A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Donald. She waited for the other woman to lunge with her knife hand. At that moment, Olivia jerked to the right and flung the contents of the coffeepot into Ellen’s face.
    The knife clattered to the floor as Ellen raised both hands to her face, screaming. Mercilessly, Olivia swung the stainless steel vessel with all her strength, landing a debilitating blow to the side of Ellen’s head. The woman sank to the ground like a stone dropped into deep water.
    Olivia stepped over her opponent’s sprawled legs.
    A voice shouted, “FREEZE!”
    It was Rawlings. He stood in Laurel’s foyer, his gun drawn and fixed on Rutherford. Two officers, both of whom had their weapons trained on Ellen’s brother, flanked the chief.
    Olivia’s gaze turned to Rutherford. Her blood turned to ice.
    Rutherford had a switchblade in his hand and was pointing it at Haviland’s throat. The poodle was growling a low, dangerous growl and was tensing to pounce. If he did, Rutherford’s blade would pass straight through his jugular.
    “Haviland! Off!” Olivia commanded but terror made her words come out as a croak.
    Rawlings stepped forward. “I will shoot you in the leg, Rutherford Donald. If you do not drop your weapon this instant so help me, I will shoot you!”
    “Come, Haviland!” Olivia heard the desperation in her voice but didn’t care. “Come to me!”
    The poodle obeyed. Skirting around Rutherford, he reached Olivia’s side and nudged her with his nose.
    Olivia couldn’t stop the tears of relief that fell onto Haviland’s fur as she ran her panicked fingers over his body. There was no blood so he had not been cut and he didn’t flinch in pain as she examined him. His chest was slightly tender and Olivia suspected he’d taken one of Rutherford’s blows to that region, but all in all, he was well.
    In turn, Haviland licked her, nuzzled her, and sniffed her wound, whining a little in concern. Olivia waited until Rutherford tossed his knife onto the rug and was promptly cuffed by one of the officers before she returned to the kitchen. She wound Laurel’s checkered dishcloth around her arm and winced as a fresh burst of pain shot up the damaged limb.
    Rawlings was beside her in an instant.
    He was angry. “You’re hurt.”
    His eyes blazed with threads of green and gold and Olivia realized that they only had that appearance when the chief was struggling to keep his emotion in check. He found another dishcloth in a drawer and placed it over the first, applying pressure to Olivia’s wound. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
    Don’t look, Olivia told herself, but then she did. Blood seeped through both towels, spreading across the material in a wave of red. She felt a surge of nausea and then a rush of cloying heat. She reached out for the countertop to steady herself before she passed out altogether.
    “Easy,” Rawlings whispered and put his arm around her waist. He eased her to one of the kitchen chairs. “Keep your head down. Breathe deeply.” She did as he directed but he wasn’t satisfied. “No, slow down. Innnnnnnnn. Now ouuuuuuuuuuut. Better.”
    They remained like this for a full minute. Olivia had the absurd thought that they sounded like an expectant couple practicing Lamaze breathing techniques. She carefully straightened and looked at Rawlings. His face was inches from hers and his eyes had softened, returning to their muddy, pond green hue. “Thank you,” she murmured. “You came just in time.”
    Rawlings glowered. “Yes, we did. That’s our job, remember? When you talked Laurel into investigating the Donald siblings, you put both of your lives in danger. All I asked you to do was to think about the meaning of the clichés! I didn’t ask you to lure the killers here!”
    “They would have come for her anyway!” Olivia protested but silently felt the chief had spoken the truth. After all, the robbery victims were old enough to have attended Pampticoe High with both Ellen and Rutherford. Laurel was two years younger than the others and had only ridiculed Ellen. Her articles about the siblings may have drawn their attention to her. If she hadn’t started writing about them, it was likely they would never have remembered her at all. “Where is Laurel?” Olivia asked, needing to know that her friend was safe.
    “Sitting in my car. She’s both shaken and plenty mad over having to stay behind while we charged in, but she’ll get over it.”
    Olivia gave Rawlings a grateful smile. “I’m