Free Hiss of Death: A Mrs. Murphy Mystery by Rita Mae Brown and Sneaky Pie Brown

uproar over healthcare reform amplified that worry. Like many physicians, Dr. Potter considered raising prices, but so many people labored now just to make ends meet. She didn’t want to raise her rates. She figured she’d learn to live with less.
    Regina MacCormack provided Harry with a list of doctors who could perform the procedure of harvesting her breast cells. In some cases, a surgeon wasn’t needed. A physician specializing in oncology, such as Cory Schaeffer, could perform it. However, Dr. MacCormack believed Dr. Potter was the quickest and the best. She always figured outthe quickest way to deliver any necessary discomfort. No reason to keep anyone on the table too long.
    Harry submitted to the process, and Dr. Potter liked having Susan there to support Harry. Fair wanted to be there, but Harry forbade him. For one thing, Alicia’s wonderful mare was about to foal, a late foaling. For another thing, she’d known her husband since childhood. He was more upset than she was. He didn’t need the added stress, nor did she in worrying about him later.
    She had to lie down on a padded table and drop her right breast through an opening in the table, which was then adjusted to fit and hold her breast secure.
    Before this, Dr. Potter smeared the spot with lidocaine and God knows what else. It tingled. Once the numbing agent took full effect, the procedure started.
    It was mercifully short, but Harry sure felt the hook and snatch. There was a puncture wound but no obvious incision. A Band-Aid took care of that.
    Like most horse people, Harry was tough.
    Stoic or not, the body knows it is under attack. She sweated, felt a trifle woozy, but recovered as she sat up. She hadn’t eaten breakfast to prevent any possible nausea.
    Dr. Potter told her she could leave, as she’d gotten a good sample from the growth. Harry liked Jennifer Potter. Everyone did.
    Toni Enright—who came in to assist because Harry had helped so much on the 5K—walked them to the door. “Harry, whatever the result, you’re in good hands. I hope it’s nothing, really.”
    “Me, too.”
    “Thanks, Toni,” Susan said at the office door.
    Once in her Volvo station wagon, Harry exhaled.
    “Why don’t you let me drive?” Susan offered. “I’ve wanted to do that.”
    “Thanks, Susan. I guess I’m shakier than I think, huh?”
    “I don’t know if I could do it. They’d have to knock me out.”
    “Oh, you could. Doesn’t last long, and I’ll tell you what, hurt like hell. I’m not doing that again.”
    They switched places. Harry showed Susan how to keep her foot onthe brake, push in the rectangular key, and then press a button next to that to start the engine.
    “Can’t carmakers use a simple key anymore?”
    “Apparently not. I hate it, too, but I love the wagon.”
    They drove to a T intersection, and Susan turned right onto the two-lane highway, heading for Charlottesville.
    “Don’t want to take Sixty-four?” Harry mentioned the interstate.
    “No. I want to see how this handles on twisty roads.”
    “You picked a good one. I like it. I never thought I’d drive a station wagon. I like your Audi, but it costs more than the Volvo. You’ve got everything on your wagon.”
    “Fair was right to buy this Volvo for you. It’s a lot of car for a good price. If he’d bought you one like mine or the Mercedes wagon, you’d have had a fit. You needed a safe vehicle, a station wagon, to haul stuff but something that doesn’t gulp gas like the old F-One-fifty.”
    “I like the Tahoe, but I’ll admit it isn’t good on gas. The Volvo’s center of gravity is lower, too. Hey, did I tell you about Cory Schaeffer’s Lampo?”
    “Did. He’s a bit of a pompous ass.”
    “What he is is a holier-than-thou liberal, and I don’t like them any more than the nuts on the far right fringe.”
    “Remember how your mother used to call liberals the people to the left of Pluto? What’d she call the right-wingers?” Susan thought a moment, then