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
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
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