Page 10 of Nine Lives

“Yep,” Aaron said.

3

Friday, September 16, 1:33 p.m.

Ethan Dart was entering his own apartment when he heard the trill of the landline. He checked the digital readout on the handset, just to make sure it wasn’t his mother, the only actual person, besides solicitors, who still called him at his home number. It was a number from Albany, New York, that he chose to ignore.

He went to make coffee, saw that there was a quarter pot left from yesterday (or was it the day before?), and poured it over ice, then got his guitar and returned to the living room. Sitting down in a shaft of pale sunlight coming in through the window, he watched dust motes rise up from the sofa he’d had for as long as he’d had this apartment. He was exhausted, and took a long, teeth-numbing swig of his iced coffee.

Settling the acoustic guitar on his knee, he strummed out a couple of chords, then tried to recall the words to the song he’d written the day before. They instantly came back to him. Reciting them now, he remembered deciding, the night before, that the song had been crap, but now he wasn’t so sure. “Last on Your List.” That name wasn’t too bad. And maybe, just maybe, the song was actually about Hannah, whose apartment he had recently departed. From what he knew about her, her list of conquests was pretty extensive. Not that his wasn’t. Was he falling in love? Would the song work better if the first line was, “Woke in Hannah’s dreams again last night”? Then he could call the song “Hannah,” a better title than “Last on Your List.” He tried it out, then fished around in the glass ashtray for enough pot to fill a bowl. What he really wanted was a goddamn cigarette.

Jittery, he stood up, did a few jumping jacks, then checked the phone to see if Albany had left a message. They had. He checked it, expecting some robocaller, but got a real voice instead, a woman’s voice, identifying herself as Jessica Winslow and asking him to call her back right away. He knew the name instantly; she’d been on that strange list he’d received yesterday. In fact, she’d been the name he was having trouble remembering the night before. Maybe that list really did have something to do with one of the songwriters’ agencies he’d sent demos to. Albany, though? That didn’t sound right.

“Hi, Jessica?” he said. She’d answered her phone before he even heard a ring.

“Is this Ethan Dart?”

“It is.”

“My name’s Jessica Winslow. I’m a special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and I was hoping to ask you some questions.”

“Okay.” Ethan sat back down on the sofa.

“Have you received a letter recently, one with a list of names?”

“I got it yesterday. Your name’s on it, too.”

A slight pause, then she said, “Yeah, it is. You remembered that?”

“Sure. I mean, I just got the list yesterday.”

“Did it mean anything to you, the list? Do you know who it came from, or any of the other names?”

“No, it didn’t mean anything. I thought it must be some kind of mistake.”

“What about Frank Hopkins? Did that name mean anything to you?”

“No, none of them did.” Ethan heard another voice—a male one—in the background say something.

“Has anything else unusual happened in your life recently?” she said. “Anyone threaten you? You make any enemies?”

“Uh, don’t think so.”

“Okay. Just checking. Do you still have the letter, or did you throw it out?”

“No, I still have it. Do you want me—”

“No, just leave it where it is, and don’t touch it again. You’re at home now, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to send a local field agent over to your place to collect the letter. Can I confirm your address?”

“What’s going on? Should I be worried?”

“We’ll send an agent over, okay? Don’t be worried, at least not yet. We’re still trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“That wasn’t reassuring,” Ethan said.

---