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Vincent eyed them cautiously. “Hey, kids.”
“Hey,” Carmine said.
“Dr. DeMarco,” Haven said. “May I be excused, sir?”
“Of course, dolcezza. You don’t have to ask.”
Carmine frowned, watching as she disappeared up the stairs. “I guess I’m going to bed.”
His father sighed. “Take it one day at a time, Carmine.”
42
Bookcases towered above Haven like skyscrapers. Strolling among the stacks, she occasionally pulled out a book and surveyed the front cover before skimming the description on the back.
They’d been back in Durante for a few days, just in time for Carmine’s senior year of school. He immersed himself in class and football, leaving Haven with days to fill on her own. She cooked and cleaned, but she still had hours left over with nothing to do and no one to talk to.
Needing something to distract her, she turned to the library, hoping to get lost in a different world, to be absorbed in a fictional time and place, the life of someone else. She wanted to forget about everything so she wasn’t constantly plagued with thoughts of her mama’s last moments. She found herself wondering what she’d been thinking: Had she been scared? Had she been in pain? Was there ever a moment that she second-guessed her decision?
The feeling of failure nagged Haven. She ran that day in Blackburn because she had been desperate to save her mama, and she hadn’t forgotten that. But now it was too late. Her mama was gone.
Haven ran her fingers along the spines of some books, and came across one without a name. She pulled out the leather-bound book and a piece of paper tumbled to the floor. She picked it up and unfolded it, her brow furrowing when she saw it was a letter.
Walking to the chair by the window, she sat with the book in her lap as she scanned the withering note.
10/08/97
Mrs. DeMarco,
After careful consideration, I’ve decided I can no longer be a part of this investigation. I took the case without knowing the details, and had I known them at the time, I would have declined. For all intents and purposes, Haven Antonelli does not exist, and I implore you to forget you ever encountered her. Enclosed you’ll find a full refund of my fees. Consider our contract severed, and I request you no longer contact me concerning this.
Arthur L. Brannigan
Private Investigator
Stunned, Haven scanned the paper a second time, certain she had to have misread, as pieces of the puzzle filled in to expose a hidden picture that left her speechless. Eyes brimming with tears, her stomach dropped when she realized the date on the top of the paper.
October 8, 1997—a few days before Maura DeMarco had been killed.
* * *
Vincent tapped his pen against his desk, surrounded by mounds of files. Work piled up, but he couldn’t focus on it. His attention kept wandering, his thoughts and eyes drifting toward the live feed playing on the screen beside him.
o;Help her! You told me you would, you fucking liar!”
Corrado grabbed his arm, pulling him away from Miranda’s lifeless body and shoving him back onto the ground. “She’s too far gone.”
“How the hell do you know?”
His expression was cold. “I know a dead body when I see one.”
Carmine sat in the dirt, his eyes stinging with tears. He looked around frantically, hoping it was a vicious nightmare he would soon wake up from, and spotted a smug smile on Katrina’s lips.
The sight of it made him lose control. “This is your fault!” He looked between Katrina and Michael. “You killed her! You made her do this!”
“Who cares?” Katrina snapped. “She’s a slave!”
The moment those words met his ears, all logic fizzled away. “No, she wasn’t a slave!”
