Imani turned the key in the lock and held back the door, revealing the worn interior of her carriage house. Sometimes she thought her home had solidified the relationship between her family and Melissa’s own. Her A-list friend had seen the redbrick exterior of Philip’s inherited three-story, five-bedroom in the mews and thought Imani’s family much more affluent than they actually were. By the time Imani had revealed the home’s origin, she’d already helped Melissa through a miscarriage and named her the godmother of Jay, Imani’s healthy baby boy. Their families had been too close then for Melissa and Nate to worry about how the vast difference in purchasing power might complicate their friendship.

Ava passed through the narrow foyer and hung an immediate right, disappearing into the attached garage. Before it had been converted for cars, the area had been a stable. Imani had somewhat restored its original purpose, remodeling it as a hangout for her coltish teens and kicking their infrequently used car onto the street. A large-screen television now dominated one wall of the room. Beanbag couches and bubble chairs were the only seating options. There was a foosball table. Ava had been hanging out there with Vivienne for years.

Imani debated whether to follow her. They both needed solitary time to process their emotions, but Ava wouldn’t actually be alone. As long as she had her phone, she’d be connected to a world of strangers chiming in with their uninformed two cents.

Releasing the device had been a bad idea, Imani decided. She removed her mask and shouted Ava’s name. “Why don’t you come have a glass of water? We can—”

The doorbell interrupted her. Relief flooded Imani’s veins. Surely Melissa was on her front step, breathless after having raced from the school but otherwise physically unharmed. Imani hadn’t wanted to add to Ava’s trauma with any interrogation. In retrospect, she should have at least asked if Ava had seen her parents that morning. The articles hadn’t revealed much about Nate’s time of death. For all Imani knew, he’d been killed after Melissa had dropped Ava at school, before heading out to have her cell repaired or undergo some procedure in a no-phones-allowed hospital ward.

“Mel,” Imani called out as she opened the door.

The woman in front of her was the polar opposite of Melissa. Medium height with dark hair raked into a ponytail, narrowed brown eyes, and a skin tone that read as either Southeast Asian or Hispanic given that the facial features that might have provided additional clues were covered. A police badge adorned the woman’s peacoat. Behind her stood a broad-shouldered man several shades darker than Imani. He wore a wool hat and a mask pulled below his chin, enabling her to see the grim line formed by his full, pressed lips.