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Kelsey stared at her for a moment, her eyebrow arched. “I gathered that much, Sherlock.”
Haven stood and returned the journal to the bookshelf before grabbing the second registration folder from the table. “Don’t worry about it.”
Rolling her eyes, Kelsey opened her folder and started sorting through the papers. Haven followed her lead, taking out her schedule for the spring semester. School started back up in the morning, giving Haven another fresh start. She hadn’t done too horribly in the fall, failing none of her classes, but some she had just passed by the skin of her teeth.
“So I’ll drop Drawing II and pick up Writing and Literature with you,” Kelsey said, reading over her schedule.
Haven glanced through hers. “I have that at eight in the morning on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
Kelsey grimaced. “Ugh, forget about it. How about Survey of World Art?”
“Nine-thirty, same days.”
“Still too early.”
“Sculpture?”
“Gross.”
Haven laughed. “Well, all I have left is Painting II.”
“When’s that?”
“Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at noon.”
A smile curved Kelsey’s lips. “Bingo!”
Kelsey scribbled it down on a piece of paper as Haven put her schedule away, placing the registration folder back on the table. She settled back into the couch, crossing her legs once more, when a loud ringing ricocheted through the apartment.
“Phone’s ringing,” Kelsey said, picking a pillow up off the chair and tossing it at Haven. She caught it, tensing as her blood ran cold. Her eyes darted over to the bookcase where the small black cell phone lay, glowing and vibrating as it rang.
Besides Kelsey, there was only one person who had that number.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Kelsey asked.
“Uh, yeah.” Haven walked over to the phone, glancing at the caller ID even though it was senseless. Corrado’s name shone brightly on the screen. Her hand shook as she picked it up, but before she could answer it, the ringing stopped.
Thirty seconds, then forty-five, then a minute passed until her phone chimed again, this time with a text message. Haven opened it, reading the simple message:
Call me.
* * *
The club on Ninth Street was packed, the sound of an old Frank Sinatra song booming from the massive speakers situated in the corners. Cigar smoke permeated the air, making Carmine’s eyes water the moment he stepped inside.
Corrado had called him and told him to come down right away. He wouldn’t elaborate as to why on the phone and that put Carmine on edge. Was it his father? Haven? Had something happened to her?
The last time he had been there, things hadn’t gone over very well.
Slowly, he walked over to the bar. “Vodka, please.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Do you have ID?”
Carmine hesitated. What the fuck? “You know me, man.”
“You’re right,” the bartender said, not sounding impressed in the least. “I do.”
“Yeah, so are you gonna give me a shot?”
