Today she’d be taking no prisoners.

She barged through the door of the police department and was met by a stench that brought her to a stop. The building reeked like an ancient grave, with a sharp top note of mildew and a base of black mold. A young officer named Jones was manning the desk with his undershirt pulled up over his nose, which Nessa was one hundred percent certain violated uniform regulations.

She went up to the desk, slammed her purse down on top, and made a show of searching the room with her eyes. “My friend Harriett Osborne was arrested this afternoon. Where is she? I’d like to know what she’s been charged with.”

“I’ll have to check,” came the muffled response.

“My ass, you’ll have to check. I’d bet you anything she’s the only woman here. What’s she in for? Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Possession of a Schedule I substance,” Jones responded.

“I can’t understand you,” Nessa said, though she could. He reluctantly pulled the shirt down from over his nose.

“Possession of a Schedule I substance.”

“You mean shrooms?” She scoffed. “How much?”

“Twenty milligrams.”

“Twenty milligrams? That’s a class A misdemeanor,” Nessa announced with conviction. She’d perused New York’s penalties for drug possession before she got out of the car. “And it’s only a matter of time before psilocybin possession is decriminalized in this state. You can’t hold her for something like that.”

“We can and we will,” said a voice behind her. She spun around—Chief Rocca had just entered the building. “A search of Ms. Osborne’s home is currently under way. If we find over six hundred twenty-five milligrams, your friend could be looking at life in prison.”

If he expected Nessa to be intimidated, he had another thing coming. It was hard to look at the man without punching him in the face. She might have tried if she’d thought she had a chance of doing some damage. “You think I don’t know the law? I was married to a cop for fifteen years. Until you find something, you have no right to keep her locked up. And if you think you’re going to plant something there, I’ll have you know there will be witnesses. Where is she?”

“In a holding cell, Ms. James.” He stopped and sniffed at the air. “What is that smell?” he asked the desk officer.

“I believe it’s mold, sir,” Jones wheezed. “It’s been like that for an hour or so.”

“Chief Rocca, are you going to tell me you’ve got Harriett Osborne locked up for possession of a few measly mushrooms in a building with a serious mold problem? Look at that!” Nessa pointed her index finger at the ceiling, where a patch of furry black mold had snuck past a door at the back of the room and was now creeping across the ceiling tiles. “You know black mold is toxic, right?”

As if on cue, the door to the holding cells opened and another young officer appeared. “Sir?” The boy’s face was unnaturally pale, and he clutched at his throat with one of his hands. “Sir, I think we have a problem back in the holding cells.”

“Then deal with it!” Chief Rocca barked.

The young cop stood there for a moment, mouth open and chest heaving. Then he fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

“Get him out to the parking lot!” Nessa ordered. When Jones and Rocca stood frozen in shock, she knew it was time to bellow, “Do what I say, damn it! I’m a nurse!”

The two men rushed to the collapsed officer. Each took an arm, and together they dragged her patient out the front door.

“You,” she ordered Jones once they were all outside, “hold the kid for me. We need to keep him upright. Chief Rocca, you call an ambulance.”

While Rocca made the call, Nessa quickly frisked her patient. Just as she’d expected, there was an albuterol inhaler in his pants pocket. The kid was asthmatic. She shook the inhaler and opened his mouth, making sure his tongue wasn’t blocking his airway. Then she held his nose, inserted the inhaler into his mouth, and sprayed.

“Inhale slowly and hold, honey,” she told the barely conscious boy. As he began to cough, she counted to sixty. “One more time, okay?”

After the second squeeze, the boy’s breathing remained labored, but at least he was getting air into his lungs. Nessa could hear an ambulance in the distance. She left the kid with Jones and marched up to Rocca.

“If you keep my friend locked up back there in some mold-infested cell, I will sell everything I own to fund the biggest motherfucking lawsuit this county has ever seen.”

“Bring her out,” Rocca ordered Jones.

“Are you kidding?” Nessa scoffed. “That boy is not going anywhere. He’s gotta keep the patient in an upright position until the EMTs get here. If you’re too chickenshit to go back in the station, just give me the damn keys already.”

Keys in hand, she stomped back into the building, following the path of the thick black mold on the ceiling to the door that led to the holding cells. When she opened the door, a stench unlike any she’d ever known washed over her. Peering inside, she wondered if she might have opened a portal to outer space. Everything beyond the threshold was a pure, inky black. She took a tentative step forward and felt the mold squish beneath her feet like a sodden shag carpet. Slowly, her eyes began to differentiate between the wall to her right, the floor beneath her, and a jail cell to her left. Fearing the worst, she frantically wiped the mold from the cell’s bars until she located the keyhole. When she opened the cell door, she saw what she’d been dreading. A human shape sitting upright on a bench, every inch of it covered in mold. It seemed to have been overcome almost instantly, like a figure buried by ash at Pompeii. The body was rigid and the mouth stretched wide-open in one last scream.

“Oh Jesus,” Nessa sobbed. “Harriett.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not Jesus, and it’s definitely not me,” announced a voice from the cell next door.

Nessa rode a wave of relief out of the cell and down the aisle. Harriett was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the center of a perfectly mold-free circle, her eyes closed. Until that moment, Nessa had only seen the benevolent side of Harriett’s powers. The flowers that lured you in with seductive fragrances. The elixirs that cured headaches and hangovers. Now, at last, Nessa had witnessed Harriett’s dark side firsthand. She’d always known it was there. But she’d clearly underestimated what it could do.

“What the hell, Harriett? You scared the crap out of me!” She pointed back the way she had come. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Do what?” Harriett’s eyes slowly opened. In the dim light of the holding cell, her irises seemed flecked with glistening gold.

“Kill the man in the first cell,” Nessa whispered.

“I had to. I promised Lucy.”

“Lucy?” Nessa was confused.

“Do you know who he was?” Harriett asked. “That was the man who broke into Jo’s house.”

“I thought he was under house arrest awaiting his trial,” Nessa said. “Why did they bring him back in?”

“Perhaps because they knew I would soon be in an adjoining cell?” Harriett offered. “Who knows what Rocca had in mind, but the man and I had an interesting chat before he died. I offered him a chance to confess his sins. I probably could have helped him survive the mold, but after I heard his sins, I didn’t feel so inclined. He was hired to scare the three of us out of Mattauk. He thought killing Lucy might do the trick.”

“He told you that?”

“People get chatty when death’s at the door. He also informed me he was getting paid very well to stay silent.”

“Who was paying him?”

“He didn’t know. He said he’d never met his employer, and he claimed he’d never heard of Spencer Harding.” When Harriett rose to her feet, she seemed to be a few inches taller than she had been before. “So do you think I did the wrong thing?” she asked.

The question felt like a test, Nessa thought. But she knew the right answer, and she had no problem giving it.

“No,” Nessa said. “The man was a monster.”

“The mold ate him alive,” Harriett informed her. “He died in terrible agony.”

“He was going to kill Jo’s baby. I’m sure he killed others. He got what he deserved.”

Harriett nodded. “I’m so glad we see eye to eye on this subject.”

Nessa watched Harriett walk out of the cell and through the police station, her bare feet leaving a trail of jet-black prints. Something important had just been decided. Nessa wasn’t entirely sure what it was. But she knew things would be different going forward.

Outside in the parking lot, the young officer Nessa had saved was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. The chief of police was waiting to ambush Nessa and Harriett when they emerged.

“What have you done to my station?” he snarled at Harriett.

“Excuse me?” Nessa shot back. “A mold problem you’ve left untreated just killed a man. If I were you, I’d be very careful what you say right now. We’re contemplating a hefty lawsuit.”

Rocca ignored Nessa and focused on Harriett. “I just got off the phone with the hospital. The officers who were executing the search of your garden have all been admitted for treatment. Two of them were attacked by ants, and one brushed up against something that left him in so much pain that he had to be sedated.”

“Oh dear,” Harriett droned. “I did warn them to be careful around my plants, particularly the mala mujer. I know it’s pretty, but it will fight back if you fondle it. Sounds like one of your men didn’t listen. Did they happen to find any of the mushrooms they were after?”

Rocca’s face had turned an unsettling shade of red. “I swear to God, I’m going to be all over you from now on. You may have gotten lucky this time, but you won’t the next.”

Harriett gave him a grin. “I’m no lawyer, but that certainly sounds like harassment. Does that sound like harassment to you, Nessa?”

“It does, Harriett,” Nessa agreed. “As does locking you up for possessing a few mushrooms and making you wait in a moldy cell. I’m sure your lawyer would love to know what probable cause led to the search of your home in the first place.”

“Her husband, Chase Osborne, informed me that she was selling drugs out of their yard.”

Nessa’s jaw dropped at the betrayal, but Harriett took it all in stride.

“Chase is not my husband, and the yard to which he referred is mine. He hasn’t lived in the house for almost a year now. As for my business, all I sell is peace of mind to women who have to deal with sad little men like you and Chase. Since you and my ex-husband seem to be in regular contact, perhaps you can ask him what your future might hold. He’s had a taste of what I can do.”

“Are you threatening me, you fucking witch?” Rocca snarled.

“Fucking witch. You say that as if it’s an insult,” Harriett replied. “For your information, I don’t plan to ever see you again.”

They walked around him to Nessa’s car and climbed inside.

“You’ve become quite a badass, my dear,” Harriett noted as Nessa peeled out of the parking lot. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?” Harriett reached into her thicket of hair and pulled out a fat joint.

“Harriett, you snuck a joint into jail?” Nessa marveled. “And when the hell did you and Eric start growing shrooms?”

“When I learned they can help treat depression,” Harriett said. “Why obey laws that are in no one’s best interests?”

Nessa wasn’t going to argue. “Well, I don’t know where you hid your stash, but we both know you were lucky as hell they didn’t find it.”

“Yes,” Harriett agreed. “Which means it’s time to celebrate.”

“Put that away until I get you home!” Nessa ordered.

“Only if you agree to give it a try,” Harriett said. “If you like it, I’ll send you off with a thank-you gift. A few puffs before sex, and I swear you’ll see God.”

Nessa glanced over at her. “Fine,” she said, and Harriett cackled in triumph. But when she pulled up in front of Harriett’s house a few minutes later, they found a familiar Mercedes parked in the driveway. Chase Osborne leaned against the trunk, looking pasty and hungover.

“Ugh,” Harriett grumbled at the sight of her guest. “I had a feeling he’d show up. His conscience always briefly kicks in after he does something shitty.”

“Are you going to kill him?” Nessa asked.

“No,” Harriett replied, as though the result wouldn’t be worth the effort. “If I killed people for being morons, I would have murdered Chase years ago.” She opened the door and slid out. “But I’ll give you a shout if I need any help with a body.”

 

After Nessa drove off, Harriett greeted Chase with all the enthusiasm she would have shown a chin hair. When they’d first met in their twenties, he’d seemed like such a fascinating mystery. Unfortunately, it hadn’t taken long to solve it. By the time they were married, Harriett had realized that everything he did was completely predictable. He valued money, sex, status, and food—in that order. Chase was a very simple creature.

“What in the hell is going on here?” he asked her. “When I pulled up about thirty minutes ago, there were policemen in the garden, and all of them were screaming. Then ambulances arrived and rushed them away.”

“Did any of them go near the compost heap?” Harriett asked.

“Not that I know of,” Chase said.

“Then I forgive you. Go home.”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying this is all my fault somehow?”

“I know you narced on me, Chase. That’s pretty despicable, even by your standards.”

Either he’d invested in acting lessons or Chase was genuinely shocked by the accusation. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I’ve spent the last couple of hours in a cell at the Mattauk police station. The chief of police told me that you personally informed him I was selling mushrooms out of my home.”

“What? I didn’t—” He went pale. “That guy was the chief of police?”

“How did that fact escape you?” Harriett asked.

“He wasn’t in uniform!” Chase said. “He was wearing shorts and a polo shirt! I wouldn’t turn you in to the police. Do you think I’m that stupid?”

“Yes,” she said honestly.

“I was drunk, and I was talking to Jackson—”

“Jackson Dunn?” Of course. It was starting to make perfect sense.

“He’s the reason I’m out here on the island. He invited me to stay for Labor Day weekend. Last night, he had a small party. Just a few of the boys. I was talking to Jackson and another guy when your name came up—and the weed problem on the Pointe. Jackson said you had a way with plants, and I may have made a joke about you growing crazy shit in your garden. I never thought anyone there would use the information against you. It’s not like Jackson and his friends are upstanding citizens. In fact—” He paused, looking terrified.

“Tell me,” Harriett ordered.

“That’s why I came to see you. Last night Jackson asked if I’d be interested in a girl for tonight.”

“A girl?”

Chase had suddenly gone pale. “I was drunk,” he said. “But I got the sense that he was talking about something sketchy.”

“What did you say?” Harriett asked.

“I said okay.”

“You said okay?”

“I was drunk, and he’s the man who pays my fucking bills, Harriett. I have a baby on the way, I can’t—” He stopped.

“Congratulations,” Harriett said, surprised that she felt nothing. It seemed that wound had healed nicely. “You’ve successfully passed your DNA to a new generation.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not how I meant to tell you.”

“I figured it was only a matter of time. Let’s get back to the girl you were offered.”

“Jackson didn’t say anything about the girl’s age or anything, but I just got this sense that . . .” Chase looked truly ill. “I left first thing this morning. I’m going back to Brooklyn right after this. I don’t give a damn if I lose the account anymore. I don’t give a damn if I lose my job. I feel like I just had a brush with something evil. I know you have something to do with all of that stuff that happened with Spencer Harding, and I thought I should tell you. I think Jackson might be some kind of pervert, too.”

It was as close to a selfless act as Chase Osborne would ever muster. The species wasn’t entirely corrupt, Harriett observed. Once in a while, one of them would surprise you. Such actions never redeemed them completely, of course, but it did make Harriett wonder if they really deserved to be wiped off the planet.

“Thank you, Chase.”

“Do you think Jackson might do something to me? A lot of weird shit has been happening lately.”

“No,” Harriett assured him. “You have my word. Jackson can’t do anything to you.”

Chase’s phone dinged and its screen lit up. He glanced down, then his head jerked back up. “Jackson’s dead. Did you do that, Harriett?”

“Go home,” she told him. “And don’t come back to the island for a while. It might not be safe for you here.”