Рита Браун - Hiss Of Death

2 August 2010

Author’s Note

David and Ellen King hosted the Pink Ribbon Polo Classic on their polo field at the vineyards. Both teams were well matched in the 2010 contest; both played well and played clean. Mr. King, aggressive and smart, enlivened the game. I mention this because so often patrons, the sponsors of a team, aren’t too good on the field. Rob Rinehart and Gary Leonard—the umpires, rarely celebrated—did a wonderful job.

Joan Hamilton endured endless questions about liquid nitrogen and shipping equine semen after which we would veer off, as usual, into a conversation about bloodlines. I couldn’t live without Joan. For one thing, she’s so much smarter than I am she can steer me back on course if needs be.

A. P. Indy, a stallion at Lane’s End Farm, in 2011 has a stud fee of $150,000. Before the depression his fee was $300,000, maybe a bit more. The human variety of this magical substance is far less expensive, proving, perhaps, that horses are more valuable than humans.

Setting the Record Straight

All these years, my human and that Goody Two-shoes, Sneaky Pie, have been using me as the butt of their jokes. Finally, I’ve been able to sneak in the truth at the very last minute with the corrected galley proofs. They’ll never know.

I am not fat. I am not old but am sort of middle-aged. I have lustrous green eyes and gray fur. I am supremely intelligent. There wouldn’t be plots worth squat without me in them.

As to my real life, I will kill that blue jay. I am tired of my prior attempts at murder being put in the books as though I haven’t a prayer.

I do have a prayer. “God helps those who help themselves.” I will help myself to that cussed blue jay.

There. The truth at last.

Pewter

Dedicated with admiration

to

Lima

the Texas cat who saved her human from a pit bull attack

Books by Rita Mae Brown & Sneaky Pie Brown

WISH YOU WERE HERE•REST IN PIECES

MURDER AT MONTICELLO•PAY DIRT•MURDER, SHE MEOWED

MURDER ON THE PROWL•CAT ON THE SCENT

SNEAKY PIE’S COOKBOOK FOR MYSTERY LOVERS

PAWING THROUGH THE PAST•CLAWS AND EFFECT

CATCH AS CAT CAN•THE TAIL OF THE TIP-OFF

WHISKER OF EVIL•CAT’S EYEWITNESS•SOUR PUSS

PUSS ’N CAHOOTS•THE PURRFECT MURDER•SANTA CLAWED

CAT OF THE CENTURY•HISS OF DEATH

Books by Rita Mae Brown with “Sister” Jane Arnold in the Outfoxed Series

OUTFOXED•HOTSPUR•FULL CRY•THE HUNT BALL

THE HOUNDS AND THE FURY•THE TELL-TALE HORSE

HOUNDED TO DEATH

Books by Rita Mae Brown

A NOSE FOR JUSTICE•ANIMAL MAGNETISM:

MY LIFE WITH CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL

THE HAND THAT CRADLES THE ROCK

SONGS TO A HANDSOME WOMAN•THE PLAIN BROWN RAPPER

RUBYFRUIT JUNGLE•IN HER DAY•SIX OF ONE

SOUTHERN DISCOMFORT•SUDDEN DEATH•HIGH HEARTS

STARTED FROM SCRATCH: A DIFFERENT KIND OF WRITER’S MANUAL

BINGO•VENUS ENVY

DOLLEY: A NOVEL OF DOLLEY MADISON IN LOVE AND WAR

RIDING SHOTGUN•RITA WILL: MEMOIR OF A LITERARY RABBLE-ROUSER

LOOSE LIPS•ALMA MATER•SAND CASTLE

About the Authors

RITA MAE BROWN is the bestselling author of several books. An Emmy-nominated screenwriter and poet, she lives in Afton, Virginia. Her website is www.ritamaebrown.com. She does not own a computer. God willing, she never will. Sometimes the website manager sends your queries. The safest way to reach her is in care of Bantam Books.

SNEAKY PIE BROWN, a tiger cat born somewhere in Albemarle County, Virginia, was discovered by Rita Mae Brown at her local SPCA. They have collaborated on nineteen Mrs. Murphy mysteries: Wish You Were Here; Rest in Pieces; Murder at Monticello; Pay Dirt; Murder, She Meowed; Murder on the Prowl; Cat on the Scent; Pawing Through the Past; Claws and Effect; Catch as Cat Can; The Tail of the Tip-Off; Whisker of Evil; Cat’s Eyewitness; Sour Puss; Puss ’n Cahoots; The Purrfect Murder; Santa Clawed; Cat of the Century; and Hiss of Death , in addition to Sneaky Pie’s Cookbook for Mystery Lovers .

Read on for an exclusive sneak peek at Rita Mae Brown & Sneaky Pie Brown’s next Mrs. Murphy Mystery

The Big Cat Nap

Available in hardcover from Bantam Books in Spring 2012

A red-shouldered hawk, tiny mouse in her talons, swooped in front of the 2007 Outback rolling along the wet country road. She landed in an old cherry tree covered in pink blossoms, which fluttered to the ground from the hawk’s light impact.

“Will you look at that?” Miranda Hogendobber exclaimed from behind the Outback’s wheel, as she drove to the garden center over in Waynesboro.

“Raptors fascinate me, but they scare me, too,” Harry Haristeen remarked. “Poor little mouse.”

“There is that.” Miranda slowed for a sharp curve.

Central Virginia, celebrating high spring, was also digging out from torrential rains over the weekend.

Harry, forty and fit, and Miranda, late sixties and not advertising, had worked together for years at the old Crozet post office.

When Miranda’s husband, George, died, Harry, fresh from Smith College, took his position as head of the P.O., never thinking the job would last nearly two decades. Miranda, despite her loss, showed up every day to help orient the young woman whom she’d known as a baby. Harry’s youth raised Miranda’s spirits. In mourning, it’s especially good to have a task. Over the years they became extremely close, almost a mother—daughter bond. Harry’s mother had died when Harry was in her early twenties.

Noticing fields filled with the debris of the now-subsiding waters, Harry observed, “What a mess. Can’t turn out stock in that. You just don’t know what else is wrapped up in all those branches and twigs.”

“Hey, there’s a plastic chair. Might look good in your yard.” Miranda smiled.

“Well,” Harry drawled the word out, like the native Southerner she was.

The younger woman, generous with her time and happy to feed anyone, could be tight with the buck. Miranda couldn’t resist teasing Harry about a free if ugly chair.

“This is sure better than my 1961 Falcon,” the older woman said. “Initially I resisted the Outback’s fancy radio. I mean, this is a used car and had the Sirius capabilities, but I didn’t want to pay extra. How did I live without it?” Miranda mused, now a Subaru convert.

“Regular cars can now do more than Mercedes or even Rolls from ten years ago. That’s what amazes me: the speed with which the technological developments of those high-end cars became commonplace in much lower priced vehicles. But I still love my old 1978 F-150 and you still drive your old Falcon. Hey, want me to wax it?”

“Would you? What a lovely offer.”

“You know how crazy I get with anything with an engine in it. I’ll clean the tires, refresh your dash. I’m a one-woman detailing operation.”

Her eyebrows knitting together, Miranda said, “Uh-oh.”

An odd pop, then a lurch, made holding the Outback on the road difficult.

“Put on your flashers and brake.”

They slid toward a narrow drainage ditch, and the air bags billowed up inside as the wheel dipped in the ditch. Miranda couldn’t see.

If there was enough room, narrow drainage ditches, about one to two feet deep, paralleled the country roads. Occasionally, small culverts passed the runoff under farm driveways or sharp curves, moving the water, which could rise very quickly, away from the roads.