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.”