Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

announced, “I’m going down. Maybe I can still get those shots outside I wanted before we go into town.”
    Max and Polly looked at each other. They shrugged their shoulders in unison as if to say, “What just happened here?”
    Max helped Polly close the shades as Patti’s footsteps disappeared down the stairs.
    “Would you still like to see the other one?” asked Polly.
    “I would, if it’s not too much trouble.”
    “Come on, it’s upstairs.”
    The stairs were narrow and Max felt like they were walking up a secret passage. The door at the top opened into the attic. A small window at each end of the space let in narrow shafts of light. She could feel the heat from the sun on the shingles of the roof and she could see thin strands of unfinished webs connecting the open rafters together. There were piles of sealed boxes and unused furniture in neat rows.
    Near a cluster of chairs and a table was a chest. Polly lifted its scarred lid and inside Max could see several dark-colored sealed plastic bags. Polly took the bags out and placed them on the table. Then, one at a time, she opened each one and looked inside. “Some of these are quilts that I haven’t finished.” When she opened the third bag, her face lit up. “Here it is. Give me a hand.” Max helped her slide out what at first she thought was a large piece of material until she realized that it was actually a quilt. It was made up of three layers―top, back, and something in between―and it was covered with stitching, which made it thicker and heavier than just a single piece of cloth. Carefully they unfolded it. Then Polly said quietly, “Let’s take it over by the window so you can see it better.”
    In the shaft of light, Max could see that it appeared to be quite old. It was stained, and there were some small tears in the fabric. Polly’s face took on an almost reverent look as she gazed at the fabric. She explained, “It’s called a whole cloth quilt. Look at the stitching. Mostly these were made by women of the upper classes because they were the only ones who had the leisure time to learn the needlepoint skills needed to create the intricate patterns. These kinds of quilts became the precursors to petticoats and other warm undergarments.”
    “No kidding.”
    “Look over here,” said Polly as she held one section flat for Max to see. “Doesn’t this stitching look like writing?”
    Max looked closely. The swirls of stitching were tighter than most, and even though there were places where the thread had broken and thus was missing, it did kind of look like writing.
    “This is what gave me the idea.”
    “Why don’t you have it on display?”
    “It's not in very good condition, and only an experienced quilter would really find it interesting. Over the years I’ve made several quilts, but I still can’t get my stitching this fine.”
    “And this gave you the idea for the book,” said Max.
    “It did. Help me fold this back up and put it back in the bag.”
    As they refolded it, Max said, “Thank you for sharing this with me.”
    “The pleasure was mine.”
    They completed the last fold, and together carefully slid it back into its bag.

CHAPTER 36
    JACK AND DAVE WALKED INTO the kitchen just as Polly was giving the women directions and tips on where the best shopping was. “You heading out?” asked Jack.
    “We are. Anything you want us to pick up?”
    “Nah. We’re going to go for a run. Those trails look really nice.”
    “Ciao,” was Max’s breezy reply.
    * * *
    The women were gone by the time Jack and Dave were changed and ready to run. Just as Malcom had done, they brought with them a backpack with several bottles of water and sports drinks. They left their pack on the stump, and after one last look at the trail map, they began to run.
    Two hours later, they returned to the kitchen.
    “That was great!”
    “It really was,” agreed Jack.
    “You know, there’s just one thing we didn’t think of.” Dave frowned.
    “What’s that?”
    “Lunch.”
    “Shit. And we’re stuck here without a car. Any ideas?”
    “All I can think is to call the girls and see if they’ll come back for us.”
    “We might have to go shopping,” Jack cautioned.
    “I know. Flip ya’ for who makes the call.”
    Jack rummaged through the backpack and found a quarter. “Okay, you call it.”
    “Heads.”
    The coin clinked onto the floor, spun, and landed tails side up.
    “Ha! Tails, you make the call,” said Dave