Jo stared at the mirror. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn anything that wasn’t at least 70 percent spandex—or let her hair down from its perma-ponytail. The black halter sundress Harriett had pulled from her closet showcased Jo’s toned arms and complemented the wavy red hair that cascaded over her shoulders.
“I look hot,” Jo told the mirror.
“I’d fuck you,” Harriett agreed.
“You fuck everyone,” Jo said.
“Not true,” Harriett corrected her. “I’m actually quite discerning.”
“You got anything that would make me look that good?” Nessa asked.
“Yes,” Harriett said, calling Nessa’s bluff. “Have you decided to come?”
Nessa snorted miserably. Even if she’d been curious to see Culling Pointe, she couldn’t bear to be close to Danskammer Beach. While the girl in blue sat on the sofa in Nessa’s living room, the other two girls were still out there, drifting beneath the waves. Every day, Nessa’s guilt grew heavier, and the proof of her incompetence had become too hard to ignore. Weeks had gone by since they found the girl in the scrub, and yet little progress had been made in the case. The portrait Nessa had drawn had been picked up by websites and newspapers around the state, and she’d posted it on every missing persons site she could find. Still, no one had come forward to claim the body. Meanwhile, the medical examiner had officially ruled the girl’s death an accidental overdose. It was starting to seem as though the cops’ theory was right—and Nessa’s instincts were wrong. The gift should have passed to one of her cousins. She didn’t know how to use it.
Jo told her she had to be patient. Harriett remained unperturbed, but Nessa suspected that had less to do with her confidence in Nessa than with the copious amounts of marijuana she smoked. It was Franklin whose faith she feared losing most. He’d taken a risk on Nessa, and she hadn’t delivered. A couple of days after Nessa had shared her secret, the two of them had gone out on the water. As promised, Franklin had wrangled a local fisherman with a sonar-equipped boat to help them search for evidence of the two missing girls. Nessa had guided them to the spot off Danskammer Beach where she’d seen the girls staring up at her from the water, their long hair fanned out around them.
“There’s something down there. Could that be fish?” Franklin had kept his eyes on the sonar screen while Nessa watched the water.
“Nope, it’s not fish,” the fisherman told them. “That’s debris on the floor.”
Her heart thumping, Nessa had hurried to Franklin’s side. Far below them on the ocean floor, hundreds of strange shapes lay scattered about.
“Are those—” Nessa stopped herself.
“I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I can tell you what you’ve found,” the fisherman said. He tapped one of the shapes with his index finger. “See the straight sides and ninety-degree corners? Those are lobster traps.”
“There aren’t any lobsters out here,” Nessa had argued.
“Not anymore there aren’t,” the man agreed. “They all died in ninety-nine. Pesticides killed them. That’s why there are so many abandoned traps down there. It’s a junkyard. They call it ghost fishing. Those traps never stop killing.”
Nessa stared at the screen. She was still sure the girls were down there.
“I’m guessing you weren’t looking for lobster traps. You’re looking for somebody, aren’t you?” the fisherman asked.
Their silence seemed to be answer enough.
“Body wouldn’t hold together long in the water,” he said. “You might find a bone or two. The rest would be fish food pretty quickly.” It was the same thing Franklin had said.
“Even if it were in a trash bag?” Nessa asked.
“A dead body releases gases. They’d turn a trash bag into a giant balloon. A body in a trash bag would have washed ashore.”
She should have known that the bodies might no longer be where they were originally dumped. That revelation was followed the next day by the news that what was left of Amber Welsh’s trailer had been located in a town in New Hampshire. Someone had donated it to the local fire department for a controlled-burn exercise. The name of the donor turned out to be an alias, and whatever clues might have been inside the trailer had been destroyed in the fire. Franklin had paid a personal visit to Amber’s husband, who was doing time at Sing Sing. Not only had he not arranged for the trailer to be carted away, he seemed to have no idea his wife and children were missing. He hadn’t heard from any of them in over a year.
That was three days ago. Nessa had been sleeping on Harriett’s sofa since then. The experience, she’d discovered to her discomfort, shared a great deal in common with camping. The squirrels in the fireplace chittered away in the evenings and fireflies turned the nighttime ceiling into a starry sky. Nessa despised camping. But as much as she longed for her own bed, she couldn’t face the guest on her couch, and she knew the girl in blue would never follow her to Harriett’s house.
Jo plopped down on the sofa next to Nessa. “Come with us to the Pointe,” she pleaded. Jo couldn’t hear the voices. All she could see was that her friend desperately needed to get out of the house. “Free food, free booze, and we can rank all the plastic surgery. Why won’t you join us?”
“Because for people like me, there are two hells,” Nessa said. “One where there’s fire and brimstone and another filled with rich white people. And I don’t want you beating up the first person who asks me to get them a drink.”
“Now I might have to beat up all the fancy fuckers just because,” Jo told her.
“That’s my job. I’m the punisher,” Harriett reminded her. “And while I’m out there, I plan to settle a score of my own.” She patted the pockets of her olive-green flight suit, which Jo now noticed were bulging.
“What the hell do you have in there?” Jo asked as the doorbell rang. She wondered just how far Harriett was willing to go.
“It’s a surprise.” Harriett wiggled her eyebrows. “Are you ready?”
Chase Osborne was leaning against the side of his silver Mercedes, dressed in a blue blazer, white polo shirt, and madras shorts. He gave his ex-wife a once-over as she emerged from the house.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked incredulously “You look like Amelia Earhart.”
“And you look like a douchebag,” Harriett told him. “But I assume that’s what you were going for, so bravo—you really knocked it out of the park. Chase, meet my friend Jo.”
“Hello.” Jo shook his hand.
Chase recoiled from her touch and wiped his hand on his pants. “Are you ill?” he asked. “You feel feverish. I don’t want to be rude, but—”
“Then don’t be,” Harriett said, putting an end to it. “Anything you catch today will come from having your nose wedged in a billionaire’s ass.”
Jo watched the exchange with growing amusement. She’d assumed nothing could penetrate Harriett’s celestial stoner vibe. But it seemed there was one person left who was determined, at least temporarily, to drag the goddess back down to earth.
“Is this what it’s going to be like all afternoon?” Chase asked.
“No,” Harriett told him. “Because you’re going to remember how grateful you are that I saved your career.”
Driving down Danskammer Beach Road, they passed an uninterrupted line of luxury vehicles parked along the shoulder and left the Mercedes with a valet at the Culling Pointe gate. As they strolled up to the guard post, Jo was fully prepared to be turned away. Chase was the only one with a real invitation. Even in her flight suit, Harriett could pass for a member of the upper class, but Jo was certain the guards would recognize her as an impostor. She felt a rush of relief when their entire party was waved through without trouble. A fleet of idling golf carts waited to ferry guests to their destination. The three of them climbed into the cart at the front of the line.
“Welcome to the Pointe!” The young man at the wheel flashed a pearly white smile that suggested he’d never been denied healthy meals or expensive orthodontia. “We’ll be at the house in less than ten minutes.”
Soon the cart took a turn and the first mansions appeared. A single road ran all the way from the gate to the tip of the Pointe, and homes lined the beaches on either side. A flock of rowdy children on bikes rode beside them for a few minutes before they disappeared down one of the mansion’s drives.
Everything looked a little too perfect, and Jo found the effect uncanny. There was no gum stuck to the sidewalks or patches of brown grass marring the lawns. The architecture was tasteful. The pools were turquoise and the tennis courts made of clay. It must have taken hundreds of people to rake all the yards and clean all the pools. Where were they hidden? And where were the maintenance vehicles? Jo wondered if the Pointe’s workers traveled around via underground passages like the ones beneath Disney World. Then the billionaires who lived there could pretend their world was always this way, and the sight of the sweating, aching humans who made it all possible wouldn’t ruin the illusion.
“It’s too beautiful,” Jo said out loud. She didn’t add that it was also creepy as fuck.
“Thank you,” said the kid at the wheel. “We feel very blessed to live here.” He was one of them.
“I suppose God chose this life for you?” Harriett asked.
Jo saw Chase’s spine straighten, but the kid didn’t get it. He hadn’t caught sight of Harriett’s smirk.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with flawless manners and zero irony. “My name is Archie. I’m one of Jackson Dunn’s sons.”
Chase instantly shot forward and leaned over the seat that separated them. “I thought I recognized you! I’m Chase Osborne. I do all the advertising for Little Pigs BBQ.”
“I remember, Mr. Osborne,” Archie said. “I’m a big fan of your work. My father says I owe my trust fund to you. I’ve got first dibs on marketing when my brothers and I join the company. Maybe someday I’ll end up working with you.”
“Call me Chase. If you’re ever interested in seeing how the sausage gets made, just ring me up.”
Harriett snorted with amusement to hear Chase shamelessly sucking up to his future boss.
“I’d love to,” the boy told him, “but I probably have a few more years of school left. I guess you could say I’m taking my time.”
“We offer amazing summer internships.” Chase may have been a mediocre copywriter, but he was a first-class snake oil salesman. “College students from all over the country apply.”
The kid’s big blue eyes appeared in the rearview mirror. “I’m not sure I’d be any competition for them. I don’t have much of a CV yet.”
“No worries,” Chase assured him. “I’m good at spotting raw talent. There’s a place for you if you want it. You can even work your own hours.”
“Thank you, Chase,” Archie said. “I appreciate the opportunity.”
“You totally deserve it,” Harriett added, aiming a wink at Jo.
Chase elbowed her angrily, but the kid hadn’t been listening. He’d pulled the cart up in front of an elegant house made mostly of glass. The structure’s walls framed the ocean like a piece of art. Jo could see all the way through to the beach. They said their goodbyes to Archie and got out of the cart.
“Howdy there!” A red-faced man in a cowboy hat clapped a hand on Chase’s shoulder. The man’s Hawaiian shirt was decorated with red hibiscus flowers and little pink pigs. Only a single button was fastened, as though he’d grown bored while getting dressed. “Did y’all meet my boy Archie?”
Jo would never have made the connection between father and son. In a single generation, the family appeared to have skipped several rungs on the evolutionary ladder.
“I certainly did,” Chase confirmed. “Sounds like he’s interested in the ad world.”
“That right? Must have dropped the poor fucker on his head once too often when he was little.” A pause followed before Jackson howled at his own joke. “Chase, my friend, I’m so glad you could make it. Lemme tell you, son, I just can’t get over that new campaign of yours. Goddamned brilliant. Really pulled a rabbit out of the hat with that one. And Harriett, I sure am happy you’re back again this year. Couldn’t let a genius like this one slip away, could you?”
Chase grimaced nervously as he awaited her answer.
“Yes, well, as you know, he grovels so sweetly,” Harriett said, and the man hooted with glee. “Have you heard I left the advertising business?”
Jo glanced over at her friend. It seemed out of character for Harriett to share personal details with a Neanderthal like Jackson Dunn.
“I believe I did hear something about that.” Jackson’s interest was waning. “What are you doing with yourself these days?”
“I’m a horticulturalist. I specialize in invasive plant species.” Just as Harriett seemed prepared to go on, she stopped abruptly and smacked her forehead. “And apparently I’ve been spending so much time with weeds that I’ve forgotten how to deal with humans. Jackson, I’d like you to meet my friend Jo.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Jo.” Jackson put a hot, sticky hand on her arm while his eyes took a tour of her figure. “You ever been out to the Pointe before?”
“I haven’t.” Jo stared at the fingers pressed into her flesh. In the three years since she’d left the corporate world, she hadn’t had to let a strange man touch her. She’d almost forgotten the hugs and the pats and the kisses that had once been part of her job. Now the thought disgusted her. She wanted nothing more than to peel Jackson Dunn’s hand off her arm. “Thank you for letting me tag along. This is a real treat.”
“Well, we’re lucky to have you.” Then he leaned in close enough that Jo could smell the alcohol on his breath. “No party ever has enough redheads, if you ask me.”
Jo felt the energy surging through her limbs. The man was one second away from finding himself flat on his ass when his grip suddenly released. A pair of buzzing insects shot through the air between them like bullets. Jackson yelped and stumbled backward, his glass slipping from his fingers and shattering on the ground. Jo watched with immense satisfaction as he danced around the lawn, waving his cowboy hat frantically in the air as two angry bees flew in circles around his head. Then, just as quickly as they had arrived, the bees were gone.
Jackson returned to the group humbled and panting. “Sorry about all that excitement. I’m allergic,” he said. “Nearly died once when I was a kid.”
“Yes,” Harriett said flatly. “I seem to recall hearing that.”
“Come on, let’s get you folks inside and pour you some drinks.” Jackson ushered them to the front door and up a flight of stairs to a vast, empty living room. Its glass doors opened onto a deck with a pool that looked out over the ocean. Jo was certain they were on the top floor of the house, yet there was a set of stairs leading upward.
“Now, if you ladies will excuse us for a moment, I want to introduce Chase to a few of the boys. All the fun is down by the water. I suggest you two grab a couple of cocktails, strip down to your bikinis, and start soaking up sun.”
He put a hand on Chase’s back and guided him toward the stairs. Before the two men disappeared, Jackson leaned over the banister. His confidence was back in full force. “Next time I see you two, you’d better be red as lobsters and drunk as skunks!”
“He groped me once,” Harriett said, once the men were gone. “Pushed me up against a wall and fondled my crotch. I got him off me, and I never said anything. I didn’t want to jeopardize Chase’s account.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Jo fantasized about sprinting up the stairs, shoving Jackson Dunn against a wall and grabbing his goods. She wanted to see his gasping mouth and panicked eyes. Would he whimper, she wondered, or shout for help? For a moment, the desire to find out was almost too hard to resist.
“That was the old me, of course,” Harriett said. “I’m much less forgiving now.”
“You just give me the word and I’ll beat him to a pulp.” Jo’s body was buzzing with energy. “Doesn’t he know cowboys are supposed to live by a code?”
“The Cowboy Code was a marketing gimmick. Anyway, Jackson’s not a cowboy. He grew up in Pittsburgh. His real name is Joe Sharts and his father was a CPA.”
“Really? Sharts?” Jo snickered. “How’d you hear that?”
“Everyone knows,” Harriett said. “They just pretend his bullshit is a charming eccentricity.”
“They don’t care that the cowboy thing is all an act?”
Harriett held out her long arms and performed a slow twirl. “Darling, everything here is just an act,” Harriett told her. “Jackson’s not a cowboy, and this isn’t really a party.”
“What do you mean?” Jo asked. It was starting to seem rather sinister.
“This is where Chase has found his last five clients. He’s meeting the next ones as we speak. Who do you think the boys are?”
Jo couldn’t see what lay at the top of the stairs. “Where did they go? What’s up there?”
“The roof deck,” Harriett told her. “No one admits it, but it’s men only. I’ve never been invited, and I’ve never seen another female guest go up there.”
“You’re saying women aren’t allowed?” Jo asked.
“Of course we’re allowed,” Harriett replied. “Women are allowed everywhere these days. Golf courses, nudie bars, the Racquet and Tennis Club. It would be scandalous if we weren’t allowed. So instead, we’re just not invited.”
The fact that this wasn’t news to Jo made it no less shocking.
“The truth of it is, I don’t think most of them really question our intelligence or abilities—though they don’t mind us believing they do,” Harriett continued. “We’re just turds in the punchbowl. We spoil their party. They don’t want us hanging around.”
It was true, Jo knew. Every word of it. Over the years, she’d trained several smarmy young men who’d gone on to become high-ranking executives. At the time, Jo had assumed it was her fault she’d never risen any higher. The men they’d promoted weren’t juggling a job and motherhood. They never had to scramble when the day care was closed or the babysitter called in sick. So Jo had watched as men who weren’t as smart or diligent or trustworthy as she was worked their way past her toward the company’s C-suite. And she did her best to be satisfied with rising profits, stellar reviews, and performance awards. The day after she was fired for assaulting a VIP—who had turned out to be the CEO’s golf buddy—Jo had dumped those awards out onto her lawn and set the pile on fire. But still, even after the success of Furious Fitness, she’d wondered if she’d ever really had what it takes to succeed in corporate America.
Now all those nagging doubts had gone up in flames. The truth was, she’d never had a chance. Jo felt her entire body throbbing with rage. She thought of all the late nights she’d worked on presentations she’d been certain would make a difference. She remembered how, despite her name tag, she’d been repeatedly mistaken for a desk clerk by big shots from the corporate office. She imagined the tens of thousands of dollars she’d wasted on her hair and makeup, hoping that would somehow make them all see her. Most painful of all, she mourned the time she could have spent with her daughter. She’d tried so hard to prove she was good enough. And now, with a few simple sentences, Harriett had explained it so plainly. Jo had been good enough all along. They’d made her feel like a failure, when the truth was, they just hadn’t wanted her around. There was nothing she could have done.
Jo had stopped in the middle of the massive living room. Harriett was already at the glass doors that led out to the beach. “That anger’s like rocket fuel,” she told Jo. “Either it pushes you forward or it burns you alive.”
Jo got moving. She joined Harriett at the doors, and the two of them stepped out into the sunlight. When they reached the edge of the deck, they could finally see all the women and children. From the deck, a wooden walkway over the dunes ended at the stairs to the house’s dock. Beside them, the beach sloped down to the water’s edge. Rows of white chaises stretched out beneath blue-and-white-striped umbrellas. Most of the women were gathered in pools of shade, their hair tucked under dramatic straw hats that made them look like characters in The Great Gatsby and their eyes hidden behind big, dark glasses. They sipped brightly colored concoctions and chatted in small groups of three or four. Their children frolicked in the surf while a squad of lifeguards in Baywatch-red tank suits watched over them.
“They seem like regular human beings.” Jo wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting.
Harriett leaned toward Jo’s ear as if whispering a secret. “Because they are,” she said. “These are guests. Let’s see if we can spot a few of the residents.”
Jo heard a burst of laughter above their heads. With a hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun, she looked up to see several men with glasses in their hands on the roof deck, leaning drunkenly over the railing.
“I really wish they wouldn’t ogle the lifeguards like that.” The unfamiliar voice oozed with frustration. It clearly wasn’t the first time its owner had observed such behavior, and it certainly would not be the last. “It’s hard enough to get young women to visit the Pointe these days.”
A woman had come out of the house to stand beside them. Pixieish and petite, she wore a simple white T-shirt and a pair of black shorts. Her black bob was pinned away from her face with a butterfly clip. Her brow unknitted when she saw Jo was listening, and a mischievous smile replaced her frown. “Hi, I’m Claude,” she said.
“I’m Jo. This is Harriett. Are you here for the party?”
“You could say that.” Claude’s laugh made Jo want to laugh along, though she had no idea what was funny. “I organized it.”
“You did a great job.” Jo knew how much work must have gone into planning an event of this size. “It looks just like the beach scene from To Catch a Thief.”
“That was my inspiration!” Claude exclaimed with delight. “You’re the first to notice. Jackson only cares if the booze is cold and the ladies are half naked.” Her fingers flew to her lips and she grimaced at her indiscretion. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. He’s probably a friend of yours.”
“Nope,” Jo assured her. “We’re just here to drink his cold booze.”
“So you work for Jackson?” Harriett seemed to have caught a whiff of something. “Do you spend a lot of time on the Pointe?”
“I spend my summers here,” Claude confirmed. “But I try to avoid Jackson as much as possible. I come out to stay with my partner and wait for his fancy friends to throw business my way. I arranged to have the entire cast of the Frozen musical flown in next week for an eight-year-old’s birthday.”
“Wow. That couldn’t have been easy,” Jo said.
“You wouldn’t believe. The negotiations were brutal. A couple of the women had heard about that murder down by Danskammer Beach. I had to hire a dozen extra security guards, which was totally unnecessary. The president himself couldn’t get through the Culling Pointe gate without a written invitation.”
Jo had been wondering how she and Harriett would turn the conversation to murder. She felt grateful that the woman had done their work for them.
“Were you out here on the Pointe when the body was found?” Harriett inquired.
Claude nodded grimly. “Yeah, it was my first day getting things together for the party. What a tragedy. Have they found the guy who did it yet? I’ve been so busy I haven’t been able to keep up with the news.”
“They’d have to search for the killer in order to find him,” Harriett said. “The cops don’t seem to think it’s worth their time.”
“I wish I could say I’m shocked,” Claude responded grimly. “My partner has a charity that builds schools for kids all over the world. In a lot of the places we travel, women are nothing but baby machines. Girls disappear all the time, and no one ever bothers to look. We like to think that things are different here. But they’re not. Not really.”
“Your partner runs a charity?” Jo asked.
“That’s how we met. I planned an event for him years ago. To be honest, I think he fell in love with my food. The man never met an amuse-bouche he didn’t like. That’s him right there.”
Claude pointed down toward the ocean where a middle-aged man with curly gray hair was horsing around with a group of kids. They were all lined up at the water’s edge, trying to leap over the waves as they arrived onshore.
“Isn’t that the guy we saw standing on the dock the day we were out on the boat?” Jo asked Harriett.
“Looks like him,” Harriett replied.
“Were there whales around that day?” Claude asked.
“Yeah,” Jo said.
Claude laughed. “Then it was him. Leonard’s always out there looking for whales. If I can get his attention, I’ll introduce you.”
Claude waved from the deck until she caught the man’s eye. He returned the gesture and left the kids playing in the surf. As he walked up to greet them, he grabbed a striped towel from one of the chaises and draped it around his neck.
“Well, hello there!” He was already on his way up the stairs when he recognized them. “If it isn’t my fellow whale watchers. I see you’ve met my better half. I’m Leonard.”
“Harriett.” She held out a hand. “And Jo.”
“Are you two enjoying the party? Claude really outdid herself this year.” He put his arm around the woman and planted a playful kiss on the top of her head. “I wonder what Jackson will think when he gets the bill.”
“I imagine he’ll think it’s an excellent write-off,” Jo said. “All you have to do is invite a few business contacts to your party, and the government picks up part of the tab.”
Leonard’s impish grin suggested he knew his way around the tax code.
“Claude!” They all looked up to see Jackson Dunn leaning over the roof deck railing. “Can you come up for a sec?”
Claude gave him a thumbs-up and rolled her eyes as soon as he’d vanished from view. “Doesn’t matter how much cash Jackson spends,” she said. “He always makes sure he gets his money’s worth. If you’ll excuse me, I must earn my pay.” She gave Leonard a peck on the cheek and hurried off.
“That woman’s a miracle worker,” Leonard marveled. “She could re-create Paradise if you were willing to pay. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”
“Claude told us you have a house on the Pointe,” Harriett said. “Why aren’t you up on the roof with your neighbors helping Jackson justify his deductions?”
A young woman in a black dress appeared on the deck with a thick green beverage, which she handed to Leonard. “My afternoon smoothie,” he explained. “I don’t drink anymore. And I have no time for all the glad-handing going on upstairs. I spent thirty years making money for other people. Now I’d rather just hang out with dogs and kids.”
“And whales,” Jo added.
Leonard’s face lit up at the mention of whales. “Can you believe the show that female put on the other day? I’ve been coming to the Pointe for twenty years, and I’ve never seen anything like it. I wonder what got into her.”
Jo had to restrain herself from glancing over at Harriett. “You do a lot of whale watching?”
“Whenever I can.” Leonard wiped away a green smoothie mustache. “They’re such magnificent creatures. At some point in the future, when our own species is more evolved, we’ll look back and be very ashamed of what we’ve done to the whales.”
“While you’ve been out looking for whales, have you noticed the crowds down by Danskammer Beach lately?” Harriett asked.
Leonard shook his head with disgust. “The vultures haven’t gone away since the body was found. I’m afraid that sort of behavior doesn’t say much for our species, either.”
“Neither does dumping the bodies of dead teenage girls in the scrub,” Harriett said.
“This is true,” Leonard agreed solemnly.
“Did you happen to see anything unusual in the weeks before the girl was found?” Jo asked.
“No one spends much time on the Pointe before May. I’ll fly in for a weekend here and there, but I usually spend the spring in the Caribbean.” Leonard stopped, and his impish smile returned. “So are you two going all Cagney and Lacey? Think you have a shot at solving the case?”
“Nope, just curious,” Jo said. “I’ve always been fascinated by serial killers.”
“Serial killers?” Leonard appeared to have lost his sense of humor. “I thought they said the young woman died of a drug overdose. What makes you think her death was the work of a serial killer?”
Harriett waved away the idea with a dismissive flip of her hand. “Don’t listen to her. That’s just what the ladies in town are saying. You know ladies—always looking for an excuse to get our panties in a twist.”
Leonard laughed. “Well, I certainly hope that’s all there is to it. I’d hate to think there’s a serial killer on the prowl in the area.”
“Isn’t that what Culling Pointe’s gate is for?” Harriett asked. “To keep bad guys out?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” The thought seemed to lift Leonard’s mood again. Shrieks of excitement came from the beach below. Something had washed up on the sand, and the children were calling for Leonard to come down.
“I think you’re being paged,” Jo said.
Leonard offered a theatrical sigh. “The work of a retiree is never done. Enjoy the party, ladies!”
Jo scanned the crowd as Leonard jogged back to the water. “So what should we do now? If everyone down on the beach is a guest, they won’t know anything about the murder.”
“How about a walk?” Harriett replied. “I’d love a look at the local flora—and the south side of the Pointe should offer a good view of Danskammer Beach. And who knows? Maybe we’ll even meet a few locals.”
Jo kept her eyes peeled as they strolled along the water’s edge past the sunbathers and children. Once they’d rounded the tip of the point, the shrieks and shouts of the kids died away. A long, empty beach stretched ahead of them and the only sound was the rhythmic lapping of waves. The first mansion they passed was set back from the sand. A traditional beauty, it featured a wraparound porch that looked out over the scrub. The chaise longues at its pool sat empty and the sand on the beach appeared undisturbed.
“Where is everyone?” Jo asked.
“Watching,” Harriett replied. “There’s a man with a pair of binoculars pointed at us right now.”
“Shit!” Jo didn’t dare turn to look.
“Don’t be nervous.” Harriett’s soothing tone was half hypnotist, half Jedi knight. “We’re not trespassing. The key to getting away with anything is convincing yourself that you’ve done nothing wrong. We left the party so we could have a private conversation, nothing more.”
They passed over the property line and the scenery abruptly changed. A starkly modern house, its exterior walls clad in black-stained cedar, hovered over the dunes. The island’s native vegetation had been shorn and a perfect green carpet of grass laid out in its place. A long concrete planter ran along the lot line to the beach. Corralled inside were hundreds of green stalks rising four feet high, each crowded with pale yellow flowers. The transition from one property to the next was so abrupt, it was hard to imagine their owners could have anything in common.
“Interesting landscaping,” Harriett mused, but Jo wasn’t listening. Her attention had been drawn to a woman in a white bathing suit sitting alone on the deck that stretched out over the lawn, her blond hair wafting in the wind and her mirrored glasses reflecting the sun. A bowl of brightly colored fruit and a carafe of water rested on a table beside her. She was so still that Jo assumed she was sleeping. In the house behind her, a painting loomed over the living room furniture. In it, a young woman in her underwear stared out at the ocean. Her eyes seemed to warily follow her viewer as if watching to see what their next move would be. A white medical mask hid the rest of her face, and an old-fashioned nurse’s cap was pinned in place atop a sixties-style bouffant.
Jo focused again on the blond sunbather, recognition dawning. “I know that woman,” she said. “Her name is Rosamund Harding.”
“You know Rosamund Harding?” Harriett asked, eyebrow raised. “You run in some interesting circles.”
“She’s a client, not a friend,” Jo said. “Do you know her? Is she someone important?”
“Rosamund Harding used to be one of the world’s best divers. She was expected to win gold at the London Olympics. Then an injury ended her career and she married Spencer Harding, the art dealer, instead.”
“I’ve never met Spencer Harding, but I know he’s an asshole,” Jo said.
“That’s a logical assumption,” Harriett replied. “He collects Richard Prince.”
“What?” Jo asked.
“The creepy nurse art.” Harriett pointed at the house. “It’s a Richard Prince.”
“Yikes.” Jo grimaced. “It’s like he painted all his icky little schoolboy fantasies.”
“Which is why his paintings are so popular with former icky little schoolboys,” Harriett said. “So what else do you know about Harding?”
“He sent a bodyguard to my gym a few weeks ago looking for Rosamund, and she definitely didn’t want him to find her. I called her afterward, and she acted like it was no big deal, but she hasn’t been back to the gym since.”
“So Spencer fetishizes nurses and sends thugs after his wife. Sounds like poor Rosamund lost the marriage lottery.”
“No joke,” Jo said. “I’m going to go talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.”
Behind her glasses, Rosamund must have been watching them. When they stepped off the sand and onto the lawn, it was as if they’d tripped an invisible wire. Rosamund sat up and plucked an apple from the fruit bowl on the table. She kept her head bent as she whittled away at the apple’s skin with a paring knife.
“What is she doing?” Jo muttered. “Is she trying to pretend she doesn’t see us?”
They were almost to the deck when Rosamund suddenly stood and tossed the whole apple onto the grass as though it were trash. It landed a few feet from Jo. When she looked back up, Rosamund was hurrying inside the house.
“Okay, that was weird,” Jo said.
Harriett walked over and picked up the apple. Then she held it out for Jo to see. Etched into the apple’s skin was a word. FAITH.
Jo took a step forward and reached out for the apple. Harriett casually raised it to her mouth and took a bite.
“What did you do that for?” Jo demanded.
Harriett gestured with her chin at a man hustling across the lawn toward them. On the Pointe, his dark blue suit instantly identified him as a worker, not a resident.
“Shit,” Jo groaned.
Harriett swallowed. “Another friend of yours?” she asked.
“That’s the bodyguard I was talking about. He isn’t going to be happy to see me. I had to kick his ass when he showed up at my gym a few weeks ago.”
“Hmmm,” Harriett said. “Looks like you may need to do it again.” The man had picked up speed and was now jogging straight for them. “But look at all the effort he’s making. Let’s see what he wants first, shall we?”
The sight of the two women patiently waiting for him seemed to confuse Chertov, and he slowed to a brisk walk. His face was flushed when he reached them.
“Well, it’s about time. We’ve been looking all over for a waiter.” Harriett took another bite of the apple. “I’d love a banana daiquiri, and my friend here would like a piña colada.”
Chertov ignored Harriett. “You’re trespassing on private property,” he told Jo. “How did you get through the gate?”
“I walked, just like everyone else,” Jo said.
“Well, it’s time to go.” He reached a hand out toward her. “Mr. Harding knows you’re here, and he wants a word with you.”
Jo glanced down at the man’s hand, and it paused in midair. “Didn’t you learn your lesson the other day?”
The hand that had been traveling toward her changed course and disappeared under the man’s jacket. When it emerged, it was holding a gun. “Start walking,” he ordered.
“Fuck you.” The whole scene struck Jo as ridiculous, and she refused to play along.
“It’s okay, Jo,” Harriett said. “I’d like to have a word with Mr. Harding, too, wouldn’t you? If nothing else, we should try to convince him to buy better art.”
Residents stepped out on their decks to watch as Harriett and Jo were marched back toward the Dunn mansion. Apparently, the people of Culling Pointe weren’t accustomed to having trespassers nabbed on their land. As Jo and Harriett approached the party, the guests all stopped to look. Only the children didn’t seem to care.
“There you are!” called a voice behind them. “I’ve been looking all over for you two. What’s going on here?”
“You know these women?” Chertov barked.
“Of course!” Claude exclaimed, as if Harriett and Jo were the guests of honor. “They’re here for the party. They’re both friends of Leonard.”
That little lie seemed to give the bodyguard pause. “They were trespassing on private property. Mr. Harding wants to see them.”
“What? Why?” Claude asked with a confused smile, as though nothing he’d said made any sense to her.
“It’s okay,” Harriett assured her. “We’re looking forward to meeting Mr. Harding, too.”
“Still, there’s no need for that.” Claude pointed daintily at the gun. “I’ll take the ladies up to meet Spencer right now.”
When Chertov hesitated, Claude pulled out her cell phone. “Would you like to check with the boss?” she asked. “I can ring him up, if you like.”
When the bodyguard seemed uncertain, Claude began to dial.
“Fine,” he barked. “Just tell Mr. Harding I delivered them.”
“Of course,” Claude replied, her voice saccharine sweet.
“Thanks,” Jo told her as the bodyguard stomped away.
“I am so terribly sorry,” Claude told them. “Some of the security people here are drunk with power. Is there anything I can do to make up for that? A couple of really strong drinks, maybe? A massage from a hot young lifeguard?”
“We’d like to meet Spencer Harding. And have a look upstairs,” Harriett announced, pointing up at the roof deck.
Claude appeared mystified, but laughed nonetheless. “Spencer’s a creep and there are houses with much better views, if that’s your thing.”
“It’s not,” Harriett said. “I’ve been to Jackson Dunn’s Memorial Day party every summer for the past five years, and I’ve never once been invited up to the roof deck. I’d like to see what’s there.”
Claude’s slim smile conveyed more respect than amusement. “I wish I could take you,” she said. “But I can’t afford to get canned at the moment. Let’s grab Leonard and ask him to escort us. He can do whatever he wants around here. Though I promise, unless you like wrinkled old men, you really haven’t been missing much.”
She called out to Leonard, who was still cavorting in the surf with the guests’ children. When he heard Claude, he ran toward her, grabbing a shirt and a towel off a lounge chair as he passed.
“Sorry to bug you, sweetheart,” Claude said.
“You never bug me,” he told her, planting a kiss on her lips. “What’s up?”
“The ladies would like to see the roof and meet Spencer Harding,” Claude told him. “Would you mind escorting us?”
Leonard grimaced as he toweled his hair dry. “You wanna go up to the roof, let’s all go up to the roof. But why in the hell do you want to meet Harding? The man’s got the personality of a pit viper.”
“Told you,” Claude said.
“We’re worried about his wife,” Harriett replied.
“Oh? You know Rosamund?” Leonard asked.
“She’s a client of mine,” Jo said.
“Ah. Lovely girl. Way too good for that schmuck.”
“Yes, we agree,” Jo said.
“Well, come on, then.” Leonard led the way into the Dunn house. “But if he bites your head off, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
When the four of them emerged on the roof, Jo briefly wondered what all the fuss was about. Fifty middle-aged men mingled in groups of five or six. Most wore shorts and sandals. Aside from the watches on their wrists, few ostentatious signs of wealth were visible. It looked like a corporate retreat. Then, as Jo began to focus in on the faces, an uncanny feeling settled over her. She knew almost all of them, despite the fact that she’d never met any of them. Most were celebrities, but none were actors or entertainers. Tabloid paparazzi would have walked right past them. The moves they made were dutifully chronicled not by tabloids, but by reporters from the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times. These were men who ran the world.
None of the men on the roof stopped talking or stared when Claude, Jo, and Harriett made their way through the crowd. There were other women on the roof, after all. Two swimsuited lifeguards were mingling with a group of men. As Jo passed, she picked up a snippet about private swim lessons. But the atmosphere changed after their arrival. Spines straightened. The laughter sounded a little less raucous and the conversations a bit more polite.
“Hang out here with Claude for a sec and let me see if I can find Harding for you,” Leonard said.
Harriett sauntered over to the railing on the side of the deck that looked over the Pointe. She’d taken her hands out of her pockets and Jo could see that she had something clenched in her fists. “I always wondered what secret things happened here on the roof, but I didn’t want to get in the way. So I hung out downstairs with all the other women. I met doctors. And judges. And Oscar-winning actresses.” She looked back over her shoulder, and her eyes landed on Claude. “Do you know what we all talked about?”
“What?” Claude went to stand beside Harriett.
“We talked about what was going on up here on the roof.”
“Is it everything you were expecting?” Claude asked.
“Oh yes.” The grin spreading across Harriett’s face worried Jo.
“Harriett?” It was Chase’s voice.
Jo spied him making his way across the roof, wearing a constipated smirk that he was trying to pass off as a smile. Harriett didn’t bother to look.
“What are you doing up here?” he whispered angrily when he reached them.
Claude turned around to face him. “Leonard brought them,” she said.
Chase reared backward, the drink in his hand sloshing over the rim of its glass. “My apologies. I’m their escort,” he responded. “Chase Osborne.”
“A pleasure,” Claude said unconvincingly.
“Would you mind if I had a word with my wife for a moment?”
“Ex-wife,” Harriett corrected him, without turning around.
“Of course. I’ll just find out what’s keeping Leonard and Spencer.” Claude set off across the roof, but Jo didn’t bother to move.
“What the hell, Harriett,” Jo heard Chase whisper. “We had a deal. We said we’d stay out of each other’s business.”
“And now I’ve let you down,” Harriett said. “How inconsiderate of me. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair in a moment.”
Jo glanced over at Harriett just in time to see her open her hands and toss a thousand tiny seeds off the balcony and into the air. The two women watched as they floated down and settled on the land below.
“What was that? What the hell are you up to?” Chase bent over the railing to look.
“Fuck off, would you?” Harriett told him. The breeze from the ocean was already carrying the seeds inland.
Jo pulled Harriett to the side, away from Chase. “You told Jackson you’re working as a horticulturalist,” she whispered. “Whatever you just did, he’s going to know it was you.”
When Harriett looked at her, Jo saw something cold in her friend’s eyes. “That’s why I told him. So when the time comes, he’ll know.”
“Jo, Harriett. Leonard sent someone over to say hello.” Claude was back. At her side was a handsome man in a blue shirt and white jeans. His skin was a shade Jo would have called “Private Island Patina,” and though his face was unlined, his hair had turned gunmetal gray. The man’s pale eyes refused to settle on anyone. His expression remained blank, but his eyes conveyed his annoyance. He didn’t seem to care much for Claude, and he had no desire to speak to either Jo or Harriett.
“Mr. Harding, I’d like you to meet Leonard’s new friends, Jo Levison and Harriett Osborne.”
“Hello, Mr. Harding.” Harriett turned around and leaned her back against the railing. “We just had the pleasure of spending some time with your bodyguard.”
“What a beautiful home you have,” Jo added. “And what a lovely, terrified wife.”
Spencer Harding’s jaw clenched and he swallowed whatever words had risen to his lips. His eyes remained focused on Harriett. He seemed unaware that Jo existed. “My sincere apologies for my employee’s behavior,” he said flatly. “I’m afraid my wife has been ill recently, and we’re all very protective of her these days. But it sounds as if my director of security stepped over the line. I’ll ensure there are no more mistakes of this sort.”
“To be honest, I’m much more concerned about your wife, Mr. Harding,” Harriett continued. “I hear she hasn’t been to the gym in weeks. It seems a little unusual for a former Olympian to neglect her physical fitness routine, don’t you think?”
Spencer Harding’s spine stiffened noticeably. “My wife suffered a painful injury that ended her athletic career,” he said. “I’m afraid she’s had trouble with addiction in the recent past, and she’s now under a doctor’s care. As soon as she returns to good health, I’m confident Rosamund will resume her regular schedule. Until then, we must keep an eye on her—and be wary of any unexpected visitors.”
“And what kind of drugs was she addicted to?” Jo asked. “OxyContin? Fentanyl?”
Spencer Harding glared down at Jo. “What is this?” he growled.
Jo shrugged. “I’m just worried about Rosamund,” she said.
“We’re big fans,” Harriett told him. “If something ever happened to Rosamund, I’d be very, very unhappy.” The threat, while politely delivered, was nonetheless clear.
“So would I,” Jo said. “And your bodyguard knows what I’m like when I’m upset.”
Spencer Harding blinked. “Thank you for your concern, ladies,” he droned. “I’m afraid I really must get back to the conversation I left. Again, my deepest apologies for my man’s appalling behavior. I do hope you’ll enjoy the rest of the party.” He turned to Claude. “Tell Leonard he has strange taste in friends.”
They watched him walk away. Claude waited until he was just out of earshot. “I hate that conceited asshole.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” Jo joked.
“You didn’t tell me you saw Rosamund,” Claude said. “She hasn’t been outside in days. I know she’s dealing with some issues, but I worry about her being stuck in a house with that scumbag.”
“If she ever wants to get rid of him, she’ll find everything she needs in the planters in her front yard,” Harriett said.
Claude’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“The flowers are Korean aconite. Some call them wolfsbane. Their poison has been saving women from assholes for thousands of years.”
Jo glanced nervously at Harriett. “She’s kidding.”
“No, I’m not,” Harriett said. “Ask Rosamund to google aconite, would you?”
Jo and Harriett sat side by side in the back seat of Chase’s car. They’d both held their tongues while another of Jackson Dunn’s sons drove them back to the gate. But the moment the car doors slammed shut, Jo couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Why did you—” she started to ask before Chase slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
“What the hell?” he said, interrupting Jo’s thought. “Am I supposed to be your chauffeur now? Why are you both in the back seat?”
“We have things to talk about,” Jo snipped.
“You going to tell me what happened back there at Jackson’s house?” Chase demanded.
Harriett rolled her eyes as she turned to face him. “No,” she said. “And don’t ask again.” Then she returned her attention to Jo. “What were you saying?”
“Why did you say that about”—she put her lips to Harriett’s ear and whispered—“getting rid of Spencer?”
Harriett pulled away and shrugged. “Why not? Someone’s going to have to do it eventually, don’t you agree? It might as well be Rosamund. She has a bumper crop of yellow wolfsbane growing right in her front yard.”
Jo took in a breath. It was pointless trying to talk sense to Harriett. “You probably blew Claude’s mind.”
“I doubt it,” Harriett replied. “Seems to me like she’s considered killing him a few times herself.”
“I can’t see her going that far,” Jo said. “Besides, I’m sure she’s used to taking shit from the Culling Pointe set.”
“Wait—are you two serious?” They looked up to see Chase’s laughing eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Your games are boring,” Harriett told him.
“I’m not playing games. You really don’t know who Claude Marchand is?”
“The woman who plans Jackson Dunn’s parties,” Jo said.
Chase’s laugh was that of a man cursed by fate. “I spent all afternoon schmoozing my ass off and getting nowhere, and you two end up best friends with Claude and you don’t even know who she is?”
“This is getting tiresome,” Harriett said with an exaggerated yawn. “Enlighten us or shut up, would you?”
“She’s Antoine Marchand’s daughter.”
Harriett’s curiosity was sufficiently piqued. “Is she really?”
“And Leonard Shaw’s girlfriend,” Chase added.
“Yeah?” Jo said. “So what?”
“Leonard’s the king of Culling Pointe.”
“A retired finance dude I’ve never heard of is the king of Culling Pointe?” Jo scoffed.
“He’s the one who started the whole community. He built the first house here back in the nineties.”
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?” Jo couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. “The cuddly little mensch with all the hair on his chest?”
“That mensch is one of the richest men in the world,” Chase said. “And now you two appear to be besties with his longtime girlfriend.”
“Maybe we’ll put in a good word for you the next time we see her,” Harriett told him. Then she laughed. “Oh, who am I kidding? No fucking way.”
“Claude invited you back?” Chase winced as if the idea caused him physical pain.
“Not exactly,” Harriett said. “But Culling Pointe may soon be in need of my services.”
Jo felt her smile fade as she remembered the handfuls of tiny seeds Harriett had tossed from Jackson Dunn’s roof deck.
“Your services?” Chase sneered. “I’ve heard you’re popular around Mattauk. Are you getting paid for your services these days?”
“You know, it’s a shame you’re so insecure, Chase,” Harriett replied. “Your penis really isn’t that small.”