Read Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run for Free Online

the house.
    “Shit,” he mumbled as he tossed another log onto the pile.
    Thirty minutes later, Malcom walked into the kitchen. Polly was sitting at the table. To his surprise, in front of her, splayed out all over the table, were the letters they had found in the trunk. She was writing on one of those yellow pads of paper like lawyers would use―furiously writing.
    “Hey, Pol. So what’s this idea you have?”
    “Shhh.” She didn’t look up, but kept on writing on the pad of paper.
    Malcom shrugged and thought to himself, “I deserved that.” He went over to the sink to wash his hands.
    As he reached for a towel, Polly put down her pencil and looked over at him.
    “So tell me. What’s your idea?” he asked again.
    “Those letters that you found in the bottom of the trunk gave me a great idea. I re-read them and once you get past the seasickness, it’s a great story. I’m going to write a book.”
    “You’re what?” Malcom didn’t know what else to say.
    “I’m going to write a book. I was rereading these letters and they gave me the idea.”
    “A book?”
    “Yes. Look, we found all these quilts and that gave us the idea for what to name this place. And these letters were probably written by whoever belonged to the quilts.”
    “You’re going to write a book,” he said, still grappling with her first statement.
    “Mal, aren’t you listening to me. These papers tell a great story, and if we had a book based on that story, it would be great publicity. People will flock here.”
    “I’m listening, I’m just having a hard time picturing you writing a book.”
    “I can do it. You’ll see.”
    * * *
    “I am so proud of you,” said Malcom.
    Those first two years of their dream were a blur of activity. The Inn was open and thriving and Polly’s novel became a reality. She said nothing, but the smile on her face said it all. She gingerly reached into the box and took out a book. “Oh, Mal. Look,” she said as she stared at the cover. “ The Captain’s Quilt by Polly Christian.” She began to slowly turn it over and over in her hands, studying it from all angles.
    Malcom took another copy from the box and did the same. Then he reached out and pulled her to him and wrapped her in a hug. “You did it,” he whispered in her ear. Suddenly, she pulled away and let out a scream of joy and began jumping up and down like a five-year-old opening her first Christmas present. All he could do was stand there, grinning like an idiot as he shared her joy.

CHAPTER 13
    MAX PICKED UP THE BOOK again. She’d call Patti shortly, but first, the ship was being battered by a storm and until all was safe, she couldn’t put the book down.
    * * *
The cook returned with some biscuits and cheese. “Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’am. The Captain had the cook fires put out so’s this is all I could bring you. The glass is still falling.”
“What does that mean?”
“… means that it looks to be a bad storm,” he grunted as he put the tray of food on the table and turned to leave. She thought she detected something else in his voice and looked at him expecting more, but he offered nothing. Her anxiety must have been obvious because when he was in the doorway, he turned and looked at her with something between pity and caring. Then he added, “She’s a stout ship. All will be fine.”
She hadn’t realized that she had been holding her breath until she tried to speak and all that came out was a feeble “Oh.”
Then he was gone before she could thank him for his kindness. Christine was not reassured. The motion of the boat continued to increase and she began to feel the effects. She opened the chest that contained all the possessions for her new life and took out the quilt that her mother had given her. It wasn’t finished, and working on it made her feel connected to her home and family. She closed her eyes, pulled the quilt to her face, and inhaled deeply. If she concentrated she could still smell home: the sweet