Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

very real to him―flashed through his mind.
    First he was on the deck when the Captain’s ship met the ship of Josiah Whitbey. Then he was on shore with his family as they eagerly awaited the arrival of Whitbey’s ship, filled with enough tea to support them through the long-coming winter. He shared their joy and heady excitement as that ship, so anticipated for such a long time, finally arrived. Then he watched from shore as that last voyage ended in tragedy and ruin. Now he was so close to finally having the proof that would expose the treachery that led to his family’s downfall.
    With his heart racing he was snapped back to the present by the sounds of sirens fast approaching. He whipped his head around just as an ambulance came up from behind, turned westward onto Route 111, and disappeared from sight. He looked back out over the ocean, and the speck of white on the horizon had disappeared along with his dreams. He had a mission to complete. There was only about three and a half miles to go until he would be at Rye Harbor, where he expected to find Max, the quilt, and success.

CHAPTER 69
    THE SIGN SAID THAT BEN’S opened at noon. He was early, which was good. He would be able to talk to her alone. The door was unlocked so he went in. A bell clingled and announced his arrival. As he walked into the bar, he didn’t see anyone. Then a cheery voice from behind said, “Hi, may I help you?” It was Patti.
    When he turned, he found himself facing the blonde curly haired waitress with the enthusiastic smile.
    “Oh, hello. Yes, perhaps you can.” But before he could finish, he saw a subtle change take place in her face. Her smile, which at first was open and welcoming, now became forced. It clearly reflected both caution and uncertainty.
    “Okay.” She drew the word out, and her inflection made it more of a question than a statement.
    “I was here the other day, and the woman who was bartending was telling me about her interest in quilts.”
    Patti’s eyes opened a bit wider and she sucked in and held her breath. She hoped he didn’t notice how uneasy she felt.
    He did, but he continued as if he hadn’t. “I own an antique business and I have several quilts that came from an old estate. I thought she might be interested.”
    Patti began to recover from her initial surprise, but she remained cautious and wary. His story made sense, but when she had first seen him a couple of days ago he had given her the creeps, and that opinion still held.
    Even though Max would be back for her dinner shift, Patti said, “I’m sorry. She’s off today. May I leave a message for her?”
    Now it was his turn to be surprised. He had been so focused on his mission that he hadn’t considered that possibility that she would not be there. He stared at Patti through those thick glasses and stammered, “Uh, um.”
    Patti could see his confusion as he frantically tried to stay focused, while at the same time he scrambled to find something to say. Before he found words, his hand, as if was acting all on its own, began reaching around into his back pocket. That’s when his thoughts caught up with his hand. “May I leave one of my cards? Would you ask her to call me?” he said.
    “Of course.” Patti took the card from him. She looked down at it and then looked up at him. Whitson’s Antiques, Alfred Whitson, Proprietor was printed on the card with an address and phone number. “I’d be happy to …” she looked at the card again. “Mr. Whitson.”
    “Alfred.” Then after a brief pause he added, “Thank you. You must be busy, so I won’t take up any more of your time.”
    Before she could respond, he turned and walked out of Ben’s, leaving Patti holding his card and not feeling reassured at all.
    * * *
    After his failure in finding Max and the quilt, Alfred went straight back to his store. As he unlocked the door, a card that had been pushed into the crack between the door and the frame fluttered to the ground. “What the hell is this?” he said to himself as he bent and picked it up.
    He froze and a chill shot through his body when he read the name on the card. Lieutenant Mark Malloy, Ipswich Police Department. On the back was written, Please give me a call.
    Malloy , that name sounded familiar. He flicked the card back and forth over his hand as he tried to remember why. “Oh shit,” he said in a soft but anxious voice.
    He couldn’t get inside fast enough, and he was already in his office by the time the