The Heritage Paper (16 page)

“As head of the Gestapo, he had been in charge of creating false identities for the Nazi hierarchy, which became extra important at the end of the war, when they weren’t so proud of those SS numbers anymore. So it’s no surprise his identity was perfectly crafted, and included an impressive résumé in law enforcement.

“Gus served as head of the Rhinebeck Police Department from 1952 to 1963, before he suffered the stroke that left him in a wheelchair, and without the ability to speak. While on the force, he even used the same card system he’d made infamous when he headed up the Gestapo, which permitted a quick identification of every German citizen and their threat level to Hitler’s government.”

They passed St. Marks Church. “Following his stroke, Gus dedicated most of his time to the church,” Flavia said, pointing at the old, wooden structure.

“That would add up
—
Heinrich Müller was an ardent Catholic,” Youkelstein stated.

“He would be present each Sunday, regardless of his handicap or failing health. He donated a large portion of his life savings to the church, and even purchased a van for the parish so that handicapped people like himself could attend each Sunday.”

“Are you trying to say that this made up for what he did?” Veronica asked, irritated.

“No, I’m telling you that the ones who appear the most innocent sometimes can be the most deadly. Like wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

Veronica gripped the steering wheel as Bon Jovi’s “Runaway” played. It was the first good advice she’d gotten all day.

They drove past Victorian homes with piles of leaves dotting the spacious front yards, before eventually turning onto a secluded, dirt driveway. They passed a weathered, red barn that sat peacefully next to a calm pond. The rural landscape was very Norman Rockwell, not to mention a good spot to hide out if you were a Nazi war criminal.

Flavia parked her Jeep in front of a cozy-looking farmhouse with an inviting front porch, which was shouting distance from the barn. Eddie skidded to a stop beside the Jeep, tossing dirt and gravel in all directions, and receiving a giggle from Jamie. In more sedate fashion, Veronica placed the Tahoe behind the police car.

“This place is beautiful,” Zach gushed, stepping out of the vehicle.

“It looks peaceful, but the ghosts are just resting,” Flavia said. Veronica couldn’t decide if she was attempting to be funny or cryptic.

After helping Youkelstein out of the Jeep, their guide was on the move again. She began walking toward the horizon at a brisk pace. The group followed her. The rain had stopped, but the terrain was still muddy.

As they got further and further away from the house, the barn began to look like the tiny red dot of a laser pointer, and Veronica started to become unnerved.

Even Eddie looked a little apprehensive, his hand positioned in striking distance of his gun. Zach tried to give Veronica one of his comforting smiles, but she saw right through it. She grabbed Maggie’s hand and found it clammy—a rare sign of nerves. The only ones who seemed to be enjoying the experience were Youkelstein and Jamie.

Flavia stopped suddenly. There didn’t seem to be anything special about where she stood, an open field a few acres from the barn. She knelt down, balancing on her heeled shoes, and wiped away some hay. It exposed what looked like a sewer or drainpipe.

“I stumbled upon this when I first moved in—and I mean literally stumbled. I’m a Miami girl, so I was born in heels, but I found they don’t work too good on a farm, especially when I caught them in this thing and almost broke my ankle.”

She attempted to dislodge the protective cover atop the sewer. When frustration grew, she turned to Eddie. “Officer, I know you don’t want to chip a nail, but can a girl get a little help?”

Eddie jumped. But if he didn’t, Veronica was sure the other males would’ve stampeded over her to perform the manual labor for the princess. After a couple of grunts, he removed the metal grill and they stared down into a dark nothingness. Always prepared, Eddie pulled out a flashlight and shined it down what looked like a mineshaft. The light reflected off a ladder that was attached to the sidewall, leading into the abyss.

Flavia cautioned, “We have to go down about a hundred feet in the dark, if you’re afraid of heights, the dark, or the Boogie Man, I suggest you wait up here.” She paused for a moment, but nobody stepped back.

She looked at Youkelstein, who leaned frailly on his umbrella. Just the walk across the yard had worn him out, and his breathing was labored. “Ben, it might be best for you to stay up top.”

A gleam formed in his eye. “I have a feeling I’d regret not seeing what’s down there for the rest of my life.”

Veronica was impressed by the John Wayne act, but wasn’t sure how long that life was going to be if he made a habit of climbing into caves. But she could tell that there was no way he could be talked out of it. So one by one they descended into the dark. Veronica instructed Maggie and Jamie to go between her and Eddie—she would keep them as close to her as possible.

Just when she started to get the sinking feeling that there was no end, she heard Flavia’s heels click on the ground, followed by the sound of Youkelstein’s umbrella pecking at the terrain. When she reached the bottom, the darkness had turned to light—Flavia had lit torches that lined the walls. The flames illuminated the jagged stalagmites of the musty tunnels.

It reminded Veronica of Howe Caverns, a tourist trap near Albany that was made up of subterranean caves. And like Howe Caverns, the temperature was mild, regardless of the weather outside.

Eddie took control, doing a head count like a camp counselor, and asking, “Is everyone okay?”

Nobody responded, but Youkelstein didn’t look too good. Everyone stalled to give him a minute to catch his breath.

Once he was stabilized, Flavia hurried down a winding cave corridor. She continually warned, “Watch your heads,” as she expertly maneuvered through the caves. Veronica actually found the caves peaceful.

But then the tranquility was shattered.

Maggie screamed.

Everyone scattered as a bat flew past them.

Veronica took a deep breath.
Be calm for your children. That’s what Carsten would do.
She put her arm around an embarrassed Maggie and pulled her tight to her side.

“Bats are cool!” her brother tossed a little salt onto his sister’s wounded pride and began chasing after the bat until Eddie horse-collared him.

After putting their hearts back in their chests, they soldiered on, struggling to catch their breath in the thin air. Their path ended at a thick, steel door built into the cave wall. It looked like an airtight door that might be found in a submarine. This time Eddie didn’t need to be asked, he twisted a steering-wheel-type device on the door like he was making a hard left turn. After some more grunting and groaning, the heavy door unlatched and opened inward.

This room was not dark, in fact, it was glowing. Veronica took one step inside and her mouth dropped.

Veronica wandered toward the glow. It looked like a miniature version of pictures she had seen in her textbooks.

“The Amber Room,” she exclaimed with astonishment.

“I figured that an art history guru like yourself would know better if it’s the real deal,” Flavia answered. “I found the materials stored underground here in sealed crates. I didn’t know what it was at first, but when I figured it out, I tried to put it together just as it last looked in the photos.”

Jamie made a mad dash toward one of the chairs, but Veronica grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. You can dress them up, but you just can’t take them to a lost treasure once described as The Eighth Wonder of the World, she thought with a shake of her head.

“Be careful,” Flavia warned. “The amber is very brittle.”

“Just amazing,” Youkelstein chimed in. “Shortly after the German invasion of Russia, the Nazis gained control of the treasure. They maintained it at the castle of Königsberg, until January of 1945 when Hitler gave the order to move it. So the treasure was loaded into crates, which were last seen at a railway station in Königsberg. There were rumors it was put aboard the
Wilhelm Gustoff,
which was sunk by a Russian submarine. Some believe it never left Königsberg, which was destroyed by the Royal Air Force that April, while others believe it was burned by the Red Army.”

“Wow—raise your hand if you had Rhinebeck in your missing treasures pool,” Zach quipped.

Veronica lightly ran her hands over the porcelain fixtures. “I mean, it could be the real deal, but I’m a student, not an expert.”

“Well, consider this to be your final exam,” Flavia said. “These caves are filled with paintings and other works of art that were stolen by the Nazis during the war. But for obvious reasons, I’ve never had the opportunity to authenticate them.”

“What was your reaction to finding this cave, and all it entailed?” Zach asked like a reporter.

“Like I said, I wasn’t a Nazi expert when I moved here. And while I have a good eye for art, I am no historian. I thought they must be Gus’ secret art collection—he’d given many paintings to St. Marks, so I knew he’d been a collector. I thought it would be a nice tribute to him to hang them in my gallery.”

Youkelstein looked shocked. “You hung priceless stolen paintings in your art gallery!?”

“Obviously I didn’t know they were stolen. At lea
st
until a customer complimented me on my exhibit to honor paintings stolen by the Nazis. She was also impressed with how exact my replicas looked.”

“So let me get this straight,” Zach interrupted. “You claim to have stumbled upon this cave after moving here full-time, but you had owned this place for over twenty years. So how did these artifacts remain in such pristine condition?”

“I’m sure the subterranean conditions down here helped, along with the lack of light. And I certainly wasn’t the one who constructed these airtight rooms. I believe someone was taking care of the art for all those years after Gus’ death. The cave had a curator.”

“Any idea who that would be?” Zach asked.

“Yes, I think it was Ellen.”

“What makes you think that?”

Flavia began walking away. “You need to follow me.”

Part of Veronica wanted to hightail it home. She was kicking herself for taking Ellen’s bait. Her only objective was to protect Maggie and Jamie. And by bringing them here, she feared she’d done the opposite.

But the other half was intrigued by the stolen art, and was attracted to the mystery. The old Veronica was shining through the cracks.

Maggie must have noticed her inner turmoil and nudged up beside her. “You okay, Mom?”

“How could I not be? I’m surrounded by all the things I love—you and Jamie, amazing art, Uncle Eddie … okay, two out of three isn’t so bad.”

They had a good smile at that one—no comedian cracks this time.

The motif inside Flavia’s farmhouse was sort of an eclectic mix of
Miami Vice
and Colonial Williamsburg, but of course it worked.

Flavia disappeared into a long hallway, leaving the rest of them standing in a rustic kitchen that featured a tempting wine bar. The hallway was lined with paintings and Veronica couldn’t help wonder if they were also stolen. Flavia returned minutes later, carrying a pile of papers and envelopes and dropped them on the kitchen counter, reminiscent of when Veronica scrambled to pay the bills at the end of each month.

“These are letters between Gus Becker and Ellen Peterson,” she announced.

Veronica picked up the first one, dated March 28, 1953. The letter was addressed to Philip and signed by someone named Andrew.

“I don’t understand,” Veronica said. “These aren’t from Ellen.”

“Yes they are,” Youkelstein said, pulling the letter close to his face. “Philip and Andrew were names of Apostles. They are using their aliases.”

“When I first found them, I was confused myself,” Flavia explained. “I thought that perhaps Andrew and Philip were lovers who owned the farm prior to Gus. But then one day someone showed up to connect the dots.”

“Carsten,” Veronica blurted out.

Flavia nodded. “He traced a return address on one of the envelopes he’d discovered in the back of Ellen’s closet when they were moving her to
Sunshine Village.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking at either, but when we cross-matched them to the letters I’d found, we realized that we now had both ends of the letter chain. It became clear that Philip was Heinrich Müller/Gus Becker, and Andrew was Ellen. We assumed they had a secret love affair, but little did we know how much further it went.”

Eddie didn’t want to hear of any affair, or anything that would disparage his memories of Ellen and Harold Peterson. He stormed out of the room, almost knocking Zach over in the process.

Veronica thought to go after him, but thought better of it. She returned her focus to the letters, and when she began to read, she realized that when it came to the Peterson family, Eddie was the least of her worries.