Chapter 11 Ingrid #2
tabloids, she and Ada agreed to avoid provoking attention. True, they aren’t identical, and Ingrid’s change of hair color
makes their similarities not quite so noticeable; still, they remain noticeable enough. Already the conversations around them
feel louder and every person becomes a member of the press eager to snap a photograph.
Ingrid drops her voice. “Are you mad? What happened to keeping anyone from knowing we’re sisters?”
“What if you’re my cousin from Kent as well as my assistant?” A sly smile curls Ada’s lips, the same way it did when she developed
lies to tell Mother—stories, she called them, since it was a nicer word. “Nobody here is paying attention to us. Even if they
were, or if the press does find out about you, a cousin is far less interesting than a sibling, and it will explain our similarities.”
If someone as private as her sister believes the risk is minimal, perhaps there’s no need to worry. Ingrid’s pounding heart
slows. Here they can spend a day outdoors like the many they spent in Arnhem.
“Did I still attend that dreadful boarding school where Mother locked us up?”
“Of course. And if anyone wonders why we look so much alike, we’ll say it’s our mothers who were the twins.”
The mischievous gleam in Ada’s eyes leaves Ingrid nodding her consent. Ada dons her sunglasses, then offers Ingrid a second
pair. It can’t hurt to obscure her features a little, so she accepts them.
The observatory is aglow in the bright afternoon sun while people of all ages lounge in the lush grass. Ingrid follows Ada
toward the perimeter overlooking Los Angeles. A breathtaking view—greenery and cityscapes, rolling mountains and vibrant colors,
land and sky meeting and mingling.
Ada points to a group of houses, so distant and small they look like miniature figurines. “Gordon’s house is somewhere over
there, in Hollywood Hills. You’re staying somewhere over there.” She indicates distant structures that must be the buildings
downtown. “I’m afraid I can’t get any more specific, considering I’m rubbish at geography.”
Ingrid laughs. “It’s a lovely view. And this was a lovely idea.” To that, Ada lifts her chin in pride as they begin a leisurely
stroll around the grounds. “How was your party last night?”
“Fine, I suppose, other than some strange man who pestered me about a job I declined years ago, implying my decision was un-American.”
Ada shrugs. “Because they see us on their screens, people assume they know us and have a right to say whatever they please—though
I didn’t expect that my turning down a film was such public knowledge.”
A stranger who uncovered what Ada thought was private, asking her about work and politics.
Ingrid buries her fingernails into her palms. She has a feeling she knows exactly who that man was.
The other person from Crenshaw Investigative Services who expressed a keen interest in Ada Worthington-Fox—albeit for entirely different reasons than Ingrid’s.
The one whose target was at the same party, so he seized the opportunity to undermine Ingrid’s investigation, and now God knows what Archie will do with whatever information Ada gave him.
What her sister is dismissing as a trivial matter is not trivial at all.
As they begin their ascent to the observatory rooftop, she catches Ada’s forearm, stopping her on the narrow staircase. “Did
you tell him if your decision was politically motivated?” she asks—rather too harshly. Tempering her words has never been
her forte. “Haven’t you been paying attention to the rumors of subversive influences in your industry? You can’t talk about
politics with a stranger who might twist your words.”
“Stop fussing. Answering prudently and evasively is my specialty. I didn’t say anything that might be misinterpreted.”
The only thing that can’t be misconstrued is explicit clarity. Which Ada never gives, not when she wants everyone to stay
out of her business. Ingrid should berate her for dismissing this matter so easily, should mention the exclusive she promised
Minnie Musgrave—but Ada won’t concede if she feels pressured.
“I’ve heard the rumors, and of course I’m taking them seriously. I asked Mr. Hendrix—my studio head—about them, and he promised
not to let any of this reflect negatively on me.”
“If he can’t keep that promise? You can’t rely on him to protect you.
” Ingrid bites her lip to keep from telling her to avoid Archie, from saying he’s an investigator, as is she, and she’s here to prove Ada is not an instigator of subversive behavior.
Breaching confidentiality is a certain way to get her assignment revoked.
Then Ada will be facing all this alone. “This is not a rumor about a romance or an upcoming role. These are serious, concerning matters that could hold serious consequences,” she says instead.
“I should know. I spend more time immersed in politics than you do.”
“And I spend more time in Hollywood than you do. I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself.”
The silence is charged, tense. Ingrid draws a breath, fighting to cool the heat in her veins. Maybe she can’t expose Archie,
but she can do her best to keep him away from Ada. At last Ingrid takes the lead up the stairs. She did call Ada for a reason—originally,
to broach the possibility of the exclusive. A subject that will have to wait, since it seems Ada is in no mood to discuss
such matters.
“Something else happened at the party,” Ada says when they reach the rooftop and proceed to a less populated corner overlooking
the view. “I received an anonymous note saying I can’t hide, and I think it might be from—” She stops, adopting that same
look from last night when she briefly mentioned the SS man who, according to Ada, will be seeking whatever she took from him.
The next word is hushed, barely more than a whisper. “Him.”
Everything inside Ingrid stills. But they cannot simply assume the note is from Dietrich, not without evidence.
“Are you certain? Maybe a reporter is trying to encourage you to be more vocal about your private life. Why would Dietrich
leave you such a note?” Even his name makes Ada flinch, a realization that brings the heat back to Ingrid’s skin. When she
doesn’t reply, Ingrid crosses her arms. “What am I supposed to do if you won’t help me understand? Ask everyone in Washington
to look for this man for reasons I don’t even know?”
War crimes, likely, the specific nature of which Ada has yet to divulge. Thus of little help to an investigation.
A warm breeze tugs on their skirts as Ada looks toward the distant mountains.
Away from Ingrid. Ada, who chose her sister’s happiness, who remained in an occupied country to help persecuted Jews, who was eager and willing to aid her country, now withdrawn, isolated, reluctant.
Due to the failure she believes is hers, to whatever Dietrich has done, to everything she won’t share. Not even with her sister.
Ingrid takes off her sunglasses, then turns Ada until they face one another and removes hers. Her sister’s gaze is heavy,
weighed by responsibility, determination, and something unsettlingly close to terror.
“You are not alone anymore. And you are the bravest person I know.”
“The girl you knew in Arnhem might have been. I’m not her anymore, am I?”
“Because you became so much more. You resisted and survived a war. We established lives and careers in America. And we have
each other.” Ingrid returns the sunglasses, which Ada folds. “Avoid speaking to anyone about politics unless you’re clarifying
your views in an appropriate setting. Tell me what I need to know about Dietrich. And let me help. Please.”
“I will,” Ada replies quietly. “It’s not you, it’s just . . . difficult.” Then she meets Ingrid’s gaze. “But since you arrived,
the idea of facing it has gotten easier.”
The reassurance is comforting, although Ingrid wishes she could emphasize just how important her sister’s honesty is, wishes
she could be fully honest herself. Working under the strictest confidentiality is proving more difficult than anticipated.
“I’ve got to get home to study my script, but how do you feel about a little party next Saturday night?” Ada grins, her spirits
already brightening. “As you’ve heard, I have a bit of a reputation for them.”
Ingrid holds back a laugh; this is exactly what she knew would happen. Ada has extended the invitation, she will expect Ingrid
to be reluctant, and she will persist until Ingrid concedes. So Ingrid stays quiet to encourage Ada to go on, though Ada has
never needed encouraging in that regard.
“Our group has become known as the Star Society—celebrities, stars. Group gathering, society.” Ada shrugs. “Minnie Musgrave will give a terrible nickname to just about anything, though I’ve grown rather fond of that one.”
Ingrid’s heart thuds. Her opportunity to determine whether these gatherings are a Communist front organization or not. To
determine whether Ingrid should not trust Ada.
The thought has surrounded her all this time, constricting one moment, loosening the next. Now it collides with her the same
way a Wehrmacht soldier once did. If Ada is engaging in subversive behavior, Ingrid must convince her to change before the
damage is irreversible. Before her superiors find out. Because if it comes to that, there will be little Ingrid can do.
And if Ada refuses to alter her ways, or sees no harm in such activities, then what? Ingrid can’t give a false report, so
she will have to tell the truth: that Ada is indeed subversive. Untrustworthy.
Could she bring herself to tell the truth? Or would she lie in her report, or else breach confidentiality to tell Ada of her
efforts, then protect her sister no matter Ada’s views or the cost to herself?
She pushes the terrible notion aside. It will not come to any of that. Of course Ada is trustworthy. Maybe some of her friends