Рита Браун - Hiss Of Death

“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 beautiful 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.

B y 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.