Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

examine, and he was standing on what looked like an old, dust-covered chest when Polly appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hey Mal, lunch is ready.”
    “Great, I’ll be right down,”
    She glanced up at him. “Be careful.”
    He looked down and said, “I will.” He began to turn to climb down from the chest. As he turned, the heavy pry-bar that he was holding hit another piece of furniture, knocking him off balance. As he tried to recover he slipped and made a much more rapid descent than he had intended. Polly opened her mouth to shout a warning, but it was too late. He hit the floor, and the cloud of dust that erupted nearly made him disappear.
    Polly screamed. He was so covered with dust and the cobwebs that had moments before been lacy curtains hanging from the roof, were now so laden with dust that they were more like strings, making him look like a crumpled marionette.
    He began coughing and Polly moved toward him. “Mal, are you okay?”
    “I’m okay,” he managed to croak as he coughed again.
    Polly began to giggle. “You sure?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “What were you thinking?”
    “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Mal began laughing, which quickly turned into another coughing fit.
    “What’s this?” she asked, pointing to the chest.
    “Don’t know; I just found it up here. There’s another one over there.” He pointed to his left.
    “What’s in it? Did you look inside?”
    “No, I didn’t. First things first, and these rafters are more important.” As he stood up, he brushed his hands over his arms and the front of his shirt. That stirred up more dust and more coughing.
    Polly moved toward the trunk, gently brushed more dust away, and tried to lift the lid. It didn’t move, so she paused, readjusted her grip, and pulled again. When it still wouldn’t move, Malcom’s voice broke the silence. “Wait.”
    She stopped and looked at him. He continued, “Go easy; don’t force it.” Then, pointing at its face, he said, “There’s a keyhole on the front. Maybe it’s locked.”
    Polly stared down at the chest. “Oh.”
    Malcom saw the disappointment on her face and heard it in her voice. “Tell you what. Let’s get it downstairs, de-dusted, and then we’ll try to get it open after lunch.”

CHAPTER 10
    THEY WRESTLED THE CHEST down the stairs. While Malcom went to clean up, Polly studied the chest. With a soft-bristled foxtail brush she began brushing the dust off. It was the kind of fine dust that only accumulates over many years of stillness in attics and other little-used places. With each gentle stroke another layer came off. Most of the dust landed on the floor, but she had to pause every now and then to let the inevitable cloud of dust settle.
    Slowly, the chest began to reveal itself and even to her untrained eye, she could tell that this was no ordinary trunk. No doubt, it was old. It was a rectangular chest with a flat top, approximately 45 inches long, 20 inches deep, and 20 inches high. On the back there were two ornate brass hinges. The dings and dents of many years of use marred its surface, yet it still possessed the quiet dignity of finely designed and built furniture. She looked at the keyhole and then gave the lid another small tug. It didn’t budge, and she couldn’t tell if it was because it was locked, the hinges were frozen, or the lid was simply stuck.
    After sweeping up the dust from the floor, she began to wipe it off the chest with a soft cloth dipped in a bucket of Murphy Oil Soap and wrung out until just damp. The wood had a fine grain and was a deep, brownish red. In a word, it was beautiful. She was so focused on her project that she didn’t realize that she was being watched.
    “Nice job. It looks like mahogany.”
    She jumped at the unexpected sound and turned quickly in its direction. Malcom was standing in the doorway, a half eaten sandwich in his hand, and they both began to laugh.
    “That wasn’t nice,” she said, still trying to control her laughter. “You scared the shit out of me. How long were you standing there?”
    “Long enough. I thought we were going to do this together?”
    “I couldn’t wait. Isn’t it beautiful?”
    He swallowed his last bite of sandwich. “Have you tried opening it?”
    “I gave it a gentle tug, but it wouldn’t move, so I decided to wait for you.”
    He knelt down next to the trunk while she looked on. He looked into the keyhole for the lock, bent close, and blew into it. A small poof of