Brownie and the Dame

by C. L. Bevill

  They hunkered down and waited. Janie surveyed the area. “It might be one of those ladies who went inside.”

  “Hey, ain’t that your aunt?”

  Sure enough, Willodean Gray came walking up and went inside, too.

  “See,” Janie said, “up to something, too. I’m going to tell Grandma.”

  “Could be perfectly innocent,” Brownie suggested.

  A blackened shape sidled up to them and whined. “Oh hey girl,” Brownie said. Precious leaned in for a scratch. “What are you doin’ here? Did Auntie D. bring you?”

  “If it’s perfectly innocent, then why all the sneaking around?” Janie temporarily gave over both of her hands to make Precious’s back leg twitch in grateful happiness.

  “Dames,” Brownie said derogatorily. “Who can say why they think the way they think?”

  “You mean, grown-ups,” Janie snapped. Precious made a noise as if someone had taken away her favorite chew-toy.

  “Right. Grown-ups. Them, too.” Precious yipped, and both children went back to the business of making a dog drool.

  There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute. Brownie was aware that he had messed up, but he was unsure of the most suitable way to fix it. His father would buy his mother flowers and a box of Godiva chocolates for those not-so-infrequent occasions when he would screw up in a spectacular way. Brownie didn’t want to buy Janie flowers or chocolates. He dug in his pocket and offered her an open, half-empty roll of Life Savers.

  Janie took it and grunted at him. “I like the cherry ones,” she said with a sniff.

  He took it back and ripped the paper away until he found a cherry one. Then he offered it to her.

  Then he gave a pineapple one to Precious who licked it twice, shook her head, and trotted away.

  Then he showed Janie how to make a whistle with a long stem of grass. The impromptu how-to session and Lifesavers weren’t flowers and chocolates, but it seemed to work. I’ll have to tell Pa about it.

  They sat in the grass and whacked some enterprising insects away. The fireflies came out, and Brownie caught three more than Janie.

  As they were letting fireflies loose, a group of women came shrieking out of the building.

  Brownie and Janie stared. As far as the two children could tell, nothing was on fire, or no one was bleeding, nor was there a rabid serial killer with a machete chasing them. The women howled like African monkeys and ran around the building in a counter-clockwise manner. They were all dressed to the nines. One woman had on a strapless, sequined, full-length gown that sparkled brilliantly. Others had large hats on with the plumage of a giant extinct dinosaur bird. One woman had transparent high heels on that looked as if goldfish were swimming in them.

  Brownie narrowed his eyes. They are goldfish. “How did she get the goldfish in the heels?”

  Janie frowned. “Dang. They are goldfish.”

  The last one around was a woman with a walker. She had a large round hat on that would have shaded her from the sun, and she had a mink stole wrapped around her neck, but neither dissuaded her from efficiently using the walker. She lagged behind, but the others came back to encourage her. Even Miz Demetrice, Miz Adelia, and Willodean participated.

  Thelda held up her iridescent pink skirts while she ran and she yelled, “Thou wanton, shrill-voiced strumpets!” The paintball gun bounced at her side, the strap still around her neck and shoulder.

  Janie said, “Are they nuts?”

  “Skirts,” Brownie said, but secretly he wanted to go shriek and run around the building, too. Looks like fun to me.

  Then the group enthusiastically high-fived each other and eagerly bumped knuckles to commemorate the auspicious occasion. They trudged back inside, awash with girlish giggles.

  A moment later, there was a prolonged scream.

  “That didn’t sound the same,” Brownie said.

  Janie said, “No, it didn’t.”

  They ran inside and found unadulterated bedlam.

  Chapter 10

  Brownie and the Climactic Conclusion

  Thursday, April 5th

  It was an insane asylum without the official mandate of a medical doctor.

  Miz Demetrice was screaming directions and waving her hands wildly. Miz Adelia was swatting Wilma Rabsitt away from piles of unopened decks of cards. Mary Jean Holmgreen was attempting to stick two bottles of alcohol down her brassiere. Mrs. McGee and her sister were shrieking like maddened banshees. Thelda had the paintball gun out and was twirling about in an effort to find an appropriate bull’s-eye. Willodean Gray had her cell phone out and was covering her other ear with her hand in order to hear what was being said on the phone.

  And that was just the ones that Brownie recognized. There were other women in the room doing things that he couldn’t even put a name to if he had wanted. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on one’s outlook, there were no dead bodies apparent.

  Thelda’s lunatic glance settled on Brownie, and she pointed the paintball gun menacingly at him. “Thou puny, whey-faced, raw-boned lout!” she bellowed.

  Janie took the piece of grass she was holding and formed the correct position with her hands and thumbs and abruptly whistled loudly and lingeringly. All at once, everyone stopped talking and moving. It was an interesting picture. Miz Demetrice had her arms frozen in the air and her mouth open to spew forth a new directive. Miz Adelia pointed a finger at Wilma Rabsitt while Wilma was immobile with three decks of cards held in one hand. Thelda glared at Brownie, with the business end of the paintball gun still locked on target. Willodean stared wide-eyed at her niece.

  “What’s the problem, ladies?” Janie asked with a great deal of authority in her eight-year-old voice.

  “Someone done stolt the flag!” Miz Mary Jean wailed, pointing an arthritic finger to where the flag had proudly waved in the artificial wind of an overworked fan, even while she shoved the last little bottle down her cleavage. “The Pegramville Women’s Club has had that flag since 1989! It had my son’s Calvin Klein’s stitched into it!”

  “And my great-uncle Theodoric’s uniform from WWII! He was there right after the Battle of the Bulge!” another woman called.

  “It’s got a thong from Victoria’s Secret!” someone else called, and helpless giggles closely followed.

  Willodean sighed loudly. “How did you two little varmints escape Bubba?”

  “He dint protest once when we said where we were goin’,” Brownie said immediately.

  “What, is he tied and gagged?” Willodean asked as she stared at Janie.

  Janie shrugged. “He was breathing just fine when we left. As a matter of fact, we put a pillow behind his head and tucked a blankie around him.”

  “Pain medication,” Miz Demetrice decided. Her arms lowered, and she genteelly straightened her white hair. Then she adjusted her silk dress and flung the end of the purple boa she was wearing over her shoulder.

  Brownie walked over to the flagpole and stand. The Boston fern had been turned on its side. The pole was lying on the laminate floor, and the flag was suspiciously absent.

  “The flag’s been nicked,” he announced as if no one in the room were already aware of the theft.

  “Thee! Thee!” Thelda yelled and pointed the paintball gun at him.

  “He didn’t do it,” Janie said. “We were outside, staking the place out. We didn’t see anyone but ya’ll. You know, running about the building like chickens with their heads cut off.”

  Miz Demetrice blushed furiously. “That’s just our way of warming up.”

  “Gets the blood pumping and all,” said another woman. “Listen Miz Demetrice, ifin we’re not goin’ to play, I best to get back to Austin. The Governor don’t sleep at night when I’m not warming up his backside.”

  “Oh, we’ll play,” Miz Demetrice said. “Let’s just— ”

  Brownie knelt down beside the pole and fingered the line that had held the flag in place. It was wet and soggy. He picked it up and held it to the light. Then he exam
ined the dirt that had spilled from the plant. One finger traced the pattern of a print in the loose soil.

  “Is that— ?” Janie asked.

  “I think so,” Brownie said. He took out his notepad, and together Janie and he conferred. They examined the hair he’d collected and the drawing of the footprint from the Boomer’s goat farm. He also extracted the digital camera, and they looked at the photos he’d taken.

  “Do you think— ?” Brownie asked.

  “I do think,” Janie agreed. The women of the Pegramville Women’s Club gathered around the children and watched silently as if witnessing the birth of a genius or possibly two.

  “How do we— ?”

  “We shadow the palooka,” Janie said seriously. “We tail the alleged perpetrator until they lead us to the loot.”

  Brownie looked around. “First we have to find the alleged perpetrator.”

  “I thought you said it had to be one of us,” Wilma Rabsitt said irately. A deck of cards fell out of her sleeve and hit the floor. Everyone paused to look at it, and Wilma turned the exact color of a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

  “No, I said we dint see no one else,” Brownie said. “At least, we dint see anyone human.”

  “Does it need to be tonight?” Miz Demetrice asked, looking around all the expectant women.

  “Naw, the perp will be around tomorrow,” Brownie said. “Right, Janie?”

  “You shred it, Wheat,” Janie agreed.

  * * *

  It wasn’t a hunter’s blind but it was close. It was downwind of the subject’s general vicinity and it was concealed by a half-burned oleander bush. Also it afforded a good view of the area they wished to scrutinize. The six people crowded around the window of the recently rebuilt caretaker’s house and peered out.

  Brownie had a pair of binoculars he’d acquired from somewhere. Janie perched at his side. Their little eyes peeped over the sill of the window, careful to keep mostly obscured.

  Miz Demetrice shifted uncomfortably. “How long do we have to stay here, Brownie?”

  “It’s a stakeout, see, sweetheart,” Brownie said, adjusting his fedora appropriately. He would have winked at his great-aunt, but he was busy watching outside.

  “Ifin you call me sweetheart once more, I’ll introduce your hindquarters to a finely trimmed switch,” Miz Demetrice said pleasantly.

  “Miz Demetrice,” Janie whispered, “the perp won’t lead us to the loot if we don’t play stupid. My grandma says criminals are real stupid.”

  “Oh, it’s not exactly a criminal,” Brownie said promptly.

  “I know, but the law is the law,” Janie said seriously.

  Miz Adelia shifted as she looked around the empty area. There was a plywood floor and no drywall on the studs yet. “Bubba, you ever goin’ to get this house finished?”

  Bubba shifted, too. “I got to repay Mr. Stinedurf for his car and that state trooper for his phone. Who knew a cell phone could cost so much? There were those fines that the judge imposed in Dallas, too. I also ruint the Boomer’s gate, and did I leave anything out? Oh yes, hospital bills, too. Well, finishing this house seems to be down on the list, and no, I ain’t taking the money from you, Ma.”

  Willodean shifted. “I could help you, Bubba.”

  “Uh, oh, say, is that a vampire in the garden?” Bubba asked. “One of them sparkly ones?”

  “I think Bubba would like the help, but he doesn’t want to take money from you,” Miz Demetrice said kindly to Willodean and judiciously changed the subject, “Brownie, is the perp about yet?”

  Brownie pulled away from the binoculars and then gave Janie a turn.

  “Shush!” Janie whispered. “We’ve got movement.”

  Everyone but Brownie and Janie stepped back into the shadows.

  Transfixed, Brownie and Janie watched as the perp came around the corner of the Snoddy Mansion, carefully sniffed the air, and looked around. Then the perp ambled around the other corner of the mansion.

  “Goin’ to the barn,” Brownie whispered. They all scrambled to get to another window that overlooked the barn.

  They watched the perp enter the barn. The perp cleverly nudged the door open and trotted inside. One limb managed to close the barn door.

  “Wow,” Willodean said. “That’s pretty clever.”

  “There’s a spot we can see inside,” Brownie said.

  “I didn’t know— ” Bubba said hoarsely.

  “Well, no one knew— ” Miz Demetrice added.

  “I knew— ” Miz Adelia said and shrugged when everyone looked at her angrily. “I thought ya’ll knew. It’s obvious as all get out but certainly not about the spatula.”

  Brownie led the rest of them to the barn. There was a way of getting to the hayloft without going inside the barn. Miz Demetrice lagged behind, but Bubba helped his mother up the mulberry tree; she was only sweating mildly by the time they got through the upper loft door.

  “Lord Almighty,” Miz Demetrice huffed. “I ain’t done that since I was knee high to a nickel slot machine.”

  “Shh,” Brownie whispered, “we don’t want to scare off the perp.”

  There was still hay in the loft, although it was old, and Bubba had told Brownie it was from the last time Miz Demetrice had taken in some donkeys that had been abandoned. The donkeys had found a home with the Stinedurfs across the road, but the hay had stayed and moldered. They inched quietly through the hay and reached the side of the loft and looked down.

  Below them was a wall of hay about four bales high. Brownie had made a little fort there at Christmas after discovering there wasn’t a Santa Claus or an Easter Bunny or a Tooth Fairy, and he’d had a great desire to be alone. Since Christmas, the perp had appropriated the fort and was using it for nefarious purposes.

  Not really nefarious.

  The perp lay on the hay-strewn floor and panted softly, surrounded by the ill-gotten booty. The flag was there, wadded up into a comfortable nest shape. The penguin perched by the bundle. The bras sat beside the clump, too, ready for something Brownie didn’t rightly understand. The cherry tree sat on the other side of the wadded flag, next to the spatula.

  Six faces stared down at the perp.

  Oh, the perp knew they were there. In fact, she turned her head and stared at them. Then she whined pitifully.

  “I get the flag and the penguin. Mebe even the tree,” Miz Adelia said. “Not so sure about the bras and the spatula.” She thought about it. “I’ll just get another spatula.”

  Bubba sighed. “Lew Robson tolt me that hound was fixed.”

  “Maybe it’s a miracle,” Janie said.

  Another perp trotted into the barn and sat next to the first one. He licked one of her ears and Brownie frowned. “Isn’t that Bill Clinton?”

  “Well, Bill shore do have a way with the ladies,” Miz Adelia said.

  “Look,” Willodean said. “She just had one.”

  Brownie gazed down in wonder. “Precious is having puppies?”

  “That’s the motive,” Janie said. “I guess we can’t throw a new mother into the slammer.”

  “Lissa Boomer is going to want that p-p-penguin back,” Brownie said. “You know, I think Lissa might have recognized Precious. That’s what that ‘hey’ look was about when we drove off from the Boomer farm.”

  “I’ll buy her another p-p-penguin,” Bubba said flatly. “Not sure ifin she’ll want that one back.”

  Bill Clinton whined and helped Precious with the first pup.

  “They’re so small,” Brownie wondered.

  “Won’t open their eyes for a few weeks neither,” Miz Demetrice said. “Well, congratulations chillen, you solved the case of the cryptic caper.”

  Brownie frowned. “Precious stole all that stuff to help with her puppies?”

  “She’s been acting very odd of late,” Bubba said. “Dint know she was about to have puppies.”

  Miz Demetrice stared at Precious. “Hound is purty smart. I reckon she wanted things she thought were valuable to peo
ple. If they were important to people, then she prolly thought they would be important to her babies. There’s another one.”

  “That explains the pattern in the map,” Janie said. “Bet it’s the way Precious wanders in a big loop and then comes back to the Snoddy Estate.”

  “I reckon I should call the veterinarian,” Miz Adelia said, “and maybe the Mercer sisters, too, to tell them where their dog is.”

  “We don’t have to keep Bill Clinton, too?” Miz Demetrice asked. “I don’t mind most democrats, but Slick Willie is, well, an exception.”

  Brownie sighed. Maybe I can have a puppy? Janie caught his eye, and she grinned slyly at him. Then she spared a moment to swiftly kiss his cheek.

  “You’re not bad for a guy who’s not a cop,” Janie said. She got up and followed Miz Adelia down the hay loft’s interior ladder.

  Bubba, Miz Demetrice, and Willodean looked at Brownie with interest.

  Brownie vigorously rubbed his cheek while grimacing. “I think I need some boiling water to get the cooties off,” he griped. “And Auntie D., can you please stop with the jokes? I’ll promise never to play one on you again. I’ll never sit on a potty again without feeling greasy, I swear.”

  Miz Demetrice grinned. “How did you know it was me?”

  “Well, Miz Adelia cain’t keep a joke to herself, and Bubba was, well, doing things that I reckon we don’t need to know about. Willodean wasn’t here for some of ‘em. Janie don’t seem to be the joke-playing type. It was a process of elimination. See swee— ”

  Bubba brushed his still clumped hair away from his forehead and shrugged. “Look, there’s another one. Good God, I hope she isn’t going to produce a record.”

  “Look at the ears on that one,” Brownie marveled. “I know what I’m bringing home as a souvenir.”

  “Maybe in six weeks or so. And I reckon you’ve got a name picked out already,” Miz Demetrice said.

  “You bet.” Brownie grinned broadly. “I’ve got it narrowed down to Perp, Sam Spade, or Bogie.” He shrugged. “But I could change my mind.”

  * * *