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
“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
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