Nine Lives(15)

“You think it’s him?”

“Yeah, I do, but I don’t know why. It’s partly his age. So far everyone I’ve identified seems to be in their late thirties.”

“Except for Frank Hopkins.”

“Yes, except for Frank Hopkins.”

Detective Hamilton said, “What about Jack Radebaugh. No luck on him yet?”

“No luck. Did you google him, as well?”

“I did. There weren’t many. The big name was a kind of famous writer.”

“I talked with him. He didn’t get the letter in the mail, and he didn’t know anyone else who was on the list.”

“How old was he?”

“He’s seventy.”

There was a slight pause, and Jessica added, “If you think of anything else I should know about Hopkins, you’ll call me?”

“Sure. Let me get your numbers.”

After exchanging office and cell numbers they each hung up, Jessica sitting quietly for a moment, trying to dislodge whatever memory she had of the Windward Resort from her mind. It had rung a bell. A distant, distant bell.

She’d been to the southern coast of Maine at least twice in her life, but as far as she knew, she’d never been to Kennewick. She’d been to Camden for a very rainy Memorial Day weekend with Justin, her previous boyfriend. That was about three years ago. Prior to that she’d gone on a family vacation when she was thirteen years old—she remembered it because it was the first family summer vacation she’d gone on during which she wanted to be back home, hanging with friends. Her mom had rented a house in Kennebunkport that had been a disappointment. It was near a beach, but the beach was rocky, the water ice cold even in August. She remembered their driving up and down the coast to visit shops and ice cream parlors in other small towns. And she remembered that her dad had been in a particularly mean-spirited mood while they’d been there. She only really remembered that because her mother had blown up one night at dinner and said that she was sick of living with two selfish teenagers. Had they visited Kennewick on that trip? She couldn’t remember.

“Go home,” Aaron said from the doorway.

Jessica turned in a daze to him. “I will. I want to make just one more call.”

“Okay. Then I’m coming with you. I’m your escort.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“I’m not kidding. If you don’t want it to be me, then I’ll get someone else, but until I find out exactly what’s going on, I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Okay, fine,” Jessica said. “I’ll come get you in five.”

After Aaron left, she tried to call Jay Coates, the one in California, one more time. He didn’t pick up, and she considered leaving a message, one a little more urgent than the one she’d left before, but decided against it. It probably wasn’t him, anyway, and why scare him if it wasn’t necessary.





6





FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 6:14 P.M.


Matthew Beaumont had forgotten that Nancy and he had dinner plans with the Robinsons, but walking into the kitchen and seeing his wife dressed in her favorite green dress made him remember.

“We’re going out?” he said.

“You forgot.”

“Only a little bit.”

“I talked with Michelle and we agreed to meet at the restaurant. The reservation’s for six-thirty, and Michaela’s going to be here any moment, and that gives us just a few minutes to go over the kids’ schedules with her, so please get dressed fast, and I don’t think you have time for a shower.”

In the bedroom Matthew found that Nancy had laid out an outfit for him, a pair of tan chinos and a button-down shirt that was supposed to be worn untucked. He stripped out of his suit, applied fresh deodorant, and got dressed, his mind going over the evening ahead, trying to figure out if he should tell the Robinsons about the letter he’d gotten the day before, and about the FBI agent who came and collected it from him at the office today. The agent had mentioned to him to keep the fact of the letter to himself, or more specifically, the other names on the letter, but had shrugged when Matthew told him that he’d already shown his wife. It was a good story, the letter, and if he was just having drinks with Pete Robinson, or with Michelle, for that matter, then he would definitely tell it. But he was mindful of Nancy’s reaction to the list the evening before, and how suspicious she’d been, and didn’t know how she’d be if he brought it up at dinner. And he definitely didn’t know how she’d react when he told her that an agent had called him at his office, then sent another agent to take the letter away as some kind of evidence. Actually, he did know how she’d react. For one, she’d become convinced that it was some sort of sexual blackmail list. And she’d also freak out that Matthew had taken the list with him to work, instead of simply throwing it out at home. It would prove his guilt, somehow. But the only reason he’d taken the list with him into work was so that Nancy wouldn’t happen upon it again and get upset.

When he came back downstairs, in his new outfit, he was assaulted by Alex racing through the foyer, wearing one sock and sliding on the floor, kicking off with his bare foot.

“Don’t get a splinter,” Matthew said, but Alex was already around the corner into the large living room.