The Heritage Paper

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 did 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.”