Brownie and the Dame Read Online Free Page A

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