Read Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run for Free Online Page B

shopping.” Before Max could reply, she continued. “I’m so psyched.”
    “Patti, have you checked out this place?”
    “Not really, I just know what Dave told me. Something about quilts.”
    “I did, but I must have missed the part about running trails. It’s called The Quilt House and it goes back to the 1700s. Each room is named for a quilt.”
    “That’s nice.” Patti really didn’t care; she was thinking only of shopping.
    They talked for another five minutes before Max heard the sounds of two sets of feet on the stairs. Cat arrived first. She bounded up and jumped onto the arm of the couch, stopped, and stared at Max with a look that said, “I’m here.” Then she began to purr. She climbed into Max’s lap, head-butted, and then pushed her head into the phone as if to say, “Pay attention to me. Me. Me. Me.”
    “Cat. Stop it,” Max said as she pushed the insistent cat away. “Patti, I’ve gotta’ go. Jack just got back. Talk to you later … Bye.”
    She hung up the phone as Jack reached the top of the stairs. Cat, seeing his arrival, jumped down and began her “Feed me―I’m the center of the universe” dance.
    “Hey, Max. What’s up?”
    “Not much. I’ve been chilling and reading and I just got off the phone with Patti. She’s really excited.”
    “That’s what Dave told me.”

CHAPTER 15
    “HELLO,” MALCOM CALLED OUT as he pressed the door closed. The latch clicked and the small bell that was attached to the door jingled again. He looked around. As his eyes adjusted to the low light inside, he could see shelves and counters filled with the most eclectic assortment of stuff and it gave him hope.
    He smiled. “Timing is everything,” he thought to himself. It was the first week after Labor Day. Schools had started, so the summer crowds were absent. After nearly three decades of running the Inn, they had learned that this was the best time of year to go searching for new things with which to decorate the Inn, and this year it was his turn. The roads weren’t so crowded and the tourists who remained seemed more relaxed.
    The drive down to Essex, Massachusetts, had taken over two and a half hours. He had two reasons for choosing this destination. First, he had heard that there were many antiques shops in the Essex/Ipswich area, and second, Ipswich was where the Rockdog Run would be held in November. He was looking forward to running it for the first time. Today, if all went well, he would be able to get all of his treasure hunting done in time to go for a run on those trails before the long ride home.
    He was studying a brass lantern when a voice close by startled him. “Oh, hello. I didn’t hear the bell ring. I hope you haven’t been here long.”
    Malcom jumped slightly and turned toward the voice as he put the lantern back down on a display case. “No. No. Not long at all,” he stammered. In an effort to regain his composure, he reached out, offering his right hand in greeting to the man who had just appeared. “Hi, my name is Malcom Christian.” The man just looked at him, making no effort to reach out to complete the handshake.
    “My wife and I have a B&B up north in New Hampshire,” Malcom continued in an attempt to engage the man.
    Malcom withdrew his hand while the man continued to stare. “Okaay,” he thought to himself. As much as Malcom wanted to disengage, he could neither move to avoid the man’s stare nor stop staring himself. What began as an awkward moment of silence between the two men was now becoming uncomfortable.
    Malcom began to tick off in his mind the details of the man’s appearance, hoping that the exercise would relieve his growing unease. His most distinctive feature was the extreme narrowness of his face. Second were his eyes. They were less like eyes than dark, black holes in the center of the large dark circles that surrounded them and were exaggerated by the exceptionally thick, round, seriously out of style, wire-rimmed glasses that were