Invasion of Privacy

nothing, I knocked softly.
    The door opened, Kira standing behind it in black denim shirt and almost-matching jeans, no shoes or socks. Another change of clothes since she’d visited Jamey Robinette earlier. “Oh, hi.”
    “Hi, Kira. Can I come in?”
    “Yeah, but my dad’s, like, asleep, and I kind of hoped I wouldn’t have to wake him up.”
    “That’s okay. It’s you I wanted to talk to.”
    A shadow passed over her eyes, then, “Why not, I’m sure not doing anything.”
    We walked into the living room, still awash in magazines. Kira pushed a poker hand of them onto the floor so I could have a chair.
    She took the old print couch across from me, her left leg folded under her rump. “So, what’s the question of the day?”
    “Andrew Dees seems to be missing.”
    “Missing? You mean, like, gone or something?”
    “Yes. Have you seen him recently?”
    Kira seemed to think about it. For the first time, if she wasn’t a great actress. “No, I haven’t, but then, I don’t get out much.”
    “Just with Jude, for lunch.”
    “Right.”
    “When Mrs. Stepanian comes over to keep an eye on your father.”
    A funny look. “Right.”
    “Or when Jamey Robinette blares his music.”
    Kira’s eyes widened before she could control them. “He doesn’t do that often, but it really, like, bothers my dad, so—”
    “You call him, and he turns it down.”
    She seemed to relax a little. “Right.”
    “But then you can’t go out the back door, even though that would be more private, because the deck’s right under your father’s bedroom window and he’d hear you. So you make up some excuse and slip out the front.”
    The widening of the eyes again. “Look, I don’t know what—”
    “Wearing a T-shirt and shorts today, with one red sock, one blue.”
    It seemed an effort to keep her voice down, but after a glance toward the loft, Kira managed. “You’ve been spying on me. Why?”
    “Kira, I’m not spying on you. I just need some information, and I’d prefer not to use things I’ve found out along the way unless it’s necessary.”
    “Blackmail?” She said the word almost as a laugh, so much like Edie Quentin that I noticed it. “You’re trying to blackmail somebody who’s almost homeless?”
    “No blackmail, just information. What do you know about Mr. Dees?”
    “Nothing.” Kira could tell I wasn’t buying. “Honest, nothing but what I told you last time.”
    “When you were next door with Jamey, did you ever hear anything?”
    “From Mr. Dees’ unit, you mean?”
    “Yes.”
    “Never. Jamey and I... we, like, have to see each other when his mom’s not around. She’s real strict with him, and my dad—huh, he found out and…“
    Kira stopped, seeming to realize she might be giving me more leverage than I already had.
    I lowered my voice. “Kira, I’m just trying to find Mr. Dees. That’s all I care about.”
    The funny look. “I thought you were here for some other condo place?”
    “This is something different. Has Jamey ever said anything to you about Dees ?”
    “No.”
    I watched her.
    A shake of the head, the rings through the ear clinking. “Honest, Jamey’s never said a word about Mr. Dees.”
    “So Mr. Dees doesn’t know about you and Jamey?”
    “About...? No. No, Mr. Dees is at his copy shop during the day, and he couldn’t know.”
    “How about your father?”
    “I already told you, he doesn’t know, either.”
    “I talked with some people about him.”
    “About my dad, now?”
    “Yes. His war record, for example.”
    Kira nearly laughed again, suddenly seeming relieved. “God, why didn’t you just ask me?”
    “He wasn’t hurt in the Gulf.”
    “No.”
    “He wasn’t even over there, was he?”
    “No, of course not. That’s just something he, like, made up, although he’s said it so many times now, he might just believe it himself.”
    “It’s important to his pride.”
    “Mr. Cuddy, it’s important to him to have something. Originally, it was my mother and his job, but he lost both of them. Then it was this place, which pretty soon is going to be gone too. That’ll leave him with his bottle and me, probably in that order.”
    Kira stopped again. “No, I’m sorry, that’s wrong. My dad really does love me more than the bourbon, I think. But he got it into his head that something from Desert Storm instead of the booze makes him shaky and gives him those ucky blotches, and that’s all there is to it.”
    “But what if somebody