If the police were being cagey about interviewing Mike, then they wanted to do more than simply talk to him, Tonya thought. They wanted to trap him in case he’d somehow kidnapped Melissa so that he couldn’t get rid of the evidence. Finding the real identity of an Instagram user couldn’t take that long. For all Tonya knew, the cops already knew who Mike was. They could be spying on his apartment—or on their way over.

Tonya jumped up from the couch. “I have to go.”

“Please, don’t leave. I’m sorry.” Mike finally looked directly at her. “I never wanted to cause trouble for you.”

“Well, you did.” Tonya started toward the door.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Mike shouted.

Absolutely anything.

Tonya shook the memory of her earlier statement from her head. “Do what you need to, Mike. Just leave my name out of it. If she pressures you, make something up.”

“Like what?”

“You’re an actor.” Tonya pulled open the door, calling over her shoulder as it swung back, “Figure it out.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

IMANI

Imani returned to the smell of curry. It struck her as she entered the house, a cloud of cumin, ginger, and other pungent aromatics combining to form a scent so strong that it had physical presence. She pushed through it to enter the kitchen where she could crack the window that Philip should have opened when cooking. He’d made lunch, she thought. Perhaps for both of them.

Neither Philip nor Tonya appeared to be downstairs. She could see nearly every room from the kitchen entrance, and they were all empty. Even the bathroom door was cracked, revealing a darkness beyond that suggested no one was inside.

Imani headed to the second floor, half searching for the house’s occupants, half fleeing the overwhelming odors. By the time she hit the landing, the scent had sufficiently dissipated for her to shift focus from smell to sight. The bedroom doors were all closed, she realized. That wasn’t unusual for Vivienne’s and Jay’s rooms, as they routinely shut their doors to deter her commentary on the pigsties they’d left behind. But her door should have been cracked. Imani closed it only to sleep. Air smelled odd when trapped in tight spaces.

She approached her room, Philip’s name on the tip of her tongue. A sound stopped her. She could just make it out through the door: a guttural moan followed by a high-pitched wail that could have been a ululation—or orgasm.