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glanced up, both of Miz Demetrice’s eyebrows had arched upward.
    When Miz Adelia hung up, she said to Miz Demetrice, “That was Willodean.”
    Brownie perked up. He liked Willodean Gray, the beautiful sheriff’s deputy. She had a gun, and she knew how to use it. However, she wouldn’t let him use it or even hold it.
    “She’s got Janie for Spring Break and turns out there’s problems at work. Steve Simms broke his leg water skiing, and that other deputy’s got food poisoning something fierce. Doc Goodjoint said he ain’t never seen a fella throw up so much. So Willodean wonders if we might enjoy a bit of Janie’s company.” Miz Adelia flipped more pancakes and glowered at the cut-rate spatula she held.
    “Janie?” Brownie said around a mouthful of pancakes. Janie was Willodean’s eight-year-old niece from Dallas. She liked all things police. Flatfoots and gumshoes often run up against each other. This should be interesting. She don’t act like a girl, and she also liked my stun gun.
    “Chew and swallow before you choke,” Miz Demetrice advised gravely.
    “Hey,” Janie said from the door of the kitchen. Willodean Gray stood behind the eight-year-old tucking her cell phone away in a pocket. They had clearly come in from the front, and Willodean had been calling from the deputy’s car while it was parked outside.
    Willodean smiled crookedly.
    Janie crossed her arms over her chest. “We didn’t see a single DB this time, Aunt Wills.”
    “Oh, the day is early, dear,” Miz Demetrice advised thoughtfully. “DB does stand for dead body, I assume?”
    “Wait until I get my hands on the person who took my spatula,” Miz Adelia exclaimed.

 
    Chapter 3
    Brownie and the Dizzying Dame,
    and the Saucy Sheriff
     
    Monday, April 2 nd
    Brownie observed the dame. She was a dame. Heck, she was the dame. She didn’t even compare to Suzy Derwinkle or Madison Blue. Actually, Suzy Derwinkle or Madison Blue didn’t compare to her . Most importantly she was related to cops. Lots of cops. Her mother was a cop. Her aunts were cops. Her grandmother was a cop. She hung out with cops. She knew all the cool criminal terms and slang. In the brief time Brownie had spent with Janie, he’d known she was special. But it was like Daddy had once advised, “Play hard to get, kid.”
    “‘Sup,” Brownie said nonchalantly.
    Janie directed him a look. She took in the fedora and checked out the suit. “What are you supposed to be? A gangster or a funeral director?”
    Brownie sniffed. He tilted the fedora so that it was properly cocked. And she had a smart mouth. He didn’t really like girls, but Janie wasn’t exactly a girl. Well, she is a girl, but she acts like a boy. And she’s cute, too. Not that I’m noticing.  
    “I’m a gumshoe,” he announced proudly.
    Janie looked blankly at him.
    “A private dick, a shamus, a sleuth,” he explained.
    “Oh,” Janie said. The single two-letter word was full of disregard and insouciance, but Brownie could tell she was really fascinated. There was a definite sparkle in her green eyes. His eyes were green, too but more of a hazel green than the spitfire in the girl’s.
    Willodean profusely thanked Miz Adelia and Miz Demetrice and departed, all pert and official in her sheriff’s deputy uniform. She slipped out the way she had come before anyone could change their minds. “Be good, Janie!” she called as she went.
    “There’s pancakes,” Miz Adelia announced, “and chocolate milk.”
    “I could eat,” Janie offered.
    Brownie patted the seat beside him. He looked her over. She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that said “I’m the BAD COP in Good Cop/Bad Cop.” He approved. Bad girls were what Ma warned him about, and the minute after his mother’s back was turned, his father said, “Bad girls are fun, boy.” Bad girl cops have to be even better than fun, right?
    “Pancakes good,” he said.
    Janie grimaced and sat beside him, “I’d rather have