A sick feeling descended into Aleida’s belly. Beatrice had lied about giving Mr. Armbruster the report. But why? “Miss Sharma? Nilima Sharma did this?”
“Delightful young lady. I was sorry to hear she’d passed away.”
“Yes.” Aleida forced out the word.
The police said Nilima had no enemies. They were wrong. Beatrice wouldn’t stand for being defied by a foreigner, for being humiliated in front of her boss—over an issue she opposed. But was it enough of a motive to commit murder?
Mr. Armbruster leaned closer with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “Miss Granville was livid when I confronted her about the matter. I’m surprised she didn’t fire Miss Sharma on the spot.”
“Hush, Howard.” Mrs. Armbruster gave her head a decided tilt.
Aleida followed the tilt.
Beatrice Granville stood behind her, not three feet away, where she could have heard every word.
Chilled furor radiated from Beatrice’s brown eyes.
She had indeed heard.
Could she have killed Nilima?
Beatrice hadn’t been on ARP duty the night Nilima died. But what if she’d shown up in uniform? What if she’d told Nilima of some incident in Green Park? Led her to the trench?
Aleida’s gaze froze in that chilled furor.
Why had Beatrice lied about the report? To deflect attention from her anger at Nilima. From her motive.
Once before, Aleida had noted that Beatrice wasn’t a woman to be crossed.
Aleida sucked in a breath.
Something snapped in Beatrice’s gaze.
She knew.
She knew that Aleida knew.
With every ounce of effort, Aleida composed herself and turned back to her host. She needed to ring the police at once. “Excuse me. I need to use a telephone.”
“Of course. I’ll help you find one after your speech.”
“No, now,” Aleida said in her lowest voice. “It’s quite urgent.”
“We’re already running late, and you’ll be finished in ten minutes.” Mr. Armbruster strode to the podium and clapped his hands.
Aleida gripped her notes so hard they crinkled. It couldn’t wait. She’d already incurred Beatrice’s wrath. But to speak out for refugee children would double that wrath.
Mr. Armbruster thanked his glittering guests at their glittering tables. Thanked them for attending, for their generosity, for their compassion.
At the table directly in front of Aleida, Beatrice sat with rigid posture and a rigid smile, with her evening bag in her lap.
Aleida’s insides squirmed in familiar terror, a terror she’d known too often living with Sebastiaan. Speak her mind and take a beating. Or be silent and protect herself.
Her finger tapped her notes, and the words swam before her. Why had she even come tonight?
Mr. Armbruster read Aleida’s introduction and lifted an arm to her, an invitation.
Aleida dragged her feet toward the podium. Her toe caught in the hem of the too-long dress, and she gasped, braced herself on the podium, and dropped her notes.
