Chapter Eighteen
Eighteen
As Carol was returning to the building after her conversation with Jim, Hannah Newsom and her husband, Shep, arrived at Sheldon Oaks in a newly purchased Range Rover.
They were there to pick up some of Hannah’s father’s things.
They parked out front, not far from the exact same spot, Carol noted, where Hannah’s father’s skull had cracked open a couple of days earlier.
Desmond had introduced them to her a week or two ago in the bistro.
Hannah and Shep were about forty, and Carol had taken an instant dislike to the pair of them.
She’d politely turned down their offer of joining them and instead sat at a table nearby, pretended to read, and listened to every word of their conversation.
Hannah did that thing where she never laughed, but instead simply stated that something was funny. So her dad would make a joke and she would say, “That’s hilarious” or “That’s just so, like, funny to me?” with a completely straight face.
Hannah and Shep had private school accents—only a man born into the elite could get away with having a dog’s name, thought Carol.
Despite their plummy voices, the pair talked in a kind of California business-speak.
When Desmond had realized that the table didn’t have any packets of sugar, Shep, instead of saying, “I’ll get some,” had said, “Let me see if I can action that for you.” When Desmond had pointed out that the flowers were starting to bloom, instead of saying, “Oh, that’s nice,” Hannah had said, “That’s so empowering. ”
The topic of conversation had been the cost of living.
The kids’ school fees had just gone up and Shep was having cash flow problems. By Q3 next year (whatever that was) he was expecting to be “generating maximum ROI” but right now his business was in a “transitional phase.” The business, as far as Carol could tell, was a podcast that hadn’t yet released an episode, in which Shep gave business advice.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand everything, Des, but I’m going to be passing on all of my own acquired expertise, invaluable advice, you know—dress for the job you want, protein not carbs, time management, you know.
This is the sort of stuff you’re not going to be able to get on any other business podcast. Peter Wires, he’s one of the big business gurus out there right now, he suggests that, if you want to get anywhere as a CEO, you need to be waking up at four a.m. My USP—which stands for ultra selling potential, by the way, Des—is that I’m going to suggest that people get up at three.
Peter Wires is not going to know what’s hit him. ”
“It’s really great stuff, Dad,” Hannah had said. “Whole thing’s a no-brainer.”
“It’s the kind of thing people are going to be willing to pay for. It will make money, I’ve got no doubt about that, but in order to reach an audience I need a marketing budget, and you know this, Des—cash is king, you know.”
“And I suppose you want mine.”
“You’re so funny, Dad,” Hannah had said.
Carol had no idea if Desmond had given them the money they had asked for, but it was fair to say he hadn’t looked especially keen in the bistro that day.
Carol watched the couple chatting by their car. Today wasn’t a day for eavesdropping. If she was going to truly investigate, she’d have to ask some questions. Carol gingerly approached them, giving the friendliest little wave she could muster.
“Hello, I’m Carol. We met the other day. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“That’s so sweet of you to say.” Hannah had her arms outstretched. “Are you a hugger? Because I’m a hugger.”
“I’m not a hugger, but thank you,” said Carol.
“Baby, you can’t leave the dogs in the car.”
“Well, we can’t bring them in there, can we?” said Shep.
“You stay out here with them. I’ll go in.”
Hannah gave her two cockapoos slobbery kisses and put on, nonsensically, Carol thought, a pair of big dark Prada sunglasses just as she was heading indoors. Since Carol had last seen her, Hannah looked like she’d gained a kilo or two and a couple of million pounds.
Carol and Shep were left alone together with the two dogs.
She looked down at her feet. Shep held the leads.
An odd moment, less than a second, but she felt it.
Am I really staying here with him? Having shared a cell, for six years, with an awful woman called Brenda, Carol was not the type to spend any longer with a person she didn’t like than was entirely necessary.
But her future depended on finding out the truth.
She had to extract as much information as she could.
“Nice car. Is it new?”
“Yes. Purchased this week.” Shep used the most irritating pronunciation available, putting the emphasis in “purchased” on “chased.”
“Podcast doing well, then?”
Shep looked blank for a second. Podcast? “Oh, yes, the, uh, the podcast. Yes, it’s going terrifically, thank you.”
“I’m afraid I’m a little behind on all the podcasts. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard one. I keep reading about it. They have a Podcast of the Week in the paper but they never explain where we’re supposed to get it from. It’s a computer thing, isn’t it?”
Carol knew exactly what a podcast was. She was addicted to the true crime ones and was a little insulted no one had yet made one about her. She decided that, with Shep, the best way of prying without arousing suspicion was to play the role of “doddery old lady.”
“I’m not as bad with computers as some of the folk here. Margaret—I don’t know if you know her? She prints out her emails just to read them. Now, that’s silly, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Not necessarily. Mark Zuckerberg has his emails read to him every morning while he’s in his flotation tank.”
“Is that right? He a friend of yours, is he?”
“He’s a businessman. Started Facebook?”
“Oh, yes, I’m on that. Total nonsense. People talk such rubbish, don’t they? So, your podcast? Where can I listen to it? Will I be able to get it on cassette?”
“It’s not out yet, actually, just working toward optimization, you know.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Carol wanted to ask a very personal question.
She thought she knew the answer but she wanted to be sure.
She decided that rather than trying to disguise the intrusiveness of the question the best thing to do was to underline it.
Make a joke of it. You could, at her age, get away with a lot.
Old women were just nosy. That was the stereotype. Why not exploit it?
“So, new car. You’ve come into some money, haven’t you? Forgive me, I’m just an old gossip. Was Hannah left a lot in the will?”
Shep laughed, giddy. You got the sense he was delighted at the chance to talk about it. He lowered his voice. “Millions.”
“Oh, isn’t that lovely? Shame it had to come in such tragic circumstances.”
Shep tried and failed to remove the smile from his face. “Yes, tragic. Very, very tragic. Gone too soon. May he rest in peace. Giles!”
Giles, out of his running clothes now, was passing by.
“Shep! Buddy!”
The two men went into an enthusiastic embrace.
Shep immediately looked at ease now that someone his own age was there.
Someone of his own background. Carol was all too aware of the effect her age could have on some younger people.
It made them uncomfortable. Oh, yeah, sure, you’ve lived a long life.
Well done and all that. But how does one talk to that? Too many people just didn’t know.
“I suppose this is the last we’ll be seeing of you,” said Giles.
“Oh, you haven’t seen the last of me, G-Man. I’ve still got some pitches I want to run up your flagpole. There’s so much you’re not doing with this place that you could. Here’s two words for you. ‘Ice. Rink.’ ”
Carol, despite her mission, found herself edging away.
It was the phrase “G-Man.” Shep, it had to be said, was not her sort of person.
Luckily for him, that was no longer an executable offense.
She found herself in a daydream, picturing Shep’s face going through all the colors of the rainbow as she squeezed his throat until the life fell out of him. One more kill? For old times’ sake?
“Well, I’ll be off, then. Lovely to see you both,” she said, with a jolly smile.
They said their goodbyes, and as she entered the building the conversation continued.
“Okay, okay, no ice rink. What if you apply for a license for a euthanasia clinic? They do it here, on-site, you get a cut of the fee.”
“Only problem with that, mate, we’d be killing all our customers.”
“Right, right, yeah, see what you’re getting at, buddy. See what you’re getting at.”
“Actually, buddy,” said Giles, “there is something I needed to talk to you about…”
Their voices blessedly drifted away as the automatic doors closed behind her.
Carol had no desire to hear whatever inane direction the two men’s conversation was headed in.
She approached the front desk. Before she went back to her apartment, she wanted to check something.
Derek, the security guard, was asleep in his chair.
So sedentary was he that he reminded her of a pet you constantly found yourself checking wasn’t dead.
By contrast, the always-on-her-feet Elisa was by the lifts, in an animated conversation with Tyler.
Carol focused. In a hurry, she opened up the guest book and went straight to Wednesday, the day of Desmond’s murder.
Yes. He was there: 3:00 p.m.
Shep Newsom.
Fifteen minutes before the murder.
Shep Newsom.
The murder that had made him a millionaire.
Shep Newsom.