"Jerome doesn't have a southern accent."
"He works at it. Like everything else."
"So how did Mr. Shipton get to be a gazillionaire?"
"Stomping on everyone in his way, I guess. Plus the old right place, right time." Then Whitehouse added begrudgingly, "And I guess he's smart. But 'gazillion' is a bit heavy. He and his wife, who's as nutty as Planters, aren't on anyone's top one hundred list of the rich and famous. Both of them are at that level of not worrying about missing any meals but they're not big spenders-maybe five to ten mil bracket, give or take-no real debts. Nice cars, nice enough house, but the tour bus doesn't bother to point out their digs."
"Anything else?"
"Ol' Jerome would bonk anything that wears panties. I don't know why, but a lot of the dames let him. He probably got an early start on his own sisters down on God's little acre."
"What does his wife say about that?"
"If she opens her mouth, he either doesn't listen or whacks it shut. He's king of the double standard."
Dean, crossing his fingers at being on a roll, decided to ask about the death of Shipton's son. "I hear he had a boy who drowned."
Able Whitehouse paused a moment before answering. "Yeah, I'd forgotten about that. Seems to me the kid was someplace swimming, fooling around when he shouldn't have been."
"I heard he died on a canoeing trip with his father."
"I don't think so, but wherever it was, it shook her up."
"Edith?"
"She tried to commit suicide. But I guess that wasn't the first time. She's always doing something melodramatic-a real nut case. I don't know what he sees in her." He added, "Look, I've got to get going. Whoever you are, if you're thinking of selling this 'magazine bit' to all of Jerry's friends, you'll starve to death!" He cut off the conversation with a hearty laugh.
Dean turned to Fred. "I don't think Mr. Whitehouse likes Jerome Shipton." He then highlighted the conversation, adding, "He cut it off just when it was getting interesting. It seems there's some confusion on how son number one died."
Dean returned to his gourmet preparations. After dinner, and obligatory rave reviews by the other two-thirds of Bird Song's management team, Dean joined Cynthia in the parlor. He'd coerced Fred into doing the dishes. Dean didn't tell Cynthia about his phone conversation with Whitehouse. No point in even introducing a mention of Jerome Shipton. Instead, he steered the conversation toward Gladys Turnbull, who was the only other occupant of the cozy room. The others were all up town for dinner. She was prattling on about the planet Zzz where some arch villain who closely resembled Jerome Shipton, was to meet his due while climbing an icy cliff, in hot pursuit of a fair maiden whom Dean took to be a greatly slimmed down version of the author. She eagerly informed the pair how she planned to attend tomorrow's ice festival activities, in search of first hand research for what was sure to be a winning chapter. Dean tuned her out when she described the miscreant becoming impaled on a giant icicle while fair what's-her-name laughed in his face as he slowly bled to death before her.