Free Island Blues by Wendy Howell Mills Page B

a very capable person, I’m afraid I must insist that we speak with your superior. Someone of…higher rank.”
    Sabrina read his meaning clearly. Substitute “higher rank” with “possessing male genitalia.” Walter Olgivie was similar to many men of a certain generation who were accustomed to their women at home, waiting for them to return home from the office—or more probably the golf course—with congratulatory smiles and proffered drinks.
    â€œI have been nominated by the mayor and the town council, so you can view me as their representative.” Sabrina managed a cool smile while inwardly picturing her suit of armor.
    â€œWell, then, I would like to know what in the world is going on around here.” Walter’s taut, expensive face looked irritated. Sabrina wondered if he had some type of surgery to remove the hair from his face. It was that smooth, and Walter did not look as if he were adverse to surgical enhancement. Most sixty-something men did not have body-builder physiques and faces as unlined as a five-year-old child’s.
    â€œThat is something that I will endeavor to find out as soon as possible,” Sabrina said in a cheery voice. “And what is your name?” As she turned to him, the grayish man in the back of the room jerked as if she had shouted in his face.
    â€œI’m Lance Mayhew.” Even his voice was grayish and indistinct. He was one of those unforgettable people who could walk naked down the street during rush hour and later no one would be able to describe him. He wore a gray sweat suit, and his thinning hair was an indistinct medium color that was shades of sandy blond, brown and, yes, gray. His nose was high and arched, but it wasn’t enough to give his face any sort of character. In fact, his face was as dull and blank as an empty movie screen. Perhaps like a movie screen animated by the focus of the projector, emotion would brighten Lance Mayhew’s face with expression and passion, but just now there was no sign of it.
    Sabrina moved over to his side with her pen poised. “And your address?”
    â€œI would prefer not to give that.” The words were said without offense or affect.
    Sabrina smiled forgivingly and looked around the room. “Is this the whole group?”
    â€œNo, Patti and Sophie left to go to the ladies’ room. They should be back soon,” Dennis offered, without removing his head from his hands.
    Sabrina nodded. She had suspected that Patti Townsend and her beautiful friend were Hummers. “Tell me, for what reason are you here on the island?” She looked around the room, surprised at the warring emotions on their faces.
    â€œIt’s because of the Hum,” Walter snapped. “Why else?”
    â€œAll of you hear the Hum? How fascinating. What’s it like?”
    There was silence, and then Dennis burst out with, “It’s absolutely horrible, that’s what!”
    â€œWhy?”
    No one would look at Sabrina. Lance finally said in his expressionless voice, “We would prefer not to talk about it, if you don’t mind.”
    A small scuffle at the door was the only warning before Joseph Siderius glided in, his yellow dashiki flowing behind him as he went over to a window and sat down without looking at anyone.
    Behind Joseph was his son, Michael. The young, handsome president of Hummers International Incorporated stood at the door and surveyed the people inside.
    â€œWhere are Patti and Sophie?”
    â€œRight here!” Patti Townsend rushed into the room, followed by her gorgeous, dazed-looking friend. They took seats at the front of the room.
    â€œGilbert Kane’s death is a tragedy, there’s no doubt,” Michael said with perfect showman’s timing. “But I know he would want us to continue with our important work, to not let his death stand in the way of our vital mission.” He crossed so he stood with his hand on