Mr. Softee Read online

  She stepped aside then eventually closed the door behind me.

  “Nice dogs,” I said, trying to swallow my heart back down while they barked and snarled on the far side of the door. I peeked out the lace curtained window and one of them lunged at me.

  “Aren’t they sweet? Follow me, we’re in the study,” she said turning to walk down an immense oak-paneled hall. I followed, still shaking as the occasional throaty bark rumbled on the far side of the front door.

  Lola had some sort of sparkle makeup dusted on her shoulders and chest. She wore white stretch pants that must have been sprayed on. A bouncing halter top sort of affair about four sizes too small was stretched as tight as possible and still failed to cover.

  Her feet, with painted toenails and gold toe rings were strapped to jeweled, spike-heeled sandals. The heels forced her to take very tiny steps. The slightest hint of a tiny red thong occasionally showed through the stretch pants as she wiggled down the long hall.

  She turned and went through a large entry with a sliding door. The elaborate woodwork surrounding the massive doorway was carved with a series of ice-cream cones.

  “Precious, that man is here,” she said to Mr. Softee who was propped up in a hospital bed in front of the window. He had what appeared to be a walking cast on his left leg and a phone against his right ear. He gave a perfunctory nod in my direction then continued shouting into his phone.

  “No, didn’t you hear me the first time? I told you we’ll have to push it back by at least a week. I can’t get a straight answer out of any of these quacks. They’re telling me months. I don’t have that kind of time. So move it back a week, to next Wednesday.”

  As he shouted I glanced around the study. All four walls had elegant, dark wooden bookcases standing to a height of about seven feet. The remaining seven feet, up to the elaborate plaster ceiling was covered with oil paintings in heavy gilt frames, all horses. I guessed each painting was probably worth more than my reported take in any given year. Eventually, Mr. Softee screamed into the phone then hung up and glared at me.

  “So, tell me what you found out, well?” he snarled, then dialed his phone and slapped it against his ear.

  I could have told him that the few people I had spoken with referred to him as a bastard, a prick, a butt hole, someone ruthless and difficult. Not exactly a ringing personality endorsement, not that Mr. Softee would have cared.

  “Well sir, it’s not quite that simple. Bit more of a complex issue …”

  “Gary, hang on, I’m dealing with some bullshit, here,” he spit into his phone, then glared at me again.

  “You got a name for me?”

  “A name?”

  “Jesus save me!” he sighed. “Do you know who did this? Any idea who tried to kill me?”

  “I’m not sure anyone did try. Like I said yesterday, it could have been a simple hit-and-run. I’ve barely gotten start …”

  “Barely gotten started! Is that what you were going to say? What the hell do you think I’m paying you to do? Stand around looking stupid? You got that part down. Get your ass out of here and find out who in the hell was behind this.”

  “I’ll see you out,” Lola was on her feet taking tiny steps toward the door.

  “Yeah, Gary!” Softee was back on the phone as we exited the room. “No just some idiot who can’t get the job done. I know, I know…”

  We were almost to the front door. I was thinking of the dogs when I wasn’t thinking of Lola walking ahead of me.

  “You have to excuse him, he’s usually such a little pussycat,” she said turning toward me and giving me a little shoulder shrug that caused a lot of bouncing and ended in a big smile.

  I was having a tough time with all of it.

  “Look, Mrs. Sofmann…”

  “Oh, please, call me Lola I’d like that,” she half whispered, just the hint of a raised eyebrow.

  “Okay, look Lola, to tell you the truth, I’ll check things out, but I want to be up front. I’m just not sure there’s anything here. The fact that your husband didn’t file a police report doesn’t help matters. The people I have talked to really can’t see anyone trying to hurt him to improve their ice-cream business. It just doesn’t seem to add up.”

  “The ice-cream business?” she asked.

  “Yeah, right. Why, is there something else I should know about?”

  “Well, we have a lot of investments, property, that sort of thing.”

  I got the feeling she was being purposely vague.

  “Look, could I set up an appointment with your husband? If I could come back and talk to him without interruptions I might be able to make some progress. No hospital monitors, no phone calls, just the two of us, and you, if you think it would help. Maybe I could get an idea of something to go on, but right now, I’ve got nothing. And, well, there’s the matter of a contract. So far I’ve been doing some general legwork, but I would like to enter into a contract agreement.”

  “I see,” she said in a way that made me think she really didn’t.

  “Can I set up an appointment through you, or a secretary, or someone who…”

  “I think I can do that.”

  I wasn’t so sure.

  “All right, when would be a good time to sit down with him?”

  “Why don’t you plan on joining us for dinner tonight, if that would work for you?”

  I had nothing going other than Jameson Night down at The Spot.

  “You just tell me what time, and I’ll cancel my meeting and make sure I’m here.”

  “Say eight o’clock?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  She placed her hand on the doorknob.

  “Say, about the dogs, would there be another way out?”

  “Another way?” she sounded surprised.

  “Yeah, the dogs I hate to bother them, get them all worked up, you know?”

  “Oh, they’re just doing their job.”

  “And let me tell you, they do it very well. But if there was another way out, you know, so I don’t upset them too much. Besides, a little longer walk around the block would do me good, the exercise, you know.”

  She considered that a moment, then said,

  “Come on, I’ll let you out the patio door. But you’ll have to be quiet. If they hear you, they can run around to the back.”

  I followed her down the hallway, enveloped in a cloud of her perfume, past the study door where I heard Mr. Softee screaming on the phone at his current victim.

  We passed a massive formal staircase with two brass naked figures balancing on the newel posts then wandered into a formal dining room with a fireplace that could fit a king-size bed. We exited through a swinging door on the far side, crossed a massive kitchen with black granite countertops and white lace curtains to the rear patio doors.

  From this vantage point the manicured back lawn looked peaceful. There was a large flagstone patio, lawn chairs, a fountain, terraced gardens, beautiful flower beds. It looked like a world away from the two meat-eating monsters no doubt still drooling for me by the front door.

  “How’s this?” she squeaked and then gave another little shoulder shrug.

  “Nice.”

  “No one even knows we’re back here. We’re all alone.”

  She stood very still and stared at me with just the hint of a smile on her face. I could hear her panting. Or was that me?

  The little voice in my head said, “don’t even think of trying something,” and for once I listened.

  “Where’s the back gate?” I asked, studying the far garden wall.

  “Over there, in the corner, see, next to the roses, the climbers,” she said and leaned into me, placed her thumb firmly down the small of my back.

  “The, the, the pink ones?”

  “Yeah, no one can see you coming or going. It’s really private, almost secret. I can take all my clothes off and just lay in the sun,” she said and stared at me again, wide eyed. Her breathing seemed to be getting heavier. “Course then I need
help getting the lotion in all the right spots,” she smiled and just stared.

  “Okay, I’ll be back tonight at eight for dinner. We can all talk then. No interruptions, right?” I said, just wanting to get out of there before I did something stupid.

  She sighed, nodded, then opened the patio door and leaned very close to me.

  I could feel her breath on my face and stared down at all the lucky little sparkles collected in her cleavage.

  “Remember, be very quiet so the dogs don’t hear you,” she said.

  “Not to worry,” I replied and left quickly.

  I was a bit more than midway across the lawn, maybe thirty yards from the back gate when she called out.

  “See you tonight, Mister Haskell. See you tonight. Bye, bye,” she half laughed.

  The first two barks were distant, the third not quite so, and I had the frightening sense they were already on the run. So was I. Fear is a big motivator, and I had already made it to the gate just as they cleared the rear corner of the house. They looked left and right wildly, not sure where their prey was hiding.

  I wasn’t hiding. I was pulling furiously on the locked gate. Even from that distance they must have smelled my panic because they stretched out and raced across the lawn, teeth barred. They zeroed in on me like laser-guided missiles, howling.

  In one frightened leap I was almost over the seven-foot iron fence, balancing clumsily on the top as I turned to drop to safety on the other side. Just as I went off the top they leapt. I dropped to the ground on the far side and they slammed against the wrought iron then bounced off and landed on their sides in the middle of one of the massive climbing roses. They yelped loudly as they scrambled bloody and torn through the vicious, razor sharp rose thorns.

  “Serves you right, not so funny now, is it, ya bastards?” talking tough from the safe side of the fence. I glanced toward the house and caught the hint of movement just as Lola dropped a lace window curtain.

  Chapter Ten

  I dressed casually for the evening, a reasonably clean sport coat and an ironed polo shirt touting the Emporium of Dance in a crest over my left breast. I didn’t know if I should bring a bottle of wine as a hostess gift or a Taser to deal with the dogs. I compromised with a thirty-eight snub in the small of my back and a copy of a contract. I arrived at eight fifteen, stylishly late because the Lincoln was running on fumes, and I really didn’t think I could make it to Mr. Softee’s unless I filled up.

  I phoned from the front gate then waited another interminable length of time listening to the ringing on the other end. Eventually Lola answered sounding very surprised someone was even calling.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Lola, Dev Haskell. Sorry I’m late.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, Devlin Haskell. Remember, we had a dinner meeting at eight tonight with Mister Softee and myself, well, and you, if you were planning to join us.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah, we arranged it this afternoon, in your front hall, before you let me out the patio door.” I didn’t add before you set your dogs after me. I waited, eventually the gate unlocked, but I didn’t move.

  “What about your dogs? Are they out here, have they been fed?” I asked.

  I heard another buzz and audible click as the gate unlocked again, no response from the phone.

  I entered the front yard. Still holding the gate open and called,

  “Here boy, here boy, come on, come on. Here doggies, come here.”

  Nothing moved. Were they waiting to trap me in the open between the house and the gate? I wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Here boy, here boy, where are you?”

  I whistled a couple of times.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Softee yelled from the front door. He was standing, both hands on a chrome walker and watching me with beady eyes.

  “I was just wondering about your dogs, I didn’t see them and…”

  “They’re not here. Someone attacked them this afternoon. We had to call the paramedics, rush them to the vet.”

  “The paramedics?”

  “Yes, the paramedics! You any idea what in the hell those damn things cost me? They… look just get the hell in here. The next thing you know I’ll be catching a cold with this damn door open while you drag your ass whistling for the dogs that aren’t here. Jesus!”

  It was eighty-two degrees at the moment.

  I cautiously walked to the front door and Mr. Softee. I was not at all sure it wasn’t a setup and the two dogs were waiting just inside to attack me at any moment.

  “Come on, get the hell in here. I’ve been waiting for dinner. You’re late and I’m famished. Close the damn door behind you,” he called over his shoulder as I climbed the front steps. He was already pushing his walker down the massive hall to the rear of the house.

  I wondered what it would be like eating in their formal dining room? Would we dine on fine crystal, the best wine, silver serving pieces and utensils, exquisite china, a linen tablecloth and linen napkins? Did they have a butler? A chef?

  “Since it’s just you, we’re eating in the kitchen. Lola’s cooking,” Mr. Softee scoffed a warning that answered my questions. We groped our way across the darkened dining room and through the swinging door.

  AC/DC screaming “Night Prowler” blared into the kitchen from speakers hidden somewhere.

  “I told you to turn that shit off, damn it,” Mr. Softee shouted over the noise. Lola was seated at the kitchen counter.

  She was sipping from a can of Busch light and looked not to be on her first. Her peroxided hair was pulled back but long wisps had come loose and hung down. She had lost the skin glitter from earlier in the day and wore a different top, though no less form fitting. She stuck out her tongue and made a face behind Mr. Softee as he wheeled past, then picked up a remote and brought blessed silence to the room with a simple click.

  “Jesus Christ,” Mr. Softee exclaimed, but said nothing else.

  Lola returned to her sipping.

  “Get me a beer out of the fridge there. I suppose you can grab one for yourself,” he said grudgingly, then groaned onto a kitchen stool and pushed his walker off to the side.

  “I can’t wait to be rid of that damn thing. So, please tell me you found something out, you’re hot on the trail, something, anything,” he said as he tore the lid off the tub of Kentucky Fried Chicken resting on the kitchen counter.

  I was leaning into the massive refrigerator, virtually empty except for two cans of Busch light, a box of baking soda, and a tray of what looked like suppositories. I grabbed the beers and closed the refrigerator.

  “Well, I’ve done some preliminary checking and I haven’t found anyone of real interest, but I have managed to eliminate a number of individuals.” I was thinking Jill and Annie couldn’t be bothered, the nurses from the hospital were too busy, Connie Ortiz wasn’t interested.

  “Eliminate? That doesn’t help,” he said, spitting a mouthful of chicken leg and secret batter in my direction.

  “Who do you think it could be?” I asked. I took a couple of healthy sips from the beer can and understood why the stuff was so inexpensive.

  “Who do I… Jesus, I don’t have any idea. I just know that car didn’t come out of nowhere. All of a sudden it headed straight on and rammed us. If that ain’t attempted murder, I don’t know what is.”

  I decided that this was the time to get things nailed down so I reached inside my sport coat, pulled out my contract, and tossed it on the kitchen counter in front of him.

  “What the hell is that? I thought you said you didn’t have a list,” he snarled. Then reached into the red-and-white tub for another drumstick and shoved the entire thing into his mouth.

  “That’s not a list. That’s my contract. You want me to do any investigating for you I’ll need you to sign that contract. Up till now you haven’t told me a thing, other than you think someone tried to kill you. No offense, but virtually everyone in town is a suspect
. It’s been two days, and I’m not running across a lot of people who are fans.”

  “Jealous is what the bastards are,” he said spitting more chicken and batter across the counter.

  Lola, got off her stool and lurched toward a side doorway and down a hall. She had changed from the sprayed-on stretch pants to a pair of sprayed-on shorts.

  I stopped staring and said,

  “Maybe they’re jealous. But, I’m sure you, of all people, understand I really can’t do any more for you until I have a signed contract. It protects both of us,” I added.

  He thought about that for a moment.

  “So I sign this, and you find out who tried to kill me, that it?”

  “No, you sign that, and I investigate.” I reached into my pocket, took out a business card and handed it to him.

  “Haskell Investigations?” he said looking up at me surprised, like it was the first time he’d heard the name.

  “Yeah, that’s what I do, I investigate. I try and present you with facts, not rumors, not guesses, but facts, from which you might be able to make a more informed decision.”

  “Yeah, well Lola actually takes care of this sort of thing for me.”

  “Lola?” I said unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

  “What?” she said from the doorway behind me. She walked unsteadily back to her stool carrying an unopened can of beer, sat down heavily, then pulled the tab off the can. Beer sprayed over the contract and across the counter though neither of them acknowledged the fact.

  “Here, read this, see what you think,” Mr. Softee said, pushing my contract through the puddle toward Lola.

  “So, what you’re telling me is you may not be able to tell me a damn thing. But I’ll still have to pay you, is that it?” Softee asked.

  Lola was off her stool, opened a drawer behind her, pulled out a pair of eyeglasses and a pen and then returned to her stool, her beer, and my contract.

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “Humph, nice work if you can get it,” he scoffed.

  “I’ll do my best to explore all options. You suggest someone tried to kill you. Okay, I’ll examine that possibility. But, I also want to look at the possibility of a simple hit-and-run. Maybe it was someone who was drinking, or someone who panicked, or some guy who was just a lousy driver. Just maybe it was some guy who has no idea who you are, you know?”