Chapter 13

Barely ten minutes passed before Frank’s phone rang. He sat forward in his chair. Where?” and “When?” he barked into the phone. Then he told Alene, probably before he realized he’d said it out loud, that he was working outrageous hours, and Lee, his partner, was inexperienced. “The CPD just doesn’t have enough resources right now,” said Frank. “Sorry I have to go.”

“Me too,” said Alene. She’d read about challenges the Chicago Police Department had been facing. Just last week, there was something in the Tribune about how the previous mayor had closed two of the city’s five detective bureaus. “Too bad Lee can’t handle whatever it is.” Although, she thought, it was obvious that Frank was better at talking to witnesses than his partner.

“Yeah,” said Frank, “because he doesn’t have enough experience. We weren’t so overworked last summer.”

Alene wasn’t sure how to respond. He’d stated everything matter-of-factly, so it wasn’t that he was complaining, but he obviously didn’t expect her to jump in with helpful ideas. She settled on, “It must be hard on you.”

Frank shook his head and sighed. She liked his composure, knowing she’d have grumbled nonstop to anyone who would listen if she had to deal with an inexperienced partner, budget cuts, and extra work. And she liked that he didn’t even feel the need to remind her that everything was just between them. He only said, “Thanks, A. I like having someone to talk to.”

She liked that he had a special name for her. Her phone pinged with a text message. “It was Sierra. The kids are on their way home, so I’ve got to bounce too.” It was hard to pull herself out of the comfortable chair.

Frank reached for her hand as they stood up. “I can drop you off on my way,” he said, giving her the look that made her want to sit back down. “Really sorry I have to cancel again.”

“Me too,” said Alene. Frank probably accepted being alone with as much equanimity as he accepted his potentially dangerous job. She guessed that he’d never, unlike her, spent a Saturday night scrolling through Instagram to see how many of her old friends were out having fun while she, probably the first one in her class to get married, have children, and get divorced, was trapped at home. They’d hardly talked about his children.

Now that they’d spent a night together, it was time for him to tell her more about his family. Maybe he had a healthier relationship with his ex than she did with Neal. She said, “I don’t want to be the kind of person who constantly whines about my ex-husband, but I always ask Neal to give me advance notice and then nearly every time, I get a text saying they’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”

Frank held her face with both hands, kissed her mouth and said, “And I sure wish people who commit homicides would take weekends off.” They hurried to his car holding hands. Getting a ride meant a few more minutes with him and saved her the ten-minute walk home.

She was in time to see Sierra slam the passenger door of the bright yellow Camaro that Neal was driving that month. The kids loved riding in convertibles, but Alene always worried that Neal drove recklessly when he was trying to show off a fabulous car. Someone must have traded it in, probably a divorced husband whose ex-wife wouldn’t let her children ride in it.

Quinn and Noah hopped out of the back seats and came running into the building. Just as she was feeling grateful that Neal had been picking them up nearly every week, giving them some happy memories, the three children started complaining. Turned out they’d been locked in Neal’s apartment all day while he was at work. She wanted to confront him, but he’d already pulled away with a dramatic screech. Sierra was irate because she’d had to watch Quinn and Noah all day.

Alene asked, “Wasn’t Dad going to take you to a street fair?” They stared back with blank faces. Even taking them to his car dealership would have been more fun than sitting in his apartment. They’d have had people to talk to and lots of activity around them.

Sighing with immense drama, Sierra said, using finger quotes, “It was another emergency. Also, remember two weeks ago when Noah asked some kids if they wanted to play, and they hid in a backseat of a car on the lot and the customer couldn’t find them when he was ready to leave? Dad said we were all punished because of Noah and that’s why we had to stay in all day.”

Nobody had mentioned that incident, and Alene was furious. What kind of father traps his children inside his apartment on such a perfect summer day? He could have called Zuleyka or one of the other four babysitters whose phone numbers she’d given him. Or, he could have called his mother, who would have left work early to make sure they had a wonderful day. Mitzi had told her dozens of times that she was ready to jump in and help every time Neal had the kids.

It was one of those summer days that go on forever. Alene let the kids invite one friend each for dinner while she got Neal on the phone and chastised him. He kept telling her to calm down, which made her even angrier. He claimed, predictably, that he’d had to rush into work when one of his salesmen called in sick. He promised to take the kids for both days the following weekend. But Alene treasured her Sundays with her children and didn’t want to give up the entire weekend. Sierra was fast approaching a time when she wouldn’t be willing to hang out all day with her siblings and her mother.

Everyone found a friend who was happy to have something to do on a Saturday night. Within the hour, Alene was walking on the lake path with four bubbling children plus two pre-teenage girls who were trying but failing to look older. They headed to play mini golf in the park at Diversey, near the Adirondack chairs. Alene rented golf balls and clubs and kept score for the forty-five minutes it took to play a round. Then she ordered pizza from the grill, and they ate sitting outside, swatting away mosquitos. Sierra and her friend spent much of the time whispering and giggling, while the younger children ran around until it was time to walk back. By the time the friends had gone home, and her children were showered and in bed, they’d had enough fun to make up for the dismal day, and all three seemed content.

The next morning, after they’d finished their Sunday chores, and Alene had checked in with Ruthie at the café, she helped the kids pack up for a day at Montrose Beach. There’d probably be several thousand other Chicagoans with the same plan. When everyone was ready, wearing bathing suits under their shorts and T-shirts, with hats, drinks, lunch, towels and sunscreen in their backpacks, Alene called a Lyft and for the sake of starting the day with everyone in the best possible humor, let Sierra sit in front. Alene squeezed between Quinn and Noah in the back of the car.

By one o’clock in the afternoon the children had built a sandcastle, searched and found other friends, lounged on the towels, complained about the lack of waves, and finished their lunches. Later, when Alene was ready to leave, Noah got to stay at the beach with a friend’s family. The girls wanted to go home but agreed to stop first to visit their grandfather at the hospital.

Cal expressed delight in seeing Sierra and Quinn and opened his mouth in a huge grin. When they were little, Cal had taught both girls to reenact a scene from “Little Red Riding Hood” whenever they found him dozing with his mouth open. Sierra had already outgrown it, but Quinn was happy to exclaim, “What huge teeth you have, Grandfather.”

“The better to eat you, my child,” Cal answered, reaching out to tickle her the same way he’d tickled Alene when she was a child. “What brings you pretty girls inside on such a beautiful day? Also, where’s my grandson?”

“You sound absolutely normal, Dad,” said Alene. What a relief. And his color looked good. She wished she could just pack up his things and take him home.

“When wasn’t I normal?” Cal asked. “Maybe I was testing you all. To see if you missed me. And now I’m ready to come home. Wait just a minute,” he squinted at them. “Did you go to the beach today without me? Is that where you lost Noah?”

“We didn’t lose Noah, Grandpa,” said Quinn.

Sierra added, “Some people in the family get to stay at the beach longer than other people.”

“He stayed there with a friend’s family,” Alene clarified. The girls gave him the play-by-play about their day while Alene settled into a chair. “We can go again tomorrow after camp if you want, Dad,” she said. “You’ll probably be sprung from here by then, and the sun is supposed to shine for the next day or so.”

“Who knows if I can even walk on sand. After being imprisoned in the hospital. All week,” said Cal. He still wasn’t completely back to normal, but at least he wasn’t stopping and starting so much. Both girls had climbed onto the window ledge. Quinn said, “This is a better view than we have at home, Grandpa.”

“Just don’t push on the window,” Cal added with a grin. “Last week a couple of kids fell out, and it was apparently tragic.” He shook his head, frowning.

Both girls rolled their eyes, and Alene was about to reply, but she heard the usual yelling coming from the room next door. She had to stop her daughters from running out the door to look. “I thought Sylvie went home yesterday,” she said.

“Nobody tells me anything,” Cal responded.

Alene said, “Grandpa’s neighbor in the room next door screams at some of her visitors. Sometimes being sick makes people do things they wouldn’t normally do.”

“Or you could just tell them that she’s a nutcase,” said Cal. Alene gave him a dismayed look she hoped he’d understand. He shouldn’t speak like that in front of the girls. “I mean,” he amended his comment, “I feel sorry for her because she wanted to go home. And they must have made her stay an extra day. Just to torture me.”

Alene hustled the girls out of Cal’s room. They passed Sylvie’s open door. Miles was pacing while Heather, looking fragile and pale, sat as far from her mother as she could manage in the small room. Sylvie called out to Alene, as she had before.

“We’re just leaving,” Alene said, continuing to walk, “so this isn’t a good time.”

“Hold on,” said Miles, who’d come to the doorway. “I’ve got to clear things up with you. Please give me a minute to explain what’s going on.”

Alene was torn between wanting to get out of there and wanting to hear what Miles wanted to clear up. She said, “Girls, would you please wait in that sitting area next to the elevators so I can talk to this man?” She didn’t think they needed to know who Miles was. “The lake is beautiful today and I think you can see the driving range.”

Quinn took off running. Before turning to follow her sister, Sierra said, “I hope you don’t think we’re going to sit in a hospital lobby for an hour.” So much like her Aunt Lydia.

Alene smiled at Sierra and turned back to Miles, who repeated, “I want to explain something.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” said Alene, thinking he should have done his explaining directly to Frank.

“No, I need to tell you about how I found Stanley.” Miles exchanged glances with Heather and told Alene that three years before, he’d started taking one of the supplements they sold at a previous Better Be Fit location. He’d nearly died. Miles paused to take a deep breath. “The supplement I took has a lot of different names. Stanley’s was labelled as DNP. People have died from it. I started researching and learned that people in Chicago can either buy it online or they can get it at Better Be Fit.”

Alene still stood in the doorway. A lot of her customers carried those Better Be Fit bags. Some had probably bought that exact product. “What’s it used for?”

“Weight loss,” said Miles. He sounded angry. “I mean, I didn’t always have this body.” He was toned and didn’t look like he could spare an ounce. “I used to weigh nearly three hundred pounds.”

Heather shook her head and said, “After he recovered, he wanted to sue, but then he started researching into the whole supplement industry and decided to do something bigger.”

“I started weight training, built up my body, and became a personal fitness trainer. Six months ago, Stanley opened the Better Be Fit next door to your café,” said Miles. “He was happy to let me bring in my twenty-three clients.”

“That’s when we met,” Heather interjected.

“We probably met before, but you wouldn’t have given me a second look,” said Miles.

From her bed, Sylvie said, “I was starting to worry that she’d never meet anyone,” and got a vicious look from Heather.

Alene said, “So, you’re saying that you might have died because of something you bought from Stanley. Then you came to work for him. The police would probably consider you a pretty good suspect.” It wasn’t like he could strangle her or bash her in the head right then and there.

Miles said, “I was going to expose him and everyone else who sells DNP. The supplement industry brings in over thirty-seven billion dollars a year, and I’m working with a group doing a nationwide project to educate the public about the dangers of vitamins and supplements. The project is underwritten by the House Center for Public Health. You can google how it’s financed by a private family foundation and named after the TV show.”

“I loved Hugh Laurie in that show,” said Sylvie, triggering a scowl from Heather.

“So, you’re working for Stanley in order to do this research,” said Alene, wishing she’d sat down. Miles had seemed kind of bumbling at the Rosins’ Sabbath dinner and when Kacey fainted in the alley, but maybe she’d misjudged him.

Sylvie interrupted to say, “Stanley doesn’t hire employees, so Miles wasn’t actually working for him.”

“We work for ourselves and pay Stanley for the use of his gym. It’s an awful place,” said Miles. “No sense of being on the same team, just everyone out for himself.” Was it awful enough for him to want to get rid of Stanley?

Miles went on, “Before I moved my clients to Better Be Fit, I was volunteering for a different House Center project. We were looking into free-standing emergency clinics that lack equipment and resources. Some of those places cost as much as actual emergency rooms, so it turns out that if you have a serious problem, you should go straight to a real emergency room.”

Alene said, “I think I read that somewhere.” Or her father had read it out loud from one of his newspapers because he loved anything having to do with shenanigans in the medical industry. But it had nothing to do with Stanley. Just then, Sierra came in and started tugging on her shirt. Alene whispered, “please give me another five minutes.” Sierra stomped away.

“Miles probably contributed to that article,” said Heather. “But he wanted to research the supplement industry. Supplements are not considered drugs, so they don’t have to be regulated.”

Miles said, “Some of them are extremely dangerous.”

“Just because something comes from nature doesn’t make it safe,” Heather added. “Even healthy-sounding herbs like comfrey or green tea can be toxic to the liver.”

Now Quinn ran up behind Alene as Miles said, “Folks have been sickened or killed because some companies don’t list all their ingredients.”

“Thanks for filling me in about your research,” said Alene, “but we have to go.” As she turned, Quinn asked, “Why do people get killed when companies don’t list all their ingredients?”

Sierra had joined Quinn, and both girls listened to Miles rant about the Dietary Supplement Health and Education Act of 1994. “It allowed the sale of unregulated products as long as they weren’t advertised as a cure for anything. In other words, you can find sugar cereals that advertise being good for your heart, or candy that claims to be low-fat.”

Sierra nodded. “You mean they’re trying to trick people into thinking that they’re eating something that’s good for them.”

“Exactly,” said Heather, now standing next to Miles and blocking Sylvie’s view of the hallway. “Alene, did you know it was Senator Orrin Hatch of Utah who pushed the act? His son was a lobbyist for the supplement industry. Some of the biggest quack product makers were based in his state and they gave boatloads of money to his campaign.”

“No,” said Alene, as Quinn started pulling on her arm. “I don’t remember that. I was thirteen in 1994.” Cal probably knew all about it – he paid close attention to stories of elected officials who traded away the rights or health of constituents, in exchange for hard cash. “Is any of this connected to Stanley’s death?”

Heather said, “Why would you even ask that question? Absolutely not. Miles was trying to stop Stanley from selling potentially harmful supplements.” She looked nervously at Miles as if she wasn’t sure she’d said it correctly. “And that had nothing to do with my mother staying in a marriage with an abusive …”

Sylvie interrupted. “I never said he was abusive. He was just mean.”

“The way he treated you, Mom? That was psychologically abusive,” said Heather. “He fat-shamed you. My therapist thinks he had a lot to do with how I am now.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Sylvie.

“I’m not going to argue with you,” said Heather, “but someone might try to murder you next, Mother, especially someone who wants to inherit Stanley’s estate.”

Alene couldn’t believe they were having this exchange while her daughters were standing there. “Let’s go, girls,” she said, starting to back away. Sierra stood firm just inside the door, mesmerized.

Sylvie continued, “I’m not worried about inheriting Stanley’s money. I already own half of everything.” She gestured with her arms.

Miles said, “That doesn’t change the fact that someone might want to kill you next.”

“You’re both being overly dramatic,” said Sylvie, studying the veins on the back of her hand with an aggrieved expression. “I still think Stanley simply had a heart attack and died.”

Heather and Miles exchanged looks. “Okay, Mom, let’s go with that,” said Heather.

Listening to Sylvie was destroying brain cells. “That’s it,” said Alene, a hand on each daughter’s back. “We’re going now.” They hurried to the elevators. It would have been nice to stop by Lawrence’s room, but Alene couldn’t ask the girls to wait anymore while the sun was shining. A big canopy of trees shaded much of the way, so it was a pleasant walk.

Finally, at home, while the girls were sated and bent over screens of one kind or another in the living room, Alene looked up some of what she remembered from what Miles had said about the supplement industry. She read a few paragraphs, and it was interesting, but she had too much on her mind. She closed her laptop and called Ruthie to discuss how the day went. Ruthie reported that Whipped and Sipped had sold out of the homemade fruit and vegetable popsicles they’d been experimenting with all summer. Customers had loved the unusual flavors plus the fact that there was no added sugar. Edith had continued her friendly streak; she’d been unfailingly polite and hadn’t said a single negative thing to Olly or Jack all day.

Then Alene called Frank. He’d been busy, still working the same case he’d dealt with the previous night. She told him about her conversation with Heather and Miles. Frank said that after his talk with Miles, he’d vowed to be more careful about checking ingredients before buying things. “Great idea,” Alene said enthusiastically. She’d been doing it since college.

And Frank told her that Jocelyn’s bank card had been used to take a few hundred dollars out of an ATM just a few miles west. They were checking it out. He said it could be either good or bad news.