Read Online The Doomsters by Ross MacDonald - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ross MacDonald
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out!”
Grantland turned to face Jerry as he came up the steps, a dumpy middle-aging man who couldn’t stand loneliness. His eyes had a very solitary expression. The shears projected outward from the grip of his two hands, gleaming in the sun, like a double dagger.
“Yah, Charlie!” he said. “Look out! You think you can get away with my wife and my daughter both. You’re taking nothing of mine.”
“I had no such intention.” Grantland stuttered over the words. “Mrs. Hallman telephoned—”
“Don’t ‘Mrs. Hallman’ me. You don’t call her that in town. Do you?” Standing at the top of the steps with his legs planted wide apart, Jerry Hallman opened and closed the shears. “Get out of here, you lousy cod. If you want to go on being a man, get off my property and stay off my property. That includes my wife.”
Grantland had put on his old-man face. He backed away from the threatening edges and looked for support to Zinnie. Green-faced in the shadow, she stood still as a bas-relief against the wall. Her mouth worked, and managed to say:
“Stop it, Jerry. You’re not making sense.”
Jerry Hallman was at that trembling balance point in human rage where he might have alarmed himself into doing murder. It was time for someone to stop it. Shouldering Grantland out of my way, I walked up to Hallman and told him to put the shears down.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” he sputtered.
“You’re Mr. Jerry Hallman, aren’t you? I heard you were a smart man, Mr. Hallman.”
He looked at me stubbornly. The whites of his eyes were yellowish from some internal complaint, bad digestion or bad conscience. Something deep in his head looked out through his eyes at me, gradually coming forward into light. Fear and shame, perhaps. His eyes seemed to be puzzled by dry pain. He turned and went down the steps and into the greenhouse, slamming the door behind him. Nobody followed him.
chapter
11
V OICES rose on the far side of the house, as if another door had opened there. Female and excited, they sounded like chickens after a hawk has swooped. I ran down the steps and around the end of the veranda. Mildred came across the lawn toward me, holding the little girl’s hand. Mrs. Hutchinson trailed behind them, her head turned at an angle toward the groves, her face as gray as her hair. The gate in the picket fence was open, but there was no one else in sight.
The child’s voice rose high and penetrating. “Why did Uncle Carl run away?”
Mildred turned and bent over her. “It doesn’t matter why. He likes to run.”
“Is he mad at you, Aunt Mildred?”
“Not really, darling. He’s just playing a game.”
Mildred looked up and saw me. She shook her head curtly: I wasn’t to say anything to frighten the child. Zinnie swept past me and lifted Martha in her arms. The deputy Carmiehael was close behind her, unhitching his gun.
“What happened, Mrs. Hallman? Did you see him?”
She nodded, but waited to speak till Zinnie had carried the little girl out of hearing. Mildred’s forehead was bright with sweat, and she was breathing rapidly. I noticed that she had the ball in her hand.
The gray-haired woman elbowed her way into the group. “I saw him, sneaking under the trees. Martha saw him, too.”
Mildred turned on her. “He wasn’t sneaking, Mrs. Hutchinson. He picked up the ball and brought it to me. He came right up to me.” She displayed the ball, as if it was important evidence of her husband’s gentleness.
Mrs. Hutchinson said: “I was never so terrified in my born days. I couldn’t even open my mouth to let out a scream.”
The deputy was getting impatient. “Hold it, ladies. I want a straight story, and fast. Did he threaten you, Mrs. Hallman—attack you in any way?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything?”
“I did most of the talking. I tried to persuade Carl to come in and give himself up. When he wouldn’t, I put my arms around him, to try and hold him. He was
Grantland turned to face Jerry as he came up the steps, a dumpy middle-aging man who couldn’t stand loneliness. His eyes had a very solitary expression. The shears projected outward from the grip of his two hands, gleaming in the sun, like a double dagger.
“Yah, Charlie!” he said. “Look out! You think you can get away with my wife and my daughter both. You’re taking nothing of mine.”
“I had no such intention.” Grantland stuttered over the words. “Mrs. Hallman telephoned—”
“Don’t ‘Mrs. Hallman’ me. You don’t call her that in town. Do you?” Standing at the top of the steps with his legs planted wide apart, Jerry Hallman opened and closed the shears. “Get out of here, you lousy cod. If you want to go on being a man, get off my property and stay off my property. That includes my wife.”
Grantland had put on his old-man face. He backed away from the threatening edges and looked for support to Zinnie. Green-faced in the shadow, she stood still as a bas-relief against the wall. Her mouth worked, and managed to say:
“Stop it, Jerry. You’re not making sense.”
Jerry Hallman was at that trembling balance point in human rage where he might have alarmed himself into doing murder. It was time for someone to stop it. Shouldering Grantland out of my way, I walked up to Hallman and told him to put the shears down.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” he sputtered.
“You’re Mr. Jerry Hallman, aren’t you? I heard you were a smart man, Mr. Hallman.”
He looked at me stubbornly. The whites of his eyes were yellowish from some internal complaint, bad digestion or bad conscience. Something deep in his head looked out through his eyes at me, gradually coming forward into light. Fear and shame, perhaps. His eyes seemed to be puzzled by dry pain. He turned and went down the steps and into the greenhouse, slamming the door behind him. Nobody followed him.
chapter
11
V OICES rose on the far side of the house, as if another door had opened there. Female and excited, they sounded like chickens after a hawk has swooped. I ran down the steps and around the end of the veranda. Mildred came across the lawn toward me, holding the little girl’s hand. Mrs. Hutchinson trailed behind them, her head turned at an angle toward the groves, her face as gray as her hair. The gate in the picket fence was open, but there was no one else in sight.
The child’s voice rose high and penetrating. “Why did Uncle Carl run away?”
Mildred turned and bent over her. “It doesn’t matter why. He likes to run.”
“Is he mad at you, Aunt Mildred?”
“Not really, darling. He’s just playing a game.”
Mildred looked up and saw me. She shook her head curtly: I wasn’t to say anything to frighten the child. Zinnie swept past me and lifted Martha in her arms. The deputy Carmiehael was close behind her, unhitching his gun.
“What happened, Mrs. Hallman? Did you see him?”
She nodded, but waited to speak till Zinnie had carried the little girl out of hearing. Mildred’s forehead was bright with sweat, and she was breathing rapidly. I noticed that she had the ball in her hand.
The gray-haired woman elbowed her way into the group. “I saw him, sneaking under the trees. Martha saw him, too.”
Mildred turned on her. “He wasn’t sneaking, Mrs. Hutchinson. He picked up the ball and brought it to me. He came right up to me.” She displayed the ball, as if it was important evidence of her husband’s gentleness.
Mrs. Hutchinson said: “I was never so terrified in my born days. I couldn’t even open my mouth to let out a scream.”
The deputy was getting impatient. “Hold it, ladies. I want a straight story, and fast. Did he threaten you, Mrs. Hallman—attack you in any way?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything?”
“I did most of the talking. I tried to persuade Carl to come in and give himself up. When he wouldn’t, I put my arms around him, to try and hold him. He was
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