several long seconds to register what he saw.
It was the body of a man, one that James had just seen two days ago at Dolly’s. He recognized the worn letter jacket immediately, as well as the unkempt hair and the wide, muscular shoulders. Brinkley Myers had collapsed onto his stomach with his head turned toward the window. His open eyes were glazed over and his nose and mouth were covered with fresh, bright blood. Tiny droplets still leaked from his left nostril, slowly, like a dripping tap. All around his face and head an unbelievable pool of crimson had formed, widening into an ellipse that markedly contrasted with the black-and-white-checkered linoleum.
“I couldn’t stop the bleeding!” Megan shouted, loud enough for them all to hear. She held up a collection of blood-soaked dishtowels. “I tried! I tried!”
Beside her, Amelia’s face crumpled and she began to cry.
James could see little else on the floor except for the inordinate amount of blood, and then he spied what looked like a shattered cell phone near Amelia’s foot.
“That’s Brinkley Myers,” Lindy whispered, peering between loaves of pumpernickel and marble rye. “And he’s definitely dead.”
“But from what?” asked Gillian after exhaling loudly. “I’ve never seen so much blood.”
“Looks like it all came from somewhere on his head. There’s no blood near his chest or legs.” Bennett clucked his tongue in sympathy. “Point of fact, it sure seems like he had a nosebleed that just wouldn’t quit.”
The others remained silent as they confirmed Bennett’s theory by casting their eyes once more on Brinkley’s inert form.
“What’s that in his right hand?” James asked, unable to get an unhindered view over the shoulders of the paramedic.
“Dunno,” answered Bennett. “Can you see, Lindy? Hurry, they’re going to move him.”
Lindy let out a deep sigh. “I see it! Of course I know what that is. It’s one of Megan’s famous cookies; a ‘chocolate chipped and dipped.’ Those cookies are so—” The rest of her statement was cut short by the sudden appearance of Sheriff Huckabee’s face in the window. He did not look at all pleased to see four faces pressed up against the window glass. Waving them off with a brusque flick of his hand, Huckabee drew the green shades over the bakery windows and then turned the store sign to “Closed.”
James stepped back and gazed at his open-mouthed companions. “Guess the show’s over,” he said, unable to think of anything else to say. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve just seen my first dead body and I feel kind of weird.”
“Yeah, me too,” Bennett muttered quietly. They all stood on the sidewalk in motionless silence.
“Let’s go back to my place and have some coffee,” Lindy offered. “I feel kind of strange, too. It would be nice to have some company right about now.”
Everyone nodded in agreement and walked back to the mail truck like a row of automatons. James’s mind was buzzing with all that it had just absorbed.
“Fine time for us to start a diet,” Gillian laughed awkwardly as Bennett started the engine. “In a few days we’re all going to wish we had one of those cookies.”
Lindy cast an uneasy glance at Gillian. “That’s the stress . . . making you talk like that.” Lindy held onto Gillian’s arm and released a sigh. “You know, I never liked that Brinkley Myers,” she stated glumly, “but at least his last meal was a good one.”
Coffee at Lindy’s had not lasted long. All four of the supper club members found that they needed some time alone to digest the fact that a young man had suddenly died. True, he was a distasteful young man, but one belonging to the Quincy’s Gap community nonetheless.
Monday at work, James busied himself researching acceptable foods for a low-carb diet plan. He grew quickly confused between the definition of low carbs, good carbs, useless carbs, and the overall abundance of nutritional
It was the body of a man, one that James had just seen two days ago at Dolly’s. He recognized the worn letter jacket immediately, as well as the unkempt hair and the wide, muscular shoulders. Brinkley Myers had collapsed onto his stomach with his head turned toward the window. His open eyes were glazed over and his nose and mouth were covered with fresh, bright blood. Tiny droplets still leaked from his left nostril, slowly, like a dripping tap. All around his face and head an unbelievable pool of crimson had formed, widening into an ellipse that markedly contrasted with the black-and-white-checkered linoleum.
“I couldn’t stop the bleeding!” Megan shouted, loud enough for them all to hear. She held up a collection of blood-soaked dishtowels. “I tried! I tried!”
Beside her, Amelia’s face crumpled and she began to cry.
James could see little else on the floor except for the inordinate amount of blood, and then he spied what looked like a shattered cell phone near Amelia’s foot.
“That’s Brinkley Myers,” Lindy whispered, peering between loaves of pumpernickel and marble rye. “And he’s definitely dead.”
“But from what?” asked Gillian after exhaling loudly. “I’ve never seen so much blood.”
“Looks like it all came from somewhere on his head. There’s no blood near his chest or legs.” Bennett clucked his tongue in sympathy. “Point of fact, it sure seems like he had a nosebleed that just wouldn’t quit.”
The others remained silent as they confirmed Bennett’s theory by casting their eyes once more on Brinkley’s inert form.
“What’s that in his right hand?” James asked, unable to get an unhindered view over the shoulders of the paramedic.
“Dunno,” answered Bennett. “Can you see, Lindy? Hurry, they’re going to move him.”
Lindy let out a deep sigh. “I see it! Of course I know what that is. It’s one of Megan’s famous cookies; a ‘chocolate chipped and dipped.’ Those cookies are so—” The rest of her statement was cut short by the sudden appearance of Sheriff Huckabee’s face in the window. He did not look at all pleased to see four faces pressed up against the window glass. Waving them off with a brusque flick of his hand, Huckabee drew the green shades over the bakery windows and then turned the store sign to “Closed.”
James stepped back and gazed at his open-mouthed companions. “Guess the show’s over,” he said, unable to think of anything else to say. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve just seen my first dead body and I feel kind of weird.”
“Yeah, me too,” Bennett muttered quietly. They all stood on the sidewalk in motionless silence.
“Let’s go back to my place and have some coffee,” Lindy offered. “I feel kind of strange, too. It would be nice to have some company right about now.”
Everyone nodded in agreement and walked back to the mail truck like a row of automatons. James’s mind was buzzing with all that it had just absorbed.
“Fine time for us to start a diet,” Gillian laughed awkwardly as Bennett started the engine. “In a few days we’re all going to wish we had one of those cookies.”
Lindy cast an uneasy glance at Gillian. “That’s the stress . . . making you talk like that.” Lindy held onto Gillian’s arm and released a sigh. “You know, I never liked that Brinkley Myers,” she stated glumly, “but at least his last meal was a good one.”
Coffee at Lindy’s had not lasted long. All four of the supper club members found that they needed some time alone to digest the fact that a young man had suddenly died. True, he was a distasteful young man, but one belonging to the Quincy’s Gap community nonetheless.
Monday at work, James busied himself researching acceptable foods for a low-carb diet plan. He grew quickly confused between the definition of low carbs, good carbs, useless carbs, and the overall abundance of nutritional
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