The Heritage Paper

by Derek Ciccone

  Geyserland, as Eddie referred to it, was an impressive park-like campus built around a man-made lake, reminding Veronica of a rural New England college. Groups of “active” elderly were scattered around the grounds, power-walking or feeding the geese, as if they were auditioning for the cover of next year’s brochure. The many residents inside who were crippled by depression or hooked to ventilators never seemed to make the brochure.

  The lobby looked like that of a swanky hotel, featuring a large open area that was crammed with fake ferns and furniture that always appeared to be brand new.

  A peppy teenager working the front desk explained to them that Mrs. Rhodes would be with them in a moment. It was obvious to Veronica that their arrival had been anticipated. The only other time they were granted an audience with Mrs. Rhodes was during the sales pitch. Once they signed on the dotted line, she had no time for them. Even when they demanded to talk to her personally about the security after the “aliens” incident.

  Veronica noticed a sign in the lobby for the Sunshine Village Holiday Sale. It reminded her of how rapidly Ellen went downhill. Veronica’s grandparents on her father’s side were the same way. One day they were traveling to France like some infomercial for retired life, and the next thing they knew they were practically paying rent at the hospital.

  Carsten and Eddie had dragged Ellen here kicking and screaming, literally, almost two years ago. It hurt them to do so, but it was clear she could no longer live by herself in the New York apartment that she’d called home for almost forty years. First, she fell down the stairs and broke her ankle. And after surviving that, she ended up getting robbed at gunpoint by a couple of crack-heads while on her way to the grocery store.

  But once she lessened the kicking and softened the screaming, Ellen took to the place, or at least tried to make the best of it. Maybe it was out of respect for Carsten and Eddie, or more likely, she hoped to get released based on good behavior so she could return to the city. But regardless of her motives, she got involved in the sale her first year, knitting numerous sweaters for the event, despite throbbing arthritis in both her hands. She even played the lead in the spring play. But in June of that year, Carsten died. From that point on, it seemed as if this day was inevitable.

  Veronica suddenly felt Maggie missing. Her eyes roamed the room, searching for her. She’d reached her limit of missing kids for one day.

  She quickly located her—practice makes perfect—surrounded by a mob of older gentlemen, standing around a pool table and pretending to play. During Maggie’s many trips here for her project, she’d become the most popular person in the place. Veronica noticed her working the room like she was running for office, which she probably would one day. She had few friends at school, but she was Miss Popular at Sunshine Village. Veronica just shook her head—Maggie didn’t come with an instruction manual.

  Not to be outdone, Jamie was playing the role of Maggie’s running-mate. The residents were doting on him like he was their own grandchild, taking special notice of his police uniform. He loved making people smile—easily his best quality.

  As for the rest of the group, Youkelstein was welcomed as if he were a new resident being dropped off by his family. Zach remained pleasant, but quiet. His serenity contrasted with Eddie, who was violently pacing and badgering the teenage girl behind the counter with questions she wasn’t qualified to answer.

  A few tense minutes later, Mrs. Rhodes arrived. She was in her fifties and wore a tailored suit. During their first meeting she had the bubbly-real-estate-agent thing going, but today she played the somber funeral director. Veronica saw a talented actress who could replace Ellen in this year’s spring play.

  She used all the soft words—peaceful, passed-on, left us—the same ones that were attempted by the doctors when Carsten died. But there was nothing peaceful about a thirty-six-year-old man dying of a stroke in a seedy Poughkeepsie motel, leaving two children without a father.

  Mrs. Rhodes walked them down the cramped corridors. Veronica always felt like a giant when she came here. Everything was made to the scale of the shrinking residents and it felt like she would scrape her head on the roof, despite being just five-six. The familiar trip brought them to Ellen’s room, which like her apartment in the city, was an overpriced closet.

  Veronica wasn’t sure why they were brought here, other than a subtle hint to remove Ellen’s things ASAP so they could move the next resident in. She expected some sort of chalk outline or police tape, but it was just a lonely room.

  “An orderly found her this morning in her bed, she must have left us some time last night,” Mrs. Rhodes said, pointing to the bed that had been neatly made up.

  The room looked the same as it always did—miserable. The small television on which Ellen watched her beloved Yankees play was still there. It was one of few surviving items from the “coffee pot fire,” in which she’d accidentally left it on and almost burned the place down. Two of her favorite items—a tacky couch and the laptop computer that Carsten gave her—did not survive.

  Veronica walked to a bookcase, which still held the many framed pictures of Ellen’s husband Harold and son Harry Jr. According to Zach, she went out of her way to absolve Harold from any Nazi knowledge in the presentation, but Veronica still wondered what he would have thought about her claims of having a child with the Gestapo guy, or Hitler helping to raise her. Probably the same thing they did—sadness, at what her once sharp mind had been reduced to.

  Carsten often claimed that Ellen had quite a sense of humor and optimistic outlook before Harold died. Veronica would need to see that to believe it—he had already died at the time she began dating Carsten. The ironic thing was the last time Veronica picked up Maggie, on Sunday, Ellen seemed the most at peace she’d ever seen her.

  “So you’re saying she died of natural causes?” Eddie asked in his investigator tone.

  A serious look came over Mrs. Rhodes’ face. “That is why I wanted to meet with you—I think you should come with me.”

  They followed her into the hallway, the cryptic reply piquing their interest.

  They continued following in lockstep behind Mrs. Rhodes, and passed into the Long Term Care facility, which for all intents and purposes was a hospital. But not one that the patients left. Ellen called it a hospice without morphine.

  Mrs. Rhodes whisked them into a small examination room. Ellen’s body was lying on a table, with a sheet covering her to her neck. A little notice would’ve been appreciated! Veronica turned to block Maggie and Jamie from having a vision of their dead Oma permanently scarred into their minds. Despite Youkelstein’s warning about their safety, she sent them off to play by themselves in the hallway. Her initial fears at the school had waned. Being in this place reminded her how frazzled Ellen’s mind was at the end.

  Ellen was laid out on the cold slab and looked like Ellen always did, still dressed in her favorite nightgown. But from Veronica’s angle, it looked like a thin smile had escaped her lips. No doubt she was enjoying all the drama that she’d caused—she loved being the center of attention.

  Standing beside the table was a man in a white lab coat. He introduced himself as Dr. Bondy, and then stated, “It’s my belief that Ellen committed suicide.”

  There went the pleasantries. “What do you mean suicide?” Eddie shot back.

  The doctor remained oblivious to Eddie’s threatening tone. “At first it seemed like a typical death of natural causes. We see it all the time here. Just a peaceful passing. But when I began examining her I smelled it.”

  Chapter 13

  “Two smells really,” Dr. Bondy went on. “The first was hydrocyanic acid coming from her mouth. But it was the other smell that really clued me to the cause of death.”

  “Other smell?” Zach asked.

  “The smell of almonds.”

  The strange looks staring back at him jolted Dr. Bondy to explain, but he kept his methodical pace. “My grandfather served in World War II and worked at the camps that were used
to house the German war criminals after the war ended. These cowards often sneaked cyanide in with them. It was stored in glass vials the Germans called Zyankali, which they often hid in their buttocks—not a pretty image, I know. My grandfather used to tell me about the smell of almonds coming from the ones who were able to commit suicide. He wouldn’t even let my grandmother cook anything with almonds because he associated it with the stench of death.”

  “So, you’re saying that Ellen committed suicide by taking a cyanide capsule?” Zach asked.

  Before the doctor could even answer, Eddie jumped in, “That’s ludicrous—where the hell would a woman in her nineties get her hands on cyanide!?”

  The question seemed logical, even if its messenger appeared anything but. The doctor moved to Ellen’s body and proceeded to pry open up her mouth like a dentist. As disgusting as it was, human nature made them take a whiff of the almond smell.

  “My theory is that she placed the capsule in this bridge,” he pointed to Ellen’s extensive dental work. “Then she said her prayers and goodbyes, or whatever her last thoughts pertained to, and chomped down. At least that’s how the Nazis used to do it. It’s the way Himmler killed himself.”

  There’s that name again, Veronica thought. She caught a glance of Youkelstein, who had penned a book about Himmler surviving the war. So maybe he didn’t take the easy way out after all. This was all very confusing.

  Dr. Bondy continued, “Once she bit into the capsule it wouldn’t take long. Just a slow series of strenuous breaths, maybe for thirty seconds or so, and a pulse for another minute. She definitely didn’t suffer.”

  Eddie was pacing the room like a psychotic lion. “I think you’ve been watching too much CSI! I’m interested in the truth, not theories from some hack who works in an old folks home.”

  Bondy shrugged. “I’m not saying this as fact. We’ll have to wait for the pathology tests to come back, which might be a few weeks. Along with testing these,” the doctor held out his palm, revealing a couple of small tablets. “They were found in her bridgework. My guess is that tests will show them to be cyanide.”

  Zach seemed focused more on the ‘how’ than the ‘if.’ “Someone must have smuggled them in—do you have a list of all visitors?”

  Veronica had a crazy thought about Maggie, but quickly dismissed it. She would never do something like that, even if Ellen pushed her for it. And how would she get her hands on something like that?

  Mrs. Rhodes called on her assistant to get the records of Ellen’s visitors. She would leave no stone unturned in trying to avoid a lawsuit.

  Eddie wanted to settle out of court—as in right here, right now. “And I’m going to have to talk to the person who worked the front desk last night to see if there were any suspicious visitors.”

  “Ellen revealed certain secrets today, that in context, make her death suspicious,” Zach added.

  Eddie flashed him a look to kill. He’d been filled in on the details of the Heritage Paper presentation prior to the trip over, and didn’t take it well.

  “I don’t know what these secrets are,” Mrs. Rhodes said, for the first time appearing flustered. “But Ellen was not of sound mind, and tended to make up grand stories—like the aliens. It’s very natural when the mind begins to slip.”

  Eddie wasn’t listening, “I’m also going to need to see the security tape.”

  The assistant returned with the list of visitors. Eddie ripped the paper from her hand and began examining it. Two obvious names—Eddie and Maggie—dominated the list. They were the only visitors besides Veronica in the last month … except one.

  Aligor Sterling.

  “That’s an interesting piece of information that Mr. Sterling forgot to mention this morning,” Zach said. “And what makes it more interesting, is if Sterling knew Ellen planned on making her admission public, then he possessed a motive to silence her. A lot is riding on this election for him.”

  Eddie scoffed, “That’s ridiculous. Besides, his visit came two weeks ago. Why don’t you leave the police work to me, Nancy Drew.”

  “I’m just saying it would be convenient for him if Ellen was permanently muted. I have no idea what happened, but the fact is, Ellen likely died by cyanide poisoning. Which begs the question—what kind of person can get his hands on cyanide? Probably someone with a lot of connections like Aligor Sterling.”

  “You don’t know the cause of death. The tests haven’t even come back yet.”

  “I’m just giving the opinion of an unbiased observer. I have no dog in this fight, unlike yourself.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You have a motive to protect Sterling—to save your cushy security job for Kingston.”

  Eddie jumped at Zach. He grabbed him by his tie and yanked him in his direction. He was about to start the pummeling when a shrill shout sliced through the room, stopping everyone in their tracks.

  “Stop fighting!”

  Maggie stood in the doorway, her face flush with anger. “You are acting like a bunch of children! Oma would be disappointed—now follow me.”

  For some reason it didn’t seem like they had a choice, so they fell into line behind the twelve-year-old. Except for Eddie, who stayed behind like a pouting child to continue badgering Dr. Bondy and Mrs. Rhodes.

  Maggie maneuvered them through the Long Term Care facility and out a sliding glass door that led to a courtyard. She trudged over the grounds until she came to a weathered maintenance shed. She went directly to a man in a flannel shirt who was old enough to pass for a resident. Maggie called him Red, and ignored his stench of gasoline and freshly cut grass to embrace him in a hug. She then introduced Red as the head of landscaping at Sunshine Village.

  “What can I do for you, Mags?” he asked.

  “I need to borrow a shovel.”

  Could this get any weirder, Veronica wondered. But on second thought, she really didn’t want to know the answer.

  Maggie flung the shovel over her shoulder and led them to a desolate, wooded area on the campus grounds. Without a word, she began to dig.

  The group was too entranced to say anything, or offer help. About a foot deep in the hard November ground, Maggie put her shovel down and struggled to pull out an object that was covered in a plastic garbage bag. Zach and Youkelstein proved that chivalry wasn’t totally dead, helping her bring the object to the surface At least it’s not a body, Veronica thought. Hoped.

  When Maggie tore off the garbage bag, Veronica was stunned. It was a painting of a young man draped in a fur coat, with long 1970s rock band type hair escaping from underneath a beret.

  Veronica moved closer to examine the painting. It could be a fake, but something told her it was the real deal. And Mama Sweetney said those art history classes would never pay off.

  “You recognize it?” Zach asked.

  “Yes—it’s Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man. It was looted from the Czartoryski Museum in 1939. It’s arguably the most famous still-missing painting from the Nazi art plundering during World War II.”

  Youkelstein joined her in examining it. “My Lord,” he uttered, focused on the inscription. Veronica cringed. Who would do such a thing to this valuable painting?

  The writing was in German, but Youkelstein translated. “It says: To my beloved Ellen on the birth of your Josef. He will be painted one day as the leader of the world, and his painting will be titled The Chosen One.” He paused for dramatic effect, before adding, “And it is signed by Adolf Hitler.”

  Oh, him. Veronica guessed that if he was willing to destroy a race of people, desecrating a painting likely wouldn’t have caused him any sleepless nights.

  “I’m not a handwriting expert,” Youkelstein said, “but I’ve seen that bastard’s writing more than my own. I’d bet my remaining years that it’s not a fake.”

  Maggie turned to Veronica. “Oma said I should show you this painting if she died unexpectedly. She said you would know what to do with it.”

  “How di
d you …” Veronica began, but her words trailed off. She knew the answer.

  “We got it from her security box at the bank when we picked up the photos you yelled at me for before.” A sheepish grin came over Maggie’s face. “Oma really didn’t see aliens that night—it was just an excuse to bury the painting.”

  Ellen was crazy, but not crazy the way they thought. She was crazy like a fox. But she was wrong about one thing—Veronica had no idea what to do.

  Zach noticed something. “Look—there’s a note taped to the back.”

  Youkelstein pulled the note off and read it. “It says to deliver the painting to Flavia’s Art Gallery in Rhinebeck.”

  Chapter 14

  Arriving at his office just beneath the clouds, Otto peered down at the magnificent skyline of New York City. It was as if he were levitating above the great metropolis. No wonder people think I have a god complex, he thought to himself with a grin. But reaching the top of the world was only the first step—a journey sixty-plus years in the making—it was now time to run it.

  He felt a tremble go through his body, and noticed his hands shaking. He didn’t know if it was from the overwhelming anticipation, or just the effects of his advanced age.

  The last few days had been the most stressful of his life. Whether to remove Ellen from the equation was the toughest decision he’d had to make since being anointed the leader of the Apostles—it was as if it were a final test. But Ellen had spared him the gut-wrenching choice, by choosing to take her own life—her loyalty shining through one final time.

  When Otto heard the news, the first thing he thought of was the Führer. He always had a special spot for Ellen, but the Führer understood the importance of making the ultimate sacrifice to reach necessary goals. He had predicted this day many years ago, and now he’d taken Ellen home so she could join him in viewing their great triumph.