The Novel Art of Murder

by V. M. Burns

  My only regret in my loft was the walk downstairs to let the dogs out. As the poodles aged, I found them less inclined to run up and down the stairs too. Since they were toy poodles and weighed less than ten pounds each, I counted carrying them as weight lifting.

  It was mid-November and the early morning air was chilly with a strong breeze off Lake Michigan. Oreo didn’t take nearly as long as usual to find a blade of grass worthy to sprinkle. Snickers wasn’t particular. She squatted where I placed her over the threshold. From inside, I could see steam rising from the grass where Oreo took care of his business and from his nostrils as he posed with his leg hiked in the air. Both were done and back inside quickly.

  Nana Jo and I were off to the retirement village within minutes.

  There wasn’t much traffic during daylight hours and virtually none at three in the morning. In fact, most of the traffic lights stopped working after ten in North Harbor and just flashed yellow to allow the few people out and about after dark to keep moving as quickly as possible. The main road followed Lake Michigan, but the fog rolling across the lake hid it from view. We didn’t talk during the fifteen-minute ride, but the silence was companionable.

  At the retirement village, the night security recognized Nana Jo and waved as we walked down the hall toward the elevator.

  Right before we got to the elevator, I heard a sound.

  “Psst.”

  We turned and saw Irma hiding by the wall. She motioned for us to come.

  “Irma, you better be dying to drag us out of bed in the middle of the night,” Nana Jo said.

  “Shoosh. Follow me.” Irma hurried down the corridor, looking over her shoulder like a scared rat. She led us to an apartment which I knew wasn’t hers. Without hesitation, she twisted the knob, opened the door, and entered.

  Nana Jo and I followed her inside, through the living room, and into a bedroom. She stood back and pointed.

  On the bed was a man.

  Nana Jo scowled but walked up to the man and stared down.

  “Is he dead?” I whispered the question, but in the dead of night, the words reverberated around the nearly empty walls and sounded like a shout.

  “Yep.” Nana Jo looked at Irma. “Did you kill him?”

  “Of course not.” Irma’s pride was insulted and she straightened her back, pushed her shoulders back, and held her head high. Unfortunately, her actions had the result of opening the baby doll negligee she’d been clutching at her throat and setting her off on a coughing fit that wracked her body and echoed around the room like a canon. The negligee was barely covering her assets. It was sheer and left nothing to the imagination. With six-inch red hooker heels and a tiara on top of her jet-black beehive, Irma Starczewski might have been attractive if it weren’t for the eighty years of wrinkles and sagging skin that covered her one-hundred-twenty-pound frame.

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “Magnus von Braun. He hasn’t been here long. In fact, I think he moved in a couple of weeks ago.” Nana Jo looked at Irma. “You work pretty fast, don’t you?”

  “Don’t start with me, Josephine. What are we going to do?” Irma asked.

  “We?” Nana Jo stared. “I’m not sure where you’re getting we from. Sam and I just got here.”

  Nana Jo was a little harsh, but Irma had a tendency to whine. Years of heavy smoking left her voice raspy and deep, and I knew Nana Jo had no patience with whiners under the best of circumstances, and this was definitely not the best circumstance.

  Irma fidgeted with the tie of her negligee and repeated her question. “What are we going to do?”

  “Go down the hall to Freddie’s room and ask him to join us.”

  Irma didn’t budge.

  “Well?” Nana Jo stared at her.

  Irma dithered. “What if he’s still out there?”

  “Who?” Nana Jo asked.

  “The killer,” Irma said as if she were talking to a dim-witted child.

  “Then you’d better run.” Nana Jo turned to take in the scene of the crime.

  After a moment of hesitation, Irma stomped down the hall. She stomped as well as any woman could in six-inch heels.

  Nana Jo turned to me. “She needed a job. She was working on my nerves.”

  “You’re sure he’s dead?” I already knew the answer but asked from a need to hear a living voice.

  Nana Jo placed her hand on the dead man’s wrist. I suspected that was just to kill time. “Oh, yeah. He’s dead. You don’t live seventy plus years without recognizing death when you see it.”

  When I looked closely at his face, I could see in his eyes the thing that gave him life was already gone.

  “Come here.” Nana Jo leaned down close to his face. “Take a whiff.”

  As I leaned over Magnus’s body, the faint odor of bitter almonds was barely perceptible over the overwhelming scent of whiskey. “Almonds.”

  Nana Jo nodded.

  I quickly looked around the room, careful not to touch anything. Considering Magnus von Braun had just moved to Shady Acres, there wasn’t much to look at. His apartment was larger than some of the others I’d seen. He had a living room area with a sectional, coffee table, end tables, and lamps. The bedroom was sparsely furnished with a bed, dresser, and folding chair. There were several boxes in a corner of the room and a couple of paintings on the wall. I wasn’t an art critic, but the pictures appeared to be really good quality. On his dresser was a small open wooden box with medals and commendations from the war. On top of the dresser were a few framed pictures and two glasses of whiskey. Despite the elapsed time frame, Magnus von Braun was recognizable due to a distinctive birthmark on the left side of his face. The photo was of a young Magnus from the Second World War.

  Nana Jo leaned down and looked closely at the photos. “Unless my cataracts are acting up, that’s Magnus shaking hands with Hitler.”

  I leaned in and stared at the photos. She was right.

  We heard Freddie and Irma coming into the room.

  He took in the situation in a split second. “Did you touch anything?” Even though he whispered, Freddie’s voice carried.

  “Of course not. I’m not stupid,” Nana Jo said with dignity but ruined the effect by sticking out her tongue.

  Hiding a grin, Freddie turned to Irma and told her to go down the hall and notify the administrator.

  “Freddie. I just don’t know how I could go that far all alone,” Irma whined and looked coquettishly at Freddie. Even in the dark room, I could tell she was batting her eyelashes.

  “Irma Starczewski, you stop this nonsense at once. Pull yourself together and march down that hall this minute, or, so help me God, I’ll wrap that negligee around your neck and strangle you.” Nana Jo delivered the threat and followed it up with a look that showed she meant business.

  With a humph, Irma turned and left.

  “Now, what’s this all about, Josephine?”

  “I have no idea. I was sound asleep when Irma called and begged me to come. Sam and I got in the car and rushed over here.”

  “Did she kill him?” Freddie asked.

  I shrugged and looked at Nana Jo.

  She was silent for a minute. “She says she didn’t.”

  “You believe her?”

  Nana Jo nodded. “Irma may be a sex-starved ex-beauty pageant drama queen, but she’s honest. She says she didn’t, and I believe her.”

  Freddie grunted and looked around the room, much as I had done, being careful not to touch anything.

  “We should probably wait outside.” He reached into the pocket of his bathrobe, pulled out a cell, and dialed the police.

  “A man’s been murdered at Shady Acres Retirement Village. Send word to Detective Pitt. It may be related to an ongoing murder investigation.”

  Freddie answered a few questions and then hung up. He held out an arm, directing us to leave the room. Nana Jo was first. She headed for the door but veered off and pulled out her cell phone. She quickly snapped several pictures of the dres
ser and the room. Then she turned and snapped a few pictures of Magnus. When she was done, she hurried from the room.

  I followed behind. When I got to the door, Freddie grabbed my arm and whispered, “Is she involved in this?” He inclined his head in Nana Jo’s direction.

  It was only then I noticed the muscle twitching at the side of his forehead, the thin line of his lips, and the rigidity of his shoulders and back. In his eyes was concern.

  “No.” I shook my head and watched as he slowly allowed his body to relax.

  When we got out of the room, Freddie closed the door and stood guard outside. “You better go wait in the lobby. The police’ll be here soon.”

  Nana Jo faced Freddie. “I’m not involved with Magnus von Braun.”

  Freddie hid a smirk. “You heard that?”

  Nana Jo smiled. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’ve lost my faculties,” she joked but then said in a serious tone, “I’m only dating one man at the moment, and that’s you. I have no idea what happened to Magnus von Braun, but it has absolutely nothing to do with me.”

  Freddie nodded and pulled her close and gave her a kiss and a hug.

  Nana Jo smiled broadly. “But I did notice Irma looking at you like some love-sick kid.”

  “Well, you’re the one that sent her to my room in the middle of the night,” Freddie joked. “I nearly had a heart attack when she grabbed me.”

  Something in Freddie’s eyes made me ask, “Where exactly did she grab you?”

  Freddie grinned. “Let’s just say a see-through negligee and tiara aren’t the only way Irma grabs a man’s attention.”

  The police arrived in mass and herded us like cattle into the dining room, where we were asked to wait until we could be questioned. Thankfully, it was now time for breakfast and Gaston had prepared a very lavish meal which helped to distract us.

  “That smells awesome.” Detective Pitt drooled.

  “Hmm. It is delicious,” Nana Jo said between mouthfuls.

  Freddie was also enjoying a large three-egg omelet, fresh croissants with butter and strawberry preserves, coffee, and fresh fruit.

  Ruby Mae and Dorothy were there, and they ate heartily too. Irma stared into a cup of coffee which had long ago gotten cold.

  Nana Jo walked to the kitchen. After several moments, she returned with a plate heaped full of bacon, sausage, eggs, and toast and placed the plate in front of Detective Pitt.

  He nodded a thank-you and then shoveled the food into his mouth as though he hadn’t eaten in days. “Been on a diet. I haven’t had real eggs in days.”

  Gaston Renoir was a resident at Shady Acres and a retired chef from one of the best restaurants in Paris. He moved to Michigan to be closer to his grandchildren. When the administration learned of Gaston’s culinary skills, they made a deal allowing him to stay for a reduced rate in exchange for cooking for the residents and administrators; it turned out to be a win for everyone.

  “What happened?” I asked

  Detective Pitt slowed down eating. He looked around the dining room. “You were right. The coroner is almost certain he died from cyanide poisoning. If you hadn’t caught that, his death might have been written off as natural causes. He had a bad heart and a host of other medical problems. Turns out he was suffering liver cancer and probably would have been dead in six months.”

  Freddie nodded and took another drink of his coffee.

  “What about his family?” I asked.

  “He had a brother.” Detective Pitt flipped through a notepad. “A Wernher von Braun. He’s dead. The brother had children. Magnus didn’t. Early days yet.”

  I gasped.

  “Wernher von Braun?” Freddie asked.

  Detective Pitt looked up and noted the looks we exchanged. “What?”

  “You’ve never heard of Wernher von Braun, the famous rocket scientist?” Nana Jo added. “Didn’t you pay attention in any of your classes?”

  Detective Pitt scowled. “Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me.”

  “Wernher von Braun was a famous German scientist. He developed the German V-2 missile,” I said.

  “He was a Nazi.” Freddie frowned. “The V-2 missile increased the Nazis’ ability to launch bombs that could make their way to England and her allies,” he said with a bitter edge in his voice.

  Detective Pitt shrugged. “That’s the brother. What’s that got to do with our dead guy?”

  Irma looked up. “Magnus was a scientist too. He worked with his brother. They were very close,” she said softly.

  Detective Pitt looked puzzled. “Okay, so how’d he get here in the United States?”

  Freddie looked angry. “The United States made a pact with the devil in order to defeat the Germans.”

  “He means the Soviet Union,” Nana Jo explained.

  “We won the war, but the government was afraid of the Soviets. They were afraid they’d get the technology the Nazis developed and become stronger and more powerful.” Freddie looked into his cup as though he saw the past. “So, we made our own pact with the devil. We allowed Nazi and Nazi collaborators to enter our country to gain control over the technology.”

  Nana Jo clasped Freddie’s hand.

  “Operation Paperclip, that’s what they called it,” Irma whispered. “Magnus and his brother were brought here and put to work at NASA. They helped develop the Saturn V rocket that allowed us to beat the Soviets to the moon.” She coughed.

  We stared at Irma.

  She looked up. “He told me.”

  Obviously, Irma and Magnus had gotten close in many ways during the short period of time he was at Shady Acres.

  “Sounds like you knew this Magnus guy pretty well.” Detective Pitt stared suspiciously at Irma. “Plus, you’re the one that found the body. I’m going to need your statement.”

  Irma nodded.

  I looked at Detective Pitt. “Do you think the two murders are connected?”

  “What makes you think it’s murder?” he asked.

  Nana Jo tilted her head. “You’ve got to be kidding. Two people die a few days apart? Plus, one was killed by cyanide. We told you that.”

  He shrugged. “It might be murder and might not be.”

  Nana Jo snorted.

  Detective Pitt’s face reddened. “He was old and sick. Not just sick. He was dying. The end was in sight. Maybe he took the poison himself.”

  Dorothy chimed in for the first time. “Suicide? You think he committed suicide?”

  Detective Pitt would have had to have been deaf not to have noticed the cynicism in her voice. He colored further. “That’s the problem with amateurs. You jump to conclusions.”

  Nana Jo bristled at the insult. “He didn’t leave a note. If he was going to commit suicide, he would have left a note.”

  Detective Pitt gave her the “you poor deluded fool” look before adding, “Not all suicides leave notes.”

  That rankled my feathers. “True. But why wait until you move into a new apartment to kill yourself. He could have done that before he came.”

  That wiped the smug look off the detective’s face.

  “And another thing, did you notice the smell of whiskey on his breath?” Nana Jo asked.

  Detective Pitt shrugged. “So, what? The man obviously had a drink.”

  Freddie asked. “Where’s the bottle? There was no bottle in his room, at least not that I saw.”

  “Me either. The murderer made a mistake by removing the bottle,” I added.

  Irma’s face went pale and her hand shook.

  It was clear Detective Pitt hadn’t noticed, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. “We’ll find the bottle.” Detective Pitt used his fork to scrape the last morsels from his plate, wiped his mouth, and took a long swig of coffee. He burped and patted his stomach. “Thanks for the grub. You guys eat pretty well around here. Lobster Thermidor and pâté are outside of my sphere.” He looked around. “What’s a place out here cost, anyway?”

  Nana Jo and the others frowned
. Finally, Nana Jo said, “It depends on where you live. I bought my house when they were just building, so I got a great deal.”

  Ruby Mae frowned. “Again, it also depends on where you live. They have single family detached homes like Josephine’s. But, there are also town houses, which are less expensive, condos, and apartments.”

  Detective Pitt looked around. “Nice place. I bet even the apartments are more than a North Harbor cop can afford.”

  I frowned, not only at the impropriety of talking about money, but something else was bothering me. “Wait. What do you mean Lobster Thermidor and pâté?”

  “That’s what that Maria woman had for her last meal.” He pulled his notepad out and flipped the pages. “Pâté.” He looked up. “That’s duck liver.” He scowled. “Supposed to be some kind of delicacy.” He looked at his notepad. “Creamed spinach soup, Lobster Thermidor, grilled asparagus, rice, and pears poached in champagne.” He flipped his notepad closed. “Too rich for my blood.”

  Everyone looked at each other.

  He rose and looked at Irma. “Now, I need your statement.”

  She looked pale but got up and followed Detective Pitt out of the room.

  The rest of us sat quietly for several seconds.

  “Lobster Thermidor?” I asked. “Gaston is a good chef, but I didn’t realize he was serving such fancy food.”

  “He isn’t. At least not to the likes of us,” Nana Jo said.

  “I’m absolutely going to be talking to Gaston today,” Ruby Mae said with a hardened look in her eyes.

  I felt a twinge of pity for Gaston, but it passed quickly.

  You think we need to call the judge?” Ruby Mae inclined her head in the direction Detective Pitt and Irma just went.

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” Nana Jo said.

  Freddie smiled. “I already did. He’ll be here soon.”

  “Something’s bothering you, Sam.” Nana Jo could always read me like a book.

  “It’s just something you said.” I turned to her. “You said Magnus moved here to be close to his grandchildren.”

  She nodded. “That’s what we were told.” She turned to Dorothy and Ruby Mae.