“Where on Stark Street?” Ranger asked.
“I don’t know,” Butchy said. “Just Stark Street. Anyway, I look at the truck, and the condenser’s running, and I recognize the truck. I tell Virgil that I loaded the truck, and it’s full of ice cream, and I can’t store ice cream. He looks at me like I got corn growing out of my ears, so I have to explain to him that just because I got climate-controlled units don’t mean I can freeze shit. So we both went home after that. I guess Virgil was taking the truck to his garage until he could figure something out.”
“Have you told any of this to the police?” Ranger asked.
“Naw,” Butchy said. “They never asked me.”
Ranger had the hint of a smile again. “Didn’t it occur to you that Zigler fell out of that truck?”
“Sure, but I didn’t put him in there. So it’s not like I got something to contribute.”
“What about the pint containers in your kitchen?” I asked Butchy.
“What about them?”
“Why do you have so many?”
“Well, they’re free and they’re perfect. A bag of high-quality shit fits in them just right. And it’s all disguised. You put it in your freezer and it’s like money in the bank.”
“Where do you get the containers?”
“The storeroom, of course.”
“That’s stealing.”
“Everybody steals from the storeroom. It’s one of the perks of working for Bogart. He don’t give you free ice cream, but he lets you steal. It’s like a company policy.”
“I’m curious,” Ranger said. “Do you steal during the day? Just walk out with whatever you want?”
“If it’s small, but mostly you use the back door to the storeroom. We all try not to abuse the privilege and be too obvious. Only problem is there’s no light at the back door so you have to be careful where you’re walking if you forget your flashlight.”
“Did you kill Zigler?” Ranger asked Butchy.
“No, sir,” Butchy said. “I haven’t killed anybody lately.”
TWENTY-FOUR
RANGER AND I walked back to the building and left Butchy to finish his joint.
“Do you think he’s really that dumb?” I asked Ranger.
“I think he’s conveniently dumb.”
“I forgot to ask when we were at his house. What size were his shoes?”
“Twelve.”
We went to the front reception desk and asked to see Soon. After fifteen minutes we were told he would speak with us.
His office was devoid of anything personal. A desk. A couple chairs. A bookcase. It was as if he didn’t intend to stay long. He was a slim little man wearing rimless glasses. His hair was shoe-polish black and thinning. I placed him in his fifties. Partially Asian.
“Very nice to finally meet you,” he said to Ranger.
Ranger nodded. “Mutual. And this is my associate, Miss Plum.”
“Of course,” Soon said. “She’s already spent some time here at the plant. What would you like to discuss?”
“Tomorrow we’ll have completed all installations and will be moving into a maintenance and monitoring mode. Since Mr. Bogart isn’t on-site I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with the new system.”
“Absolutely,” Soon said. “I appreciate that you’ve taken the time to introduce yourself. This is an awkward time for Bogart Ice Cream. And it’s especially difficult since Mr. Bogart has taken a leave of absence.”
“I wasn’t aware that he was on leave,” Ranger said. “Have you heard from him?”
“No,” Soon said. “I was trying to make it sound better than I fear it is.” He passed a paper to Ranger. “I intended to take care of this business tomorrow, but since you’ve stopped by this is an excellent opportunity. Now that we have the system installed I think we would be better served to manage it in-house. I’m going to bring in my own security specialists and techs. I’ve done this in past positions, and I find it to be more economical and sometimes more efficient.”
“Was this discussed with Mr. Bogart?”
“Most certainly. We were finalizing our hires when he suddenly disappeared.”
“He’d made it clear to me that I was to keep my men in place.”
“Unfortunately he isn’t here to substantiate that. We will make final payment to you when you present your itemized bill for installation plus consulting fees.”
Ranger smiled. “I wish you the best of luck. I’m sure Mr. Bogart will make a speedy return from his leave of absence.”
“We can only hope,” Soon said.
We were silent walking through the building. We buckled into Ranger’s Cayenne, and he called his office. “I want a full report on Jeff Soon. I want it stat. Get me the name of the primary on the Bogart investigation and get me permission to walk through Bogart’s house.”
He put the Cayenne in gear and drove out of the lot.
“You didn’t see that one coming,” I said.
“No, but it’s beginning to pull together. I have to spend some time at my desk. I’m going to drop you at your car and we’ll pick this up later tonight. I’ll send you a text when I’m leaving the building.”
It was a little after five o’clock when we got to the office, and the lights were out. My car was parked at the curb. Its doors were locked, but Lula had placed the keys in our usual hiding spot on top of the left rear wheel. I had no plans to see Morelli, so I drove to my parents’ house to mooch dinner.
My grandmother opened the door for me. Her hair was red and she was wearing black Pilates pants and a Harley-Davidson T-shirt.
“What do you think?” she asked me.
“I like the red. It’s pretty.”
And it was pretty, but it was going to take some time for me to get used to seeing it on Grandma.
“I wanted a new look,” Grandma said. “Bertie gave me the T-shirt.”
“How’s it going with Bertie?”
“It’s going real good, but I’m not sure how long it’s going to last. There’s a lot of maintenance you gotta do to keep up with a relationship. There’s tweezing and shaving and moisturizing. Plus you gotta pretend you haven’t already heard his jokes. And I think I might be getting a rash down there from riding on his motorcycle. I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a biker chick.”
“Is that Stephanie?” my mother yelled from the kitchen. “Is she staying for dinner? Tell her we’re having meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”
“I’m staying!” I yelled back.
My father was in his chair, watching television. I passed him on my way to the kitchen, and he grunted at me. “The news is terrible,” he said. “Every day it gets worse. I don’t know why I watch.”
“Is Bertie coming to dinner?” I asked Grandma.
“No. I’m meeting him later at the funeral home. They finally released the body of the Bogart Bar guy, and his viewing is tonight. It’s going to be big. I bet the TV people will be there. Bertie and I are going out after. We might go to the movies. There’s a horror flick at the multiplex that Bertie wants to see. I think it’s got zombies in it.”
My mother was mashing the potatoes. “You can’t go to the viewing dressed like that,” she said to my grandmother. “And I don’t want to hear that you tried to get the lid up if it’s a closed casket.”
“I’m hoping it won’t be closed casket,” Grandma said. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what a Bogart Bar man looks like.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t look like a Bogart Bar man,” my mother said. “He’s had an autopsy!”
“And I guess he would have melted by now anyway,” Grandma said. “Still, it would be interesting to see what’s left.”
“Stephanie,” my mother said. “Stir the gravy.”
My grandmother took the meatloaf to the table, and I leaned toward my mother.
“Whatever happened last night with Bertie and Grandma?”
“I don’t know. I fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up it was morning. I guess he tiptoed past me.”
“Did you talk to Grandma?”
“No. I don’t know what to say.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I think it’ll resolve itself.”
“Where’s the potatoes?” Grandma said. “We gotta keep on schedule. I don’t want to be late or I won’t get a good seat. Marion Wurtzer is picking me up at six-thirty sharp.”