“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.