Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

himself any further, Polly gave him a hug as well.
    “Thank you so much for being here,” she whispered. He was sure that he heard a hitch in her voice, and when she pulled away, he could see that she was fighting off tears. “Get something to eat, I’ll see you in a bit,” she said and turned away.
    The sky remained clear all afternoon and the breeze light. It was chilly, but for a late November day it was quite nice. By mid-afternoon though, the shadows had begun to lengthen and the temperature began to drop noticeably. No one was leaving, but now instead of being spread out, the crowd was gathered in the warm spots: by the grill, dancing, or on the porch for easy access to the kitchen.

CHAPTER 88
    ALFRED WATCHED THE REVELERS all afternoon, and as he did, a plan began to form in his head. “Soon,” he told himself, “Soon.” He shivered. Sunset was rapidly approaching, and after the sun was down, he would have his opportunity.
    * * *
    Throughout the day, people continued to arrive and depart. Someone tapped a second keg and another lit a fire pit as the temperature began to drop sharply once the sun dipped below the trees. Jack met some of Malcom’s running buddies from the area and they began talking about races, runs, and Malcom. That was the last thing Max wanted to talk about―or more correctly, listen to―so she walked off.
    Inside the house, walking from room to room, Max remembered those few days they had spent at the Inn. She imagined what life must have been like all those years ago. As she paused in front of the spot where the letter had been, a voice startled her. “It was stolen.”
    Max turned. “Stolen?”
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. The letter. Remember, we used to have a copy of one of the letters that Malcom had found in one of the chests that had all the quilts hanging there. It was the inspiration for my book.” said Polly.
    “Yes, I remember.” Max watched as Polly’s eyes took on a faraway look and began to tear up.
    “Oh Polly,” said Max. She reached over and gave Polly a hug.
    After a moment they pulled apart, and Polly sniffled, “I’m sorry,” while dabbing at the corners of her eyes.
    “Don’t be.” Max said. Then, looking at the wall, she continued, “Stolen?”
    “Yes, that and one of the quilts, the one in the Captain’s room.”
    “How horrible. When? What happened?”
    “It’s a long story. At the end of the summer, Malcom was down in Massachusetts buying some stuff that we could use to decorate one of the rooms, and he met this odd little man who owned one of the shops. Shortly after, that man showed up here offering to buy the letter and the Captain’s quilt. Of course we said no, but then, not too long after you were here, they were stolen. Mal was convinced that the antiques dealer had stolen them. He went back down and confronted the man, but he denied that he had them. Malcom was going to see him one last time on the weekend of the race to try to get them back before calling the police.” Her voice trailed off, “He never got them …”
    As she wiped her eyes again, Polly noticed the strange look on Max’s face. “Max, are you all right?”
    “Yes, yes I am. You said he was an odd little man.”
    Polly nodded. “I did.”
    “That’s weird.”
    “What’s weird?”
    “Remember you gave me an old quilt.”
    “Sure.
    “You had given me the wrong one.”
    “Right. Well, just the other day, this strange man stopped by the bar asking a lot of questions, and he suggested to Jack that he would like to buy the quilt from me. Of course I didn’t sell it to him, I had already brought it back to you, but he didn’t know that, and I didn’t tell him.
    “What was his name?”
    “Whitman … Whitson, something like that,” said Max. Then she blurted out, “I think he killed Malcom.”
    Polly looked at Max, her face reflecting shock. “What did you just say?”
    “Nothing. I don’t know why I said …”
    Polly cut her off. “You said his name was Whitson and you think he killed Malcom.”
    Now, completely embarrassed, Max fumbled with words, trying to backtrack.
    “Sit down,” said Polly. ”Tell me everything.”
    They sat and talked until it was well past sunset. Several guests came by to pay respects, but they retreated when they saw the intensity of the women’s conversation.
    * * *
    The sun had finally set and Alfred decided that it was time. He would go to the Inn, walk in, find Max, and convince her that