by Ranjini Iyer
Oh dear, Ernst thought. How many minutes, hours, days before she realized the truth? How much time did he have?
Max smiled weakly.
“You haven’t had any tea,” he said.
“It’s too hot.” She grimaced, her pert nose wrinkling like a small child’s.
He nodded. She was a smart girl. She would know before long. As they talked she would find out. His muscles relaxed at the realization. He had held his secret like a tense ache for years now. At the thought of sharing it with her, he almost felt young again.
It was a wonder she hadn’t realized the truth already. It was because she trusted him completely. Like one trusted the sun to rise every day.
Ernst forced himself to think of the evening he had poisoned Hiram. He had added over 30 grams of aspirin to Hiram’s bottle of whiskey, knowing fully well that Hiram was going to have several drinks that evening. In fact he had even stayed and chatted with him, encouraged him to drink more, leaving only when the stomach cramps had come on. The combination of aspirin and alcohol would cause severe gastrointestinal bleeding, and if ignored, Hiram would die. The dose Ernst had allowed him to ingest virtually guaranteed it.
Later, when he was calmer, he had tried convincing himself that he had done nothing more than bring peace to a troubled man, a man who was tottering on the brink of a messy end by drinking too much anyway. The police and medical examiner hadn’t even considered foul play. They had found the aspirin in his system and concluded it was either suicide or accidental death, as Hiram drank too much and was known to be prone to depression.
After killing Hiram, Ernst held on to the botulinum poison for the day he would be caught for his horrible deed. The day he would have to use it on himself. But that day hadn’t come.
Instead a day even more horrific had come. This one.
He had managed to go on by telling himself that he had done what was needed to avenge Sally’s death. Hiram should not have laughed at him when Ernst asked him to not publish his work. “My Sally will die if you do,” Ernst had pleaded. But all Hiram had done was rebuke him and Sally for being childish. “Tell her to see a doctor,” Hiram had said. “It will be years before Sally’s company is affected. And by that time she can make permanent changes, maybe even sell the company.” Ernst had tried telling Sally all that, but all she had heard was the sound of impending doom. Her paranoia had taken over from there.
If only Hiram had taken him more seriously, if only Sally had been more stable. If only, if only.
Killing Hiram hadn’t been easy. Living with it had been a nightmare. Not a day passed without him feeling a cool chill every time he set eyes on a bottle of whiskey or aspirin. It wasn’t just the fear of being caught. He had been burdened with remorse watching his dear Max suffer because of her father’s death. The poor child had struggled to understand the reason her father had left her.
He shouldn’t have done it. It was rash and foolish. He had tried over the years to stop questioning his action, but it wasn’t easy. And he hated how he was able to pass for a sweet old man now. Jagged shards of guilt had eaten away at him over the years.
Had it been worth it?
Not once was he able to give himself the answer he wanted.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Max wondered if Uncle Ernst was pondering over Papa’s death, too. Was that why he was looking so agitated?
“I was thinking on my way back here, who could possibly have profited from Papa’s death? It couldn’t have been for money. Papa didn’t have much. It had to be the document.” She was rehashing her conversation with Schultz, but here in this familiar setting, it was easier to try and make sense of what he had said. She frowned. Schultz had said something vaguely significant. She looked around the room as she searched her mind for what it was.
On the dining table was a fruit bowl with some plastic-looking red apples. A stack of brochures was strewn on a chair. The colors were bright blue and lemon yellow—a stark contrast to the rest of the room whose colors had faded with time. Sally Hart Weight Loss, it said.
Max glanced at the brochures. They extolled the virtues of Sally’s company. New food products were mentioned.
Uncle Ernst suddenly breathed in, a sharp intake that sounded like a wheeze.
“Are you all right?” Max was truly concerned now. She picked up a cup of tea and brought it to her lips when Uncle Ernst suddenly reached over and grabbed her hand. A few drops of tea spilled on her lap. “Oww, that’s hot! What is the matter, Uncle Ernst? You’re not yourself today.”
“Not that cup, dear, no. This one is for you.” He handed her the other cup on the tray.
She took a sip. Uncle Ernst seemed to breathe easier. The tea was bitter. It had been steeped for too long. She set it down, leaned back, and closed her eyes.
It came to her then. What Schultz had said. If Berliner was too powerful to need to kill her father, it meant that someone less powerful would actually need to kill him. But how would they have found out about Papa’s work? Papa wouldn’t go around telling people. She hadn’t for a moment believed that he had been the one to tell Berliner about his work. Schultz had confirmed her belief by telling her about Papa’s test subject who had called and blackmailed him. Had this person called other companies, too?
Think, Max. Think.
Max glanced at the brochures once more. Sally would have had a lot to lose. Hers was a small weight loss company. But Sally couldn’t have done it. She was already dead when Papa died.
She drank some more of her tea and turned to Uncle Ernst. His jowls were shaking. His face was pallid.
“Uncle Ernst, how many people knew about Papa’s work?”
Uncle Ernst’s eyes were filmy. “No, no, no,” he was muttering to himself.
That’s when it hit her.
Like a hailstorm, pounding her mind with one icy realization after another.
What had uncle Ernst said once? “I was supposed to keep Hiram’s research, not Lars.” Uncle Ernst knew Opa’s work. He was his closest friend. He was the one person to whom Papa would have told everything. In fact, Papa probably did give Uncle Ernst the research. He gave copies to Uncle Ernst, Lars, and Kevin.
She looked at him and she knew. There was apprehension in his eyes, but mostly there was immense sadness. Tears were streaming down his face.
But why? Why did he do it? For Sally. For revenge of course. Seldom sympathetic about weaknesses in people, Papa had been quite callous about Sally’s suicide, she remembered now.
Uncle Ernst clenched his hands and gave a little sob.
Max’s chest filled with a searing pain she hadn’t known in years. She stood, tripped over the coffee table, and fell. Uncle Ernst tried to help her.
“Why did you?” she bawled. “Why? Why?”
“My child!” he cried, his tongue stumbling over his words. “You have no idea how relieved I am that you know. My sin has been gnawing upon me for too long.”
Max moved away from him.
Uncle Ernst looked devastated. “Don’t be afraid. You’re breaking my heart.” He held his trembling hands together. “I was beside myself when Sally died. When I told Hiram my Sally had died because of him, he shrugged. He was drunk. He laughed and called her a mad woman.” Ernst began to sob. “Not his fault, he insisted. You have no idea how it feels to be helpless and watch your loved ones die. I’ve had to do it twice. I was helpless the first time. After the second time, I just couldn’t let it go.”
“And so you made me that helpless one?” Max sank down to the floor.
He bent down to be at eye level with her. She shrank against the wall. “All I wanted, all I ever wanted when I got out of that camp was to have a family. A daughter. After my wife and child were gassed, it was all I dreamed of for a happy life. How does one gas a baby girl? How can a God, if there is one, stand by and watch such a thing? But it happened. And this God watched it happen—over and over and over again!” He slammed his fist against the wall.
“Once I got over wanting to die
myself, I swore I’d have a family again and when I did, I’d do anything to protect them,” he said fiercely. “I decided that as far as my family was concerned, I got to play God. I was helpless against the Nazis. But I wasn’t helpless after the war ended. I would show them and myself that I was capable of having a family I would do anything for.”
He held his chest. The intensity of his words seemed to have taken his breath away. “Sally had been my golden child until she met James Hart,” he growled. He straightened himself slowly. His back must be killing him, Max thought. Uncle Ernst walked away from her. “He was a gold digger. It takes one to know one, I told Sally. I had spent my youth taking advantage of rich women. But she became furious and didn’t listen. James Hart left her alone with Alex—a baby. And still she stayed away from me. She held all that old anger against me even after the bastard I had warned her about had left her. She rarely spoke to me for years. Suddenly, one day she called. She wanted to give me a chance. All I had to do was help. But I couldn’t. Instead I let her die.”
Max was unable to form coherent thoughts. She wondered if Uncle Ernst might hurt her. She looked at the door. There were some fifteen feet between her and safety. And he was distracted. “So he did give you a copy of the research,” she said. “You, Lars, and Kevin. If Lars failed, sooner or later I would have found that tape and asked you about the matzo ball soup. You did have the research!”
Uncle Ernst nodded. “Of course, I did. But I destroyed it along with the pill samples he gave me.”
“I thought you loved my father like a son.” Max edged toward the door.
Uncle Ernst put his palms over his face. “I begged Hiram not to release the work. ‘Don’t make me choose between a son and a daughter,’ I said. But he became indignant. He didn’t care that Sally had threatened to commit suicide. She couldn’t bear the idea of facing ruin a second time. The first time she attempted suicide was when her husband left her. When that attempt failed, she threw her energies into rebuilding her company from the rubble he had left behind. When she heard about Hiram’s research and his plans to release it, she attempted suicide again. I still did nothing. I hoped, fervently, that the threats from the Berliner people would stop Hiram, but he only became more determined. I asked him to postpone releasing the work, just until Sally was better and could be reasoned with. But he refused. And Sally, assuming the worst, took sleeping pills once more. This time she died. I hated Hiram then as much as I hated the Nazis.” His clenched fists slammed against the windowsill. He turned suddenly.
Max stopped moving. Her face was covered with perspiration. Uncle Ernst came closer to her.
“Have you any idea how hard it was for me to do it? You were always my little angel, turning into a beautiful young woman,” he said gently. “You were so dear to me.” His voice suddenly grew animated. “I have something for you.”
Max thought about the bitter tea. “The tea…was it poisoned?” If it was, she didn’t seem to be feeling the effects yet.
“No! Never!” He turned away. “I thought I could, but I just couldn’t. You’re my Max. My liebchen.”
Max scoffed at this. Uncle Ernst looked angry now. Max scrambled to her feet and made for the door, but Uncle Ernst was blocking it. In his hands was a small gun. His hands were shaking, but that only made Max more frightened that it might go off. “Sit! Please. I hate to do this but I need you to understand. Please.”
Max felt a strange calm come over her. The events of the past few days had made her more capable than she had ever thought herself. Or perhaps she was standing outside of herself, watching the scene unfold. It was what she sometimes did to cope. She went back to the sofa but remained standing. She felt like she was losing control of her body—only her mind seemed alert. Her legs had gone wooden. Was it the tea or merely the shock of Uncle Ernst’s betrayal?
Uncle Ernst went to the coffee table and picked up the second cup of tea. He took a sip and went on. “And in case you’re thinking it, I didn’t arrange to kill Lars. When you went to London, I placed a threatening call to him. That’s all.” His face took on an expression Max had never seen before. It looked like a death mask.
“Hiram could have helped Sally, but he didn’t. He was too selfish. He had been waiting for years for success, he told me. ‘I cannot wait until your daughter gets well to enjoy my glory. She may never get well,’ he said. I know he had tried to reason with her, but in the end, he just didn’t care about anyone but himself and his ambition. He deserved—”
“To die? You took a life, how is that fair?” Max cried.
“All’s fair in a love like mine,” Uncle Ernst said sadly.
Max felt her knees give way. If this was the way it was to end, so be it. Kevin would see that the research was published. She had done her duty. She had avenged her father.
“Today I’m torn,” he said. “You see, you are the one I love most, you’re my dearest. You have been the one true joy in my life. Only you. And so before I feel weak and change my mind, look here. I have something for you in this backpack. A thief, a man named Aaron West, has been working for me. He has been following you everywhere.”
“What?!”
Uncle Ernst gulped down his tea and sent her a sad smile. “Darling Max. If you only knew the pain I have felt every time I looked at you. I realized too late that you were the one I loved most. And now that you know, I cannot go on. I love you, my darling. You’ve been all the family I ever wished for.”
Max squeezed her eyes shut, feeling love and hatred for Uncle Ernst all at once—an emotion that was tearing her apart. Seconds later, a shot went off. Max slumped to the ground. Seconds later she heard a groan followed by a dull thud.
She opened her eyes. How was she alive when he had used the gun on her? Or had it gone off by mistake? There was a desperate knocking at the door. She somehow got to her feet and opened it.
Julian threw himself at her and squeezed her so tight she could barely breathe. “Are you all right?” he took her face in his hands. “I was mad worried about you,” he said. “I then remembered that your Uncle Ernst lives here. I’ll call an ambulance.” He stumbled over Uncle Ernst. “Did he shoot at you?” He picked up the gun. “Did he shoot himself, too?”
Uncle Ernst’s fist was clenched. Julian pried open his hand. There was a bottle. He looked at the cup of tea on the table and at the bottle.
Max was shaking.
“And what’s this?” Julian opened the backpack that lay beside Uncle Ernst. “There’s a vial of pills here! Two vials. These aren’t the Indus pills, are they?”
Max couldn’t respond. She was drowning under a tsunami of feelings—anger, love, sympathy, grief. A flood of icy reality washed over her. She had lost everything. Everyone she held dear was gone. She looked at Uncle Ernst lying on the floor—misshapen, flabby. In his tattered, ugly wool sweater. Poor darling Uncle Ernst. How much harm he had done in the name of love. The only thing she could feel good about, the one thing she could hold on to, was that he had said he loved her.
Julian was calling the police in a voice that sounded drugged. The world around her dimmed. Julian became a smudge.
Max slumped to the floor.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Max tore open a new bag of whole-wheat flour. She was about to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies for a client. With maltitol, 80 percent cacao dark chocolate chips, egg substitute, and a combination of applesauce and a brand new olive-oil-based butter substitute, Olicol. It didn’t smell appetizing, but she had been assured in a secretive whisper by the product demonstrator, that the end result, if not buttery, did not taste like cardboard.
As long as the money was good, she’d make them.
Max creamed the maltitol and the butter substitute then added the egg substitute. Kim giggled, seeing the faces Max was making as she added every ingredient. Max exaggerated her horrified expressions, encouraged by Kim’s delight.
And since it was inevitable, Max began thinking about him. She thought of him on
ce every hour. At least once every hour.
More than three weeks had past since she had last seen Julian. A lifetime ago.
She had fainted, of course, and missed all the police action. When she came to, she was home and there they were—Julian holding her hand and Kim fussing about the room.
She ought to be grateful that Julian had walked in—blundered in, really—with noble intentions. But as she sat up in bed and tried to explain how complicated things were, he just hadn’t gotten it.
“I thought your uncle loved you so much,” he had said. “Why the poison and the gun?”
“He couldn’t bring himself to poison me,” Max said. “I think he planned to drink the poisoned cup himself from the start—”
“Perhaps,” Julian almost snapped. “But he did try and shoot you.”
“I don’t think he intended to shoot me, either,” Max insisted, irritation rising like a ribbon of fire within her chest. “The gun just went off.”
Julian scoffed. “That shot was meant to kill. You got lucky, Maxine Rosen.”
As Max’s annoyance grew stronger, Julian went on, working the story out like Hercule Poirot on speed. All this when Max was only just coming to terms with the painful reality of losing Uncle Ernst and finding out that he had killed her father, had even contemplated killing her.
Max finally lost her temper and began shouting, asking Julian to just shut up. She didn’t remember her exact words, but she had ended her rant by calling him cold, unfeeling, and insensitive.
“You should consider it a favor that I even came looking for you after the inexcusable way you left Karachi,” Julian had said.
“You used me!” Max responded harshly. “I fell in love with you, Julian McIntosh. You lied to me. You used me for thrills. Thanks for the favor!”
Julian got up. “That’s how you see it, do you?”
That was when Kim entered the room bearing smiles and a tray full of fresh-baked chewy oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and homemade thick-cut fries, both of which Max loved.
