Рита Браун - Hiss Of Death

“Once they finished puking,” Cory sarcastically replied.

She responded, “I know, but I find it fascinating. Beautiful, even. The human body is put together like a great machine. Some are Chevys, some are trucks, some are Ferraris. Paula was a Ferrari.”

“Thanks, sugar. As always, you done good.” He used the colloquial expression. “Paula was a good hand in the operating room.”

“No more,” Annalise flatly said.

“Gotta go. Brody has a soccer game.” He named his oldest child, eleven.

“I’ll see you Monday,” she replied.

“Right. Be good to see you, as always.” He pushed the off button on his cellphone.

• • •

Dr. Jerome Neff, a thoughtful man, called Harry that night. They knew each other, a nodding acquaintance, but as she had found Paula, he wanted to let her know.

“Thank you, Dr. Neff.” Harry hung up the phone and told Fair.

• • •

Later that evening, the long twilight casting a silver-blue light bright enough to see everything, Harry and Fair, hand in hand, walked along the rows of corn, little tips just breaking through the soil. The sunflowers had also just broken ground; the broccoli in the garden was already four inches out of the ground. The petite manseng vines flashed early green leaves.

The two cats and the dog trailed them.

“Gotcha.” Mrs. Murphy leapt straight up to catch a moth, but it eluded her with a flutter.

“They aren’t fast. They just go higher,” Pewter noted.

Harry and Fair stopped to lean against the back pasture fence.

“Never get tired of looking at the mountains.” Harry smiled.

“Me neither, but I’m creaky tonight.”

“After delivering four foals, I expect your back aches. Take a hot shower when we get back, and I’ll massage your back and shoulders.”

“I need it. Hey, how about Coop coming in twenty-first?”

“I know. It really was a perfect day for a race. They were hot when they finished, but the temperature hung in the mid-sixties all day.”

“It was a perfect day.” He put his arm around her waist. “So, next week, are you and the girls going to your mammogram party?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I guess.”

He squeezed her slightly. “I know you don’t like the boob squisher.”

“Well, honey, imagine if you flopped your part on a tray and a big flattish camera pressed down on it for a second or two.”

“I’d rather not.”

H arry, Susan, BoomBoom, Alicia, and Coop laughed as they ran across the parking lot at the hospital auxiliary on Pantops Mountain through a sudden hard spring rain, drenching them.

“Thank God for remote keys.” Susan pushed the unlock icon on her overlarge fob.

Harry, already at the passenger side of Susan’s Audi station wagon, jumped in the second she heard the lock release. Dripping, Harry leaned over the passenger seat to grab the towel Susan kept in the back to wipe up after her own corgi, Owen.

BoomBoom scrambled to get into Alicia’s Mustang, and Coop got in her own car.

Susan slid behind the wheel. “Where did that rain come from? Wasn’t on the weather report.”

Harry shrugged as she wiped herself down. “Being a weatherman is the only job where you can be wrong half of the time and still pull a paycheck.”

“Got that right.” Susan glanced in the rearview mirror. “There goes the hair.”

After handing Susan the towel, Harry ran her fingers through her hair. “Just fixed mine.”

“You know, I’d whack this all off, but Ned loves my long hair. He even likes to brush it. I think when he was little he became mesmerized by his mother sitting at her makeup table.” She started her fancy station wagon, a gift from Ned, who wanted his wife to ride in style.

Susan couldn’t imagine living without her Audi, which she’d driven for two years.

“Funny, I haven’t thought of a dressing table in years,” said Harry. “My mom had one, too. You saw it. Had fabric around the two sides, hung to the ground. As I recall, it was a big rose print. She’d sit right up in the open middle, face to the mirror, lights blazing.”

“Your mother, like you, was so organized,” said Susan. “All her lipsticks stuck out from this little wooden box she’d made. Full of holes. Every lipstick had a place, and they’d never fall over or roll on the ground. Given her cats, I suppose that was an invention born of necessity.”

“I disappointed Mom. She wanted a girly girl and got me.”

“Oh, Harry, she loved you, and every Saturday the farm was full of cars, overflowing with boys. You were the most popular girl at school.”

“Because I could throw a football farther than they could.” Harry laughed. “BoomBoom was the most popular.”

“Maybe.” Susan turned toward Route 64, following Alicia and BoomBoom, as well as Coop. “Isn’t it great that Alicia bought a Mustang convertible? She could have bought a Ferrari or a Porsche—”

Harry interrupted Susan, something she rarely did even to her dearest friend, since she considered it impossibly rude. “Can’t believe you just named a Ferrari. I’m the gearhead, not you.”

“But I listen.” Susan flattered her, but it was true. “I just love that she bought an American car. Of course, she has her Range Rover for serious farm chores, but for her thrill car, she bought American. Said it makes her feel like she did in the sixties. Young.”

“Hmm. I never think about Alicia being in her fifties, because she’s so glamorous. Well, so is BoomBoom, but her face wasn’t plastered all over America like Alicia’s.” Harry considered that. “It’s a curse, fame. The people who seek it deserve it.”

Susan laughed. “My, aren’t we profound.”

Harry replied, “I’d punch you, but you’re driving. Anyway, Alicia never sought it. She more or less stumbled into film, and the camera did the rest. Camera loves her.”

“Yes, it does. And she had the sense to get out with bundles of money when she reached middle age. Course, inheriting Mary Pat Reines’s estate hardly hurt.”

“Ever notice how some people are just lucky? Lucky in love. Lucky in their careers. Some are lucky with money. I don’t know if you can have it all, but, boy, some people come close.” Harry studied the car in front of them. “Love that she bought the five-point-zero-L engine and tricked the Mustang out in red candy metallic.”

“Pretty cool. You never owned a convertible. Given how much you love cars—both you and BoomBoom—I’m surprised.” Susan got in the right lane so a Honda could pass her. “How come you never bought a convertible?”

“Couldn’t afford luxuries. All I could swing was the F-One-fifty, which I bought used. That 1978 isn’t the smoothest ride, but I think it looks terrific, especially since my wonderful husband had it painted and the upholstery tweaked for our anniversary.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Harry blinked. “Sorry. I’m a little concerned that you all had to wait for me while they called me back for second pictures.”

“That happened to me once. Sometimes the first set of mammograms isn’t clear. In my case, a bit of scar tissue showed up.”

“How’d you get that scar tissue in your breast?”

“I’ll answer that when you answer my question.”

“I can afford a convertible now, but I really am a purist. I love the line of a roof if a car is well designed, and the Mustang really is. So’s the Charger. Like the Camaro, that’s the Mustang’s competitor, in case you don’t know.”

“Didn’t.”

“Anyway, they’re all retro but forward, great designs and truly American. But to be safe, a convertible has to weigh more, sometimes as much as four hundred pounds more, and I abhor that. Hence, no convertible.”