“A pleasure,” Claude said unconvincingly.
“Would you mind if I had a word with my wife for a moment?”
“Ex-wife,” Harriett corrected him, without turning around.
“Of course. I’ll just find out what’s keeping Leonard and Spencer.” Claude set off across the roof, but Jo didn’t bother to move.
“What the hell, Harriett,” Jo heard Chase whisper. “We had a deal. We said we’d stay out of each other’s business.”
“And now I’ve let you down,” Harriett said. “How inconsiderate of me. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair in a moment.”
Jo glanced over at Harriett just in time to see her open her hands and toss a thousand tiny seeds off the balcony and into the air. The two women watched as they floated down and settled on the land below.
“What was that? What the hell are you up to?” Chase bent over the railing to look.
“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.