Andrew Howard had taken the kids to visit his parents, and Harriett and Celeste had spent the night in the cabin of Celeste’s boat. Enveloped in a fog of intoxicating smoke, their skin sticky with sweat and salt, they’d explored every last inch of each other’s skin. The sex in Celeste’s previous relationships had settled into a predictable pattern after two or three months. She’d always assumed that once you found something you enjoyed, you should do your best to repeat it. Four months had passed since that first afternoon with Harriett, and new discoveries kept being made. Celeste never knew how Harriett would decide to take her—and she never anticipated how she would respond. It was a quest with no destination. An adventure without a map. Celeste realized she’d never really known her own body. Without inhibitions or anxieties to limit her, there was nowhere she wouldn’t go. She didn’t look to the future, and she no longer dwelled on the past. Falling for Harriett had freed her from all that.
At sunrise, Harriett had risen from bed. That wasn’t unusual. Harriett never seemed to need sleep. But when an hour had passed and she hadn’t returned, Celeste went up top to find her. There was no one on deck, but she didn’t panic. Then she’d heard a faint splashing in the distance. Using binoculars, she scanned the horizon. There was Harriett, buck naked, doing the breaststroke. A whale breached in the distance, then disappeared beneath the waves.
Now Harriett stood on the bow of the boat as it neared the Pointe, a white dress pinned to her form by the wind. Her long, sun-stained limbs could have been carved from oak, and a silver-streaked nimbus of hair framed her head. Celeste brought the boat alongside Jackson Dunn’s dock, where Leonard Shaw was waiting to greet his guest.
When Harriett gave Celeste a kiss, she seemed unusually tense. “Meet me back here at ten, please,” she said. Then she stepped down onto the dock.
Standing at the boat’s wheel, Celeste suddenly recalled the story of how Culling Pointe had gotten its name. Maybe she was still a bit stoned, she thought. She could see the deer being herded into the water and drowned—all because they’d dared to walk on their hind legs. On a rock outcropping above the beach, a woman in a black dress swung from the gallows. The men who’d strung her up watched as her body’s death spasms subsided. She hadn’t been a witch, of course. Just a woman who’d been taught how to bring life into the world and trained to know which herbs could postpone death.
Now, four hundred years later, a real witch had come to Culling Pointe. Celeste smiled at the thought. They had no clue what they were in for.
Leonard held out a hand from the dock and Harriett took it. His flesh was warm and as smooth as a wax poppet. As soon as she was on land, he pulled his hand away as though he’d touched something unpleasant. A year ago, she might have found him charming, this fifty-five-year-old billionaire dressed in All Stars and paint-splattered khakis. She would have read volumes into the rumpled hair, intelligent eyes, and approachable grin. Such things had meant a great deal to her once. Now they meant nothing at all.
“Hello,” he greeted her. “I’m so grateful you’ve come.”
“Thank you for meeting me,” Harriett said just as the whale appeared a few hundred yards away. “I brought someone to see you.”
Leonard smiled. “She does seem to follow you around,” he jested.
“I met her last summer,” Harriett told him. “The day after my husband left me, I went to sit by the water, and she appeared. We’ve been friends ever since.”
“I assume you’re joking, but female humpbacks are quite social,” Leonard said. “They often form long-term friendships with other females.”
Harriett beamed as she shook her head. “I wasn’t joking at all.”
Leonard smiled back at her. He wasn’t easily thrown. Harriett found him intriguing, and she wasn’t sure why. That was one of the reasons she’d come. There were others, of course. Some of them were still taking form in her mind.
“Do you know much about whales?” he asked casually.
“I know that they’re out there,” Harriett told him. “I think it’s hard for most people to wrap their heads around the idea that there are enormous creatures below the surface that they’re unable to see. They’d rather sit on the beach and admire the sunrise and pretend there’s nothing lurking under the waves.”
“But you know.”
“I do. And once you know what’s out there, you never forget,” Harriett said.
“I hear them sometimes in the summer,” Leonard said. “The males sing. No one knows why the females don’t.”
“Because they’re listening,” Harriett told him. “And remembering. By the time they’re my age, they know all the songs and they know all the singers.”
Leonard laughed. “I can see why Claude likes you. She claims to know all the songs, too.”
“I bet she does,” Harriett replied. “Where is she, by the way?”
“Back at the house. I’ll take you for a short tour of the Pointe and we’ll meet her back there for breakfast, if that works for you.”
“Certainly,” Harriett said. “My friend is picking me up at ten.”
“Which friend—the lady or the whale?”
Harriett lifted an eyebrow. “Whoever gets here first, I’d imagine.”
The dock ended in a wooden walkway that led up to a set of stairs and then continued over the dunes. Half a mile down the beach to their left sat Spencer Harding’s house, which remained empty, its lawn overgrown and flower beds gone. Jackson Dunn’s glass house was off to the right. A child and a dog frolicked in the sand, while the boy’s mother watched from the porch, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. In her wide-legged white sailor pants and navy boatneck shirt, she radiated old Hollywood glamour. Harriett had once envied such women—so perfectly turned out. In her youth, she’d imagined birds and woodland creatures doting on them, Cinderella-style, each morning. As she got older, she realized the secret wasn’t magic. It was underpaid servants.
“That’s Jackson’s daughter and grandson,” Leonard said. His head tilted back and Harriett followed suit. Someone standing at the roof deck railing quickly took a step back.
“Oh dear, I think Jackson may be avoiding me,” Harriett said.
“On the contrary,” Leonard replied. “He was the one who recommended you as a horticulturalist. He’s probably on his way down to say hello.”
And there was Jackson when they rounded the corner, waiting for them in the yard, dressed in the clothes of a larger man. During his weeks in the hospital, he seemed to have shriveled. His skin, once as brown and taut as a sausage, looked loose and faded. Behind him, several giant bushes erupted out of the soil, their branches ablaze with bright yellow blooms.
“Hello, Harriett,” he said, tipping his cowboy hat from a careful distance. “You’re looking—uh—anyways, it’s good to see you.”
“Jackson,” she replied as her eyes feasted on what little was left of him. “I hear you spent some time in the hospital. How nice to see that you’re on the mend.”
“Yes, it was a close call, but I’m feeling much better, thank you. And thanks so much for coming out to the Pointe today.” His voice quivered as he spoke. He was terrified of her now, and she relished it. Creatures like Jackson only understood power and fear. She’d finally gotten through to him. “I know Leonard’s told you about our Scotch broom infestation.” He presented the bushes beside him like a television spokesmodel. “I’m sorry to say that it may have started right here on my property. I feel terrible about it, and I’m willing to spend whatever it takes to deal with the problem.”
Harriett suspected his checkbook was in his back pocket. “That’s awfully kind of you, Jackson, but I’ll charge you the same fees I’d charge anyone else.”
Jackson smiled with relief, and a thought seemed to pop into his head. “Oh, and you’ll be glad to know that next Memorial Day, we’re gonna open up the roof deck to all our guests. Make it less of a pecker party up there.”
“After all these years, you’ve finally decided to break with tradition?” Harriett asked.
“Yes, it’s about time,” Jackson replied.
“Well, it’s certainly very optimistic of you,” Harriett said. “To assume that there will be a next year.”
A faint buzzing could be heard from the bushes, and Jackson glanced nervously over his shoulder. A pair of bees emerged and circled lazily overhead.
“If y’all will excuse me, I really should get back indoors.”
“Thank you, Jackson,” Leonard said. “I’ll be in touch about the fees later.”
“I enjoyed that encounter far more than I expected,” Harriett announced cheerfully as they headed for the sidewalk.
“You obviously can’t stand him,” Leonard noted. “May I ask why?”
“I used to loathe Jackson,” Harriett said. “Now I know such feelings are pointless. I don’t hate anyone anymore, Mr. Shaw. I simply think Jackson Dunn is a blight on humanity.”
As they reached the sidewalk, Harriett came to a stop and took a moment to admire the view. On Memorial Day, every lawn on the Pointe had been a smooth patch of green. Now there were at least four bright yellow bushes growing on every lot.
“The Scotch broom certainly has taken root,” Harriett said.
“As I’m sure you know, it’s an invasive species, and it spreads incredibly fast. I don’t remember a single bush on the Pointe this spring. Now look. The gardeners spend half their day uprooting plants, and the next morning, there are more. No one wanted to use herbicides with so many children out here this summer, so the Scotch broom got its way for the season.”
“It’s quite lovely.” Harriett walked across the road to the nearest bush and reached out to stroke one of its flower-laden branches. “Eradicating Scotch broom isn’t easy. The bees will move on eventually—perhaps you should consider learning to live with it?”
Leonard shrugged. “Personally, I’m not opposed to the idea, but apparently many of my neighbors consider the plant a bit garish.”
“Garish?” Harriett laughed.
“I know, I know.” Leonard grimaced with embarrassment. “Rich people are nuts. If you’d come to me back when I was growing up in Brooklyn and told me I’d be spending all my time with these fancy assholes, I’d have headed straight to Coney Island and jumped off the Wonder Wheel. But in this case, they happen to be right. The Scotch broom has to go. It may be pretty, but it’s also a fire hazard. This stuff lights up like kindling, and as you can imagine, we’re very safety conscious these days. After everything that’s happened this summer, all the mothers out here are popping more Xanax than ever.”
“If I were them, I’d want to keep my eyes open and my wits about me,” Harriett said. “I’ve heard Xanax can lead to dementia, but here at the Pointe, it appears to make people go blind.”
Leonard gave her a funny look. Harriett’s sense of humor didn’t always translate.
“The families will all clear out next week after Labor Day, am I right?” she asked.
“Yes,” Leonard confirmed. “The gentlemen sometimes fly in for weekends during the off-season, but the kids and the moms will be gone. School starts on Wednesday in the city. By Tuesday, they’ll have all shipped out.”
“Then next week sounds like an excellent time to get rid of the pests. Can you ensure the Pointe will be empty? My process is proprietary, and I don’t want to show up with a stack of NDAs for your neighbors to sign.”
“I’ll make sure it’s just the three of us. So you think you can do it?” Leonard asked.
Harriett scanned her surroundings, taking careful note of the bright yellow bushes in each yard. “Oh yes, I’m positive,” she assured him. “In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy the challenge.”
“Wonderful!” Leonard said. “Now, how about breakfast?”
They hopped in a golf cart parked at the curb, and Leonard drove in the direction of a tall white wall at the easternmost tip of the Pointe. None of the other estates appeared to have fences, much less a fortresslike wall.
“Someone likes their privacy,” Harriett noted.
“This is my compound,” Leonard admitted. “I put up the wall in the nineties when my house was the only one here. Back then, the wall was all the security we had on the Pointe. I suppose it’s no longer necessary, but it does a good job of deterring unexpected guests. I’m afraid I’m a bit of an introvert,” he added, almost bashfully.
“And yet you’ve surrounded yourself with people.”
“Occupational hazard,” he said. “Business is all about networking.”
A gate in the wall opened as they approached, and Leonard steered the golf cart down a long drive. His house was positioned on the eastern tip of the Pointe, with his nearest neighbors half a mile away in either direction.
“So, this is all yours?” Harriett asked. The grounds seemed as vast as those at Versailles. The tall white wall hadn’t spared them from the Scotch broom; Harriett noted that the bushes were as plentiful here as they were on the rest of the Pointe.
“One of the benefits of being a pioneer,” Leonard explained. “I got here first, so I chose the best land for myself. Then I leased the other lots.”
“The lots are leased?” Harriet was astounded. “There’s not a mansion here that’s worth under ten million dollars. And you’re telling me the people who built them don’t own the land underneath them?”
“Nope. The lots are leased for five-year terms, and the community association decides which leases will be renewed. I wanted to be able to rid the community of undesirables if I needed to. Until now, it hasn’t been necessary. I try to choose my neighbors very carefully. Everyone here was thoroughly vetted. That’s why it’s so upsetting that someone like Spencer Harding slipped through the cracks. Claude was furious with me when she found out about him.”
He brought the cart to a stop in front of a lovely stone manor, where Claude was waiting for them. Ever the hostess, she greeted Harriett like an old friend, and while Leonard futzed with something in the back of the cart, she guided her guest through the house’s first floor toward an oceanfront deck. The interior was decorated with exceptional taste. Brilliant blue tiles formed a dizzying pattern on the floor, and a chandelier dripped from the exposed wooden beams on the ceiling. Harriett kept her eyes open, but she didn’t see any servants.
“The two of you live here alone?” she asked.
“Yes,” Claude said. “When we don’t have guests.”
“I imagine a place this size might feel lonely without other people.”
“The house once belonged to my father. To me, it’s always felt like home.”
Harriett’s neck stiffened, as though she were a dog picking up a scent. “I was under the impression Leonard built this house in the nineties.”
“He bought it in the nineties, a few years after my father died. He had it shipped, stone by stone, from Brittany. I’d almost given him the boot, and it was his way of saying sorry. He offered it to me as a gift, but I couldn’t even begin to pay the taxes on an estate like this, so Leonard keeps it in his name.”
The breakfast table overlooked the ocean. The places were set with bone china, and a silver coffeepot sat in the center of the table.
“Would you like a cup?” Claude asked as they took their seats.
“No thanks.” Harriett pulled a joint out of her pocket. “Do you mind?”
“Nope.” Claude seemed amused. “As long as you’re willing to share.”
Harriett lit the joint, took a toke, and passed it to Claude.
“I noticed those lovely flowers in front of the Harding house are all gone.”
“Yeah, the place is a mess.” Claude sidestepped the question as she inhaled. “Did you see Jackson Dunn on the way in?” she asked, exhaling a cloud of silvery smoke.
“I did,” Harriett confirmed. “I assume you were behind his upcoming break with tradition?”
Claude laughed at the idea. “Are you kidding? He would never listen to me. I just told Leonard that he might want to make sure there was no bad blood between you and Jackson. He knows Jackson’s got some unfortunate proclivities.”
“It’s ironic,” Harriett observed. “Leonard told me he had everyone out here vetted. You’d think a penchant for sexual harassment would be one of the first things you’d find during that process.”
“Leonard does his best, but the truth is, a few good lawyers and a filing cabinet full of NDAs can work wonders. It’s amazing how much dirty laundry a few hundred million dollars is able to hide,” Claude said. “By the way, it’s funny you mention sexual harassment. Did Jackson ever grab your crotch, by any chance?”
“As a matter of fact, he did,” Harriett confirmed.
“Yeah, he tried that with me once, too, when he was really drunk. Leonard made sure he never stepped out of line again. Men like that need to be trained like dogs.”
“Why bother to train them?” Harriett asked. “It would be better to just put them to sleep, don’t you think?”
Leonard emerged from the house at that moment, a tray laden with food balanced on one hand. When he reached the table, he served fruit, croissants, and soft-boiled eggs in pretty blue cups, and did it without so much as a wobble.
“You’re good at that,” Harriett noted.
“I’m not fancy like Claude,” Leonard said. “I worked my way through college as a waiter.”
“Leonard is the personification of the American dream.” Claude gave him a playful pat on the ass. “Janitor’s kid goes to Harvard on a scholarship and works his way up to the top.”
“Impressive. What was the secret to your success?” Harriett asked.
“A penis,” Leonard deadpanned, and Claude burst out laughing.
“That, and an almost supernatural ability to sense what others are after,” Claude added. “Leonard can peer into people’s hearts and minds.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Harriett said. “You two seem to have honed in on my friend Jo’s deepest desires.”
Claude blanched. “I was horrified by what happened to Lucy. I wanted to do something to help.”
“Lucy will be fine,” Harriett assured her. “I’ll see to that. But the self-defense program is just what Jo needed.”
“That butt-kicking academy is stroke of genius.” Leonard beamed with pride.
“Jo deserves all the credit,” Claude said. “It was her idea. The next time a man like Spencer Harding goes after a girl, he may be in for a surprise.”
“Instead of training every girl in the country, why not just get rid of the handful of men like Spencer Harding?” Harriett suggested.
“Why not do both?” Claude asked.
“She’s so ambitious,” Leonard joked. “Speaking of ambition, didn’t you have a successful career in advertising before you left it all for the world of plants?”
“It could have been a success,” Harriett said. “But it turned out I was missing something very important.”
“Which was?” Leonard asked.
“A penis,” Harriett said, and they all laughed loudly.
“Well, we’re certainly glad you’ve turned to horticulture,” Claude said. “If you can get rid of the weeds on the Pointe, you can name your price. Leonard will ensure Jackson pays it.”
Harriett took a toke on her joint. She hadn’t touched any of the food. She plucked a pomegranate aril from her fruit salad and squeezed it until its red juice stained her fingertips. “Money matters very little to me. I charge what I believe is fair—no more and no less,” she said. “I suppose that’s why I’ll never be rich enough for a house on the Pointe.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Leonard said. “I never expected to be wealthy, either. I just happened to stumble into a lucrative field.”
“You’re in finance, are you not? Hard field to stumble into.”
“I retired from finance ten years ago,” he reminded her. “Now I’m just an ordinary retiree.”
“An ordinary retiree with the clout to make a man like Jackson Dunn shake in his boots.”
Leonard laughed. “He’s worried I won’t renew his lease. After what happened with Harding, I’ve been cracking down. This is a family community. I don’t want any more trouble.”
Harriett turned her eyes to a flock of seagulls pecking the sand. As she took another toke, three of them lifted off and flew directly toward a pair of French doors that Leonard had left open. The sound of glass breaking soon followed.
“Shit.” Leonard jumped up. “There’s food out on the counters.”
Claude groaned. “Will you excuse us for a moment?”
“Of course,” Harriett told him. “Do you mind if I have a quick stroll around the grounds?”
“Not at all,” Leonard said. “Just keep an eye out for our seabeach amaranth. We have one of the biggest patches on the Eastern Seaboard.”
Harriett nodded, her attention already focused on a small older woman who’d appeared in the spot where the flock of gulls had been. The visitor walked to the edge of the scrub that separated the brilliant green grass from the beach and waved. She wore the somber gray dress of a domestic worker, and her hair was hidden beneath a kerchief of the same colorless fabric. She was twenty years older than Harriett, and she wore her age like a badge of honor.
Harriett trekked across the lawn to where the woman stood. “Hello,” she said. “Are you looking for me?”
“Yes, I’ve been waiting. When I saw the weeds and the bees, I knew you would be coming,” the woman responded.
“And now I am here. My name is Harriett.”
“Isabel.” The woman kept an eye on the house, but she didn’t seem afraid.
“What do you do on the Pointe, Isabel?” Harriett asked.
“I tend to the houseplants, and I take care of the workers. I know how to cure fevers and heal wounds, and protect the weakest among us from harm.”
Harriett was delighted. “You are like me. I knew the second I saw you.”
“Yes, women like us recognize each other.”
“Do you know why I’ve come?”
“The same reason I have. Girls are dead,” Isabel said. “You are here to avenge them. Spencer Harding is gone, but the scales are not balanced yet.”
“No,” Harriett agreed. “They certainly are not.”
“The people who work here on the Pointe over the summer see everything. But when the families go home, the workers leave as well. During the winter, when no one is watching, terrible things happen here. When people come back in May, it’s like the soil has turned poisonous. I can feel it now, seeping into my shoes. Mr. Harding was a bad man, but he was not the only one.”
“Who else is bad?” Harriett asked.
“Mr. Dunn. Two summers ago, a young woman named Rosalia came here with her mother to work on the Pointe. I did not know her, but I’ve seen pictures. She was a beautiful girl. One night, there was a party at Mr. Dunn’s house, and Rosalia was asked to serve drinks to the men. The next morning, the girl was gone. The police said she had run away. But there was nowhere for her to run. The guards would have seen her if she’d gone through the main gate. The only other way to leave the Pointe was by water, and Rosalia didn’t know how to swim.”
“Where is her mother now?”
“She was not allowed to stay. She’s back in Mexico. That’s where we met. She is the one who asked me to come here. She blames Mr. Dunn for what happened to her daughter.”
“That seems reasonable. Anyone else you think I should know about?”
“Yes, the police officer on Newsnight. He visits Mr. Dunn all the time. I watched the show, and I heard him say he didn’t get to the Pointe in time to arrest Mr. Harding. But that isn’t true. One of the cleaners was working next door to Mr. Harding’s house that night. She said the police officer was with Mr. Harding before the helicopter left.”
“Is there any way to prove it?” Harriett said.
“There will be video,” Isabel said. “Mr. Shaw records everything.” Her gaze shifted to a point somewhere behind Harriett. Leonard and Claude had returned to the table. Leonard bit into a croissant and gave them a friendly wave.
“Did you take care of the plants at the Harding house?” Harriett asked.
“Yes, I did,” Isabel told her.
“Do you know what happened to the pale-yellow flowers that were growing out front?”
“The wolfsbane?” Isabel knew exactly what Harriett was asking. “After Mr. Harding died, Ms. Marchand asked one of the gardeners to tear it all out.”
“Why do you suppose she would do that?” Harriett asked.
“Maybe so no one would see that some of the plants had been uprooted the night before.”
“That’s what I thought.” Harriett held out a hand. “Thank you, Isabel. When you’re ready to leave the Pointe, just head to town and ask for the witch. Any person in Mattauk will know where to find me. If you can stay an extra week or two, I’d love to have you as my guest. I suspect I can learn a great deal from you.”
Isabel closed her eyes and nodded happily. “It would be my pleasure,” she said.
As Harriett walked back across the lawn to the house, she thought of the video. It wasn’t the right time to ask. The knowledge of its existence was enough for the moment.