Imani rushed to the closet and flung back the door. At the top, above a rack of Melissa’s dresses, was a shelf holding a set of soft Louis Vuitton suitcases. Imani grabbed a vacant hanger, stood on her tiptoes, and then swatted the metal hook in the air until it snagged one of the bag handles. She heard the detective enter the room as the bag hit the ground.

“I got it,” Imani called out.

The detective hovered by the closet door, right behind her. She frowned at the suitcase. “I need to watch everything you take out,” she said.

“I know,” Imani quipped. “I’m taking this bag. You can check it.”

Calvente eyed her as if she knew that Imani had taken longer than necessary to pull down a suitcase. However, she didn’t accuse her of anything. Instead, she turned on her heel. “Bring it upstairs.”

Imani grabbed the bag and followed the detective back to Ava’s room. As she ascended the stairs, she kept thinking about other alternative suspects to suggest to the police. She’d already offered up an obsessive stalker. Who else might want to hurt Nate and Melissa? Someone jealous of them, perhaps? Someone upset that Melissa had taken a role seemingly meant for them, or angry that Nate hadn’t jumped on a movie idea? Maybe someone who believed that Melissa and Nate were preventing them from doing something or blocking them in some way?

The answer came to Imani with such force that it stopped her on the stairs. “Detective,” she called out, “have you checked with the school?”

Detective Calvente continued up the stairs. “About Ava? We informed them what’s been going on and—”

“About Nate.” Imani felt something akin to excitement bubbling in her stomach. “He’s been on the admissions’ committee for at least a decade. Maybe someone was upset that their kid didn’t get into St. Catherine’s.”

Detective Calvente stopped walking. She faced her, eyebrows pinched in a disapproving V. “Most of the admissions happen in kindergarten, right?”

Imani nodded. “That’s right.”

“You think Mr. Walker was murdered because someone was mad that he didn’t think their five-year-old was prep-school material?”

Imani ignored the sarcasm. She had kids in the school system and had seen the level of vitriol thrown at the admissions staff up close. “This is New York City,” she countered. “Folks would kill to get into St. Catherine’s.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

TONYA

The moving truck came with a driver but not a “mover.” Legally, Will, the wiry guy behind the wheel, wasn’t allowed to lift anything onto the truck or into the storage unit because then he could be responsible for breaking it or throwing out his back. Drivers were insured for car accidents, he’d explained, but not compensated for injuries sustained helping out single moms. He hoped she understood.