The Lake

by Richard Laymon

  Please God. Don’t let him hear me.

  For a split second, she paused, steadying herself.

  “Yeah. Sure. I’m still here, Nelson.”

  “Y’know, you said some pretty hurtful things back there, Leigh. An’ all I ever wanted was recognition for my work. I deserved better. I know I’m not much to look at, but I’m an artiste in my own right. My creations made the Bayview the place it is…And my beef Willington’s a masterpiece.” He choked out a sob. “Everybody says so…”

  Leigh calmed down a little. Nelson wasn’t angry, spiteful, or threatening anymore. Just downright pitiful.

  “You knew my worth,” he went on. “You knew how good I was.”

  Leigh listened to his pathetic whining. Not quite sure how to handle it now. Thinking that this entire conversation could go horribly wrong; change into something bad…

  Mustn’t offend him, she thought.

  Play him like a fish.

  Placate him.

  Let him spit it out. Whatever it was he had to say.

  “All I wanted was to hit back at you.” His voice wavered. Leigh was finding it difficult to hear him now.

  “…An’ make you worry like crazy. So the way I figured, I should follow your girl and scare the shit outa her…”

  His sobs were noisy, heaving gulps, vibrating over the line.

  She moved the phone away from her ear. When she listened from that distance, Nelson’s voice made thin, tinny sounds; ineffectual squawks coming from a long way off.

  He was crying, too.

  “Nelson. Don’t go on so.”

  She heard Deana’s gasp of horror.

  Jesus. Quiet, hon. There’s my girl…

  “I didn’t mean that boyfriend of hers should get killed. I didn’t want for that terrible accident to happen. I was so riled up, I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry…”

  Listening to him groveling, Leigh grew more sure of herself. “Nelson,” she said. “What you did was really bad. You killed that young man. You deprived him of a fine future. But if you’re as sorry as you say you are, all you have to do is give yourself up. You’ll have a fair trial, Nelson. Believe me.”

  Sure. All things considered.

  A fair trial.

  The guy’s a maniac. Not a pervert.

  Not an obssessive killer at all.

  What he needs is a straitjacket. Not the chair.

  Her thoughts flew back to Deana.

  Hope she has the sense to call Mace on my cell phone…

  “Nelson, where are you? I mean, are you close by?”

  Hope to God he’s not outside the house.

  Could be.

  She heard a wet, gasping sob.

  “Christ, Nelson. Where are you?”

  Deana, use my phone, for godsake.

  Call Mace.

  “Just wanted to get it off my chest…how all of this happened. So you know it was your fault. You coulda told me you didn’t want me for a partner. Not just fired me…” The whining tapered off. Then:

  “Coulda lived with not bein’ a partner.”

  A long pause.

  “I been feelin’ real tuckered out lately. I worry about my work an’ all…” Nelson sounded beat now. “Anyways. I won’t be botherin’ you no more, Ms. West. You’ll be fuckin’ rid of me for good! But I hope you’ll remember, as long as you’ve breath left in your body, that you brought it on your own fuckin’ self—”

  “NELSON! What d’you mean? I’ll be rid of you…”

  Silence. Then:

  “Ah’m goin’ away, Ms. West. Forever. You’ll not hear from me again.”

  “Nelson.”

  Say something. Anything. Just keep him talking.

  “Was it you who returned my necklace? You took it, didn’t you? From the restaurant?”

  Nelson wasn’t listening.

  The phone fell from his grasp. It dangled, swinging to and fro on its connection cord. Fascinated by the pendulum-like movements, he watched it for a moment, his toothless mouth making a small black O.

  Somewhere deep inside his mashed-up brain, a smile began. A grimace of triumph that tried but didn’t quite make it to his tear-streaked face.

  He’d told her, all right.

  He’d told that high-handed bitch what for.

  Spittle swung from Nelson’s chin. Snot dribbled into his mouth. His tongue came up and licked it away. The stuff tasted good and sweet.

  Lurching away from the pay phone, he crossed the sidewalk and teetered along the edge, his arms outstretched for balance.

  Cars came at him from nowhere.

  Like bats out of hell.

  As he squinted in the glaring headlights, his face lifted to meet the cool night breeze.

  It felt all right.

  Clean.

  He was a boy again. Out on one of them lakes beyond Point Reyes Station. Fishing with his pa. Taking in great gulps of fresh, clean air. Hearing the squawk of Pa’s oars in the oarlocks, the slap of wood on water, making ripples and waves dance around their smart new rowboat.

  And the fish he brought home.

  Yes-siree Bob! Ma sure knew how to cook her boy’s fish.

  Tender as a baby’s smile, they fell to pieces soon as look at ’em.

  Fog shrouded the far end of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  Nelson grinned and walked toward it.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “He’s gone, baby.” Leigh shrugged into her toweling robe. She drew the belt tight around her, giving a long sigh of relief, grateful the ordeal with Nelson was over.

  He’d sounded weak. Beaten.

  Not a threat anymore.

  Please God.

  She looked up as Deana appeared in the doorway, wrapped in her robe, hugging it around herself. “Wow,” she breathed. “That was something else. Nelson sure flipped this time.”

  Hope to Christ he’s gone for good.

  She gave a small yelp and clamped a hand to her jaw. “Ouch. This really hurts, Mom.”

  “I know, honey. Just take it easy, now.”

  Leigh knew it had been a shock for Deana to hear her shouting into the phone like that.

  Poor kid. She doesn’t need it. Not after Allan…

  All because of my upset with Nelson.

  Guilt merged with a growing sense of urgency.

  “We gotta call Mace. Tell him Nelson—”

  “Been there. Done that.”

  “You have?” Leigh felt relieved. And proud. Of course Deana would call Mace. She was a smart kid, her daughter.

  Leigh relaxed—then jumped as the doorbell rang.

  It sounded extra loud.

  And strident.

  This time of night.

  “That’s Mace now.”

  “You sure about this, Mom? Could be Nelson coming back to finish what he left off…Remember last time you answered the door?”

  Leigh hurried into the hallway. “Mace?” she called through the door.

  “Leigh. It’s me. Mace. Open up.”

  Leigh almost fell into his arms as he stepped into the foyer.

  Deana made a face.

  Mom, she cringed, d’you have to do that? Get all swoony like some dopey kid in high school?

  “It was Nelson…,” Leigh said.

  “Gathered that from Deana’s call. Smart move there, kiddo.”

  Deana glared grumpily at Mace. She was in no mood to be patronized. Digging her hands into her robe pockets, she snatched another look at him. He wore a white T-shirt, tight black jeans, and a black leather biker jacket.

  Apart from his weapon bulging out of his hip holster, he wasn’t looking much like a policeman tonight. She stared a while longer.

  Mmmm…Sexy, or what?

  Oh yeah?

  That’d be wonderful. Making a fool of myself with Mom’s boyfriend. Pardon me, Mom’s not-quite but soon-to-be boyfriend.

  How can I be such a shit, anyway? Allan’s only just…Her eyes watered up.

  But Mace sure looked attractive. Tanned complexion
, sun-streaked hair. A regular California surfer look.

  The Beach Boys.

  Yuck.

  Nowhere near as ancient as the Beach Boys.

  Mace’s maybe thirty-six—going on thirty-eight?

  Same age as Mom?

  He is sexy, though…in a tough, die-hard kinda way. A body like that, he must work out pretty much every day.

  Mace’s eyes held hers briefly.

  A tight smile flicked across his face before he returned his attention to Leigh.

  “Could be we’re getting closer,” he said. “Not often perps get to call their victims and apologize for their misdeeds.”

  “No, I guess not,” Leigh said. “Coffee?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.” Mace grinned.

  “Sugar?” Leigh asked as the coffee started to perk.

  “No,” Mace said. “Gotta keep in shape, y’know.”

  “Mmm, some shape,” Deana murmured.

  So soon after Allan…What kind of schmuck am I?

  Forgive me, Allan. Please.

  Leigh sent her a warning look.

  Deana threw a quick glance in Mace’s direction. Had he heard her last remark? Watching him settle back into the sofa, she decided there was no way of telling if he had.

  She hoped he hadn’t heard.

  If he had, it would be too embarrassing for words.

  Anyway, where’s Mattie tonight?

  Or is this a personal visit?

  Mace accepted his coffee from Leigh. No cream. No sugar. Deana pictured his abs. Taut. Toned. A regular Rocky. A regular blond Rocky.

  Suddenly, Mace was all cop. “Now, ladies,” he said. “Tell me again what happened when Nelson called.”

  There’s your answer, Deana. He’s here on business…

  Deana and Leigh pieced together the conversation as best they could. Finally, Leigh said, “And I just know he took my lucky necklace. Must have been a coupla weeks ago. I was real upset about it at first—thought I’d lost it for good. Then I remembered I’d left it at the restaurant. Nelson didn’t admit it, but I somehow know he’d taken it, just to spook me.”

  “And now he’s disappeared.” Mace’s tone was brisk. He was more interested in Nelson’s future plans than in Leigh’s shell necklace.

  “Yeah. He did sound pretty downbeat.” Leigh hesitated as another possibility struck her. “D’you think he’s going to kill himself?”

  “Maybe. Sounds like he confessed—or apologized, whichever way you look at it. Had a fit of the guilts and aimed to pull the plug. You said he maybe left the phone hanging. Didn’t terminate the call?”

  “No ‘maybe’ about it,” Leigh told him. “Nelson said he’d seen the light in Deana’s bedroom half an hour before his call. My guess is, he was lying; that he hadn’t been here at all.” She shook her head.

  “He just wouldn’t have had the time. To be outside our house and then make the phone call from the Golden Gate Bridge at the time he did.”

  “The Golden Gate?”

  “Yes. I held on to the phone for a while and heard traffic zooming by. Nonstop and a lot of it, I’d say.

  “And I could swear there was a foghorn in the distance.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Mace is quite a guy, don’t you think?”

  “Deana!”

  “No worries, Mom. I don’t want him. Believe me, after…you know…I need some space for a while. ’Sides, he’s too old for me!”

  “Just remember, my darling daughter, that Mace is here to do a job of work. As in nailing Allan’s killer.”

  Leigh had had a special meal brought in from the restaurant. We both deserve a break, she’d decided. These last few days have been a nightmare.

  Beef Willington may have been off the menu, but Carl, her new, hastily appointed chef at the Bayview, had produced a wonderful dinner of marinated swordfish topped with spicy mango and tomato salsa.

  Squishy chocolate dessert followed.

  Deana’s favorite.

  “Here’s to us! One door closes, another opens,” Leigh proclaimed with a wry smile. She took a sip of cool sparkling Californian wine. “Mmmm. This is good. And Carl’s doing great, too.”

  “Yeah. Good riddance to you-know-who.”

  “Well, not exactly, honey. Nelson did have his moments. And he’d made a name for himself. In Tiburon, at least. Apparently, his previous experience came from working with some fancy Italian supremo at a top joint in New York. So he told me.”

  “Pity he hadn’t stayed there.”

  “Mmmm…” Leigh was more relaxed than she’d felt since Mom and Dad departed after the family get-together.

  Only it hadn’t turned out to be a proper family get-together.

  All that awkward stuff with Mom…And Deana and Allan leaving so soon after dinner…

  Thank God, Mom and Dad had gone off to Boulder to be with Aunt Abby. Before everything happened.

  Leigh glanced fondly at Deana. So young to have gone through such an awful experience. But, apart from her bruised jaw and a faraway look in her eyes now and then, Deana seemed to be holding up.

  As funerals went, Allan’s had been pretty tense and grim. Understandably, she reckoned. Mary Powers, a single mother, so it turned out, was pale, tearful, and near to collapse. Luckily, there’d been a sister, Allan’s aunt Beth, to support her and help her through the ceremony.

  Both had been distant with Leigh and Deana, darting just brief looks of recognition at the outset.

  Nothing more.

  Unlike Leigh’s own nightmares over Charlie’s funeral…

  Charlie.

  After eighteen years, memories of his death still lingered.

  Maybe there is a curse on us, after all…

  Leigh dismissed her gloomy thoughts and looked over at Deana. She gave a contented sigh. It was good, sitting here in the candlelight, chatting, eating nice food.

  Despite the cloud of Allan’s death still hanging over us…

  Not wanting to spoil tonight for either of them, she made a determined effort to lighten up, recalling another event.

  One that had happened only that day.

  A vivid reminder of the past.

  Cherry.

  “Cherry. Cherry Dornay!”

  The red-haired girl looked up.

  “Leigh West. As I live and breathe.”

  “How’re things, Cherry? And,” Leigh paused, “how’s Ben?”

  “Oh, Ben’s okay. Never married, of course.”

  There was an awkward silence. The red-haired girl moved on, hastily. “And you? I recall you were set on owning your own restaurant all those years ago.”

  “Yeah. I was. And I did.”

  “Huh? You mean…all this is yours?”

  Leigh gave a pleased smile, and Cherry said, “Wow!”

  They chatted.

  About this and that.

  The old days.

  How things had changed. Cherry taught art now, and was living in the San Fernando Valley. Ben was in IT—and still in San Diego.

  They laughed a lot, reminiscing together. Yet Leigh still felt an awkwardness, a barrier that time had placed between them. She smiled at Cherry, remembering the seventies. San Diego. Lazy days on Mission Beach; meeting up with the crowd at Pepe’s Place on J Street. That trip to Tijuana when Ben had lost his precious guitar…

  So much had gone on since then.

  A lot of water had gone under quite a few bridges.

  She thought of Ben. Strong, gentle; fair curly hair, worn shoulder length, hippie style. And the beard. Don’t forget the beard!

  Yeah. Ben had been quite a guy.

  Leigh and Cherry exchanged telephone numbers.

  Promising to keep in touch.

  Maybe.

  “Mom. The door. I’ll get it.”

  Deana left the table and went into the hallway.

  “Wait, honey. Don’t open up yet.”

  Deana looked through the spyhole.

  Mace.

  Does the guy never
give up?

  “Well?” Leigh asked.

  “It’s Mace.” Deana pouted. Ordinarily, she would have been a little excited. Tonight she was disappointed. She’d had Leigh all to herself—and they’d been sharing some rare intimate moments.

  Precious mom-and-daughter time.

  Till around thirty seconds ago.

  Screw Mace.

  Was he redundant, or what?

  Leigh opened the door.

  “Why, Mace!” Her head lifted. She laughed, raking a hand through her hair. “This is a surprise.”

  “Yeah,” Deana muttered. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  Stepping inside, Mace threw her a beamer, not missing a beat.

  He fished around in his pocket and came up with a palmful of sunflower seeds. He tossed them into his mouth, watching her all the time. His jaws worked around the seeds.

  Deana frowned back.

  Who does he think he is, Fox fuckin’ Mulder?

  Still grinning, his lips peeled back, showing her his rows of straight white teeth.

  But his eyes stayed cool. Alert.

  He turned to Leigh.

  “Dropped by to say we backed your hunch that Nelson maybe was in the Golden Gate vicinity last night. We have a coupla police launches patroling the area—in the unlikely event they find his body.”

  Mace and Leigh sauntered off into the living room.

  Deana followed, suddenly feeling left out.

  Looked like Mom and Mace were already an item.

  Christ!

  Okay. Maybe Mom does need a boyfriend.

  But Mace?

  She pictured Mom and Mace making mad, passionate love. His mouth on hers. Running his hands over her naked body…Mom panting a little, pushing him into her…

  Deana squirmed at the thought.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” Mace said, eyeing the table. “Were you two having dinner? I’ll be on my way. Have to catch up with Mattie, anyhow. This time of night and she’s still at the depot. Spends more time on her computer these days than she ever did when we were out on the streets.”

  “Thought you and she were history. Like, you’re no longer partners?”

  “Right. Mattie got a little bored in the car all day. Cramped her style, she said. Got herself an office job instead.” Mace huffed out a harsh little laugh.

  Looking at him, Deana got the feeling there was probably more to Mace and Mattie than met the eye.