Brownie and the Dame (3 page)

“Don’t remember,” Brownie said. He shrugged. “Looked like it was a place for a hidey-hole. You know when Ma was here at Christmas, she was tapping on all the walls for secret passages and got me started.”

“I thought she was busy estimating the market value of all the furniture,” Miz Adelia said, looking back at the wall.

“That too. Ma can multitask.”

Miz Adelia said something under her breath that Brownie did not hear.

Under the table Precious pawed his leg as if warning him.

Surreptitiously Brownie got up and went to the counter where there sat a large ceramic pig wearing a chef’s toque waggling a tremendous tongue. He would have whistled covertly, but that would have cued Miz Adelia. He carefully took off the head and snatched up two doggie biscuits. With utmost discretion, he eased the lid back on. A spy/cowboy/astronaut couldn’t have done it better.

Miz Adelia said, “Don’t give that dog no more after them two biscuits.”

Brownie glanced at the back of her head.
She can do that better than Ma. Mebe there’s cameras in here
. He looked around suspiciously.

Returning to the table, he passed one biscuit to Precious who pretty much sucked it into her mouth.

“Dog’s getting a little pudgy,” Miz Adelia said. “Reckon she needs to go on a diet.”

Precious whined.

“So like I was saying,” Brownie went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “I want to be a sleuth. And all I need is a mystery. A really good mystery.”

Miz Adelia began washing dishes. “A mystery,” she said. “Let me think about that. I aim we can come up with something.”

Brownie began carrying loads of wadded-up newspaper to the garbage before Miz Adelia could tell him to do so. There was a pounding down the stairs as if someone with cement shoes on was in a terrific hurry and Bubba came in. Dressed in overalls, he appeared as though he had dashed through the shower and hadn’t paused to use the soap or a towel or possibly even the water. There were still needles in his hair, but the leaves were gone. Brownie couldn’t tell if the vine of poison ivy was still present.

Bubba took the entire carafe of coffee and carried it out the door before Miz Adelia noticed. He paused to forcefully scratch his leg and slopped about a cup’s worth of coffee on the stoop. Then he was diving into his old green Chevy truck without spilling anymore coffee, which Brownie thought was quite an accomplishment. The truck sputtered protestingly as he started it. He hesitated to put the carafe to his mouth and drank a significant amount straight from the glass container before putting foot to pedal.

“What happened to the coffee?” Miz Adelia said, looking around. She had a dish towel in one hand and a plate in the other. “There’s a mystery.”

“Bubba took it,” Brownie said and jerked a thumb toward the door.

The Chevy roared into life, and Miz Adelia peeped out to see Bubba turning the truck sharply into a U-turn that was tighter than Brownie would have thought a vehicle that old was capable of doing. “The whole thing?” she asked skeptically.

“I believe Bubba is in a hurry,” Brownie said.

Miz Demetrice came into the kitchen. She saw Brownie with an armful of wadded-up newspapers and a fedora perched jauntily on his head. Then her gaze took in Miz Adelia, wearing an apron over a t-shirt and jeans and an irritated expression on her face. Finally, Miz Demetrice managed to locate Precious under the table, zealously guarding her dogly booty, even while she vigorously chewed on one end.

Brownie dumped his load into the garbage can and shoved it down so he could add more.
Dang it, I dint know I had wadded so much
.

“There’s pine needles and poison ivy on the stairs,” Miz Demetrice said as her avid cornflower blue gaze settled on Brownie. She deftly tightened the belt on her blue robe.

“It wasn’t me,” Brownie said. He had practiced saying that many times in his life, and occasionally it was even true.

“That was Bubba,” Miz Adelia agreed.

Miz Demetrice’s delicate features knitted together into a frown. “And you didn’t
cause
Bubba to have pine needles and poison ivy on him, Brownie dearest?”

“I did not,” Brownie said, puffing out his chest. “I’m innocent.” On the inside he added,
Of that anyway.

“Where’s the coffee?” Miz Demetrice asked after scrutinizing Brownie for another long moment.

“That was Bubba, too,” Brownie said cheerfully. It was nice being able to truthfully blame someone else. That was the main reason he wanted his mother and father to produce a sibling.
Transferal of culpability. Oh what great joy a brother or sister would be!

“I expect I’ll have tea today,” Miz Demetrice finally said.

“A fine idea,” Miz Adelia concurred. “Sit down, Miz Demetrice, I’ll put a kettle on the stove.”

Miz Demetrice sat at the kitchen table and looked out the window. One hand slipped under the table and located the sweet spot behind Precious’s right ear. The dog’s leg began to thump in time with the scratches she was receiving.

“Ain’t you gonna ask how Bubba got pine needles and poison ivy on him?” Brownie asked.

“I find that in situations like this, it’s better not to ask,” Miz Demetrice said.

“Knowledge is power,” Brownie said immediately.
Boy, that saying shore is handy.

“Ignorance is bliss,” Miz Demetrice said automatically.

Brownie couldn’t come up with an answer for that. It was true. Sometimes it was better not to know something. For example, when he knew he was going to the dentist, he worried and worried about it. He’d gotten so upset the last time, he’d thrown up on his desk at school. It had splashed Suzy Derwinkle and Madison Blue, and both girls refused to sit next to him again.
That’s a good thing because Suzy said she likes me, and I don’t like her. She likes a lot of boys, and she kisses them all, too, even when they don’t want it.
The thought of it made Brownie want to wipe his flesh off. She’d tried to kiss him, too, but he’d run away screaming about “COOTIES!”

In any event, when there was to be a dental appointment, his mother decided not to tell Brownie when he was scheduled for a visit so to spare him further anxiety. She simply showed up at school and picked him up. Apparently the five minute drive to the dentist wasn’t long enough for his stomach acids to get riled up enough to rebel wholeheartedly. Of course, Ma always included a plastic wash basin just to be safe.

Brownie scratched the side of his head under the edge of the fedora.
Ma’s not stupid
.

“Making pancakes for the boy,” Miz Adelia said.

“A stack of wheats,” Brownie said salaciously.

“He also needs a mystery to solve,” Miz Adelia added. “He’s a gumshoe now.”

“On the square,” Brownie said. “All you tomatoes around here got to have some kind of mystery a fella could sink his choppers into.”

“Tomatoes?” Miz Demetrice repeated.

“Dames, twists, ankles, dishes, babes,” Brownie explained.

“He shore do soak up those old hardboiled novels,” Miz Adelia sighed.

“Bims, chicks, janes, dolls, skirts,” Brownie went on blithely.

“Well, isn’t that special,” Miz Demetrice said, “he’s like a little Bogartian encyclopedia.”

Brownie frowned as he attempted to interpret his great-aunt’s meaning. “Do you mean I speak like Humphrey Bogart?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Okay then.” He stared at Miz Demetrice, certain she was teasing him at his expense, but her face was placid, and her eyes stared outside.

Miz Adelia began preparing pancake batter, breaking eggs and pouring milk as if she had been born to do it. She whipped the mixture with a large spoon, causing a batter bridge that Brownie couldn’t look away from. Once she got the griddle down and the oil poured on it, the kettle startled to whistle.

Miz Demetrice got up and made tea for the two of them. “Milk, Brownie?” she asked politely. “I have chocolate.”

“I’ll dip my bill, sister,” he drawled, watching Miz Adelia pouring batter on the grill.

“That would be a yes,” Miz Demetrice said.

Brownie took the glass from the Snoddy matriarch and sat at the table.
Pancakes are good and all, but it don’t create the mystery I need. Dang. This place is hopping most times, but when I need a mystery, there ain’t nothing to be found.

A wet schnozzle examined the area of skin above his sock, and Brownie inferred that as a request from the hound for the other biscuit. Therefore, he passed it to her and heard a satisfied grunt and crunch in return.

Miz Demetrice brought her tea to the table and sat across from him. She added sugar and stirred it.

“A mystery,” she mused.

Brownie drank half the milk and sighed. “Chocolate good,” he muttered. Then he comprehended what she’d said. “Yes, a mystery. That treasure hunt was mighty fine fun, but I’m a gumshoe now. I’m dang serious, and I need a mystery. I’d try to solve how you really killed Great Uncle E., but most folks say you’re just making that up.”

Miz Demetrice took a sip of tea. “Do tell.”

“There’s the Civil War gold, but Bubba says that’s all phooey, too. Bunk. Falseloo. The big graft.”

“You seem to be an expert on the Snoddy history,” Miz Demetrice said.

“Daddy talks about the house a bunch,” Brownie explained. “Ma mostly talks about the stuff you’ve got in the house.”

“You know what?” Miz Adelia interrupted. “My favorite spatula is gone.”

Brownie and Miz Demetrice turned to look at the housekeeper. She was pulling drawers out and looking inside each one.

“Not the one from Williams-Sonoma?” Miz Demetrice asked.

“That very one,” Miz Adelia affirmed. “Brownie, you ain’t bin playing with my spatula?” She pulled a plastic one out instead and began flipping pancakes on the griddle. She glared at the cheap replacement as if it were at fault.

“I haven’t seen it,” Brownie said honestly. A light bulb appeared above his head. “A mystery! The mystery of the missing spatula.” He found his notepad and grabbed his pencil. “Can you tell me when you last saw the missing implement, sister?”

“It’s not an implement, boy,” Miz Adelia said imperiously. “It’s a WMF Stainless Steel, Slotted Spatula.”

Brownie wrote quickly. “I get fifty big ones a day plus expenses, although I ain’t figured out what expenses would be. Can you describe the missing spatula?”

“It’s silver and has slots,” Miz Adelia said. “It has the perfect round handle with a loop on the end for hanging. And it’s dishwasher safe. You shore you dint take it, boy?”

Brownie scoffed. “I don’t cook, and I can’t think of anything else you would do with a spatula. Unless you could use it for flipping things at targets? Do you reckon you can do that, Miz A.?”

“I’ll flip it at your little noggin,” Miz Adelia returned. She sighed and returned to the pancakes. “Dang it all, I liked that spatula.”

“Now I know what to get you for Christmas,” Miz Demetrice said.

“It’s a long time ‘til Christmas,” Miz Adelia bemoaned.

“I will find the missing implement,” Brownie declared.

The phone rang.

Miz Adelia answered it, and Brownie blatantly listened to the one-sided conversation. “Oh hey, you must have your special hearing hat on,” she said. “Uh-huh. Pokerama this week?” She glanced at Miz Demetrice who shrugged. “It’s at the Oose-May-Odge-Lay Ursday-Thay.”

“I speak pig Latin eloquently. Also Klingon and a little Elfish,” Brownie said.

“Do the Boy Scouts have a badge for that?” Miz Demetrice asked.

“No, but I’ll suggest it.”

“I got a missing spatula here,” Miz Adelia was saying. “I guess I don’t really got it, but it’s missing all the same.” She paused to listen to the other person. “Well, I reckon I know a spatula ain’t high on the order of stolen things.” Pause. “Did I misplace it? Do I seem the type to misplace a cooking implement?” Miz Adelia paused to look at Brownie and added to the person on the phone, “Not that it’s an ‘implement.’ It’s a WMF Stainless Steel, Slotted Spatula from Williams-Sonoma. It’s dishwasher safe. Shore, that’s important.”

While she spoke, Miz Adelia stuck the portable phone between her face and her shoulder and neatly arranged pancakes on a plate. She gestured at Brownie, and he took it to mean that he should fetch the butter and syrup, as well as utensils. Brownie didn’t mind. He was hungry. Being a gumshoe was hard work.

“Oh?” Miz Adelia said. “I reckon I know you can’t polygraph the people who’ve been in this house. We had the Spring walk-through not two weeks ago, and those folk put their fingers on everything. One fella was molesting my best sauté pan.” Pause. “Well, he wasn’t
molesting
it. But I think he was thinking about sticking it down his pants.”

Miz Demetrice chuckled.

Brownie thought,
And we’ll come back to
that
later.

“He’s lucky I dint take it away from him and brain his pea-sized head. I was as mad as a wet hen without a towel.”

“Klingon?” Miz Demetrice asked Brownie. “Really?”

“
nuqDaq ‘oH puchpa ‘ e ’
” Brownie said quickly.

“I’m somewhat lacking on my Klingon, dear,” Miz Demetrice prompted him.