She opened her eyes, switching her view from the laptop to her phone. Her last Instagram message to MickyKline_Drinks still sat at the top of the list. Unanswered. She typed out another message.

“I’m not trying to get you in trouble,” she wrote. “I truly believe my friend is in danger and the police aren’t looking for her properly because they’re busy concentrating on your relationship with her. You not responding makes it appear that either you and Melissa planned something together or you have her.”

Imani sent the message and then stared at its appearance in the one-on-one conversation that she was having with herself. He’d never answer back, she thought. Her stomach twisted as she had an even worse realization: knowing the police were on his tail might push him to do something drastic.

Her vision began to blur. Reaching out had been stupid and ill thought out, the act of a desperate friend rather than a methodical detective or even an experienced therapist. She hadn’t given enough consideration to how an obsessed kidnapper might respond to knowledge that the police were on his tail. Philip was right. She shouldn’t be playing detective. She might have made things so much worse.

A sharp ding caused the tears to freeze. There, on her screen, was a message from MickyKline_Drinks. Imani frantically opened it.

“I had nothing to do with Melissa Walker’s disappearance. Her husband was a bad guy. We can meet. I’ll tell you what I told her.”

All of her earlier caution vanished. Imani started typing. “Just tell me when and where.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

TONYA

Tonya opened the freezer like she was afraid of its contents. She wanted to avoid the unmistakable pop of the air-seal breaking, the sound that would announce to Imani that her illegal tenant was making a withdrawal from the communal food bank. Tonya had gone grocery shopping earlier, filling a small freezer drawer with items that Layla would recognize: chicken nuggets, frozen mixed veggies, premade peanut butter and jelly sandwich packs that would defrost in her bookbag by lunch. Unfortunately, Imani had been at work when she’d returned with the Gristedes bags. Her landlord wouldn’t know that Tonya was taking her own stuff.

She removed one of the sandwiches. Walking through aisles of fresh produce had worked up her appetite. She needed something to tide herself over until her shift started and she could eat whatever one of Banque’s cooks whipped up for the staff “family” meal.

Tonya flipped over the package, reading the instructions. It said to microwave for thirty seconds or wait two hours to thaw. In two hours, she’d be getting ready for work.

Tonya resigned herself to making noise. She ripped open the plastic package and then popped it in the microwave. The machine’s buttons beeped with every press before whirring to life.