The Lake

NINETEEN

“Mom.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Johnny Depp just called to ask me for a date. That okay with you?”

“Er… what was that?”

“Mom. You haven’t been listening to a word I’m saying. I could sprout wings and fly away, and you wouldn’t even notice. What’s up? Your man Mace playin’ on your mind?”

“Sorry, hon. Sure, I got things on my mind. What with this guy and his ‘unfinished business,’ and everything…”

“Okay. So this guy and his unfinished business. We keep on our guard ’n’ call Macie baby if we get spooked—what else can we do? Detective Harrison seems like a pretty smart cookie to me. He’ll catch that weirdo before we even know it.”

Deana put her arm around Leigh’s waist. Feels like I’m a regular grown-up, she thought. What goes around comes around, I guess. I’m glad Mom was there for me over what happened to Allan—now it’s me comforting Mom.

She liked the warm feeling this gave her. How it should be. Anyway, Mom knows what I’m going through. She’s been there. History repeating itself.

Except, I’m not pregnant.

I don’t think.

Nah.

Didn’t get the chance back there in the woods.

Thanks to that madman.

She caught Leigh’s sigh and frowned a little. “C’mon, Mom. Tell Deana. What gives?”

“What gives? Isn’t all this enough, young lady? Madman on the loose. Nelson sounding off back at the restaurant. Mace playing this whole thing down—but heaven knows, I can tell he’s worried. God, Deana. How can you be so blasé about it all?”

“Sorry, Mom. I really am. If Allan and I had gone to the movies like we said, all of this wouldn’t be happening.” Deana’s eyes filled, and Leigh softened.

“Baby, don’t you worry. We’ll get through all this. I promise…” She stroked Deana’s cheek and forced a bright smile. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Promise.”

“Sorry to be such a kid about everything.” Deana was apologetic. God knows Mom didn’t need all this. “I’m just a bit keyed up, is all…

“Anyway, you should be back at the restaurant. I’ll be okay here. Honest. I’m not likely to go wandering off anywhere. Not until everything’s cleared up.

“What’s Nelson griping about, anyway?” As far as she could gather, Mom left Nelson to do what he did best: create memorable meals.

Hmmm… Pretty cool name for a restaurant.

Memorable Meals.

“Nelson? Oh, the usual. Having one of his sulks again. Wants to come from behind the scenes occasionally. Be somebody. Meet the clientele. But, frankly, I’m afraid his appearance might put them off.”

“Yeah. With his eye patch and big, hook nose, he ain’t no Paul Newman, and that’s for sure!”

“Hey. There’s the door. Probably Mace with some good news…”

“I bet,” Deana agreed.

We should be so lucky.

Leigh made for the front door. Deana followed. Saw Mom peek through the small round spy-glass—and drop the door chain. It chittered and clattered swinging to and fro.

Then:

Mom was opening the door.

Reeling back, gasping oh my God…

Tripping over the doormat.

My nightmare—all over again.

Nelson.

In his chef’s hat, clutching a meat cleaver.

Holding it high.

He’s gonna hack Mom.

Then me.

In broad daylight.

And there’s no one around to help—to call the cops.

The hedges between the houses were high. Bad news for nosy neighbors; terrific for intruders. “Keeps us nice and private, honey,” Leigh told her when they bought the place. “We’ve cameras and gravel all around to deter intruders. Anyway—one phone call, and the cops’d be here in no time at all.”

Yeah. Neat plan. But somehow Deana didn’t think it was gonna work today…

Nelson changed his mind.

He dropped the cleaver. It crashed to the floor, the clatter echoing through the hallway.

His arm shot out. He grabbed Mom by the throat…

Squeeeezed it tight.

Mom spluttered; a strangled half-scream burst from her lips. It died. Next came this awful gurgling sound.

Deana gasped, her heart pounding. This can’t be for real.

It can’t…

It can. It is. It’s my nightmare come true…

You better believe it.

He’ll kill Mom.

Then he’ll kill me…

Nelson with a cleaver. Outside my window. Threatening me. Mace was right. It’s me he wants. Oh my God, this isn’t a dream.

“I’m coming to getcha…”

“STAY AWAY FROM HER!” Deana yelled.

Nelson lost it.

Drawing back a bony fist, he slugged Deana on the chin. Hard.

She heard the crack.

Felt the blinding pain.

Saw shooting stars.

And slipped into deep black space…

Before she went down, she saw Nelson’s black patch and one fierce, protruding blue eye, gleaming hatred, straining from his thin, hollow face.

His mouth was a black gaping hole. Spittle swung from his grizzled chin, trailing and dripping down his chef’s tunic.

Paul Newman, he ain’t.

Dazed, Deana clamped a hand to her jaw, wincing with pain. She watched Mom wrench away from him, get to her feet, turn and make for the phone.

Nelson’s big hand reached out, clawed at Mom’s shoulder.

Sending her down again.

Leigh crumpled to her knees, hitting the tile floor with a sickening thud. She rolled away from him, then leaned up on an elbow, shaking her head. Moving in slow motion.

Still stunned and not quite with it.

“Mom!” Deana screamed. “Get up, he’s gonna kill youuuu!”

Grunting like an enraged pig, Nelson snatched up the cleaver. Raised it above his head.

Deana screamed: “NO-OOOO!”

Leigh stared. Like a rabbit caught in the thrall of a snake. Watching Nelson’s arms slice down…

“FREEZE!”

Mace.

And Mattie.

In the doorway.

Behind Nelson.

Guns pressed into his back.

Nelson’s hand opened, letting the cleaver drop again. It clattered and clunked on the foyer tiles.

He sprang forward, leaping over Leigh and knocking Deana to one side, lurching down the hallway, toward the back of the house, panting, pushing, shoving furniture behind him as he went.

Mattie raced after him, head down, dodging the flying ammunition.

Shit!

The kitchen door slammed in her face. She felt her nose crack.

Shit shit SHIT!

She kicked open the door, cursing as the outer door swung to and fro.

Nelson was gone.

“You bastard,” she spat. “So you got away. This time!”

Mace dropped down on one knee. “Leigh. Leigh. You okay?”

“Uh-uh. Thank God you came—just in time. Guess you saved our lives. You okay, Deana?

“Deana!”

Leigh crawled over to Deana, stretched out on the floor, an ugly red bruise already staining her lower jaw.

Breathlessly, Mattie returned to the others, stabbing out the connection code on her cell phone, cursing to herself as she did it. “Fuckin’ bastard got away. How the hell he did it, beats me. He just disappeared. Obviously knows the territory.”

At the other end, Mill Valley PD picked up, getting an earful of Mattie’s dialogue.

“Yeah.” She was terse. “You heard me right. Man with a cleaver, attacked woman and daughter. 104 Del Mar, on Mark Terrace. Lost the suspect, but we have the weapon. Try putting out an all points—he’s on foot. Maybe. Could be the killer of the Powers boy in the Mount Tam vicinity last night. Yeah. We have two injured people here. Call an ambulance.”

Deana groaned. Mace guided Leigh to the living room and settled her on the sofa. Mattie was already busy in the kitchen, wringing out a cold compress to put on Deana’s jaw.

Mace strode back to the hallway. Nudging the cleaver with the toe of his shoe, he called out: “Know who this guy is, Ms. West?”

“Do I. His name is Nelson Willington and he’s head chef at the Bayview.”

Mace and Mattie, both in the living room now, exchanged glances.

“What did ya do, Leigh?” Mattie asked. “Cut his pay in half?”

“You could say that. I fired him a coupla days ago.”

Nursing her jaw, Deana perked up. So that was why Mom was so… so preoccupied with Nelson.

“You fired him?”

Mace, too, was all ears. “How come?”

“He wanted a piece of the action. A partnership in the business. Said if it weren’t for his cuisine, I wouldn’t be where I am today. One of the best restaurants in Tiburon et cetera, et cetera.”

“The best restaurant in Tiburon,” Mattie put in.

“Thanks.” Leigh gave her a wry smile.

Mattie brought out a plastic sack from her shoulder bag. Shook it open. Put on protective gloves, went to the hallway, and picked up the meat cleaver.

It looked like a nasty piece of work. Honed to a fine sharpness, she guessed it would slice through bone just as easily as it would through butter.

Gingerly, she put a forefinger to the blade.

“Ouch,” she murmured, slipping it into the sack.

“Careful, Mattie. Don’t want you losing any fingers out there,” Mace said lightly.

“Butt out, Charlie. Do either of you ladies recognize this thing?” Mattie carried the cleaver into the living room. It had an intricate dragon design on the handle, winding its way up to the blade.

Before Leigh could answer, Deana said, “Yes. There are two in the kitchen at the Bayview.”

“Sure are,” Leigh agreed. “Nelson uses them for cutting up sides of beef.”

Sirens began to wail. Lights flashed in the driveway. Mattie went to the front door.

“Over here, guys,” she called out.

“Maybe I don’t need hospital treatment,” Leigh said. “I’m okay. But how about you, Deana? You look as if you might have a fractured jaw—best we have it checked out.”

“You both need checking out, Leigh,” Mace put in. “Mattie, go along with the ladies. I’ll hang around here a while longer.”

Deana pouted. The hospital didn’t seem like a smart move right now. Especially as the action seemed to be heating up a little. She flinched as a stab of pain shot through her skull.

“Okay. Okay,” she muttered. “I’m going. Macie baby’s right. As usual.”

“Deana.”

“Sorry, Mom,” she said thickly. Her jaw throbbed. It felt like she was talking through cotton wool lips. “We’ll miss all the fun, though.”

“What fun, Deana? You want that creep to sneak back in, wait till you’re in bed, then zap?” Mace slapped the palms of his hands together with a loud crack.

Deana winced. Leigh shot him a cool glance.

“Right, folks. We’re ready to roll!” Mattie called out. Sensing the tension, she looked at Mace sharply. “You okay alone here?” she asked.

“Sure. Stopped worrying about boogeymen twenty years back.”

“Yeah. I bet.” Mattie tossed him a tight smile over her shoulder. She followed the two women to the ambulance. The tip of her nose, where it had collided with the kitchen door, hurt like hell.

“Don’t worry your heads none about Mace,” she told Leigh and Deana. “Our mad axman catches up with Mace, he’ll wish he’d never bothered.”

Picturing Mace’s well-built, muscular five eleven against Nelson’s thin, gangling frame, Leigh almost felt sorry for the chef.

At the hospital, Leigh and Deana were treated for shock. Leigh had bruising to the neck and shoulder, contusions to her elbows, but not much else. Deana had severe bruising to her lower jaw. Thankfully, no fractures. They were issued painkillers and allowed to go home.

Mattie came around early next day.

“Hi, guys. How ya doin’?” She followed Leigh into the living room, waving away the offer of a seat. She got straight to the point.

“As you know, we have the meat cleaver from the scene. Now I’d like you to show me where Nelson keeps his. The ones you say he uses.” She shrugged. “Could be there are two, three, or even more in circulation. We need to narrow the field as much as possible.”

Deana asked, “Thought you weren’t officially on this case. As in, no longer working with Mace?”

“Right,” Mattie replied. “I’m here by special request.”

“Special request?”

“Uh-huh. Mace put in a request for me to work on this case with him, so I could look after you lucky ladies. And, well, here I am, folks. Personal bodyguard at your service.”

Deana looked at Mattie.

“That was good of Mace, being so concerned about us.”

“Yeah. Seems like he has a special interest in the Powers case.”

Leigh appeared nonchalant, but her heart skipped a beat. It was good of Mace to go to all this trouble.

Appointing Mattie as their bodyguard—no prizes for guessing who’d come out on top if she and Nelson happened to meet up.

Mattie drove them to the Bayview. She was an expert driver, Deana noticed. Comes with playing cops and robbers for a living, she guessed as they slid to a halt in the Bayview’s private parking lot.

Leigh’s pride and joy was a smartly painted, double-fronted restaurant on Main Street, looking out onto the harbor. Brass-framed menus in the doorway offered a wide choice of ethnic and traditional dishes.

Bay-caught fish were a house specialty.

Leigh led the way through the dark interior, then on through to the kitchen. The aroma of fresh bread hung on the air—Leigh prided herself on her bread rolls, ciabattas, and French sticks, freshly baked on the premises.

She shivered.

The place felt oddly strange without Nelson.

No lanky figure leaping about, mixing, mincing, creating his famous dishes, his one good eye rolling round in its socket like a billiard ball.

Instead, Nelson was on the run. With his cleaver.

They looked around the kitchen. Leigh went to the metal stand where Nelson hung his array of choppers, knives, and other kitchen implements.

Both cleavers were missing. Looked like Mattie had Exhibit A, the one Nelson dropped when he fled; then he’d sneaked back into the restaurant to pick up Exhibit B. So now Nelson, plus cleaver number two, were out there seeking vengeance.

The women exchanged glances.

“We need to nail Nelson, pronto,” Mattie said briefly.

Leigh met Deana’s eyes. “I’d say that was the understatement of the year, Mattie.”