The Lake

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.