The Heritage Paper (8 page)

Before Veronica could process the words, she had another crisis on her hands. Eddie was up in Zach’s grill, demanding, “What do you mean she’s an admitted Nazi?”

Zach was saved by the ring of Veronica’s phone. When she checked the caller ID, she muttered, “Ellen, you’ve got some splainin’ to do.”

But it wasn’t Ellen on the other end. It was Kathy Rhodes, the president of Sunshine Village. “Is this Mrs. Peterson?”

“Yes it is,” Veronica replied, wondering if this time it was aliens, Nazis, or maybe some new fantasy.

“I’m afraid I have bad news. Ellen was found dead in her room this morning. I’m so sorry.”

Veronica gulped hard. It took her back to when she was delivered the news about Carsten. At least Ellen was able to get her secrets off her chest before she went; Veronica got the idea that Carsten died with many of his. Particularly that woman upstate he never told her about.

“I understand,” Veronica somberly replied. And now came the hard part—handing the phone to Eddie. He was the one who had to make the call to her about Carsten. She couldn’t even imagine how hard it must have been for him. And while Ellen might not have been a ray of sunshine, she sure was to Carsten and Eddie.

Eddie grabbed the phone and answered it as he always did, “Peterson here.”

As he listened intently, he seemed to shrink. He normally kept his emotions locked away, choosing to cover them over with a rug made of the unflappable, offbeat jokester. Veronica had never seen him cry before. Not even at Carsten’s funeral, where she could tell he felt it was important to keep it together for Maggie and Jamie. But on the rare occasion when Veronica witnessed his emotions seep out, they were raw and primal, just like now.

When the call ended, he wound up and threw Veronica’s phone at the trunk of a large oak tree, shattering it into pieces.

The trip to Chappaqua took only ten minutes. Eddie provided them with an official escort, complete with lights and sirens. Veronica wasn’t sure what the hurry was. She’d identified one dead body in her life and that was enough for her. It’s not like you could bring them back.

She trailed close behind in the Tahoe with her kids in tow. Zach and Youkelstein also joined her carpool, probably too afraid to ride with Eddie in his current mental state.

They drove up the tree-lined driveway to Sunshine Village. Eddie cut the sirens on the police cruiser, presumably out of respect for his elders.

Geyserland, as Eddie referred to it, was an impressive park-like campus built around a man-made lake, reminding Veronica of a rural New England college. Groups of “active” elderly were scattered around the grounds, power-walking or feeding the geese, as if they were auditioning for the cover of next year’s brochure. The many residents inside who were crippled by depression or hooked to ventilators never seemed to make the brochure.

The lobby looked like that of a swanky hotel, featuring a large open area that was crammed with fake ferns and furniture that always appeared to be brand new.

A peppy teenager working the front desk explained to them that Mrs. Rhodes would be with them in a moment. It was obvious to Veronica that their arrival had been anticipated. The only other time they were granted an audience with Mrs. Rhodes was during the sales pitch. Once they signed on the dotted line, she had no time for them. Even when they demanded to talk to her personally about the security after the “aliens” incident.

Veronica noticed a sign in the lobby for the
Sunshine Village Holiday Sale
. It reminded her of how rapidly Ellen went downhill. Veronica’s grandparents on her father’s side were the same way. One day they were traveling to France like some infomercial for retired life, and the next thing they knew they were practically paying rent at the hospital.

Carsten and Eddie had dragged Ellen here kicking and screaming, literally, almost two years ago. It hurt them to do so, but it was clear she could no longer live by herself in the New York apartment that she’d called home for almost forty years. First, she fell down the stairs and broke her ankle. And after surviving that, she ended up getting robbed at gunpoint by a couple of crack-heads while on her way to the grocery store.

But once she lessened the kicking and softened the screaming, Ellen took to the place, or at least tried to make the best of it. Maybe it was out of respect for Carsten and Eddie, or more likely, she hoped to get released based on good behavior so she could return to the city. But regardless of her motives, she got involved in the sale her first year, knitting numerous sweaters for the event, despite throbbing arthritis in both her hands. She even played the lead in the spring play. But in June of that year, Carsten died. From that point on, it seemed as if this day was inevitable.

Veronica suddenly felt Maggie missing. Her eyes roamed the room, searching for her. She’d reached her limit of missing kids for one day.

She quickly located her—practice makes perfect—surrounded by a mob of older gentlemen, standing around a pool table and pretending to play. During Maggie’s many trips here for her project, she’d become the most popular person in the place. Veronica noticed her working the room like she was running for office, which she probably would one day. She had few friends at school, but she was Miss Popular at Sunshine Village. Veronica just shook her head—Maggie didn’t come with an instruction manual.

Not to be outdone, Jamie was playing the role of Maggie’s running-mate. The residents were doting on him like he was their own grandchild, taking special notice of his police uniform. He loved making people smile—easily his best quality.

As for the rest of the group, Youkelstein was welcomed as if he were a new resident being dropped off by his family. Zach remained pleasant, but quiet. His serenity contrasted with Eddie, who was violently pacing and badgering the teenage girl behind the counter with questions she wasn’t qualified to answer.

A few tense minutes later, Mrs. Rhodes arrived. She was in her fifties and wore a tailored suit. During their first meeting she had the bubbly-real-estate-agent thing going, but today she played the somber funeral director. Veronica saw a talented actress who could replace Ellen in this year’s spring play.

She used all the soft words—peaceful, passed-on, left us—the same ones that were attempted by the doctors when Carsten died. But there was nothing peaceful about a thirty-six-year-old man dying of a stroke in a seedy Poughkeepsie motel, leaving two children without a father.

Mrs. Rhodes walked them down the cramped corridors. Veronica always felt like a giant when she came here. Everything was made to the scale of the shrinking residents and it felt like she would scrape her head on the roof, despite being just five-six. The familiar trip brought them to Ellen’s room, which like her apartment in the city, was an overpriced closet.

Veronica wasn’t sure why they were brought here, other than a subtle hint to remove Ellen’s things ASAP so they could move the next resident in. She expected some sort of chalk outline or police tape, but it was just a lonely room.

“An orderly found her this morning in her bed, she must have left us some time last night,” Mrs. Rhodes said, pointing to the bed that had been neatly made up.

The room looked the same as it always did—miserable. The small television on which Ellen watched her beloved Yankees play was still there. It was one of few surviving items from the “coffee pot fire,” in which she’d accidentally left it on and almost burned the place down. Two of her favorite items—a tacky couch and the laptop computer that Carsten gave her—did not survive.

Veronica walked to a bookcase, which still held the many framed pictures of Ellen’s husband Harold and son Harry Jr. According to Zach, she went out of her way to absolve Harold from any Nazi knowledge in the presentation, but Veronica still wondered what he would have thought about her claims of having a child with the Gestapo guy, or Hitler helping to raise her. Probably the same thing they did—sadness, at what her once sharp mind had been reduced to.

Carsten often claimed that Ellen had quite a sense of humor and optimistic outlook before Harold died. Veronica would need to see that to believe it—he had already died at the time she began dating Carsten. The ironic thing was the last time Veronica picked up Maggie, on Sunday, Ellen seemed the most at peace she’d ever seen her.

“So you’re saying she died of natural causes?” Eddie asked in his investigator tone.

A serious look came over Mrs. Rhodes’ face. “That is why I wanted to meet with you—I think you should come with me.”

They followed her into the hallway, the cryptic reply piquing their interest.

They continued following in lockstep behind Mrs. Rhodes, and passed into the
Long Term Care
facility, which for all intents and purposes was a hospital. But not one that the patients left. Ellen called it a hospice without morphine.

Mrs. Rhodes whisked them into a small examination room. Ellen’s body was lying on a table, with a sheet covering her to her neck.
A little notice would’ve been appreciated!
Veronica turned to block Maggie and Jamie from having a vision of their dead Oma permanently scarred into their minds. Despite Youkelstein’s warning about their safety, she sent them off to play by themselves in the hallway. Her initial fears at the school had waned. Being in this place reminded her how frazzled Ellen’s mind was at the end.

Ellen was laid out on the cold slab and looked like Ellen always did, still dressed in her favorite nightgown. But from Veronica’s angle, it looked like a thin smile had escaped her lips. No doubt she was enjoying all the drama that she’d caused—she loved being the center of attention.

Standing beside the table was a man in a white lab coat. He introduced himself as Dr. Bondy, and then stated, “It’s my belief that Ellen committed suicide.”

There went the pleasantries. “What do you mean suicide?” Eddie shot back.

The doctor remained oblivious to Eddie’s threatening tone. “At first it seemed like a typical death of natural causes. We see it all the time here. Just a peaceful passing. But when I began examining her I smelled it.”

“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.”