Satchel in hand, Gertrude walked the last block to Hamilton House to pretend she’d taken the trolley instead of being driven. Enormous horn-rimmed glasses dominated her face. Her bossy personality and her vibrant blond hair had been damped way down—both were now drab.
To time her arrival perfectly, she’d taken the precaution of looking up the transit schedules. Additionally, she asked to be driven along the unfamiliar bus and trolley routes in case questioned by any of the inhabitants of the imposing mansion—set back in extensive and well-manicured grounds—that she could just make out in the descending dusk. The setting sun glinted off dozens of windows. The photos she’d seen didn’t do it justice. The word she had for it was ‘imposing.’
She stepped into character by pushing her glasses slightly out of kilter, slumping her shoulders a little as if from the exhaustion of travel, and putting on an expression that she hoped looked both efficient and bewildered. Her heart raced. She pushed the intercom button at the wrought-iron gate. A male voice answered, "Hamilton House. How may we help you?"
She adjusted her voice to mimic Tillie’s. "I've been sent from Washington, D.C. to replace the secretary who is on leave."
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish