Read Think of a Number (Dave Gurney, No.1) for Free Online

showed you are the reason I’m so upset. My emotions the past few dayshave been bouncing back and forth between upset and terrified.”
    Despite his skepticism, Gurney was struck by something authentic in Mellery’s tone. “Tell me more,” he said.
    During the ensuing half hour, it became clear that there was not a lot more Mellery was willing or able to tell. He did, however, return to one point that obsessed him.
    “How in the name of God could he have known what number I would think of? I have gone over in my mind people I’ve known, places I’ve been, addresses, zip codes, phone numbers, dates, birthdays, license plates, even prices of things—anything with numbers—and there’s nothing I associate with six fifty-eight. It’s driving me crazy!”
    “It might be more useful to focus on simpler questions. For instance …”
    But Mellery wasn’t listening. “I have no sense that six fifty-eight means anything at all. But it must mean something. And whatever it means, someone else knows about it. Someone else knows that six fifty-eight is significant enough to me that it would be the first number I would think of. I can’t get my mind around that. It’s a nightmare!”
    Gurney sat quietly and waited for Mellery’s panic to exhaust itself.
    “The references to drinking mean that it’s someone who knew me in the bad old days. If they have some sort of grudge—which it sounds like they do—they’ve been nursing it for a long time. It might be someone who lost track of me, had no idea where I was, then saw one of my books, saw my picture, read something about me, and decided to … decided to what? I don’t even know what these notes are about.”
    Still Gurney said nothing.
    “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a hundred, maybe two hundred, nights in your life you have no recollection of?” Mellery shook his head in apparent astonishment at his own recklessness. “The only thing I know for sure about those nights is that I was drunk enough—crazy enough—to do anything. That’s the thing about alcohol—when you drink as much as I did, it takes away all fear of consequences. Your perceptions are warped, your inhibitions disappear, your memory shuts down, and you run on impulse—instinct without constraint.” He fell silent, shaking his head.
    “What do you think you might have done in one of those memory blackouts?”
    Mellery stared at him. “Anything! Christ, that’s the point—
anything!
”
    He looked, Gurney thought, like a man who has just discovered that the tropical paradise of his dreams, in which he has invested every cent, is infested with scorpions.
    “What do you want me to do for you?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe I was hoping for a Sherlock Holmes deduction, mystery solved, letter writer identified and rendered harmless.”
    “You’re in a better position to guess what this is all about than I am.”
    Mellery shook his head. Then a fragile hopefulness widened his eyes. “Could it be a practical joke?”
    “If it is, it’s crueler than most,” replied Gurney. “What else comes to mind?”
    “Blackmail? The writer knows something awful, something I can’t remember? And the $289.87 is just the first demand?”
    Gurney nodded noncommittally. “Any other possibilities?”
    “Revenge? For something awful I did, but they don’t want money, they want …” His voice trailed off pathetically.
    “And there’s no specific thing you remember doing that would seem to justify this response?”
    “No. I told you. Nothing I can
remember
.”
    “Okay, I believe you. But under the circumstances, it may be worthwhile to consider a few simple questions. Just write them down as I ask them, take them home, spend twenty-four hours with them, and see what comes to mind.”
    Mellery opened his elegant briefcase and withdrew a small leather notebook and a Montblanc pen.
    “I want you to make a few separate lists, as best you can, okay? List number one: possible business or