The front door swung open and Harriett appeared. “Honey, I’m home!” she called. “Oh, there you are, darling. Tell me you didn’t spend the whole day on your back.”
“Where’s Jo?” Nessa asked.
“Chase drove her home so she could see Lucy before bedtime. She’ll come by in the morning.” Harriett’s eyes landed on something in the room and her lip curled with disgust. “What are those?”
Nessa followed Harriett’s gaze to a glass vase overflowing with perfect white lilies.
“Oh, those came about thirty minutes ago. From one of your admirers?” Nessa had been dying to peek at the card, but good manners had prevailed.
“No one who admires me sends me dead things.” Harriett approached the bouquet as though she were sidling up to a corpse and plucked a card out from between the stems. Her eyes remained on the card much longer than necessary.
“Well?” Nessa asked.
The card skimmed through the air and landed faceup in Nessa’s lap. So lovely to meet you, it read in tight, slanted script.
“The flowers are from Spencer Harding,” Harriett said.
“The art dealer? The jerk who’s married to Jo’s client?” Nessa didn’t get it. “Why would he send you flowers?”
“We met him at the party.”
“You must have made a real impression,” Nessa teased.
“Indeed.” Harriett smiled at a thought she didn’t choose to share. “The flowers are Mr. Harding’s clever way of telling me he knows where I live. I hope he pays me a visit soon. I’d love to give him a tour of my garden.” Harriett pinned the card to the wall behind her workbench and grabbed the vase. “Be right back. These need to go to the compost heap.” A few minutes later, she returned in a cloud of pot smoke, a blunt wedged between two fingers. Her left hand clutched a bottle of champagne.
“Are we celebrating?” Nessa asked.
“Every day is a celebration,” Harriett responded. “Grab a glass and get comfortable. I’ve got a story to tell you.”
Harriett kicked off her sandals and spread herself out on the couch with a forearm tucked under her head. She left enough room for Nessa at the far end, where the cloud of pot smoke was thinner. Nessa never partook, but she’d come to appreciate the pleasant buzz of a light contact high. By the time Harriett had finished the story of the day’s events, Nessa had set down her champagne and moved out of the smoke to a nearby chair. She needed a clear mind to process the tale.
“You said our whale watcher’s name is Leonard Shaw?” Nessa typed his name into Google and scrolled through the results. “Well, how about that? He’s all over the internet.” Nessa held her phone up for Harriett to see.
Harriett took a long drag on her blunt while she squinted at the screen. “Yep. That’s Lenny. Who’s the funny-looking guy he’s with?”
“The president of MIT.” Nessa scrolled down. “And here’s a picture of Leonard with the president of Harvard.”
Harriett exhaled smoke in Nessa’s direction. “Lenny sure has a lot of smart friends.”
Nessa waved the cloud away with her free hand and kept scrolling with the other. “Here’s a picture of him with the Clintons. And another with Donald Trump. I’m telling you, Harriett. Your friend Leonard might be the most popular man on earth.” She paused to scan a newspaper article. “And I think I just figured out why everyone loves him. According to the Times, Leonard has promised to give away ten billion dollars before he dies. The man’s a saint.”
“A saint would give away money anonymously,” Harriett responded. “People who announce their intentions in the Times are out to make friends. Tell the world you plan to give away ten billion dollars and you’ll have a very hard time finding enemies.”