Edna popped her head out of the weeds when she heard Missy screaming, “Call 911. Call 911. It’s Russ--in the potting shed--call 911.”
Missy ran past her out of the garden toward the parking lot. Her hands were bloody.
Edna couldn’t understand why Missy was running toward Hazel Velez’ office when she knew that Missy carried her cell phone in her pocket. Edna ran toward the potting shed. She thought she could help Russ stop the bleeding from whatever accident had caused the bleeding.
When Edna reached the screened potting shed, she couldn’t see Russ standing near his bench. Instead, she saw one of his sandals, toe pointed up, sticking out of the shed door. She went forward to see Russ lying on his back with his blue eyes wide open and vacant. Streaks of red painted his white hair. He had a large gash on his neck that was blackish and bloody.
Edna staggered backward and when she felt her knees buckle, she sat down on the grass. Missy’s voice saying “Call 9-1-1” echoed a few times in Edna’s head until she pulled out her cell phone from her pocket and dialed.
“There’s been an accident here. In the potting shed. A man--he might be dead. At the park, Palm Lake Park off Gladiolus near U.S. 41. Russ. I forget his last name. Mine? Edna Cameron. OK.”
She closed her cell phone and looked around her. It was impossible that this could happen here. It was beautiful here. People loved the park. They came here to have fun.
Edna’s strength was coming back in her legs. Something struck her as odd about Russ’s head, so she forced herself to have another look. She was right. Russ had money, four or five bills, under his head. They looked like all small bills, one’s and five’s maybe. Beside the money was a pair of pruning shears with the tips covered in blood.
“Could it be murder?” she thought. “Paul, I have to call Paul.”
Paul, her husband, was somewhere in the garden driving the cart they used for chores. He was the lead volunteer, a job he had very much wanted so he could practice his skills as a new Senior Gardener.
“Pick up, pick up. Paul, you won’t believe this. Russ is dead in the potting shed. I think I’m going to throw up. Come quick, OK?”
Edna looked around the lush garden. Everything looked so normal, so calm. Jack, with his goofy hat, was in the Cactus Garden like normal. Betty was in the Peace Garden weeding like normal. Mona would have been nearby in the Pond Garden, but, as usual, she skipped Saturdays, and came on Wednesdays only.
Paul drove up on the cart from the direction of the Rose Garden. He bumped his head getting out of the cart. Edna wondered when he would remember that he was 6 ft. 3in. tall. He was always banging up his bald head.
“I just left here a few minutes ago. He was fine. What happened?”
Missy ran past her out of the garden toward the parking lot. Her hands were bloody.
Edna couldn’t understand why Missy was running toward Hazel Velez’ office when she knew that Missy carried her cell phone in her pocket. Edna ran toward the potting shed. She thought she could help Russ stop the bleeding from whatever accident had caused the bleeding.
When Edna reached the screened potting shed, she couldn’t see Russ standing near his bench. Instead, she saw one of his sandals, toe pointed up, sticking out of the shed door. She went forward to see Russ lying on his back with his blue eyes wide open and vacant. Streaks of red painted his white hair. He had a large gash on his neck that was blackish and bloody.
Edna staggered backward and when she felt her knees buckle, she sat down on the grass. Missy’s voice saying “Call 9-1-1” echoed a few times in Edna’s head until she pulled out her cell phone from her pocket and dialed.
“There’s been an accident here. In the potting shed. A man--he might be dead. At the park, Palm Lake Park off Gladiolus near U.S. 41. Russ. I forget his last name. Mine? Edna Cameron. OK.”
She closed her cell phone and looked around her. It was impossible that this could happen here. It was beautiful here. People loved the park. They came here to have fun.
Edna’s strength was coming back in her legs. Something struck her as odd about Russ’s head, so she forced herself to have another look. She was right. Russ had money, four or five bills, under his head. They looked like all small bills, one’s and five’s maybe. Beside the money was a pair of pruning shears with the tips covered in blood.
“Could it be murder?” she thought. “Paul, I have to call Paul.”
Paul, her husband, was somewhere in the garden driving the cart they used for chores. He was the lead volunteer, a job he had very much wanted so he could practice his skills as a new Senior Gardener.
“Pick up, pick up. Paul, you won’t believe this. Russ is dead in the potting shed. I think I’m going to throw up. Come quick, OK?”
Edna looked around the lush garden. Everything looked so normal, so calm. Jack, with his goofy hat, was in the Cactus Garden like normal. Betty was in the Peace Garden weeding like normal. Mona would have been nearby in the Pond Garden, but, as usual, she skipped Saturdays, and came on Wednesdays only.
Paul drove up on the cart from the direction of the Rose Garden. He bumped his head getting out of the cart. Edna wondered when he would remember that he was 6 ft. 3in. tall. He was always banging up his bald head.
“I just left here a few minutes ago. He was fine. What happened?”
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