by C. L. Bevill
“You reported something was missing,” Janie went on.
“Yes, but I dint say what,” Bryan said quickly. “I was a mite embarrassed once I put my mind to it.”
“There has been another report of something missing,” Janie said. “We’re investigating the disappearance and need to know if yours is connected.”
Dang, the girl is good. Brownie nodded in admiration. He thought he had it down, but Janie was guh-oooooddd.
Bryan thought about it. “I’m still a bit red in the face,” he said. He paused to scratch the side of his neck.
“Did the item go missing yesterday?” Janie questioned adroitly.
“Sometime between Sunday night and Monday morning,” Bryan said.
“Did you see anyone suspicious lurking about your residence or property?”
“There was a squirrel who tried to eat my favorite birdhouse,” Bryan said, “but a dog chased him off before he could chew off the roof. I believe that squirrel was a socialist.”
Janie took a moment to cogitate. “What is the missing item?”
“Two of them actually,” Bryan said. “I ain’t gotta clue why someone would do something like that.”
“We’ll need to see the scene of the crime,” Janie stated. Bryan blinked again.
Finally the older man said, “It’s out back. Come on through.”
Brownie and Janie followed Bryan through the house. They heard Mrs. McGee with her sister in the kitchen discussing what hats they were going to wear. “I favor the purple spotted one with McGuffin feathers,” one woman said.
“There’s no such thing as a McGuffin,” the other one said.
“It’s a big bird with purplish-blue feathers on his hiney. It’s related to a snipe. It’s in Webster’s.”
“I believe you’re making that up.”
“Well, these feathers have to come from something.”
Brownie wondered what animal the feathers did come from.
Much to his disappointment, Bryan McGee led them out the back door before the discussion between the two unseen women was finished.
Janie said, “The second most important aspect to criminal investigation is to get to the crime scene early.”
Brownie didn’t want to seem dense because Sam Spade hadn’t covered getting to the crime scene early. Sure, he’d hitched a ride with the cops to the scene of his partner’s murder, but it wasn’t because he wanted to get there early. Or at least, that hadn’t seemed particularly important to Spade. So he said, “Well, we don’t wanna get behind the eight ball and get sent down the river to the big house.”
Janie shot Brownie a look of disgust.
Bryan paused just outside of the back door and pointed.
Brownie and Janie looked. They were looking at an old fashioned laundry line. The two t-shaped poles sat about twenty feet apart and were set into the grass with concrete. Four taut wires stretched between the two poles and several sheets fluttered in a Spring breeze.
“Someone stole sheets?” Janie asked.
Bryan’s lips went tight. “Not sheets.”
Janie began to look around. She pointed out a birdhouse hanging on a low-lying bridge. The roof had been severely chewed. Brownie extracted his notepad and began to take notes with a beaten up Ninjago pencil. He didn’t see footprints on the grass, but it was two days after the crime had been committed. Also he looked around for a security camera, but all Bryan McGee had was a birdbath with greenish water in it. The nearest neighbor was a hundred yards away, and the backyard was large enough to graze a herd of Texas Longhorns.
No witnesses. No cameras. Brownie eyed the sky. Wonder if the CIA had a satellite pointed this direction for some reason. Hey, there could be spies in Pegram County. Redneck spies disguised as cows. It could happen.
“The missus took the wash out to the line Sunday,” Bryan said. “Weren’t supposed to have any rain, so she left it out overnight. You know the fresh air makes the laundry smell good.”
“My mother uses Bounce dryer sheets. Outdoor fresh. It smells pretty good,” Janie commented.
Brownie didn’t know what his mother used. But she folded his underwear very nicely.
“So Sunday is the last time you saw the two items in question,” Brownie stated. Hey, that sounded purty righteous.
“Yes,” Bryan said. “There was a breeze, and they were catching the air like kites. I sat out on the deck and smoked a cigar and watched that dadblasted squirrel try to chow down on my birdhouse. I was about to get my pellet gun when the dog came up and barked at the squirrel. Then my wife started yelling about Storage Wars being on A&E, and I love that show, so I dint think no more about it.”
Janie looked at Brownie expressively. “We should examine the scene carefully. Look for clues. Take pictures.”
“Great. I got Miz Demetrice’s digital camera.”
Brownie took photographs. He shot an exceptional one of a squirrel with its tail twitching madly while Janie examined the line and the clothes pins. She experimentally tugged on one wire to check its tautness.
Bryan watched curiously.
“Is it possible that the two items were carried away by the wind?” Janie asked.
“Look at the way the missus battens down those hatches,” Bryan said, gesturing at the sheets. “I don’t think it was that windy even if they are D-cups.”
“D-cups,” Janie repeated as if she had never heard the phrase before.
“D-cups,” Brownie repeated and put the camera away. He pulled out the notepad and wrote furiously in it. “D-cups,” he said again. “Those are the big ones, right?”
Bryan blushed. “Double D-cups,” he clarified. “Boulder holders. Double-barreled sling shots. Upper-deck flopper-stoppers.” He covered his face with one hand and muttered, “Bras. Two bras are missing. The missus is furious. Those were her favorites, and she liked them just fine. She thinks some pervert came along and stole ‘em. Ain’t nothing else missing, even some other bras, so I don’t think the wind took ‘em. Ifin you ask me I think kids took them to be some kind of a sling.” The hand dropped, and he looked at Brownie suspiciously. “Where were you on Sunday night, boy?”
“At Snoddy Mansion,” Brownie said. “Miz Demetrice locked me in and made me promise not to do anything bad. She took away my pack of Sharpies and my stun gun, too.”
Bryan’s shoulders slumped. “And I reckon you wouldn’t be over here asking questions neither, ifin you were guilty.”
“Do you know anyone who would seek to do harm to your wife’s brassieres?” Janie asked solemnly.
Brownie stared at Bryan. Bryan obviously thought about it.
Bryan shrugged. “I called 9-1-1 but then I realized I was speaking to Miz Mary Lou Treadwell, and she cain’t not talk about nothing, so I hung up quick-like. It weren’t really an emergency.” He checked his nine for a spouse who might have snuck up at him and who might be listening surreptitiously. “Favorite or not, it weren’t really an emergency.”
Brownie chewed on the end of his pencil. “Can you describe the two missing bras?”
Glaring daggers at Brownie, Bryant crossed his arms over his chest. “One was white. The other one was black. They were…well…bra-like.”
“Bee-arrr-aaa,” Brownie sounded it out while he wrote. “Size, double-D. Isn’t there a number that goes with that?”
Bryan muttered something.
“What was that?”
“Playtex Perfect Flex, wire free, forty-four, double D, kid, and ifin you repeat that to Miz Demetrice I will track you down and make you feel like ten pounds of crap in a five-pound bag.”
“So you were a little embarrassed to report it,” Janie said neutrally, “and that’s why you hung up.”
“The missus was screeching in my ear,” Bryan added. “She can buy some more. Ya’ll know how the gossip runs like diarrhea in this town.”
Brownie nodded. “It’s true. It’s the Hershey squirts of gossipville.”
Janie looked around the yard. “We should p
robably talk to Mrs. McGee and her sister, too.”
Bryan looked nervous. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea. Don’t pay to get them women folk all provoked. She just got over it. Wouldn’t stop talking about it yesterday.” His voice lowered to a gravelly drawl. “Not…all…day...long.”
“No enemies? No one you know who would do this?” Janie was persistent. “You didn’t notice anything except a wind, a dog, and a squirrel?”
“Naw, I dint see anyone. But I was at the post office this morning, and Martha Lyles, the elementary school teacher, said that Mike Holmgreen was out bothering the fainting goats yesterday,” Bryan said.
Janie sighed. Brownie thought, Wait, what’s a fainting goat?
“Well, Mike got caught by Mr. Boomer and they got to talking about stuff and Mr. Boomer said someone bin taking stuff from his property, too.”
“Ah,” Janie said. “Write that down, Brownie.”
Brownie wrote it down. Boomers. Mike Holmgreen. Fainting goats. He paused. Wait. What was I doing?
“Perhaps the missus should use the dryer for her delicates for a short period of time until we figure this mystery out,” Janie suggested to Bryan.
Bryan looked confused. “She don’t like those dryer sheets. Says they smell like hotdogs burnt in a microwave oven.”
“It could be a dire situation,” Janie advised the older man and dragged Brownie around the side of the house.
They paused in front of the McGee house and watched Bubba driving past. Brownie’s second cousin (or was it first cousin, once removed?) was at the wheel of his green 1954 Chevy truck. Although the truck was an antique and it rattled and it didn’t have seatbelts, Bubba zoomed past them, as if his tushie was on the receiving end of a blowtorch. Behind him followed three city police cars with sirens blaring and lights flashing. A sheriff’s deputy’s Bronco followed that, and both children saw that it was Willodean driving. In fact, Janie waved cheerfully as her aunt zipped by. Then the parade culminated in a green forestry service vehicle, whose driver was visibly yelling and shaking a clenched fist as he drove.
Both children watched as all the vehicles disappeared from sight.
“Off to the Boomers?” Brownie asked.
Janie nodded somberly.
Chapter 5
Brownie and the Continuing Conundrum
Tuesday, April 3rd
Five minutes later, Miz Demetrice pulled up in her Caddy and called for them to get in. “You chillen need to tell me when you’re off investigating,” she chided lightly. “I had to call Bubba, who didn’t come to the phone, and Gideon Culpepper is being all mysterious-like and then I called Willodean, who also wasn’t available and then Mary Lou Treadwell called me to say what she told Janie yesterday and just as I hung up the phone, Miz McGee called to say something about her…well, she thinks you kids are right special,” she said without drawing a breath. Then she paused deliberately and took a deep breath that turned into a sigh.
Brownie was most impressed by the length the Snoddy matriarch could speak without breathing. It was almost as good as when his mother was in a given vehement rant about something he had done, or something he hadn’t done, as the case might have been.
“Besides it’s dinnertime,” Miz Demetrice added. “Buckle up.”
“Is Miz Adelia cooking again?” Janie asked hopefully, climbing in the back of the sedan and adjusting the seatbelt over her shoulder and lap.
“She is,” Miz Demetrice confirmed. “She made biscuits with gravy. Creamed peas, too, and a lemon icebox pie.”
Brownie drooled on the leather seat. “I love her pies,” he slurred, trying to wipe saliva away from his mouth. Eventually he managed to get his hands dry enough to fasten the seat belt.
“Have ya’ll made any progress with your investigation?” Miz Demetrice asked as she turned the Cadillac around and headed toward the Snoddy Estate.
“We don’t have any obvious suspects,” Janie said with a hint of distaste, as if she had failed in her eight-year-old would-be-detective role.
Miz Demetrice said, “Mm-huh.”
“There was a suspicious squirrel,” Brownie said obligingly. “Although he seemed more interested in the bird house than in the double D’s.”
Miz Demetrice choked, and the car slowed to a crawl while she tried to catch her breath. Janie helpfully patted the older woman on the back.
Brownie extracted his notepad and flipped it open, reading over his notes. “Although Mr. McGee had some fascinating substitute names for a bra. I ain’t never heard some of them before.”
“Boulder holders,” Janie said and giggled. She slapped her thigh with her hand.
“I liked upper-deck flopper-stoppers,” Brownie said. “Don’t mean nothing though. We don’t have a clue who took ‘em. Nor Miz Adelia’s spatula. Got nothing to indicate the two cases are connected.”
“Things do go missing, dear,” Miz Demetrice said with a final cough. She got the Caddy back on the road. “Although those items do seem somewhat odd in nature. Why a spatula? Why a…brassiere?”
“And we got a lead on something else missing,” Janie said forcefully. “We need to interrogate the victims.”
“That sounds just fine, dearest,” Miz Demetrice said, turning down the lane that led to the Snoddy Mansion. They passed through the crookedly hanging front gates with their three feet high S’s on either side and proceeded down the road that took them to the antebellum building.
“But you two need to tell me when you’re running off,” Miz Demetrice said, “so I don’t think you’re kidnapped or such.”
“That was Auntie Wills who got kidnapped,” Janie said, “and she’s still mad about that man getting the drop on her.”
“She got the drop on Bubba,” Brownie chortled.
“So did you,” Miz Demetrice said. “Sharpie style.”
“Some of my finest work,” Brownie said proudly. “I took photos with Ma’s Droid. Posted them on Facebook.”
“Truly inspiring, dear,” Miz Demetrice agreed. She parked the car and said, “I wonder where Bubba is? He said he was coming home for dinner.”
“Prolly got busy with something else,” Brownie suggested. Cousin Bubba had looked busy when he’d driven past the McGee’s house with all of the law following him.
“And he was supposed to bring Willodean, too,” Miz Demetrice said.
“Oh, those sheriff’s deputies,” Janie said, “they get all caught up in such and whatnot.”
“Very well, we shall have to eat their portions of lemon icebox pie,” Miz Demetrice determined cheerily.
* * *
After dinner was served, consumed, and plates cleaned up, Brownie and Janie were eager to be on their way. However, Miz Demetrice was otherwise occupied all afternoon with clandestine phone calls in one of the cavernous living rooms. Whenever Brownie approached, Miz Demetrice would gently shoe him out and speak in whispering tones. He caught some of the furtive phrases and words. “Thursday night.” “Pokerama.” “Secret password.” “Cheetos.”
Brownie showed Janie all of the secret passageways in the mansion while they waited to get permission to visit the Boomer household. He also introduced Janie to Wallie, the contractor who was still working on Bubba’s house out around the back of the mansion.
“It used to be a stable,” Brownie told Janie. “Then some great-something or other thought he could rent it to soldiers from a nearby fort. Then Bubba moved in, and some crazy person tried to burn it down. Well, the person tried to burn Bubba up.”
“It wasn’t burned that badly,” Wallie said. “But it did get some of the loadbearing walls, and the housing inspector condemned it. Think it’s the same inspector a rat bit once over to the house where Bayou Billy hung out. The inspector got some kind of strange disease from the rat, and they named the disease after him. Fella never was the same after they had to give him intravenous antibiotics for three months.” Wallie swung a hammer like a pistol. He twirled it fetchingly. Brownie knew he could do better, but h
e wasn’t allowed to touch any of Wallie’s tools.
“Can you describe the disease?” Brownie asked interestedly.
“Eww,” Janie said.
“And over there is the koi pond,” Brownie said and pointed. “Last time I went down there one of them tried to et me. Big fella. The size of an alligator.”
Janie gazed at Brownie with disgust. “Koi the size of alligators,” she muttered derisively and waded through the grass to the pond. Brownie picked up a stick and followed her.
Wallie called, “I wouldn’t go over by that pond ifin I was you.”
“My mother is a cop,” Janie said with determination. “My aunt is a cop. My granny is a cop. My other aunt is a cop. I wear cop panties. I learned how to shoot before I could walk, and I’m not afraid of any stupid, oversized goldfish that are— ”
Brownie pulled Janie back with his free hand when she froze in sheer amazement.
“— some of the biggest dang fish I’ve ever seen,” Janie finished with the proper note of awe. Her green eyes were large and round as she stared into the pond. “I think that one just looked at me funny. Did he just lick his lips?”
“Hey,” Brownie said. “I think there’s a map of Pegram County in the room Miz Demetrice uses as a study. We can stick push pins in that, and see if there’s a pattern.”
Janie peeped over the side of the pond, and the water began to bubble ominously. She backed away quickly. “We only got three victims,” she said. “Not much of a pattern.”
“Something to do,” Brownie said. “Plus we can snatch another piece of lemon icebox pie on the way.”
“Is that illegal?”
“Not in this county.”
* * *
An hour later, they sat in the small study with two nearly devoured pieces of pie. Janie moaned contentedly and said, “My momma doesn’t cook like that.”
“Neither does mine,” Brownie said. He put his plate aside and located some push pins in the desk. The large paper map of Pegram County adorned the wall next to the large walnut desk with all of its nooks and crannies. In fact, Brownie had combed through every nook and cranny and located one of the ruby slippers.
