Free The Wycherly Woman by Ross MacDonald

eyebrows came together and tangled like hostile caterpillars. “Why would a well-nurtured girl like Phoebe do any of those things?”
    “The standard motives are drink or drugs or a man. They all add up to the same idea, rebellion. It’s the fourth R they learn in school these days. Or someplace.”
    “But Phoebe wasn’t particularly rebellious. Though Lord knows she had plenty of reason to be.”
    “I’m interested in the reasons. I couldn’t get much out of Wycherly directly. As far as his daughter is concerned, he seems to be living in a dream. And he doesn’t want to wake up.”
    “That’s natural enough, he’s one of the reasons.”
    I waited for him to go on. He didn’t. I tried another tack: “I did learn that your niece went to see a psychiatrist last spring. Do you know anything about that?”
    His eyebrows went up. “No. But I’m not surprised. She was an unhappy girl when she came back to Stanford after Easter. I know her studies were going downhill.”
    “What was she unhappy about?”
    “She didn’t confide in me. According to my wife, there was quite a family ruckus in Meadow Farms over the holiday. It had to do with some libellous letters.”
    “Did you ever see those letters?”
    “I didn’t, but Helen did. They were pretty vile, I gather. They set off the last of a long series of family explosions.” He leaned towards me earnestly. “I try to avoid gossip, but I’ll tell you this much. It wasn’t a happy marriage the Wycherlys had. They should have divorced twenty years ago, or never married in the first place. I used to spend a good deal of time at their house, when Helen and I were still living in Meadow Farms, and I can tell you it wasn’t a good place to raise a child. They fought continually.”
    “What about?”
    “Anything. Catherine detested the place, Homer wouldn’t leave it. They simply weren’t meant to live together. He was well on in his thirties when they married, and she was still in her teens. It wasn’t only a matter of age. They were as far apart as night and day, and Phoebe was caught in the middle until she finally got away to school. I don’t mean that Homer isn’t a gentle enough soul, but he has those generations ofmoney behind him. It makes a man soft in some ways, hard in others.” He smiled slightly. “I should know. He’s been my titular boss for twenty-five years.”
    “What sort of a woman is Catherine? I’ve gotten some pretty fierce reports on her.”
    “No doubt.” His half-smile changed to a half-grimace. “She’s gone to pieces since her divorce, as women often do. She used to be quite a forceful woman, and quite a handsome one, if you like the big blatant blonde type. I used to get along with Catherine fairly well. We understood each other to some extent. She came up the hard way, as I did. If marrying money at eighteen is coming up the hard way.”
    “What did she do before that?”
    “I really don’t know. Homer met her in the South and brought her to Meadow Farms to marry her. We put her up for a while before the wedding. She knew nothing about running a house; which is Helen’s métier. I think the girl was originally some sort of a secretary.”
    “How old is she now?”
    “She must be nearly forty.” Trevor paused, and gave me a long look from under his eyebrows. “You seem to be excessively interested in Catherine Wycherly. Why?”
    “Phoebe was last seen in her mother’s company.”
    “She was? When?”
    “The day Wycherly sailed. They left the ship together, drove away in a taxi. I’m doing my best to trace the taxi.”
    “Wouldn’t it be simpler to take it up with Catherine?”
    “I’d like to, but I don’t know where she is. That’s one reason I came to you.”
    “I haven’t seen her since November second. She put on an act that day aboard the ship which I’d just as soon forget. I presume she’s in the house she bought in Atherton.”
    “She isn’t, though, and I don’t think she’s been there