Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

didn’t hear you.”
    Again he didn’t say anything.
    As she climbed the last remaining stairs, she began to have second thoughts about her decision to take him upstairs and show him a quilt. Scenarios began to play out in her head: how she would get away if he attacked her, what she could do to defend herself. When they reached the Captain’s Room, she opened the door and stepped aside so he could go in first. She did not want to be trapped in there with him.
    He didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he walked past her, stood in front of the quilt, and stared at it. She watched him from the doorway. His free hand clenched and unclenched, and his lips moved slightly as if he were talking to the quilt. Then, abruptly, he turned and walked back to where she stood in the doorway. Standing uncomfortably close to her, and looking straight into her eyes, he said, “I would like this quilt. And the letter, too.”
    Polly was dumbstruck, but she knew it was time for him to leave. After a moment, she found her voice and said pleasantly yet forcefully, “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”
    “I’m willing to pay. Whatever you want.”
    “I’m sorry. They’re not for sale. No.”
    This time there was an edge to her voice. He must have gotten the message, because his expression softened and he simply said, “I see. Well, please say ‘Hi’ to your husband for me. I must be going.”
    With that he rushed past her, sped down the stairs, and let himself out before she could even catch up.
    The front door was still ajar when she reached it, and before she could look out, she heard his truck driving off. Her heart was pounding and her hands shaking as she turned the lock on the door. She knew that it was a futile gesture because he was already gone, but the resounding click as the lock snapped closed made her feel better. She walked over to the window and looked out at the empty drive. The sky was perfectly clear and the sun still bright, even though it was now late afternoon. If she listened carefully, she could hear birds chirping out in the trees as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
    This is where she had been standing when Malcom walked in after his run.

CHAPTER 29
    AS MALCOM ABSORBED THE STORY, his thoughts returned to the afternoon he had spent with Alfred. The man had seemed okay most of the time. Perhaps a bit odd, but not enough to really worry about. Then again, Mal remembered a few times when he had really wondered. Now, as Polly told him about the visit, his sense of unease returned.
    “Mal,” she continued, “when you told me how odd he was, I didn’t really understand what you meant. Now I do.”
    “You said he wanted to buy the Captain’s Quilt.”
    “Yes.”
    “Tell me again.” Malcom deliberately kept his voice calm, trying not to give away his growing concern.
    She turned her gaze back out the window. “Mostly he just stared. He asked me about the letters, too. He wanted to see them. I told him they were locked away, but I showed him the one on the wall. He read it twice, then asked about the quilt, so I took him upstairs to see it. I never heard him following me up the stairs. He was just there. Scared the shit out of me. I opened the room and watched as he went in and stood in front of it for a few minutes. That’s when he offered to buy it. I refused and he rushed out when I said it wasn’t for sale. That was just before you came in.” She paused a moment, then added, “He did say to say ‘Hi’ to you. ‘Hi’.”
    As she uttered those last words, he stepped toward her and took her in his arms. He felt her sigh. “It’s okay. I told you how odd he was. I’m sure that he’s harmless and he won’t be back.” What he didn’t tell her was how concerned he really was.
    “He really is, uh, different, isn’t he,” said Polly as she pulled away. She chuckled. He grinned and when her chuckle became a laugh, he found himself laughing too.
    “You stink,” said Polly. “Go get cleaned up. I have a special dinner planned, for just the two of us.”
    He didn’t miss the look on her face or the inflection in her voice. “Right,” said Malcom, and he grinned as he headed for the shower.
    * * *
    When he returned to the kitchen, he was met with the most wonderful aromas. She was standing in front of the stove stirring something in a large skillet that was bubbling nicely, and he watched as she tasted it, paused, added some secret ingredient, and tasted it again. She