unusually fascinated.
“None of the other commemorative plaques use this particular font. I must do more research into where it came from.”
Stella didn’t quite know what to say, but it certainly appeared Ernest was flummoxed by his inability to identify the typeface. “Do tell me what you learn,” she said, for she had no doubt the archivist would obsess over this until the mystery was solved.
But she had her own mystery to solve. Beyond the Hall of Heroes were dozens of framed photographs of important events from the recent past. The photographs memorialized presidential visits, the swearing-in of governors, and groundbreaking events. Nameplates beneath the photographs listed the dignitaries in the picture. Might A.G. be in one of the photographs? She headed toward the photographs at the far end of the gallery to begin scrutinizing the prominent men of Boston, searching for Gwendolyn’s man.
One of the photographs was of the groundbreaking for the Boston subway only two years ago, the men wearing heavy coats and bowler hats and lined up around a small stone, a shovel propped in the mayor’s hand. Alongside him were other elected officials, engineers, and some of Boston’s financiers. She smiled when she glimpsed Romulus White in the line, looking chilly and serious as he stared at the camera. She skimmed the brass nameplate beneath the photograph, looking for someone with the initials A.G. Twelve men were listed on the nameplate, but none matched A.G.
“Miss West!” a voice barked behind her.
She startled and whirled around to see Mr. Grimes, the man in charge of hiring all clerical positions in City Hall. She wrinkled her brow as three police officers trailed after him.
“What precisely are your credentials for being a government stenographer?”
It was a strange question for him to ask, for it was Mr. Grimes himself who had interviewed her for the position. Why was heasking about her credentials now? And why were those three police officers here?
“I learned stenography in college,” she said truthfully.
“Which college?”
It was the question she’d dreaded. When she’d interviewed for the position, she had shed both her last name and the name of Cornell from her record. She wanted nothing that might draw a connection between her and Gwendolyn, but she didn’t want to be trapped in a lie.
“Why do you ask?” At her interview, she had been required to demonstrate her skills, not produce college transcripts.
“I have reason to believe you may not be adequate to the job for which you have been hired,” Mr. Grimes said, and Stella silently groaned as Nellie’s smirking face rose in her mind. It seemed her scornful colleague had tattled on her.
She lifted her chin a notch. “This is the first complaint I’ve heard.”
“Not only are you a poor stenographer, it appears you falsified your application when you claimed to learn stenography through personal study rather than classes at Cornell University. That qualifies as a lie on a government application.”
This couldn’t be happening. It was no crime to omit a piece of information on an application, but it seemed Mr. Grimes had gone through an unusual degree of diligence in researching her background.
He glanced at the officers crowding the hallway behind him. “Naturally I consulted the Boston Police about my concerns, and imagine my surprise when they were already well acquainted with Miss Stella West. Or should I say Stella Westergaard? Surely it is no coincidence that you have schemed your way into your sister’s old position. What have you to say for yourself?”
She clamped her mouth shut. Of course she’d been honestwith the police department about her relation to Gwendolyn, for it was her best shot of convincing them she had useful information to share about Gwendolyn’s character and ability to swim.
Ernest Palmer watched silently from down the hallway, confusion and concern on his face. It was embarrassing to be
“None of the other commemorative plaques use this particular font. I must do more research into where it came from.”
Stella didn’t quite know what to say, but it certainly appeared Ernest was flummoxed by his inability to identify the typeface. “Do tell me what you learn,” she said, for she had no doubt the archivist would obsess over this until the mystery was solved.
But she had her own mystery to solve. Beyond the Hall of Heroes were dozens of framed photographs of important events from the recent past. The photographs memorialized presidential visits, the swearing-in of governors, and groundbreaking events. Nameplates beneath the photographs listed the dignitaries in the picture. Might A.G. be in one of the photographs? She headed toward the photographs at the far end of the gallery to begin scrutinizing the prominent men of Boston, searching for Gwendolyn’s man.
One of the photographs was of the groundbreaking for the Boston subway only two years ago, the men wearing heavy coats and bowler hats and lined up around a small stone, a shovel propped in the mayor’s hand. Alongside him were other elected officials, engineers, and some of Boston’s financiers. She smiled when she glimpsed Romulus White in the line, looking chilly and serious as he stared at the camera. She skimmed the brass nameplate beneath the photograph, looking for someone with the initials A.G. Twelve men were listed on the nameplate, but none matched A.G.
“Miss West!” a voice barked behind her.
She startled and whirled around to see Mr. Grimes, the man in charge of hiring all clerical positions in City Hall. She wrinkled her brow as three police officers trailed after him.
“What precisely are your credentials for being a government stenographer?”
It was a strange question for him to ask, for it was Mr. Grimes himself who had interviewed her for the position. Why was heasking about her credentials now? And why were those three police officers here?
“I learned stenography in college,” she said truthfully.
“Which college?”
It was the question she’d dreaded. When she’d interviewed for the position, she had shed both her last name and the name of Cornell from her record. She wanted nothing that might draw a connection between her and Gwendolyn, but she didn’t want to be trapped in a lie.
“Why do you ask?” At her interview, she had been required to demonstrate her skills, not produce college transcripts.
“I have reason to believe you may not be adequate to the job for which you have been hired,” Mr. Grimes said, and Stella silently groaned as Nellie’s smirking face rose in her mind. It seemed her scornful colleague had tattled on her.
She lifted her chin a notch. “This is the first complaint I’ve heard.”
“Not only are you a poor stenographer, it appears you falsified your application when you claimed to learn stenography through personal study rather than classes at Cornell University. That qualifies as a lie on a government application.”
This couldn’t be happening. It was no crime to omit a piece of information on an application, but it seemed Mr. Grimes had gone through an unusual degree of diligence in researching her background.
He glanced at the officers crowding the hallway behind him. “Naturally I consulted the Boston Police about my concerns, and imagine my surprise when they were already well acquainted with Miss Stella West. Or should I say Stella Westergaard? Surely it is no coincidence that you have schemed your way into your sister’s old position. What have you to say for yourself?”
She clamped her mouth shut. Of course she’d been honestwith the police department about her relation to Gwendolyn, for it was her best shot of convincing them she had useful information to share about Gwendolyn’s character and ability to swim.
Ernest Palmer watched silently from down the hallway, confusion and concern on his face. It was embarrassing to be
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