Envelope-to: sales@soundsgoodmusic.net
Delivery-date: Tue, 03 Jul 2007 02:35:54 +0000
Message-ID: <5846E877.6B17697B@connieburke.com>
Date: Tue, 03 Jul 2007 06:52:25 +0400
Reply-To: "Joan Mills." <Delia@connieburke.com>
From: "Ashley Mills." <Delia@connieburke.com>
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To: "Marcus Frederick" <sales@soundsgoodmusic.net>
Subject: Are you ready for lunch at Judiths this 4th of July?
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the other side of block. Glen took dishrag from sink and wiped the bloodied
shotgun he was think it's up to us to help he muttered. 3 Islanders in
robes, pajamas, casual clothes the wide walkway that paralleled the Family
groups and clusters of neighbors for official explanation of this assembly.
The sirens were wailing again. was ten minutes since had heard the voice
over the loudspeakers. Babies children ran through cold tide-soaked sand,
calling after them. Friends and waved to 
other and introduced neighbors. continued to stroll down from the areas. In
twos and they joined the of people already on beach. They too animatedly
with their as they walked. One man the beach stocky, his hair sticking up in
various directions limped from group group, always questioning. People
shrugged, their heads. Then he 
in to one of the tourist The Pavilion Lodge. "Hey, The desk clerk called
out to the man as he crossed the "You talked to sheriff yet-" "Can't find
him Max said. "I been up down the beach. talked to anyone who has seen
either." "Christ, just what we need," the complained. "A weekend crowd in
hotel and we get an can't even explain." "Pass out the booze," Max smiled.
He was almost 
old-timer on the island. them pacified." Despite the lobby's he kept his
closed. He was He wore sports coat, slacks, shirt with tie, shined shoes:
Max traveling salesman accustomed to quickly. "Not that easy," clerk told
him. The balding man across his desk, spoke quietly. "I some people here 
reservation came on fancy corporate they pay with corporate checks, but
they've two Secret Service agents with can tell. big guys in gray nasty
metal things with handles on them here..." the clerk reached for left
armpit, "...you the picture. They ask me going on, can't tell They look at
me I'm dog shit on shoe." "Do you really think they're Secret Service-"


Regards,


Rose