As she filled out the form, there was a sound at the door. Imani looked over her laptop at the entrance, back stiff and heart racing. Confrontation wasn’t her strong suit. She was good at asking questions, drawing people out, making them feel secure. Philip was the one who could throw a person out or fire them.

The door swung back revealing Tonya, wrapped in a peacoat. A floppy red hat covered her head. It had a fuzzy ball plopped on top, reminding Imani of the woolen beanies that she’d stuck the kids in as toddlers. It made Tonya appear a teenager rather than thirty-something.

Imani felt a pang of guilt. She would be putting out this young, single mother in the middle of winter, during a pandemic. But what else could she do? Continue to house a woman who’d been sleeping with her best friend’s husband and had his child? Who, for all she knew, had been involved in the confrontation leading to his murder? Who might be the reason that her friend was hiding out, trapped, or, worse, dead?

Thinking of Melissa solidified Imani’s resolve. She stood from her chair. “Tonya, did you get my message?”

Tonya entered the main room without removing her outerwear, as if she sensed that she wouldn’t be staying long. “Yes. Sorry. I meant to reply and got caught up. What did you want to discuss? Is it the peanut butter again?” Tonya began fidgeting with her coat buttons. “I realize that we had a bit of a misunderstanding there. Philip told me that his allergy is really only triggered by eating peanuts. He uses peanut oil in the restaurant to fry chicken, so I didn’t think my bringing it in would be a big deal.”

“His father died from ingesting peanuts.” Imani said it without thinking. She didn’t want to argue about legumes or allergies, but she hated that Tonya was making her seem unreasonable.

Tonya continued unbuttoning. “Really? I thought his father died in a car crash because he’d been drinking or something.”

Imani felt her jaw drop. Tonya was wrong. Michael Banks had perished after suffering a heart attack behind the wheel brought about by anaphylaxis. The story had run in the New York Times. But Philip had always said that his father had been a drinker. Tonya hadn’t gotten her news from nowhere. Clearly, her husband had discussed his personal tragedy and his dad’s behavior with his employee. How intimate had things gotten between them all those late work nights?

“No.” Imani heard the snippiness in her tone. “Philip’s father ate chicken liver pâté, which I guess the chef had mixed with some peanut butter to make it creamier or something. His throat swelled, preventing him from breathing. The lack of oxygen led to a heart attack while he was driving. He wasn’t even fifty.”