Hiss Of Death

Pud Benton held up a graceful ruby wineglass. The light streamed through, creating a shaft of ruby light that fell on the wall.

Harry noticed that Paula’s mother twirled the glass in her fingers, but she didn’t pack it away in the carton.

“Mrs. Benton, would you like me to help with the glasses? I’m almost finished with the stuff in the kitchen closet.”

The sixty-five-year-old woman—attractive, with gray hair—blinked. “I must have spaced out.”

Harry closed her carton, walked over to Pud, and began wrapping ruby glasses in tissue paper, stuffing more paper in the glasses, then rolling them in Bubble Wrap. “Happens.”

Mrs. Benton softly said, “I so appreciate all of Paula’s friends helping John and me to pack up.”

Paula’s house, not huge at three bedrooms, still contained enough goods to keep people busy. Packing is always a pain, and under these circumstances it was very difficult for Paula’s parents.

Fair, Cory, Ned, Rev. Jones, and Paula’s father packed up her garage, not as crowded as the house. In the barn, Annalise carefully placed the potted plants and dried bulbs in a large carton. She carefully dug up the bulbs coming up on the shelves in the warm light, placing each one in a plastic cup. She wrote on the cup the flower’s name—tulip, hyacinth, jonquil—for Paula had tacked small signs on the shelf’s lip. Pud didn’t want the plants, but she and John had decided each helper should get one.

Most of the people in the house had worked either at Central Virginia Hospital with Paula or on the 5K run.

Harry kept her news to herself except for her husband. Why blab until she had the biopsy results?

“Mrs. Benton, how did you get the nickname Pud?” Harry hoped a different kind of conversation might help Paula’s mother.

She reached for a fluted champagne glass. “Well, first off, my grandmother’s name was Paulette, my mother’s name was Paula, and I was named Paulette. So Grandmother and Mother called me Pud. Then, of course, I named Paula after my mother. Too many P’s, but you know how families are. Or maybe you don’t.”

“I know.” Harry smiled.

“Paula’s nickname was Pooch. When she went off to Michigan State, she made her girlfriends swear not to use her nickname. They did anyway. Burned her up. So finally when she moved south, she was able to be Paula again. No one knew her as Pooch. It’s all silly.”

“Pretty funny, really. I can’t imagine calling her Pooch.”

“And I can’t imagine anything else.” Mrs. Benton paused, her hand dangling over the open carton. “When we had the service back home, her pastor referred to her as Pooch. I console myself with the hope that she suffered no pain, it was quick. John and I spoke to Annalise Veronese, the pathologist. She was so kind. Everyone has been so kind. Dr. Veronese assured us that Pooch was in good health. One never knows.”

“No, ma’am.”

Mrs. Benton finally put the glass in the carton. “I can’t get used to being called ma’am. Makes me feel like an old lady.”

“You look just like Paula, or I should say she looked just like you. You two could have passed for sisters.”

“Aren’t you sweet? Come on, now, the gray hair gives me away.”

“There are rock stars that dye their hair so blond it’s gray. Say, have you seen photos of the DJ in England called Mamy Rock? She’s seventy-five, close-cropped gray hair. She looks fabulous.”

“Haven’t. I’ll look her up on the Internet.” Mrs. Benton saw her husband, with Ned, Fair, and Rev. Jones, pushing a riding mower up a makeshift ramp into the rented U-Haul. “John will get a hernia.”

Harry studied the men. “He looks fit. Must run in the family.”

“He’s in pretty good shape, but I like to tease him. Pooch was a runner. John, too. That was one thing Dr. Veronese told us, how good Pooch’s heart was.”

Curiosity overtaking her reserve, Harry asked, “Did she have any enemies?”

“Pooch?”

“Curious. I’m not thinking about foul play, but just that I never heard a bad word about her.” Harry fibbed, because such thoughts had indeed crossed her mind. Harry’s probing mind could irritate her friends and scare the bejesus out of her husband. Fair never knew what his wife would get into next. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker had resigned themselves to extracting her from whatever mess she stumbled into. Mrs. Benton was pensive for a moment.

“She wasn’t a person to arouse envy or strong emotions, one way or another. In high school she rarely fell victim to the kind of gossipy swirl girls indulge in at that time. I hated that when I was in high school. I can’t think of anyone who disliked her.” She paused. “Really.”

“That’s a wonderful tribute.”

“The only thing she ever said to me, and this wasn’t about a personal dislike, was she’d become so interested in alternative cancer treatments because of her work on the five-K. She felt some of them were bogus medical scams that preyed on people when they were most vulnerable. She thought others held out such promise for a cure, but the federal government prevented their use. She felt some doctors were so angry they used outlawed substances and treatments. They hid it, of course. Pooch, herself, was disgusted at how pharmaceutical companies, the insurance companies, and the government have corrupted medicine. After hearing that, I inquired as to what she’d seen at the hospital. She said she’d tell me later. Now there’s no later.”

Harry considered that. “Every time I pick up the newspaper there seems to be some squib about a new cancer treatment. One article says that eating almonds keeps cancer at bay—you know, that sort of thing. I never know what to believe.”

“Nor I.” Mrs. Benton’s eyes lit up for the first time since she’d come to Virginia. “John and I are fortunate. Cancer doesn’t run in either of our families. Pooch became interested in nursing when a childhood friend died of leukemia in eleventh grade. It was an interest that deepened with the years.”

“She had a good mind,” Harry said.

Mrs. Benton put lots of Bubble Wrap on top of the glasses, for the carton was full. “There. One more done.”

“I’m beginning to understand where Paula acquired her organizational ability. In our meetings, if anyone got off track, she’d say, ‘Let’s cut to the chase.’ I’d tell her she was being a Yankee. Southerners live for anecdotes and diversion. However, I always did just what she said.”

For the first time, Mrs. Benton truly laughed. “I can just hear her.”

Hearing laughter, BoomBoom, Alicia, and Susan looked in from the next room. They each smiled slightly, for they believed laughter healed. A shock such as the one the Bentons had endured would take a lot of laughter and love.

So many people had helped that the house was emptied, tidied up, and the large U-Haul was loaded by three-thirty that afternoon. Mrs. Benton handed each person a potted plant. The dried bulbs in old Ball jars she gave to Alicia as a special thank-you for the pleasure Alicia’s movies had given her and her husband.

As the Bentons walked up to the truck, Dr. Cory Schaeffer stepped up to the driver’s side. Both Bentons looked at him as the other workers crowded around.

“We hope your journey is safe. We know in time the grief will fade and happy memories will remain. We all would like you to know that your daughter’s memory will remain with us. We have renamed the five-K in her honor. From now on it will be known as the Paula Benton Five-K Run for Breast Cancer Research.”

John Benton burst into tears. Words wouldn’t come. His wife reached for his hand, squeezing it.

He nodded to his wife, composed himself. “Thank you. Thank you.”

• • •

Later that evening, as Harry finished up her farm chores, she returned to what Pud Benton said about Paula not having any enemies. Maybe she didn’t have any personal enemies, but maybe something else had happened, something to make her a target.

She caught herself. “I watch too many crime shows on TV.”

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, who always helped with the chores—well, Pewter made a stab at it before sitting down—knew their human’s mind was preoccupied.

“Think this has to do with her test Wednesday? The one she’s calling ‘the hook’?” Tucker picked up a blue rubber bone she’d left in the barn yesterday.

“Not a chance.” Pewter tossed her head.

“Well, she does have that on her mind,” Tucker said.

“Pewter’s right. Mom’s displaying that nosy look. First there was the distressed look and the weird smell, and now there’s the nosy look.” Mrs. Murphy batted the blue rubber bone.

Tucker sighed. “Yeah, I know. I was hoping I was wrong. That nosy look is never good for her.”

“ ‘Her’? It’s never good for us,” Pewter said with conviction.