Brownie and the Dame (6 page)

“You get to read police manuals?” Brownie asked. “You dint go upstairs earlier, did you?”

“Duh, everyone in the family is a cop except Grandpa. I’ve practically got some of them memorized. And no, I haven’t been upstairs. Why do you ask?”

“Never mind about that. Okay, sister, give me the skinny,” Brownie drawled. They gathered for their impromptu information-sharing session in the library.

“There’s a man named Bryan McGee who has a missing item,” Janie said. She looked around and found a large desk. A moment later, she dug through the drawers and located a phone directory. Plunking the book on the top of the desk, she paged through to the M’s. “There it is,” Janie said and pointed a finger to Bryan McGee’s name. “Get to the crime scene as soon as possible. That’s the key.”

“I know that road,” Brownie said. “We can walk to it from here. Did your source say what was missing?”

“No, Miz Mary Lou said that Bryan called up yesterday morning and chewed her out on account that the police hadn’t instantaneously figured out that something was missing from his house.”

“We need a map of Pegram County and push pins,” Brownie announced. “We need to map out the pattern. Doubtless there will be a pattern, and we kin discover what the similarities are.”

Janie nodded. “I like the way you think, Brownie, except I don’t think I would have shocked Matt Lauer on national television.”

“He was asking for it.”

“He didn’t ask for it.”

“Did you see his face? When I said I built the stun gun from scratch, he didn’t believe me. He thought I was making it up.” Brownie was still outraged about that.

Janie cocked her hip and rested a hand on it. Today’s t-shirt proclaimed “Support your local police! (Leave fingerprints.)” She tilted her head at him. “So what? That didn’t mean you had to shock him.”

“Shore it did,” Brownie said. “Now he won’t be all doubtful when a fella tells him how it is. Bet he never looks at a ten-year-old the same way. Betcha.”

“There is that,” Janie said. “You want to go see Mr. McGee now? I think Miz Demetrice won’t miss us if we’re gone less than an hour or two.”

“Now you’re on the trolley, dollface.”

* * *

Forty minutes later Brownie rapped on Bryan McGee’s door. He didn’t know anything about the man except the day before he had spoken vehemently to Mary Lou Treadwell on the emergency line. The subject had been something missing from his residence, but he did not say what it had been. Brownie also recollected Cousin Bubba speaking about Bryan having a Ford truck that had a bad knock. Since Brownie didn’t know much about automobiles, he disregarded that fact as irrelevant. (If a truck had a bad knock, did that mean that it couldn’t get someone to open the door?)

“My turn this time,” Janie said to Brownie as he hit his fist against the door.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Brownie offered.

“You cheat.”

“I don’t cheat. I improvise. Isn’t that what a good detective should do?”

Janie stared at Brownie suspiciously. “There might be something in the books about improvisation, but I had to look that word up in the dictionary, and I still don’t get it.”

“Ad-lib, sweetheart.” Brownie slanted an eyebrow at her. “Make stuff up on the spot. Lie very well. You should practice that.”

“
I
lie,” Janie said. Her eyes flicked downward. “Your fly’s undone.”

Brownie looked down and blushed. “It is not!”

“See, I lie. You believed me. Totally.”

The door pulled open, and a man stared down at the pair of them. He was in his sixties and white haired. His eyes were as brown as a newborn fawn. His face was as wrinkled as the Sunday wash after it had been left in the basket all day. Janie tried to step backward but Brownie nudged her.

“I’m Janie and this is Brownie,” she said firmly. Brownie nodded.

“You’re Bubba’s nephew,” the man said, looking at Brownie. “Nice suit and hat.”

“Second cousin. My daddy is Bubba’s cousin,” Brownie said. “Or is that cousins, once removed. I cain’t never recall.”

“You’re Mr. McGee?” Janie insisted. Brownie surely enjoyed watching Janie get all assertive. She reminded him of her aunt, Willodean. Firm, assertive, ready to take action. Sure there was a grumpy man who answered the door, but Janie wasn’t going to take no for an answer. If Brownie had a mind to like a girl (Eww! Girl germs!) then Janie would definitely be one of the highest tomatoes on the list.
Right next to Selena Gomez and Demi Lovato, who are cutie-potooties, even if they are girls.

“And you’re the sheriff’s deputy’s niece,” Bryan McGee said to Janie. “Heard about you, too.”

“How’s that Ford truck running?” Brownie asked.

“It sucks,” Bryan said. “Sucks like a giant Hoover and everything else around here. Did you know it sat at Bufford’s Gas & Grocery for nigh on two months before that swizzle stick, Melvin Wetmore, told me all it had wrong was a batch of bad gasoline? Ifin your cousin had still been working there, he would have fixed it good. Now, ifin I drive it down the block, it clunks like hailstones hitting a tin roof in April. Cain’t sell it neither.”

“Sorry to hear that, sir,” Brownie said gravely. “A man’s truck is holy.”

“What do you kids want? Selling cookies or mulch? Heck, I’ll take some of whatever it is. Give me something to do.” Bryan looked over his shoulder to see if anyone else was about. “The good Lord knows I’ve got to escape outta this house whenever I get a chance. Last year about the time my truck was broken, my wife had her gallbladder out, and her sister, Henrietta, came up from Lake Charles. You know that woman ain’t left in all this time? Says she likes the weather here, and it ain’t all that different from Louisiana. Plus they’re going out on Thursday nights to the Pegramville Women’s Club, and you kids got to know that it ain’t no women’s club.”

“Tell us about the club, Mr. McGee,” Janie said decisively. Brownie noticed that her green eyes resolutely bored into Bryan’s.

“The club,” Brownie echoed inflexibly. “
Just the facts, ma’am
.”

Bryan blinked. “Of course, your great-auntie is the orchestrator of the whole caboodle. She’s the master criminal of all that tomfoolery. She’s got all the women in this county riled up and ready to go on Thursday nights. It’s like they was going to the opera. Sparkly dresses and big hats with feathers on them. Big purses, high heels, red lipstick. And do you know what they bring with them? My wife said they pour cheap wine and Cheetos on top of ice cream.” He grimaced in a way that suggested the thought of such a thing would make him vomit. “Twaddle.”

I need a feather on my fedora
, Brownie thought.
Cheetos on top of ice cream don’t sound half bad.

 
“And— ” Bryan trailed off as he realized what he was saying and to whom he was saying it “— what do you kids want?”

“You called the emergency line yesterday,” Janie said, and Brownie swore the girl sounded just like a real cop. She could have fooled someone with a bright light and magnifying glass.

“Yeah,” Bryan agreed in an uncomfortable tone of voice. “I called Mary Lou.”

“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?”