Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

would return to where he could watch the Inn, and when she went out, he would go in, take what he needed, and leave. He only needed five minutes. He was sure that she would go out and that the Inn would be empty sometime in the morning. He just had to be ready.
    * * *
    By daybreak, the rain had stopped. The fast-moving storm was past and the sky was beginning to clear. By 9:30 he was sitting in his truck watching the Inn and eating a donut he had picked up at the local donut shop. That’s when he saw the second vehicle. “ Damn, ” he said softly to himself. “ He’s back. ” That would change things a bit, but the result was going to be the same. Nothing was going to stop him now.
    It wasn’t long before Alfred’s first assumption that she would go out in the morning proved itself true. He watched as Malcom walked with her out to her car. They talked, kissed good-bye, and she drove off. “ One gone, one to go, ” thought Alfred as he watched Malcom return to the house.
    “Patience. Have patience; it’ll all work out.” He had to keep reminding himself. When he didn’t see any sign that Malcom might be coming out to the other vehicle, Alfred moved to another spot where he could watch the back of the Inn as well. His heart nearly leapt from his chest when he saw Malcom, dressed for a run, walking toward the woods out back. This was it. His chance.
    All of a sudden, he was a kid again. His goody-two-shoes brother had run home, not willing to take the dare. But he had stayed. Now he told himself it would be simple. “ Wait, you’ll know when it is time. Then run―don’t hesitate. Victory will go to the one who dared. It’s all about risk and reward. And I will win. ”
    As soon as Malcom disappeared into the woods, Alfred sprinted toward the back door of the Inn. He passed through the kitchen, dashed upstairs to the room that held his quilt, took it off the wall, folded it, tucked it under his arm, and headed back downstairs. In the room next to the front door he also grabbed the framed letter. Then he looked out the window and, confirming that Polly had not yet returned, left by the front door and ran to the spot where his truck was hidden.
    He had done it. He had his letter and his quilt. He began to grin uncontrollably as he stuffed the quilt and framed letter into a black plastic bag and drove away.

CHAPTER 45
    TWO DAYS AFTER THE STORM , Malcom was out back mowing the yard around the garden while Polly went to the store. He didn’t hear her return. Along with some groceries, she had picked up several new magazines for the front room to replace the ones that were dog-eared. New guests were due in and she wanted everything to be perfect.
    As she arranged the magazines on the coffee table, something― or a lack of something―caught her eye. She stood and looked at the wall, then froze. It was gone. The letter was gone. A strange feeling washed over her as she stared at that empty spot. She couldn’t move. All she could do was stare while a feeling of panic washed over her. “Malcom!” she screamed.
    She knew he couldn’t hear her―he was outside mowing―but that scream snapped her out of her growing panic. She ran. She had to get to Malcom.
    The door slapped shut behind her. She didn’t see him, but she could hear the tractor’s engine running. After the gloom of the house, the bright sun was blinding. She shielded her eyes and looked to where she could hear the sound of the tractor. Then she saw him and called out again before running toward him, waving frantically.
    When he saw her running toward him like a crazy person, wild thoughts began to run through his head: someone had died; a neighbor’s house had burned; there was a dog, dead in the road. He stopped, killed the engine, and jumped off the tractor just as she reached him. Her face was flushed and she was gasping for breath.
    “Ma …” was all she could get out before he said, “Polly, are you all right?”
    “Mal,” she gasped. “Did you do anything with the letter we had hanging in the front room?”
    He looked at her, wondering where that had come from. “No.”
    “It’s gone.”
    “What do you mean it’s gone?”
    “I was just in there, putting some new magazines on the table and opening the shades. Guests are coming. But it’s gone.”
    He hurried toward the house before she could even say anything else.
    “What the hell?” he said as he looked at the blank spot on the wall.
    “Other than those two couples