Steamed

and—”
    “Shut up, Chloe!” Brian shouted. “Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about! Everything that’s gone wrong is Madeline’s fault!” He turned back to Madeline, his eyes full of tears and fury. “You bitch! I did everything you asked me to. Everything! You promised me!” With speed and agility surprising in someone so clumsy, Brian reached to his right and grabbed a lethal-looking knife from the counter. It was six or eight inches long and had a thin, narrow blade. I had a vague recollection that it was meant for skinning or perhaps for boning fish. “You promised me!” He held the knife out in front of him, his hand surprisingly steady.
    Uninterested in heroism, I backed up yet more and bumped into something. Turning my head, I saw that I was resting against the rim of the gigantic stainless-steel restaurant sink, which had mammoth draining racks and an oversized sprayer. When I looked forward, Brian was moving in on Madeline, his arm raised, the knife heading toward her throat.
    Then, with no warning, Josh rushed at Brian.
    In terror, I turned rapidly around, grabbed the industrial-strength water sprayer from the sink, aimed, and squeezed its trigger. Before Josh could take another step toward the shining blade in his sous chef’s hand, a massive, powerful jet of water caught him in the back of the head, knocked him off balance, and saved him from the knife-wielding Brian. Soaked in cold water, Josh yelped in surprise.
    With superb presence of mind, Madeline, who’d continued to hold the cast-iron pan in both hands, raised it high in the air, moved toward Brian, took an audible breath, and smashed the pan down hard on the crown of Brian’s head. Twice. He fell to the floor, and Madeline raised the pan yet again and was about to deliver a final blow when Tim grabbed her by the waist and pulled her away.
    “Jesus Christ. Okay, Maddie. He’s down. It’s over.”
    Josh got up and rushed over to Brian, who was curled up on the floor and clutching his head in agony. It was hard to believe that he was still conscious.
    “Oh my God. Brian.” Josh leaned over him.
    Brian managed to open his eyes and to speak softly and hoarsely. “I’m so sorry, Josh.” Brian began sobbing. “You know I didn’t take your knife, right? I know better. No one touches your knives, like you always say. I wouldn’t do that, Josh. I’d never do that if you said not to.”
    With gruff affection, Josh replied, “I know you wouldn’t. So who did?”
    “Maddie. She gave it to me.”
    “No!” screamed Maddie, who was still in Tim’s grip. “I didn’t do anything. It was Brian! He did it! He killed Eric!” Brian shook his head a little. I had to strain to hear him. “She said she’d make me executive chef. She said she’d give me your job. That’s all I wanted, Josh. I just wanted to be like you. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble, Josh. With the health code stuff, you know? But I figured you’d be okay, right? And I didn’t mean for you to get hurt by the fire or the knife I put in the drawer. I just wanted to get you out of the kitchen for a while so I could have my chance.” He looked up at me. “Chloe, you’re right about everything. About the paint, about... She said she had to destroy Essence.”
    I had to ask. “Did you sharpen the knife before you killed
    Eric?”
    “Yeah,” Brian nodded. “And then, that night, when Maddie told me to, I just snuck over to Essence. No one even paid any attention to me. Ever. No one ever even noticed me.” Brian passed out.
    Josh pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. I saw him dial 911.
    “Josh,” I said, “remember you told me Maddie kept calling Tim that night to check on how things were going with Eric? She was waiting to see if there was an opportunity to send Brian over to kill Eric.”
    Madeline began ranting. Brian was delusional, she claimed. He had a concussion and was delirious. He was imagining things! Who could believe—
    “Madeline, shut up!” Josh snapped before telling the 911 operator to send an ambulance and the police to Magellan and giving the restaurant’s address.
    I guessed that it would take the paramedics and police at least ten minutes to show up. I was wrong. In no time, Detective Hurley came bursting in through the back door. “Chloe, I told you to go home. You’re not on the payroll, you know,” he huffed. Looming over the unconscious Brian, he said, “Forensics is running a check on the knife as