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.