The Doomsters by Ross MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

reason with Carl. You can imagine how much reasoning they did, when they got together. We could hear them shouting all over the house.
    “The Senator had a heart attack that night. It’s a terrible thing to say about a man, but Jerry was responsible for his father’s death. He may even have planned it that way: he knew his father wasn’t to be excited. I heard Dr. Grantland warn the family myself, more than once.”
    “What about Dr. Grantland?”
    “In what way do you mean?”
    “Carl thinks he’s crooked,” I hesitated, then decided she could hold it: “In fact, he made some pretty broad accusations.”
    “I think I’ve heard them. But go on.”
    “Conspiracy was one of them. Carl thought Grantland and his brother conspired to have him committed. But the doctor at the hospital says there’s nothing to it.”
    “No,” she said. “Carl needed hospital treatment. I signed the necessary papers. That was all aboveboard. Only, Jerry made me and Carl sign other papers at the same time, making him Carl’s legal guardian. I didn’t know what it meant. I thought it was just a part of the commitment. But it means that as long as Carl is ill, Jerry controls every penny of the estate.”
    Her voice had risen. She brought it under control and said more quietly: “I don’t care about myself. I’d never go back there anyway. But Carl needs the money. He could get better treatment—the best psychiatrists in the country. It’s the last thing Jerry wants, to see his brother cured. That would end the guardianship, you see.”
    “Does Carl know all this?”
    “No, at least he’s never heard it from me. He’s mad enough at Jerry as it is.”
    “Your brother-in-law sounds charming.”
    “Yes indeed he is.” Her voice was thin. “If it was just a question of saving Jerry, I wouldn’t move a step in his direction. Not a step. But you know what will happen to Carl if he gets into any kind of trouble. He’s already got more guilt than he can bear. It could set him back years, or make him permanent—No! I won’t think about it. Nothing is going to happen.”
    She twisted in the seat away from me, as though I represented the things she feared. The road had become agreen trench running through miles of orange trees. The individual rows of trees, slanting diagonally from the road, whirled and jumped backward in staccato movement. Mildred peered down the long empty vistas between them, looking for a man with straw-colored hair.
    A large wooden sign, painted black on white, appeared at the roadside ahead: Hallman Citrus Ranch. I braked for the turn, made it on whining tires, and almost ran down a big old man in a sheriff’s blouse. He moved away nimbly, then came heavily back to the side of the car. Under a wide-brimmed white hat, his face was flushed. Veins squirmed like broken purple worms under the skin of his nose. His eyes held the confident vacancy that comes from the exercise of other people’s power.
    “Watch where you’re going, bud. Not that you’re going anywhere, on this road. What do you think I’m here for, to get myself a tan?”
    Mildred leaned across me, her breast live against my arm:
    “Sheriff! Have you seen Carl?”
    The old man leaned to peer in. His sun-wrinkles deepened and his mouth widened in a smile which left his eyes as vacant as before. “Why hello, Mrs. Hallman, I didn’t see you at first. I must be going blind in my old age.”
    “Have you seen Carl?” she repeated.
    He made a production out of answering her, marching around to her side of the car, carrying his belly in front of him like a gift. “Not personally, I haven’t. We know he’s on the ranch, though. Sam Yogan saw him to talk to, not much more than an hour ago.”
    “Was he rational?”
    “Sam didn’t say. Anyway, what would a Jap gardener know about it?”
    “A gun was mentioned,” I said.
    The sheriff’s mouth drooped at the corners. “Yeah, he’scarrying a gun. I don’t know where in hell he got hold of