Chapter Six
A very small, fluffy-looking old lady answered the door. She gave them a bright smile. “You’re here to see Lucas I suppose, aren’t you, dears? I’m afraid he’s not well and isn’t up to seeing anyone. Won’t you come inside? I’m his sister, Hazel.” She beamed at them and opened the door wide.
For once, Myrtle didn’t object to the endearment. Although she was very sensitive to being called sweetheart, dear, or darling by younger people, being called dear by a peer (even one a good fifteen years younger), wasn’t as objectionable.
Myrtle was always most unsettled by old ladies who did the old lady act better than she did. This particular old lady was an excellent example. She wore her white hair back in a bun, wore green cat eye spectacles attached to a chain, a cardigan, pearls,
