Chapter 9 Ingrid
Ingrid
After last night’s conversation with her sister, Ingrid has not yet notified Crenshaw of her success, despite the condition
placed upon her investigation. For a time, their reunion is theirs alone. Now that she has made contact, the real work will
begin—inserting herself into Ada’s world, meeting Ada’s friends, exploring every rumor, securing an invitation to Ada’s Star
Society, uncovering the truth about the organization. Everything she is determined to do to protect her sister from the threats
overtaking her industry. Everything Crenshaw believes she will be unable to do.
Tomorrow the one week he permitted her to make contact will be over, so she calls the office. After the secretary connects
her, Crenshaw’s smug greeting follows.
“Need a flight home?”
“On the contrary, sir, I wish to remain in California until my investigation is complete. Miss Worthington-Fox was in need
of a personal assistant, and I have secured the position.”
Silence. What a pleasing sound. She pictures him leaning back in his desk chair, chewing on the ear of his spectacles, mulling over this unexpected news.
“Given she’s highly concerned about her privacy, it will be important for me to maintain her trust and make her feel supported
and protected. I will report back to you with more information—meetings, appointments, associates, and her parties of course.”
Ingrid relishes his discomfort as he fumbles for a reply. For once he just might pay her a compliment, although that’s probably
expecting too much.
“Eight weeks,” he says at last.
Eight weeks. Enough time to uncover Ada’s loyalties, surely, and certainly much longer than Crenshaw anticipated keeping her
here, which is almost even more satisfying.
When the phone call concludes, a knock sounds on Ingrid’s door. No one responds when she asks who’s there, so she peers through
the peephole, finding a middle-aged man dressed in a nondescript suit. Before she can tell him he’s found the wrong room,
he knocks again.
“You are wasting my time, Mrs. Van Essen. Open the door.”
This man speaks German-accented English and knows her name. Cautiously, she obeys, leaving the chain attached. He doffs a
brown homburg and flashes something, so she scrutinizes the item. A badge.
This must be her handler. Mr. Crenshaw did say her handler would be making contact in California, although Ingrid had expected
him to arrange a meeting, not to show up unannounced.
“Terribly sorry, sir.” She unlatches the chain, then the man—a former Nazi—barges into the narrow vestibule.
A former Nazi. Ingrid hastily pushes the distasteful thought aside. She cannot allow her aversion to his previous position to interfere
with her work.
“Klaus Stieber, Federal Bureau of Investigation. Have you made contact with your assignment?”
She clears her throat, doing her best to look him in the eyes and avoid picturing him in an SS uniform.
“Yes, sir. I will be working as Miss Worthington-Fox’s assistant, so I’ll have access to her home and personal spaces as well as her calendar and schedule, to know where she’s going and whom she’s meeting.
I have no proof regarding whether she runs a Communist front organization yet, but I’ll build her trust and find out. ”
Although Ingrid had asked Ada about her Star Society, she refrained from expressing interest in attending herself. Bringing
up the rumors had been uncharacteristic enough, and of course Ada pointed it out. Requesting an invitation to a Hollywood
party would have been even more unusual. The idea for Ingrid to attend must be Ada’s, then Ingrid will allow herself to be
coerced. Nothing unusual about that.
The corners of Stieber’s eyes crinkle with—dare she call it approval? Though the look disappears, a tiny smile finds her lips.
“Compile a thorough report, and I will be in touch.”
Not quite an expression of total faith in her, but certainly more than expected.
Once the brief visit concludes, Ingrid steps to the window overlooking downtown Los Angeles. She draws a breath. She did not
fail yet, and she has eight more weeks to ensure she won’t. And no matter what else happens, she found her sister.
Aleida is now Ada. The performer Ingrid never doubted she would become. Even if Ada had indeed resented her all this time
and refused to speak with her after their initial contact, knowledge of her sister’s safety and happiness would have been
enough for Ingrid.
Her sister is no Communist, though. Surely not. Of that Ingrid is almost entirely certain. It won’t take her long to prove,
she expects. Her task is simple: Identify threats within the entertainment industry, protect Ada from them, and prove Ada
can be trusted.
Because she can be, can’t she?
A little whisper of doubt and uncertainty threatens the edges of Ingrid’s mind, the way it did every time she was around Mother—the parent she should have trusted, wanted to trust, but never could.
But Mother was a proven fascist. Ada never supported fascism, nor does Ingrid have any reason to believe she supports Communism.
Until she knows the truth, she will have faith.
Whatever the truth is, even if Ada or her associates have Communist leanings, she will do everything she can to educate and redirect them.
Ingrid left her sister to fend for herself in Arnhem; she will not do so now.
After a swim in the hotel pool, Ingrid takes a hot bath, pulls on a bathrobe, and produces the wire recorder she planted underneath
the desk in her hotel room prior to Ada’s visit. While preparing for the investigation, Archie had taught her how to use various
devices, though at the time she did not entirely trust his instruction. It would have been just like him to teach her certain
methods and then supply her with equipment requiring techniques she hadn’t learned. Prior to leaving for California, she had
checked her assigned equipment and was pleasantly surprised to find devices and models like those Archie had shown her, so
she understood exactly what to do when using the recorder during her sister’s visit, even if doing so led to nearly the most
unnatural conversation she’s ever had. She hopes her own discomfort is not apparent in the recording as she begins to listen.
Ada’s questions about Ingrid, noticing Ingrid’s unusual behavior, which Ingrid attributed to worries about Ada resenting her—true worries, yes, though not the entire reason for her nerves.
Knowing the recorder was listening had made her painfully aware of every word spoken, every inflection, anything that might betray that she and Ada know each other.
How desperately Ingrid wanted to converse with her as they always did.
But she needed to provide evidence of her work, so she had attempted an air of professionalism and distance long enough to get a few useful snatches of conversation to submit to her superiors.
As she listens, she glances at her bare hand, picturing the ring that should be there. Despite Crenshaw’s order to remove
all signs of her marriage, her ring is with her, tucked safely among her jewelry. Lars would have understood if she had given
her reasons for removing it—as much as she could, given the confidentiality of her work—but it was an explanation she didn’t
want to give. Yet kissing her husband goodbye, meeting Archie at the airport, then removing her ring aboard the plane feels
like betrayal of the cruelest sort.
She closes her eyes, blurring the images. It’s for the job, nothing more. When it’s done, she can tell Ada and Lars the entire
truth.
“Care for a drink, Miss Worthington-Fox?”
Her own voice on the recording captures Ingrid’s attention. Professional yet friendly, just as two women making each other’s
acquaintance would sound. Good. She was careful not to slip in the old, familiar Leidje during this part of their conversation, despite how wrong it felt using the new name. What follows is a bit of business,
convincing and natural. Ingrid is building rapport with the celebrity she just met, not reacquainting herself with the sister
she hasn’t seen in years.
Because if Crenshaw discovers they share blood, he will never let her finish this. She cannot have that—for her sake or Ada’s.
The beginning of the recording will be easy to trim out before she submits it, as will the end, when Ada reminded Ingrid she
was still herself.
The line will come soon, although Ingrid has no desire to hear it again.
Once was enough. The hurt in Ada’s eyes, the confusion regarding why Ingrid brought up those ridiculous rumors.
Ingrid had nearly blurted out the whole truth then, that this was for a recording and she was not trying to be distant, to seem shallow, to push Ada away when all she wanted was to pull her close.
So when Ada left, Ingrid followed her into the hall, where they could speak freely and she could suggest working as her assistant.
A perfect excuse to give Crenshaw and Stieber regarding how she was so easily welcomed by the private, reserved Ada Worthington-Fox.
A sharp rap sounds on her door, followed by an urgent voice.
“Open up if you’re in there, Inge.”
Ada is here. At once Ingrid stops the machine and shoves it back into the valise under her desk. Surely her sister did not
overhear anything. After Ingrid unlatches the door, Ada slips inside.
“Forgive the rush—I was afraid someone would notice and follow me. I can’t very well stay out of sight in this.” She gestures
to the floor-length gown, understated yet elegant emerald silk draped over her slim figure.
Not even the beautiful ballet costumes from her youth had ever made Ada look like this. A glamorous gown, her dark hair expertly
styled, diamonds glittering against her earlobes. She looks—well, like a film star.
Ingrid glances at her own white robe and touches the towel wrapped around her still-wet hair. “You’re rather overdressed.”