The Chill by Ross MacDonald

said, “was when I put her in the nursing home just now. I felt as if I was—you know, consigning her to oblivion. The place is like something out of Dante, with people crying and groaning. Dolly’s a sensitive girl. I don’t see how she’ll be able to take it.”
    “She can take it better than some other things, such as wandering around loose in her condition.”
    “You think she’s insane, don’t you?”
    “What I think doesn’t matter. We’ll get an expert opinion tomorrow. There’s no doubt she’s temporarily off base. I’ve seen people further off, and I’ve seen them come back.”
    “You think she’ll be all right then?”
    He’d grabbed at what I said like a flying trapeze and swung up into hopefulness. Which I didn’t think ought to be encouraged:
    “I’m more concerned about the legal situation than the psychiatric one.”
    “You can’t really believe she killed this friend of hers—Helen? I know she said so, but it isn’t possible. You see, I know Dolly. She isn’t aggressive at all. She’s one of the really pro-life people. She doesn’t even like to kill a spider.”
    “It is possible, Alex, and that was all I said. I wanted Godwin to be aware of the possibility from the start. He’s in a position to do a lot for your wife.”
    Alex said, “My wife,” with a kind of wonder.
    “She is your wife, legally. But nobody would consider that you owe her much. You have an out, if you want to use it.”
    The whisky slopped in his glass. I think he barely restrained himself from throwing it in my face.
    “I’m not going to ditch her,” he said. “If you think I ought to, you can go to hell.”
    I hadn’t liked him thoroughly until now. “Somebody had to mention the fact that you have an out. A lot of people would take it.”
    “I’m not a lot of people.”
    “So I gather.”
    “Dad would probably call me a fool, but I don’t care if she’s guilty of murder. I’m staying.”
    “It’s going to cost money.”
    “You want more money, is that it?”
    “I can wait. So can Godwin. I was thinking about the future. Also there’s the strong possibility that you’ll need a lawyer tomorrow.”
    “What for?” He was a good boy, but a little slow on the uptake.
    “Judging by tonight, your main problem is going to be to prevent Dolly from talking herself into deep trouble. That means keeping her out of the hands of the authorities, in a place where she can be properly looked after. A good lawyer can be a help in that. Lawyers generally don’t wait for their money in criminal cases.”
    “Do you really think she’s in such danger—such legal jeopardy? Or are you just trying to put the iron in my soul?”
    “I talked to the local sheriff tonight, and I didn’t like the gleam in his eye when we got on the subject of Dolly. Sheriff Crane isn’t stupid. He knew that I was holding back on him. He’s going to bear down on her when he catches on to the family connection.”
    “The family connection?”
    “The fact that her father murdered her mother.” It was cruel to hit him with it again, on top of everything else. Still it was better for him to hear it from me than from the dreary voice that talks from under the twisted pillow at three o’clock in the morning. “Apparently he was tried and convicted in the local courts. Sheriff Crane probably gathered the evidence for the prosecution.”
    “It’s almost as though history is repeating itself.” There was something approaching awe in Alex’s voice. “Did I hear you say that this Chuck Begley character, the man with the beard, is actually her father?”
    “He seems to be.”
    “He was the one who started the whole thing off,” he said, as much to himself as to me. “It was after he visited her that Sunday that she walked out on me. What do you think happened between them, to make her do that?”
    “I don’t know, Alex. Maybe he bawled her out for testifying against him. In any case he brought back the past. She