Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

it, and he wanted to confront him immediately. I convinced him that this wasn’t a good idea.”
    “Did you report it stolen?”
    “We didn’t. Malcom wanted to handle it himself.”
    “And you’re sure he took it?”
    “Malcom was convinced. I told him to call the police, but he wanted to handle it himself.” She stopped again and this time Malloy could hear her sniffling. Then she began to cry, and between sobs she said, “If only I had insisted, maybe Malcom would still be alive.”
    “Mrs. Christian, it’s not your fault. Your husband probably would have done it anyway.”
    “No. I should’ve stopped him.”
    Malloy knew that there would be no changing her mind. But he needed more information. “When did he do this?”
    “The day after we discovered the letter and quilt were missing, about two weeks ago.”
    “I see.”
    “Mal drove down the next morning. When he came home, he didn’t have the quilt and he was upset.”
    “Did he tell you why?”
    “Not really. He just said that he’d get it back at the race.”
    The line went silent and he thought he could hear her sobbing. “Mrs. Christian.”
    “I’m sorry. I’m still here,” she said with a quiver in her voice.
    “Can you tell me anything else?”
    “Not really.”
    After a few more minutes of meaningless conversation, he hung up the phone. He leaned back in his chair, exhaled, and then sat forward and picked up his notes.

CHAPTER 66
    “C’MON JACK. WE’VE GOT TO get going,” said Max as she walked down the stairs carrying the quilt.
    He was only a few steps behind, but it might have been a mile by the way she was acting. “Bye Cat,” he said. He bent over and scratched her head before following Max down the stairs.
    It was a beautiful November day. The few brown leaves that were left on the trees stood in stark contrast to the clear blue sky. The ride north was quick and quiet. Since the leaf-peeping season was over and the ski season had not yet begun, traffic was light, which allowed them to make good time. As they neared the point where they would get off Route 16, Jack asked again, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
    He didn’t look at her when he asked the question. He just stared straight ahead as if concentrating on the road, because he already knew the answer. He could also feel the look she was giving him. They had had this conversation several times already and he knew that her mind was made up. Still, he felt compelled to ask one last time. “Yes. You know I do.”
    The roads became narrower, with more twists and bumps the closer they got to the Inn. Finally, the sign for the Inn came into view. They saw that someone had tacked on one of those bright-orange stock signs that every hardware store carries: CLOSED.
    Jack drove up the driveway slowly as if sneaking up on a doe in the woods. Even so, the soft crunching of gravel under the tires seemed as loud as a barker at a carnival calling out to announce their arrival. He stopped next to the several cars that were parked in front of the Inn and shut off the engine. Neither Jack nor Max made any move to get out of the car. Instead they sat, staring at the Inn, waiting for the other to make the first move.
    Max caved in first. As soon as she was out, Jack followed. With the plastic bag under her arm, she walked up to the front door, paused, and then knocked. Unlike their first visit to the Inn, when they were welcomed by an exuberant Polly, this time they were greeted by a woman they had never seen before. Her face was drawn and pale, and her eyes looked like she had recently been crying. She was wearing a pair of ordinary jeans with a burgundy-colored turtleneck shirt under a matching plaid shirt. She held on to the door, opening it just wide enough for her to stand in the opening.
    “Hello. May I help you?” she asked softly.
    “We’re so sorry to bother you. My name is Max, and this is Jack,” she said turning toward him. “We stayed here at the Inn not too long ago, and Polly was helping me get started on my first quilt. She gave me this old quilt to use as filler, but I think she made a mistake. I think this one is really valuable, so I am returning it.” Max shifted the green plastic bag in her arm so the woman could see it, but she made no move to hand it over.
    The woman didn’t move or speak for several moments. Then in that same subdued voice she said, “I’m sorry that you drove all the way up here. As you may or may not know, Polly’s