absorb odor. There’s also a masking agent.”
“What agent?”
“I’d need the product sheet.”
“Get it.”
Thomas nodded.
Then I asked:
“When were those cartridges installed?”
He checked.
“Twenty-one months ago.”
My stomach tightened.
Nathan looked at me.
“That’s when the boys started getting sick.”
“Close?”
“Within a month.”
Dr. Reeves stepped forward.
“That proves nothing.”
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“But it’s worth testing.”
He folded his arms.
“Their symptoms are systemic.”
“So are inhaled exposures.”
“Some.”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever diagnosed one?”
“No.”
That gave him a brief look of satisfaction.
I continued.
“But I’ve worked with children whose asthma worsened because adults kept changing medication instead of changing the environment.”
Nathan looked at Reeves.
“Were environmental causes ruled out?”
The doctor answered immediately.
“Mold panels. Heavy-metal screens. Standard toxicology.”
“Air system?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“There was no indication.”
I pointed at the vent.
“There is now.”
Thomas
returned with a digital manual.
He pulled up the cartridge manufacturer.
The product used several fragrance compounds and a stabilizing solvent.
Not something obviously deadly.
Nothing that screamed explanation.
But one ingredient caught my attention.
“Propylene glycol?”
Thomas nodded.
“Common.”
It was.
Generally considered safe in many uses.
But aerosolized irritants could affect sensitive people.
Still, that alone would not explain two years of weakness, pain, concentration trouble.
I kept reading.
Another compound.
Terpene blend.
Fragrance additives.
Again, maybe irritation.
Maybe headaches.
Not enough.
Then I saw the maintenance
note.
“Why does this say booster treatment every thirty days?”
Thomas frowned.
“That’s for commercial spaces.”
“Were you doing it?”
“No.”
“Who was?”
He scrolled.
“Vendor.”
“Which vendor?”
“CleanAir Residential.”
“How often?”
“Monthly.”
Nathan’s voice went quiet.
“Who authorized that?”
Thomas looked embarrassed.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
The house manager.
Nathan’s face changed.
“Why?”
“She hated chemical smells.”
That was almost funny.
A system installed to hide chemical smells might itself have introduced them.
Still, one more thing bothered me.
“Where are the canisters stored?”
Thomas pointed down the corridor.
“Service closet.”
We went there.
Dr. Reeves followed reluctantly.
Nathan opened the closet.
Filters.
Cleaning supplies.
Replacement cartridges.
And several large plastic jugs.
The sweet smell hit me immediately.
Stronger.
I looked at Thomas.
“What are those?”
“Concentrate.”
“For the air system?”
“Yes.”
“Who mixes it?”
“Vendor technician.”
“On site?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“With distilled water.”
“Where?”
Thomas pointed toward a utility sink.
