The Heritage Paper (13 page)

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
—n
ations 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.

Lunch would be at The Tavern at the Beekman Arms, located about ten minutes up Route-9, along the Hudson River.

Despite the November chill, Flavia drove her Jeep with top down. Youkelstein, risked pneumonia to ride with his new BFF.

Eddie took Jamie off her hands for another ride in the “cool” cop car
—t
his was turning out way better than Career Day for him. The three cars lined up in a row like a funeral procession. Veronica hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come.

The restaurant was located on the vast grounds of a historic hotel, which displayed a collection of WWI fighter planes that attracted Jamie’s attention. The interior featured overhead beams, an open-hearth fireplace, and an intimate bar.

The hostess provided a scripted speech about the extensive history of the Beekman Arms as she brought them to their table
.
Veronica thought about playing “top this” with the story of the Hitler autographed Raphael, but didn’t want to rain on her parade.

When the hostess suggested a viewing of planes while they waited for their food, it set Jamie off. “Oh, Mom, can I please go see the airplanes … pretty please.” He folded his hands into praying formation. “Pretty please with sugar on it.”

“Perhaps after we eat.”

“I’m still kinda full from that great breakfast you made this morning.”

“We had cereal for breakfast.”

“Can I
pleaaase
go see the airplanes.”

Veronica knew the kids needed a break. The tension was starting to rub off on them. Children take their cues from the adults, even if they act like they don’t know them sometimes. But at the same time, the warning signs about impending danger were multiplying. And Flavia’s words were still lodged in her mind.

The same ones who killed Carsten.

“Maybe Uncle Eddie can take you,” she said with a hopeful look in his direction. They weren’t going anywhere alone.

“I think I should stay here,” he said.

She’d hit his most touchy nerve. Eddie wore an eternal chip on his shoulder, always insecure about being good enough. And now she’d reduced him to babysitting duty while the “grownups” figured out how to save the world. She couldn’t believe she did that.

Zach picked up on things. The observer. He volunteered to escort Jamie.

Eddie suddenly changed his tune. Veronica wished he would pick a lane and stay in it, but then he wouldn’t be Eddie. One minute the childlike jokester, the next a raging bull.

“I’ll go,” he grunted.

“It’s not a problem—I need to stretch my legs anyway,” Zach said.

Jamie was on board, but not Maggie. She felt ownership of this Nazi scavenger hunt. She was the leader, no matter how old she was. Ellen had picked her.

But Veronica also knew that behind those old eyes was an unnerved twelve-year-old. Even Harry Potter needed to be twelve once in a while. Since Carsten’s death, it was like she was caught in limbo between childhood and adulthood.

“Mags, why don’t you go play with your brother,” Veronica prodded.

She didn’t budge.

“Mags—I’m talking to you.”

“I need to be here—why don’t
you
go look at airplanes.”

It wasn’t so much the words, but the jolting tone that almost knocked Veronica off her seat. But before she could respond with words she’d likely regret, Eddie jumped in like the chubby, infantile angel he always defaulted back to. He got up and said, “C’mon, Maggot, I’ll race you.”

“You run like you have a refrigerator on your back, Uncle Eddie.”

He grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder. She fought at first, but then let out a smile. The look on her face was priceless.

Thanks, Eddie … again.

But before they exited, Zach made one last attempt, “Why don’t you stay, Eddie. It’s better that you’re involved in these conversations. Being a cop, you might be able to decipher this mess.”

Eddie’s smile turned to a competitive scowl. “Who’s going to protect the kids … you?”

Since Eddie and Zach couldn’t properly determine who the alpha male of the group was, they compromised, deciding to both accompany the children.

It left Veronica and Flavia together, with Youkelstein acting as the referee. Before the bout could begin, a friendly waitress took orders for appetizers. Youkelstein got the onion soup gratin, while Flavia ordered the prosciutto and melon with extra virgin olive oil. Flavia seemed to Veronica like one of those people who would breezily order for the group in a trendy Manhattan restaurant. Even when they lived in the city, the Petersons were always more of a pizza delivery family.

Flavia ordered a bottle of Pinot, and Veronica finally found something they had in common—they both needed a drink.

As their appetizers arrived, and more importantly, the wine, Flavia stared them down with a look of mistrust. But her skepticism might have been prudent. For all she knew, they could have been the ones who “murdered” Carsten and were trying to elicit information from her before delivering her the same fate.

As Youkelstein sipped his soup, he shared the details of what Ellen had said on the video during Maggie’s presentation. Hearing it out loud made Veronica choke on her crab cake, and she needed a gulp of wine to wash it down.

But Flavia didn’t seem a bit surprised. She turned to Youkelstein. “It makes me think of your book, Ben:
Smoking the Doppelganger.
A very catchy title, I might add—very sixties.”

Youkelstein proudly mentioned that the book was still a hit on Amazon, despite being published over forty years ago.

“So did you find it informative?” he asked, unsteadily raising a spoonful of soup to his mouth.

“I would have if you had remembered to finish it.”

“What do you mean?” he replied, a bruised ego showing through.

“I was impressed by the detailed forensic analysis. And I was very open to your theories, especially since I’d never thought of what happened to those dead Nazis. I went in with no preconceived notions—I didn’t even know who most of them were. And you made an overwhelming case based on evidence, which swayed me to your thinking.”

Youkelstein braced for the but. Authors never seemed to lose their insecurities.

“But you didn’t answer the question of
why
, or at least project a hypothetical of what you believe became of them. So you left me hanging. All of these men you mentioned, like Himmler and Hess, were the types who believe they were put on the planet to do grandiose things. If they escaped, as you made a strong case for, I find it hard to believe they spent the remainder of their lives selling insurance in Santa Fe. You didn’t complete the thought.”

Veronica was stuck on something she mentioned. “You said you never thought about dead Nazis before—what suddenly sparked your interest?”

“Let’s just say that the painting you brought me today wasn’t the first of its kind to come into my possession.”

Flavia turned back to Youkelstein. “So do you believe what you witnessed today represents the final chapter of your book? Maybe that’s why you got the invite.”

“Perhaps.”

“Another issue I had was that the book didn’t cover the one missing Nazi I was most interested in—Heinrich Müller,” Flavia continued.

Veronica summoned the notes in her head from Nazi-101 class this morning. Müller was the Gestapo Chief.

Who had a child with Ellen!

The child who was the Chosen One.

The aliens are cleared for landing.

“Despite claims of my grandstanding, or those who say I’ve never met a conspiracy theory I didn’t believe, I have always based my findings on facts … which is why I didn’t satisfy your need for an ‘ending.’ I have never come across any evidence that Müller survived the war. He was last seen in Berlin on April 30, 1945 with his communications director, Christian Scholz. There have been rumors, such as the Russians had captured him and he worked for the KGB, and similar ones about the US and the CIA. But good money was always on Müller being killed in the Battle of Berlin.”

“What would you say if I told you I know for a fact that Müller survived the war?”

“After my experiences this morning, I wouldn’t doubt you for a moment.”

Flavia took another sip of wine. “What do you say we go pay him a visit?”

Zach was convinced that Maggie Peterson was the key to unlocking this mystery. She would be his inside source, even if she didn’t know it. And it wasn’t a coincidence that he agreed to accompany her outside.

He took a seat beside Maggie at a patio table. It had a view of the grounds, which reminded him of a country club he worked at while growing up in Michigan. He watched as Eddie and Jamie trudged toward the WWI plane exhibit. Then Eddie turned around like he’d forgotten something.

“C’mon, Maggot,” he shouted.

She didn’t move a muscle.

Zach had the opportunity to observe Maggie during the numerous times she’d come over his house to play nerd with TJ. They didn’t have many conversations, since he was the adult—
the enemy!
But he’d learned enough to be familiar with her world-class stubborn streak.

Eddie began marching back toward their table. Jamie was right on his heels. The little guy could smell trouble like a shark could sense blood. And he seemed to thrive on it.

Zach was struggling to get a read on Eddie. At first he wanted no part of leaving the restaurant, acting like he was being demoted to the kiddie table. Then in his next breath, he turned into Maggie and Jamie’s personal Secret Service team.

“Let’s go, Maggot,” he barked. “It’s for your own protection.”

Not even a twitch.

Jamie decided to toss some gasoline on the fire, “C’mon, Maggot—let’s go see the airplanes before they fly away!”