Hiss of Death: A Mrs. Murphy Mystery

by Rita Mae Brown; Sneaky Pie Brown

“No.” The gray batted something to and fro.

  “Dammit, I’m in no mood to fool with you!” Harry grabbed her tail and pulled out the protesting cat, who had the sense to put whatever she was playing with in her mouth.

  Once Pewter was in the truck, Harry closed the door. She climbed in on the driver’s side.

  Mrs. Murphy and Tucker wanted to know what Pewter had. Finally, the gray dropped it; a tiger stone, brown with a golden stripe, fell from her mouth. The size of an oblong nickel, it had been carved into a scarab beetle.

  “I thought it was a mole.” Mrs. Murphy was disappointed.

  “It glitters in the sun. It’s a good size to play with.” Pewter didn’t protest as Harry picked it up.

  She wiped it on her jeans, then held the stone scarab in the palm of her hand. “Is this an Egyptian symbol for death?”

  Then she thought, How morbid. She so liked Paula. Harry wasn’t the weepy type, but her heart raced and she felt a sinking sensation in her stomach.

  The sirens of Crozet’s rescue squad howled in the near distance. Hearing their shrill call, she slipped the scarab into her pocket.

  Within two minutes, she saw the flashing lights at the turn of the farm driveway. She would have to see Paula’s body again, for Harry would need to lead them to it. Her one comfort was that Paula had died doing something she loved. Then she wondered what comfort that was. A good woman had died much too young.

  The large carton with one thousand pink rubber bracelets covered a fourth of Harry’s kitchen table. Mrs. Murphy and Pewter had inspected the carton when it was first placed on the old wooden farm table. Now their faces were in the crunchie bowl on the counter, out of reach of Tucker.

  Cynthia Cooper, an officer in the Albemarle County sheriff’s department and Harry’s closest neighbor, sat at the table. Harry gave her a Coca-Cola, grabbing one herself as she sat down.

  “How long before Fair gets home?” Coop asked.

  “No telling. Now’s when all the crossbreds, quarter horses, and Warmbloods are foaling. The Thoroughbreds are done, of course. He says he’ll get here as soon as he can. I’m okay. I mean, it was a shock to find her. I liked Paula so much.”

  “Glad they let you take the carton and the additional numbers. Otherwise you’d have a scramble. I’d help.”

  “I know you would.” Harry rattled the ice cubes in her glass. “Guess I’ll find out if Paula was right.”

  “About what?” Coop wondered.

  “Huh, oh, I forgot you aren’t on that committee.”

  “I’m on the wetlands committee with you, not the five-K. You’re on more committees than I can remember. I don’t know how you do it.” Coop paused, then kindly suggested, “Maybe the shock was greater than you realize.”

  “Because I’m not normally forgetful?”

  Coop nodded. “Sort of.”

  “She was in the prime of life.”

  Coop nodded. “Right. What was Paula right about?”

  “Oh, that. Well, I do know, but we had a fulsome discussion about how many bracelets to order. I wanted to save money and only get five hundred. Paula said we needed more because we could sell them. Paula said widen the circle. I’m afraid I was stubborn. The whole committee leaned on me, so Paula ordered the extra five hundred.”

  “She was right, I think.”

  “Well, she said charge five dollars for anyone not running. The runners also get their nice chain with the ID tag, plus their number. Not that they’ll wear their number after the race.”

  “BoomBoom will.”

  They both laughed, for BoomBoom Craycroft never showed much interest in running. She did Pilates and that sort of exercise.

  “She just might. Poor Boom. She’ll have to wear one of those horrible compression bras or she’ll black her eyes,” Harry mused.

  “She is a well-built woman.”

  “You know a man isn’t overly bright about women if he’s talking to you and his eyes never move above your breasts.” Harry shook her head.

  “I lift his chin until his eyes meet mine,” Coop said, smiling. Harry thought a moment. “You remember Fair and I were given those three wonderful Thoroughbred mares?”

  “Do.”

  “Anyway, I did my homework, and we bred them. I love bloodline research, as you know. Three gorgeous foals. You see the two yearlings out there now. They’re at that goofy stage. But the big bay colt, six months old, was following me when I walked out to check my vines. He whinnied. I turned just as he collapsed. That fast.” She snapped her fingers. “Fair opened him up. His aorta burst. Fair said it rarely happens, but the wall of the aorta was very thin in a spot. Boom. He was such a good guy. I miss him. Actually, I miss a lot of people and animals who have gone on.”

  “Me, too.” Coop sighed.

  “I keep going back to the sight of Paula slumped over her table. I feel like I’m missing something. There was the hornet. She didn’t have her kit. Odd, she was afraid to give herself a shot.” She paused. “I just have a funny feeling, a little tinge of fear myself.”

  “People are afraid enough as it is.” Cooper finished her Coca-Cola.

  “The media sells fear daily. Terrorists. Your cholesterol. Pollution. Every syndrome they can think of, make up, or find initials for. Buy this potion or that bottle of prescription pills. It’s all commercially motivated.”

  “I think so, too.” Coop studied the carton. “Want me to help you bag these with the numbers and ID tags?”

  “Coop, that would be great. I always feel better if I’m busy. But this is your day off. I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

  “Mulching the garden. That can wait.”

  As the two gathered the tote bags with 5K Breast Cancer Awareness printed on them, the bracelets, and the ID tags, they worked in harmony, as those close to each other do.

  “Whose idea was it to tie the ID tags on the outside of the bags so you don’t waste time writing at the check-in table?” Coop inquired. “I mean, for those who have preregistered.”

  “Mine. If someone shows up who has preregistered, we can quickly write their name on the ID tag. Doesn’t look as nice as the printed ones, but that’s okay. Anything to simplify the process.”

  “Good idea. Is Susan running?” She mentioned Harry’s friend since cradle days.

  “Whole family.”

  “That’s great. Poor Susan and Ned, though. One kid in undergraduate school, one in graduate. My God, it must cost a fortune.”

  “Brooks helps by going in-state. Danny,” Harry said, now mentioning Susan’s son, the older child and only son, “is at the Wharton School of Business at the University of Pennsylvania, and he worked to pay his tuition. They help with his rent. Danny is incredibly motivated.”

  “He has to be. The University of Pennsylvania isn’t cheap.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s a great school. Susan teases him that when he’s rich he can keep her in the style to which she is unaccustomed.”

  Coop laughed. “He’ll go out in the world and be one of the fifty-three percent of Americans who pay for the forty-seven percent who pay no taxes—like you and I, who work our asses off.”

  “That fact isn’t lost on me.” Harry clipped a shiny ID tag to the outside of a tote bag. “Paula used to talk about what healthcare is going to cost. She used to bemoan it and wonder why doctors and nurses had let control of medicine slip out of their hands.”

  “Who knows?” Coop shrugged. “It’s not healthcare reform, it’s insurance reassignment.”

  “Whatever it is, all this spending scares me.”

  Coop stifled a guffaw. “Harry, you don’t like spending money. It pains you.”

  “My parents taught me to save for a rainy day.” She thought for a second. “But I’m not ungenerous.”

  “No, you’re not. You feed your friends, you make us wonderful pots of flowers, and you’ll help anyone with their outdoor chores, plus you do all your own. I remember how shocked I was last winter when you bought Fair that beautifu
l cashmere sweater. Made me glad every now and then you could have a weak moment like the rest of us.”

  “He looks so good in it.”

  “He looks good in everything.”

  “Does. Poor guy, foaling season wears him out. He’s no different than an OB/GYN. Babies always arrive at the most inconvenient times, and you have to be there. He’s more upset about not being here right this minute than I am. It was upsetting to find Paula. She hadn’t been dead for long. Cool but not waxy-looking. No rigor mortis. She looked as though she fell asleep. She died too young, but I hope she didn’t suffer. I remember Paula talking about her patients at our meetings. There’s so much cancer. So much suffering. I don’t just mean breast cancer. I mean cancer. It seems every time I turn around, someone is diagnosed with some form of it.”

  “Yeah, I know. I don’t understand it.”

  “Oh, hey.” Harry reached into her jeans pocket to pull out the tiger’s-eye scarab, which she put on the table. “Found this in Paula’s driveway. Pewter was playing with it.”

  “I found it.”

  “Pewter, she gave you credit,” Mrs. Murphy said.

  “Yeah, well, you can never be too careful. They take credit for our work. You’d think they invented life. Ever listen to the way they teach history? It’s all about them,” Pewter complained.

  “They are self-centered,” Mrs. Murphy agreed, “but Mom isn’t.”

  “She’s okay,” Pewter grudgingly agreed. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be vigilant.”

  No point in arguing with Pewter when she slipped into one of her moods. Plus, Mrs. Murphy knew Pewter was right. Harry really was good, but even with Harry, half the time you had to think for her. Humans missed so much. However, Harry always put out breakfast right on time. That alone was worth overlooking flawed senses and cockeyed interpretations of events.

  “Remember in high school when scarab bracelets were the thing?” Cooper admired the neatly carved stone bug.

  “I’ve never understood why the ancient Egyptians made so many representations of them. After all, they are dung beetles.”

  “Who knows? That will give me something to look up on the Internet.”

  “Aren’t they part of the death cult? Can’t remember.”

  “I’ll look that up, too.”

  Harry put a pink bracelet in a bag. “Odd, isn’t it, I mean, if I’m right about the death stuff, that I found this in Paula’s drive?”

  “I found it!” Pewter hollered, a crunchie falling out of her mouth.

  By eleven Saturday morning, at the race registration table Harry had run out of pink bracelets. Five hundred and forty-two graced competitors’ wrists. The rest were sold. She sat there wishing Paula could have known she was right. Next year, Harry would know to order more, to overcome her natural reticence to be optimistic, especially when a check was to be written.

  Many people stopped by and expressed sorrow. If nothing else, Harry consoled herself with the fact that Paula Benton had lived a good life, touched many people, helped many. Harry had not chosen a helping profession. Her husband, Paula, and Coop had. Every single day they gave and gave and gave. They endured long training for this, particularly Fair. A physician or nurse need learn only one muscular and skeletal system; a veterinarian had to learn many. Then there was the matter of blood chemistry. It made her head spin.

  Cory Schaeffer, as titular head of the 5K race, was the first one to begin running when the gun sounded. A split second later, he was engulfed by others.

  As the participants ran through the streets of Charlottesville, numbers clearly visible on their backs, Harry and Alicia toted up the sums. The registration fees netted $10,840. The sale of bracelets to noncompetitors brought another $2,290. Spontaneous donations added up to $3,556. The BMW dealership had donated a new 3 Series, and raffle tickets to win it sold for $100. The drawing would be at a dinner weeks later to give the organizers time to sell all the tickets. So far that had already garnered more than $75,000. The raffle tickets numbered up to one thousand. They had two hundred and fifty left to sell.

  Dr. Isadore Wineberg, whom everyone called Izzy, one of Paula’s favorite doctors in the operating room, had approached the dealership. His pitch to the manager was, given the number of BMWs you sell to those of us in the medical profession, how about donating one for this good cause? The manager agreed.

  Alicia checked the time. “Someone ought to be crossing the finish line soon.” She nudged Harry. “Wake up.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Want to bet five dollars that the first one to cross the finish line will be a member of the running club?”

  “No. You’d win. I say we bet on the age of that person.”

  “Now, there’s a thought.” Alicia touched her lips for a moment with her forefinger.

  Both Harry and Alicia looked healthy and fit. Alicia looked ten years younger than her age.

  “I say the fastest person will be thirty-two.” Harry pulled out five dollars.

  “Five dollars?” Alicia matched the bill.

  “Right.”

  “Twenty-five,” Alicia said.

  “What happens if we’re both wrong?”

  “We put that sum into the kitty.” Alicia leaned back in her rickety chair.

  “Fair enough.”

  Within three minutes, they discovered they’d both lost the bet as a roar went up at the finish line. The winner, Mac Dennison, was forty-eight and a workout buddy of Annalise’s. Right on his heels was a cross-country runner from the high school, Tara Poletsky, all of sixteen.

  As people crossed the finish line, they were handed bottles of water and could stand under the hose if they wished. Coop did very well, coming in twenty-first.

  Noddy Cespedes finished in front of Coop. One of Noddy’s gym rats, sixty-three years old, Jim O’Hanran, finished behind Coop.

  Each participant received a rousing cheer. Each cheer reminded both Harry and Alicia why they lived in Crozet. They never found a place they loved as much as central Virginia. Each woman hoped other people loved where they lived, too.

  Happiness is pretty simple: someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to. That’s what Alicia’s grandmother used to say, and to that the two friends added, “Animals to love and a place to love.”

  When Susan crossed the line, her family had preceded her. Both Alicia and Harry waited there to cheer her on. They’d put the little strongbox of cash in Alicia’s hard-used Range Rover, locking it up.

  Once Susan caught her breath, she put her hands on her hips, bent over, took another big gulp, and stood up. “Harry, Alicia, let’s all make a date for our mammograms.”

  “Oh, God, Susan!” Harry laughed.

  “She’s right,” Alicia commented. “It’s an easy thing to put off.”

  “It isn’t the most pleasant thing.” Harry grimaced.

  “Better than a colonoscopy.” Susan laughed. “I ran for a while next to Dr. Izzy. He said that every hospital employee that could ran today, but that everyone will buy a BMW ticket in honor of Paula. That means we’ve just finished off selling all the tickets to the BMW.”

  “Wonderful.” Alicia beamed.

  Harry walked back to the table in case anyone needed anything. Garvey Watson, the owner of a men’s clothing store, had taken her place so she could watch her friends finish. Susan looked for her family, and Alicia waited for BoomBoom, who soon heaved into sight.

  She gladly took the water bottle from Alicia when she finished. BoomBoom took a swig, received a congratulatory kiss, and whispered, “Damned hard on the knees!”

  • • •

  Meanwhile, at the Central Virginia Hospital, Dr. Jerome Neff stood by the head of pathology as she performed an autopsy on Paula Benton. Dr. Neff, like all of the surgeons, had greatly respected and liked Paula. He often requested her for his surgeries, as well as Toni Enright. He thought those two nurses were the best he’d worked with in the operating room during his long career. After gaining permission f
rom her mother, Dr. Neff arranged the autopsy. Given Paula’s excellent health and her continual positive outlook, Dr. Neff remained very curious to know what had snatched her away.

  Dr. Annalise Veronese, young, pretty, highly competent and motivated, finished the procedure. Sewed back up, Paula’s remains were respectfully placed in a body bag, then in the cooler, to be called for by the local mortuary. Her mother had requested that Paula be cremated.

  After washing up, Annalise walked out with Dr. Neff. “Anaphylactic shock.”

  He sighed. “The tissues were pale. The fluids don’t stay in vessels. No pressure in the pipe. Classic shock.”

  She put her hand on his forearm. “If only she’d had a kit out there. People who are allergic to anything that causes this type of shock should have kits in cars, in the bedroom, in the kitchen, wherever they spend a lot of time.”

  His jaw tightened, then relaxed. “Annalise, ever notice how medical people, and I include myself, never take our own advice?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s one of the puzzling things about our profession. I’d give Paula her B-twelve shots. She’d have to turn her head away. She wouldn’t do it herself. But I believe if she’d had a kit within reach she would have jammed that needle in her arm.” Annalise sighed. “I’m going to miss her.”

  “Me, too,” Jerome sadly agreed.

  Once alone, Annalise called Cory Schaeffer, who had finished his run.

  “Anything?” Cory got right to the point.

  “Yes, anaphylactic shock. The hornet’s sting killed her.”

  After a brief silence, Cory said, “It’s not a good way to die, but it doesn’t take long. Poor Paula.” Then he said, “All of us who worked in surgery with Paula will pay you for your time. I know this is a day off, and—”

  Annalise cut him off. “Cory, no. It was important to do this. She meant a lot to a lot of people. Don’t even mention money.” She changed the subject. “How’d the five-K go?”

  “Successful. Big turnout. Some of your buddies from Heavy Metal Gym ran. Mac Dennison hit the tape first. A good day.” He then returned to Paula. “Isn’t it amazing, if you stop to think about it, that a small insect could kill so quickly?”