Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

were two quilts that together became the basis for the one in the story. One, she named the Captain’s Quilt because it was colorful, told a story and in good condition and they displayed in the room with the same name. The other, she kept stored away because it was plain and not in very good condition. This second one may actually have more historical relevance and I know was special to her. It was stored away with some old quilts that she had made and by accident, was the one she gave to me when we left the Inn. I offered to bring it back to her, but she said that it would be easier if she just had Malcom stop by on his way back from the Rockdog and pick it up.”
    Max stopped and looked at Jack with triumph in her eyes, as if she had just solved some great mystery.
    “So?” Jack wasn’t making whatever connection she was making.
    “So! So Malcom never came by yesterday to get the quilt.”
    “Max, he had just run a marathon. He was tired, it would have been easy for him to forget.”
    “No,” she insisted. “That quilt meant too much to her. He wouldn’t have forgotten. Polly wouldn’t have let him forget.”
    Jack wasn’t so sure about that. Under the same circumstances, he might easily have forgotten himself. “I suppose, but I’m sure he just forgot.”
    “Don’t you see. He’s the dead man you found.”
    Jack looked at her. She was beginning to get into her conspiracy theory mode, and whenever that happened, she was impossible. “Max. You don’t know that,” he said trying to defuse her.
    “It all makes sense.”
    “To you it makes sense, but there is no reason for that. Why don’t you just call her?”
    “Fine, I will,” she said with a bit of righteous indignation, and she sat up straight, clutching the sheet to her chest.
    “Come here,” said Jack, reaching out for her. He had listened, and now he wanted her again.
    Max pulled back and began to slide off the bed, “No. I have a call to make.”
    “Max,” he pleaded, but his hand grabbed nothing but sheet.
    He didn’t let go of the sheet but she did, leaving him to watch her walk away, toward the phone.
    * * *
    Max made the call, but there was no answer. She didn’t give it a lot of thought―after all, it wasn’t even noon yet. Polly was probably out on errands. She tried again an hour later, with the same result. A third call also went unanswered.
    “Jack, don’t you think it’s strange that there has been no answer at the Inn each time I’ve called?” She was beginning to obsess.
    “Not really. I’m sure that they’re just busy.”
    “I don’t know. I tried a bunch of different times and you’d think that someone would be there. I mean, the Inn is still open, and even if they had no guests, they wouldn’t just not be there. Jack, I’m worried.” Max hung up the phone for the fourth time.
    “Don’t.”
    “I can’t help it. Her husband was supposed to stop by and pick up the quilt. I don’t think he would have forgotten, considering …”
    “Max, you’re going to make yourself crazy. I’m sure there is some simple explanation …”
    She cut him off. “Yeah, like he’s dead.”
    “Max, you’re being ridiculous.”
    “I’m not. You fell and landed on a dead body at the race. Malcom hasn’t stopped by to pick up the quilt, there hasn’t been any answer at the Inn. I’m telling you, it was him.”
    “Even if it was, why?”
    “I don’t know. I’m just saying.”
    “Don’t you have to get to work?” said Jack, changing the subject.
    Max looked up at the clock. “I’m not due in until four. I still have some time.”
    “Listen, if you don’t have a problem with it, I’m gonna’ call Dave and see if he wants to go for a short walk. I need to stretch my legs.”
    “Go for it. Just be careful.”

CHAPTER 58
    “SO, HOW’D YOU LIKE YOUR first Rockdog?” asked Dave.
    Jack paused a moment before answering. “I liked it, but I could’ve enjoyed it a whole lot more.
    “Yeah. You did have quite the day,” Dave said as they completed their first mile.
    Dave had just returned from work when Jack called. Even though the sun was nearly set, he too needed to stretch his legs. They planned to walk along one of their usual running routes: a four-mile loop that went south of his place and zigged and zagged through some residential neighborhoods.
    “So Jack, what was the deal with that girl? What was her name?”
    “Sylvie, and nothing.”
    “She was hot.”
    “I didn’t