Michael Palmer - Natural Causes

Glenn Paris ended the session with the promise to keep the public informed of any developments. Immediately, a number of reporters rushed onto the stage, rudely jostling one another as they jockeyed for position around the speakers. Concerned about the delay, Sarah made eye contact with Annalee, who assured her with a dismissive gesture that she was in no hurry.

Finally the gaggle of questioners began to disperse. Sarah accepted a pat on the back from Paris and was about to leave him when an older woman approached, a leather portfolio tucked beneath one arm. Sarah had noticed her standing at the back of the auditorium throughout the conference. She was quite unimposing-five feet four or so-conservatively dressed in a straight, dark skirt and blazer. Her short, carefully permed hair was an equal mix of brown and gray. And although her face had a pleasant, peaceful quality, her features were nearly lost behind round, oversized tortoiseshell spectacles. In her survey of the crowd, Sarah had cast the woman as a grandmother from the community, too self-conscious to work her way past people and into a seat.

"Dr. Baldwin, Mr. Paris," she said, "my name is Rosa Suarez."

Her pronunciation of her name was distinctly Latin.

"Yes, Mrs. Suarez," Paris said, unable to cull the hint of impatience from his voice. "What can we do for you?"

The woman smiled patiently. "That man from the Centers for Disease Control about whom you spoke-the top-notch epidemiologist you were promised?"

"Yes," Paris said. "Yes, what about him?"

"Well, I am he."

The park, a sandy oasis with a few slatted benches and some well-worn playground equipment, was located several blocks from the MCB. Sarah signed out to one of the other residents and walked there with the woman who had once very nearly become her stepdaughter. But this Annalee Ettinger-slender, self-assured, and surprisingly worldly-bore little resemblance to the shy, rotund girl Sarah had once tried so hard to befriend. From the first tentative minutes of their conversation, Sarah felt a stronger connection between them than at any time when Peter was part of the equation.

"I wrote you from med school," Sarah said, as they settled on one of the benches. "Two or three times. You never answered."

Annalee nodded.

"I know," she said. "About a year or so after you left, I was looking for something in my father's desk, and I found one of your letters. It didn't have an envelope or a return address. I made a copy of it and kept that. But I never confronted my father about it. I was a self-centered little tub back then, and pretty wrapped up in myself and my problems. Perhaps I should have pushed things and tried to get back to you. But whatever your reasons, you had left us. I guess it really didn't matter enough to me at that time to pursue it."

Her voice was deep and melodic, her nails perfectly manicured and polished a high-gloss crimson. If as a teen she was often silly, self-absorbed, and immature, she now projected a maturity well beyond her years.

"I'm sorry for leaving the way I did," Sarah said. "I was so angry. Still, I can't imagine Peter doing something like keeping my letters from you."

"He was very hurt and angry when you walked out on us. So was I for that matter-at least until I found that letter." She slid a pack of Virginia Slims from her purse. Her gold and silver bangles-eight or ten on each wrist-jangled as she tapped one out. "I don't suppose you smoke."

"Not for years."

"Good. Good for you." She lit up and inhaled deeply through her nose and mouth.

"I tried to explain the reasons I left in one of my letters to you," Sarah said. "God, I shudder to think what version of the story you must have gotten."

"My father's a marvelous man, but he does have his faults. Holding grudges is one of them. Did you know that he got married a year or so after you left? A revenge marriage if ever there was one. She was quite a looker in a WASPy kind of way, and from a big-bucks family that probably came over on the Mayflower. I'm surprised he didn't send you an invitation."

"Very funny. Listen, Annalee, things happen the way they're supposed to happen. I really believe that. Ninety-five percent of what your father was I loved. But the other five percent involved big-league stuff that I just couldn't see having to live with for the rest of my life. And I didn't believe there was much chance that those particular things would change. I think it's terrific that he got married."

"Well, I don't believe he shares your opinion, Doc. The marriage only lasted a year."

"Oh, I see. Did you get along with her?"

"Considering that I was probably the first black woman Carole had ever been near who didn't work for her, I guess we did okay. I didn't see her much, really. A short time after you left, Peter shipped me off to boarding school. That was another reason I never got around to trying to find you. I was so messed up. Sending me off to school may have been the right idea, but his timing was lousy. I think when he brought me home with him from Mali, he expected I'd become someone other than what I was turning out to be-a college professor or concert musician or something. Anyhow, being away at Miss Whatzername's the way I was, it seemed to me like one minute ol' Carole was there, the next, poof."

"And when did he close the institute?"

"Not too long after all that. We lived in Boston for a while longer, then his Xanadu thing actually began to happen."

"Ah, Peter's dream," Sarah said. "I knew he'd pull it off someday."

Xanadu-the first of what would eventually be a chain of upscale residential communities centered about the principles of living a long and healthy life through diet, exercise, seasonal routines, stress management, and holistic medicine. Peter had spoken about his ambitious concept the day they first met, and they had spent countless hours discussing and dissecting it during their years together.

At the time of their breakup, he had begun looking for available land and investors and even had a glass-enclosed architect's model of the prototype complex prominently displayed in the institute's conference hall. The design of the homes, he insisted, would be strictly controlled. All construction would be in accordance with the ancient laws of health and harmony subscribed to by the Indian Ayurvedic healers.

"It's beginning to happen in a pretty big way now," Annalee said. "But the whole thing was touch and go for a while. At one point, Peter was even talking bankruptcy."

"Well, what happened?"

"That powder happened, that's what."

"Powder?"

"The powder they were talking about at your conference. From what I can tell, it really saved his behind." She laughed exuberantly. "Hey, that's great, now that I think about it. That powder saves Peter's ass and gets rid of mine. What a product."

"I don't understand."

"The Xanadu Ayurvedic Herbal Weight Loss System," she said. "Why, woman, surely you have heard of it."

"Not until today I haven't. I was very confused when they started talking about it at the press conference and everyone in the place seemed to know what was going on except me."

"That's because everyone in the place except you did know what was going on. Most folks in the country for that matter. Why, Peter's been on TV so much lately pushing that ol' system of his, it's a wonder he hasn't been nominated for an Emmy. You don't watch TV?"

"I don't have time."

Annalee stubbed out her cigarette and seconds later lit up another.

"Well," she said, "he does these things called infomercials. They're set up to look like real programs, half an hour long with guest stars and film clips and all-but what they really are is commercials. They run mostly in the off-hours-you know, late nights and Sunday mornings. And damn, are they beginning to bring in some bucks. Peter's got charts all over the wall in his office showing the constant rise in sales. Since he started this campaign just a few months ago, it's been phenomenal. And all of a sudden, the big bad wolf has backed away from the Xanadu door."