The Wycherly Woman by Ross MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page B

with Mr. Wycherly’s daughter Phoebe. She came aboard to say goodbye the day you sailed. She hasn’t been seen since.”
    He put his hand on top of his naked scalp as if I’d blown cold on him. “You’re not suggesting she stowed away or anything like that? Or that we’re in any way responsible?”
    “It hardly seems likely. I’m trying to trace her, and this is the obvious place to start. I need your help.”
    “We’ll be glad to help in any way we can, of course.” He stood up and gave me his hand, adding in a more personal tone: “I have a daughter. My name is Clement.”
    “Archer.” I took out my notebook. “Now what was the date you sailed?”
    “November second. That is to say, November second was the scheduled sailing date. We had a little mechanical trouble and didn’t actually get under way until early the following morning. But Mr. Wycherly came aboard on the afternoon of November second. His daughter was with him, as you say.”
    “You know that for a fact?”
    “I remember the occasion very well,” Clement said. “I have reason to.”
    “How so?”
    “Well, there was quite a hullabaloo in Mr. Wycherly’s stateroom. This woman—apparently she was Mr. Wycherly’s divorced wife—was stirring up a dreadful fuss in front of some of the other passengers. The steward couldn’t quiet her, so hesent down for me. I’m afraid I couldn’t quite handle her, either. She was one of those big blonde furies, if you know what I mean. Bleached blonde,” he added snidely. “And very much in her cups. Eventually I had to get our master-at-arms to persuade her to leave the ship. The way that woman talked!” He threw up his hands.
    “What was she saying?”
    “I’m afraid I can’t remember her exact words. They wouldn’t be repeatable, anyway. You can imagine how I felt. We like our sailings to be gay affairs, and there she was in the middle of the festivities howling out obscenities. She’d taken off her shoe, and was hammering with the heel at Mr. Wycherly’s door. It left
welts
in the paint.”
    “You must have some idea of what she said.”
    “Well, she wanted in, of course. They wouldn’t let her in. She claimed that they were betraying her, turning their backs and leaving her in the lurch. She threatened to get back at them.”
    “Just who was she threatening?”
    “The people in the stateroom—Mr. Wycherly and his daughter, and I believe a couple of other relatives who’d come to see him off. She said she’d ruin them all if they didn’t let her in and talk to her.”
    “Who were the other relatives?”
    “I really couldn’t say. Quite a crowd had begun to gather round. When I remonstrated with the woman, she actually menaced me with the heel of her shoe. She looked at me like a basilisk, I mean it. Much as I hated to do it, I had no choice but to call in the master-at-arms. He managed to get her off the ship, with some help from the daughter.”
    “Did Phoebe leave the ship with her mother?”
    “I believe so. Once things were under control, more or less, the girl came out of the stateroom and talked to the woman. Apparently she said the right things. They walked down the gangway with their arms around each other.”
    “Did the girl come back aboard?”
    “I really didn’t notice. I always have so many things on my mind, sailing day. Mr. McEachern may be able to tell you. He’s our master-at-arms, and he kept a closer eye on the party than I did.”
    “Is McEachern on the ship now?”
    “He should be. He’s on duty.” Clement picked up an intramural telephone.
    I talked to McEachern on the upper deck. He leaned on the rail, a rawboned slab of man in a petty-officer’s uniform. There was something nautical in his bearing, and something of the hotel dick.
    “Sure I remember her,” he said. “The lady was looped, if you want my opinion. I don’t mean falling-down looped. She could probably walk a chalk-line and handle herself physically. But she had that varnished