Expect Obsession: Operation Delphi, #4

By JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

Crystal ball reader Isadora wants to prove she's up to the leadership responsibility of keeping Philadelphia staff safe from Hitler's occult attacks until their team leader can return from special assignment in D.C., but a Nazi spy murdered and assumed the identity of the temp secretary D.C. had assigned to fill the gap. The spy's mission is to steal an ancient book of spells coveted by Hitler, named The Book of Cures. The spy's obsession is to avenge her spy lover's disappearance by leaving the U.S. facility and all who live in it in paranormally induced flames.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JoAnn Smith Ainsworth
• Release date: Oct 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201609801

Book preview

Also by JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

Expect Betrayal

Expect Deception

Expect Trouble

Matilda’s Song

Out of the Dark

Polite Enemies

The Farmer and the Wood Nymph

Copyright © 2022 JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

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mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author,

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and

certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For

permission requests, please email [e-mail].

Interior design by Draft2Digital.com

Cover design by 100covers.com

Author photo by Clay McLachlan

https://www.joannsmithainsworth.com

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, and incidents

are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

EXPECT OBSESSION

Dedication

To my son.

Acknowledgments

MY THANKS TO BETA READERS:  Joy Montgomery, Elizabeth Ubrig, Carolina Montague, and A. L. Kucherenko. Their insights strengthened the novel.

SPECIAL THANKS to my critique partners, Desirae King and Kathy Farrell, whose advice and support helped shape the story.

Praise for EXPECT OBSESSION

"It's rare to find a series that builds with each new offering and provides a basis for blending the unknown with the known in credible fashion." MKS Reviews

I loved seeing Isadora grow into her skills and her independence. Carolina Montague, Author

I enjoyed it so much! Joy Montgomery

I really enjoyed the development of Isadora's character via her ancestry and leadership role. Elizabeth Ubrig

I found your book delightful to read. A. L. Kucherenko, Author

Prologue

MONDAY, JUNE 21, 1943, early morning

Washington, D.C.

Gertrude Whitehead (Truda Weisskopf in her native German language) tapped the spiked heel of her red leather shoe against the concrete platform at Union Station in Washington, D.C. She awaited the appearance of the 8 a.m. train north. More importantly, she awaited the arrival of her quarry, Miss Tillie Weber. Yesterday, she was ordered to D.C. to assume the woman’s identity.

The importance of Miss Weber was she was the temporary replacement being sent from D.C. headquarters to fill in for a The Watch secretary, who took time off to nurse her battle-injured fiance back to health. The Philadelphia facility of The Watch Committee was a 20-room, three story mansion located on a five-acre estate in the stylish Germantown section of the city and named Hamilton House.

Gertrude’s assignment was to infiltrate Hamilton House using Miss Weber’s identity. The reason behind this substitution was Hamilton House was thought to have The Book of Cures, a grimoire of ancient spells and charms. Hitler coveted this grimoire. He believed it would increase his occult powers and make him victorious over the Allies. Gertrude remained astounded that der Mumm—Hitler's circle of occult practitioners—divined that the ancient grimoire had been taken to the states, but was not able to determine its exact location. Der Mumm’s lack was putting her neck on the line.

Gertrude’s brilliant red lips pressed together with resolve. Despite the extreme danger, she was certain she could succeed. Before she turned the grimoire over to Hitler, she’d leaf through to see if there were charms and spells she could use to increase her own powers.

In the briefing, she was told that Hamilton House housed psychics who hunted down German spies. As far as she was concerned, the mansion housed a nest of U.S. vipers who were responsible for the deepest sorrow of her life—the disappearance of her lover, Deryk Fergus. The Book was her mission, but her obsession was the annihilation of the miscreants who had hounded her beloved Deryk.

She brushed long, blond hair away from her face with the back of her hand.

When she first heard the news about Deryk from der Mumm, she wanted to burn down the damn mansion. If it weren't for this undercover mission to locate and steal The Book of Cures, she’d have incinerated the mansion and all who live in it in an inferno sent from Hell.

As Tillie Weber—God! She even hated the feel of the woman’s name on her tongue—she could search file drawers, storerooms, and cabinets to determine the hiding place of the grimoire, then steal it, and take it away to Germany. An escape route was already in place. At the same time, she’d also search for information on the whereabouts of her beloved.

Gertrude’s back muscles tightened. She’d spotted her quarry arriving.

Gertrude had been shown a photograph of Tillie. She believed she’d have to use all her acting skills—plus her talent as a makeup artist—to convert herself into the quarry. The woman looked like a milquetoast—timid, unassertive, spineless. Gertrude decided she’d have to significantly rein in her natural flamboyance, squashing it down into subservience.

Ugh.

Trying not to be too obvious, she sidled past clusters of waiting passengers to get closer to the drab woman clad in a muddy-colored tweed suit. She swore the woman’s felt hat looked crushed, as if someone had sat on it. She glanced down at her own fashionable business attire and touched the pert hat nestled on elaborate rolls of hair. Giving up a fashionable wardrobe to wear dowdy clothes would be her supreme sacrifice for Hitler.

A trip to the five and ten cent store to acquire dark-rimmed glasses was mentally put on her checklist of things left to do. There was no way she could wear the thick-lensed, prescription glasses that woman wore. While at the five-and-ten, she'd pick up a bottle of hair dye to darken her blonde hair to a mousy brown.

Gertrude intended to get next to Tillie and to start a conversation. Before the train ride was concluded, she must perfectly mimic the woman’s voice and mannerisms. To do that, she needed to keep her talking until her own ears and eyes could fine tune the nuances.

One bright spot of sunshine! Tillie Weber seemed to enjoy the verbal digs she was inflicting on the beleaguered man who had escorted her to the station platform. Gertrude would enjoy doing that herself.

She was relieved to see the man finally shake Tillie's hand and quickly scoot away. At the same time, the train pulled into the platform. She angled herself directly behind her quarry. They entered the same first-class railroad car.

GERTRUDE ELBOWED A man out of the way so she could sit directly across from Tillie on the red, plush-velvet railroad car seat. She smiled warmly.

Hello, I'm Miss Gertrude Whitehead, she said, using her cover name for this mission.

I’m Miss Tillie Weber. The woman nodded, rather than shaking Gertrude’s extended hand. Instead, Tillie wrung her hands. I'm a little nervous about such a long train ride. This is my first train trip out of town.

Why, aren’t you the fortunate one to take a seat across from me.

Gertrude put a lighthearted tone to the words. She damn well knew the truth was the other way around regarding the seating, but she wanted Tillie to feel in control. She patted Tillie’s hand in a reassuring gesture. I’ve done this trip to Philadelphia several times before and can point out the tourist attractions along the way.

Slipping into a light trance to activate her telepathic talent, Gertrude probed the woman’s aura to see if there were vulnerable areas. The quick probe determined that Tillie was not psychic and had no occult protections in place.

Gertrude started the process of telepathically draining information out of the woman’s brain and replacing it with soothing concepts of friendship and safety. When the draining was complete, she’d leave her mental probe in place. She had other plans for this quarry before this day was through.

Tillie seemed unaware of what was happening.

Is there an occasion for your travel? Gertrude asked. She’d sit through the most boring of answers in order to clamp onto Tillie’s voice modulations.

I’m actually traveling to a job in Philadelphia for a month or two, Tillie said.

Why, Philadelphia is my home town! Perhaps I could invite you to afternoon tea after church on Sunday.

Tillie’s face lit up. Gertrude made note of how to mimic the delight shown there. She listened to a fulsome inventory of the times Tillie went to a tea shop with her friends and what they ate and drank. Gertrude was amazed the woman had any friends left. She thought Tillie would have bored them all to the point of death by now.

To her, the woman was as drab in voice as she was in appearance.

Although Gertrude was thinner, they were about the same height. Tillie’s clothes should just about fit, if loosely. She assumed they were packed in the well-worn satchel currently residing in the overhead bin.

Tell me about this secretarial job you’ll be doing. Gertrude wanted to steer Tillie back on topic since the train had already covered quite a bit of territory. I bet it’s fascinating if your employers went to the trouble of sending you to Philadelphia.

Oh, I’m not important. It’s the level of my security clearance they’re interested in.

Do tell. Gertrude’s voice urged the woman to get more specific.

Actually, I can’t because it’s classified. The only thing I can say is that the war has made one of our facilities shorthanded. Since I’m known to do the work of two, my employers tapped me for the job.

You must be an extremely fine secretary, Gertrude spoke in a tone that said the subject was infinitely interesting. I’m no slacker myself on a typewriter. How many words per minute do you type?

With easy material, I’ve been known to reach over 100. Tillie tipped her nose up slightly in a show of arrogance. My everyday speed is 90.

Impressive! I’m a solid 70, but I can do 100 words per minute in shorthand. Try to top that one.

I can, Tillie sounded smug. I’ve been clocked at 120. She smiled broadly, basking in her accomplishments.

Having decided she was within the ballpark on secretarial skills and hoping to tap into some additional personal information that might not have been a part of her briefing, Gertrude turned the conversation to Tillie’s personal life. It must be hard leaving your friends behind, even if only for two months.

"The worst is that I had to