The Heritage Paper

Chapter 19



A dazed Veronica watched her children assist Zach and Youkelstein, carrying the painting into Flavia’s office like pallbearers.

Veronica was trying to wrap her mind around what Flavia just told her. The first part—that Carsten might not have had an affair, not physically anyway. Even if true, Veronica didn’t take this as good news. The affair was the event that allowed her to distance herself from his death. Just because their marriage was, to use Flavia’s words, an unmitigated disaster, didn’t mean she wasn’t hit with an overwhelming feeling of loss when Carsten died. But the photos of him and Flavia entering that motel were like a force field that allowed her to exchange her pain for anger, which was a much more tolerable emotion.

The other part was harder to grasp. The same people who killed Carsten. And while most thirty-six-year-old men don’t drop dead of a stroke, it’s not like it never happened, and foul play was never even suggested.

After shutting the door, Zach and Youkelstein performed an “unveiling.” They removed the garbage bag that covered the painting. Flavia studied it closely, and pointed to the scribbled ink. “Is that really Hitler’s signature?”

“I believe it is,” Youkelstein spoke up.

Flavia locked eyes on him. “And you would be?”

“Dr. Benjamin Youkelstein.”

“What kind of doctor deals with Hitler’s signature?”

“I’m a forensic pathologist. But I dabble in historical justice.”

She chuckled. “I dabble in historical justice myself, Dr. Youkelstein. And I must confess that I do know who you are. I’ve read much of your work.”

A satisfied grin came over his face. Veronica was once again reminded that boys might get older, but they never outgrow the urge to impress a pretty girl.

“How do we know it’s not a fake?” Flavia asked. “The painting, the signature, or both?”

“We don’t,” Veronica said, feeling a surge of competitiveness. “But I’d be willing to bet that it’s the original.”

“Carsten mentioned you were an art history major. He wished you hadn’t given it up. People should never give up their passions,” she stuck Veronica with a few more needles, then added, “So if this is the real deal, it must be worth a small fortune.”

Veronica took a deep breath, suppressing her urge to lash back. “Hard to tell if being underground has damaged it, and if so, how much damage there is. I also don’t know if the signature of such an infamous figure adds or subtracts from the value, but yes, it’s safe to say it would be worth quite a bit.”

“I guess I’ll hang it with others,” Flavia said with a casual shrug.

Zach joined the conversation, “You’re going to hang a stolen painting in your art gallery … are you mad?”

Flavia looked at Zach like he had just walked into the room. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” she said and extended her hand. “Are you a member of the historical justice team like Dr. Youkelstein?”

“No, my name is Zach Chester,” he said and clasped her hand. “I’m a journalist. I used to write for Newsbreaker.”

“I used to fit into my prom dress. I’m only interested in who you are today.”

“I’m just a guy telling you I don’t think it would be a good idea to hang a stolen painting in your gallery.”

“I didn’t say I would hang it in the gallery. I said I would hang it with the others.”

Before anyone had a chance to grasp the comment, a man in a dark suit burst through the door.

Veronica jumped—were they about to be busted by police for being in possession of the stolen painting? Or was it the Apostles, who were going to kill them all because they now knew too much? Veronica stepped in front of Maggie and Jamie—nobody was going to hurt her kids.

But when Veronica’s eyes focused on the man, she realized who it was.

It was Eddie.

In a suit.

Veronica had never used the words ‘dapper’ and ‘Eddie’ in the same sentence. But wow! And he brought with him a trail of cologne. His shaved head glowed like he’d shined it.

He had told Veronica that he wasn’t going to follow a wild goose chase to Rhinebeck. But his protective instinct must have led him here.

The kids looked thrilled to see him, but Flavia not so much. She had pulled out a handgun from her desk drawer and held it on him. The Nazi ghosts had spooked her more than she initially let on.

Veronica mediated a peace settlement, “He’s with us—it’s okay.”

Eddie smiled, seemingly oblivious that she had just been seconds away from putting a bullet in him. “I’m Lieutenant Edward Peterson—I’m in charge of security tomorrow for Jim Kingston, who if you haven’t heard, is running for president. I’m kinda a big deal.”

“Am I a threat to the potential future president?”

“You do pose a national security threat—nations have gone to war over women much less breathtaking than yourself.”

“Does that line ever work?” Flavia asked.

“Normally I would have clubbed you over the head and dragged you back to my cave. But you struck me as sort of a classy chick.”

Eddie’s gaze finally left Flavia’s glow, and made its way to Veronica.

“I have a meeting with Kingston,” he explained the suit.

“You look good,” she told him

“I think it really hugs my boobs,” he replied with a laugh, before morphing into Serious Policeman Eddie. “I stopped by to visit the girl who works the front desk at Sunshine, but she wasn’t home. Roommate told me that she often stays with her boyfriend in White Plains. I’ll stop by tonight.”

Veronica nodded, but knew the answers they needed were far beyond the pay-grade of the girl who worked the front desk.

Eddie returned his attention to Flavia. “So do I get a tour, or am I going to have to take out my badge and abuse my police power to get it?”

“I would be honored, but only on the condition that I can take all of you to lunch.”

“I stopped allowing beautiful women to buy me meals—it was taking up too much of my time—but I’ll make an exception this one time.”

Veronica thought she was going to be ill.

Flavia locked the precious painting in her office, and began leading them around the gallery. The men followed her like Picasso would a bird, and hung on her every word. Even Jamie, which broke his mother’s heart. Maggie must have sensed that Veronica could use some comfort because she clung closely to her as they toured the gallery.

Veronica wished she could say that the gallery was tacky or cheap, but it wasn’t. It was the place she always dreamed of starting, but never had the guts. As the tour continued, she began to feel slightly better. She always had changed personalities when she was in an art gallery or museum. It gave her a sense of peace. But finding complete solace would be a challenge on this day.

Maggie also seemed to decompress a little as she soaked in the many paintings and sculptures, hopefully her mind off Ellen and the Nazis. Veronica was proud of the love for art she’d passed on to her daughter. She grabbed her hand and they began discussing some of the paintings that lined the walls.

But once they left the gallery, Veronica’s sense of peace vanished. Every motherly instinct she had began to scream that her children were in danger.