She had a different chat with the few who seemed inclined to take their stories to the police. Do you know what would happen to you? she’d ask. We have the country’s best lawyers on retainer. If there were ever a trial, you would certainly lose. After that, every time anyone searched for your name online, they’d know you were a prostitute. We would ensure that the stories never went away. We would sue you for defamation of character and take every dime you ever earn. We would haunt you for the rest of your life. Claude only had to say that a handful of times. But she believed that speech, too.
It all worked like a charm. The arrangement couldn’t have been more ideal. Claude had found a way to make sure everyone got what they wanted.
Until Spencer Harding arrived.
She’d never wanted him on the Pointe. She’d heard whispers about his lifestyle during her art world days. Back then, interns at his gallery were forced to sign lengthy NDAs, and few stayed for long. Spencer had never married, and he had no family. Even in middle age, his reputation was far from pristine. Claude told Leonard they didn’t have enough leverage to keep him under control. There was no guarantee he’d obey the Pointe’s rules.
She was supposed to have the final word on such things, and that word was no. Then Spencer got married. He promised twice the yearly fee. Her answer remained no.
“I think we should be a little more flexible,” Leonard said. Claude later learned that he’d already signed off on Spencer’s lease.
After Rosamund told her about the girl who never showed up, Claude spoke to the police herself. Chief Rocca assured Claude that the girl came from a bad family and had likely run away. But he drove out to the Pointe to speak to the Hardings nonetheless. The girl was never located, but Rocca stuck around.
For the men of the Pointe, Rocca’s presence was emboldening. He refused to look directly at Claude—or speak to her with any hint of respect. It had been easy to keep the other men in line. She had files on each of them, should she ever need the leverage. But she had nothing on Rocca. Claude, whose favor everyone on the Pointe had once curried, was now spoken about as a nuisance.
Then she found Faith. The girl had caught Leonard’s eye in Jamaica but refused to give him the time of day. Claude brought her back to deliver a message: only she could have wrangled the headstrong beauty. She took the Polaroids for Leonard. Faith was a special gift, and it seemed fitting to let him choose the wrapping. But Leonard was worried the girl would fight. He told Claude to give Faith to Spencer instead.
“A little gift to win him over,” he’d said.
The next morning, the girl was missing.
“Where’s Faith?” Claude demanded. “Did you kill her? Where’s the body?”
“It’s been taken care of,” Spencer said. “That’s why we need Rocca. No woman has the stomach to do what he does.”
Claude knew it wouldn’t stop there, and it didn’t. Spencer had Rosamund killed. Two dead girls were found at the bottom of the ocean. The disease was spreading.
So Claude googled aconite. Then she pulled up a few of the plants Harriett Osborne had mentioned and tossed them into her juicer. It was easy to replace the fluid used to sanitize Spencer’s helicopter—and she made sure the cleaning person wore a new set of gloves.
Burn It Down
Between the flowering bushes that had overtaken Jackson Dunn’s yard, Jo and Nessa waited for Claude to come up the stairs from the beach. Blood splatter decorated her shorts and white shirt, and a bright red smear stretched from one temple to the other where she’d wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“He knew,” she muttered, as though the fact still astounded her.
“You did what you had to do,” Jo assured Claude. “Nessa and I will help you dispose of the body.”
“Oh no, we won’t,” Nessa announced. She saw what Jo couldn’t. Her eyes were locked on the ghost of Faith Reid, who’d followed Claude up the stairs.
Nessa thought of the Polaroids of Faith posed in front of a mirror. Before she died, the girl had been dressed for something important. Someone took those photos. Someone wanted to make sure she chose just the right outfit.
“No?” Jo asked as Claude came to a stop in front of them, Faith beside her. “Why not?”
“Claude took the picture you found in the locker.” They stood silently, surrounded by the bright blast and heady scent of the flowers around them. Claude’s lips stayed sealed.
“How do you know?” Jo asked.
“Faith is telling me,” Nessa said. “Claude brought her here. Faith wouldn’t have trusted a man, but she went along with you, didn’t she, Claude?”
Claude’s face was grim. “I never expected Spencer to kill her,” she said.
The confession hit Jo like a blow to the gut. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “What did you expect?”
“I expected her to leave the Pointe with enough money to build a bright future. That’s how it was supposed to work.”
“How it was supposed to work?” Jo repeated.
“But instead, she was murdered,” Nessa said. “Like Mandy Welsh and a dozen other girls who were brought here.”
“I didn’t know anyone other than Faith had died. There were rules the men here were supposed to follow. They ignored me.”
“So you were in charge?” Jo felt rage building inside her.
“She supplied girls,” Nessa said. “They trusted her because she’s a woman. She betrayed them.”
“I made sure the girls I brought here weren’t harmed,” Claude argued. “Rocca was the one who changed all of that.”
“Let me get this straight—you were okay with the girls being raped, but you drew the line at murder?” Jo asked.
“They needed money, and they got it! I even made the men donate to charities that build schools for girls around the world. I got Leonard to hand over millions of dollars to train young women in self-defense.”
“So they could protect themselves from people like you?”
Nessa crossed her arms over her chest. “While girls were being raped and killed, this bitch was living like a queen. And the perverts got to call themselves philanthropists.”
“Nothing’s going to stop them from doing what they want to do,” Claude argued. “These are some of the richest men in the country. For God’s sake, they had the chief of police bringing them girls. The only thing I could do was make sure some good came out of it all. For fuck’s sake, Jo. Their money is helping us teach girls how to protect themselves from predators! Some of their money funded your husband’s new play!”
Jo could feel the fire shooting through her veins and waves of energy traveling down her limbs. She saw heat ripples radiating from her skin and smelled the grass singeing beneath her feet. She’d tried her best to control it. Now Jo closed her eyes and let go. Nothing had ever felt so good.
She knew then what she was meant to do. She knew why Nessa had found her. Nessa was the light in the darkness. Harriett was the punishment that fit the crime. She was the rage that would burn it all to the ground.
“You know what’s going to happen, right?” she asked Nessa.
“Yes,” Nessa told her. “I do now.”
“Jo,” Claude begged, “think of all the good you can do!”