Invasion of Privacy

sister’s side, he stood tall, arm around her shoulders or holding her hand, just being strong for her and their parents’ sake.”
    “The children weren’t hurt in the fire, then.”
    “No. I was working the night shift—twelve to eight for Republic over in Clarkston—but Katie told me all about it when I got home. She had the good sense to spray the garden hose on the side of our place nearest them. By the time the fire engines arrived, the flames next door were shooting a hundred feet in the air. Started in the kitchen, they figured afterwards, right below the parents’ bedroom. Steven got himself and his sister out in time, but the parents—well, I guess that was God’s plan.”
    “God’s plan?”
    “Sparing the younger generation. Letting the children live while taking Nibur and Ellen.”
    “And this happened after Lana’s roommate died.”
    A strange look from Whitt. “Yes, like I told you. Then Katie and I made the offer to Lana and Steven, and you could tell they were relieved by it.”
    “Relieved.”
    “I told them I’d take care of the demolition and the carting, so they needn’t have any worse dreams about the place than the fire’d already caused. I didn’t say that last part out loud, of course, but Katie did to me.” A small smile. “ ‘Katie did’—there I go again.”
    “Vem, what happened after that?”
    “After we bought, you mean?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, like I said, Katie passed on pretty suddenly, and that left me—”
    “I’m sorry. I meant, what happened with the Stepanian children.”
    Whitt scratched his head, which stirred Chief Joseph some, and his owner reached down and scratched the dog’s head too. “I heard they used the money from the estate to move back east.”
    “You mean the money you paid for the land?”
    “And the insurance on the house, since they didn’t rebuild. I believe Katie also told me once that Nibur and Ellen had some life insurance on themselves. It’d make sense.”
    “What would?”
    “Well, having the beneficiaries be the children if the mother and father both died together, right?”
    After the parents stumbled on what they might have suspected themselves but refused to believe, would have wanted not to believe. The existence of the relationship that got their daughter’s roommate killed in the first place.
    * * *

    I drove back to Moscow and found the Best Western University Inn on a main road near its intersection with a street named “War Bonnet.” I checked in and asked the desk clerk if the restaurant was still serving. He looked at his watch and said politely that it was, but I might want to hurry.
    Inside, I ordered the prime rib, but I don’t remember much else about the meal or the wine I had with it. I do remember thinking about the Stepanians of Plymouth Willows. How much they resembled each other in appearance and mannerisms. How determinedly “normal” Lana projected herself to be the first time we met, not wanting to seem like a “gossip” about other people’s personal lives. How her answers to my questionnaire were off just enough to finesse me, including mentioning the developer’s bankruptcy but not his “suicide” or his “background checks” on the original purchasers. How carefully both Stepanians acted that second time, telling me only a little bit about the argument coming from the unit of the man they knew as Andrew Dees. But not nearly everything about what they must have heard said by the man and the woman arguing with him. Nor what Lana and Steven might have feared threatened their “normal” existence, and what they might have done about it.
    After dinner, the polite clerk at the front desk hailed me. “Mr. Cuddy, did you get one of these?”
    A printed, mustard-colored card. “What is it?” I said. “Just a little survey we do. Don’t worry, you can read it in your room. Have a good evening, now.”
    My room turned out to be only a few doors down the corridor. Once inside, I took off my watch, realizing how late it was back in Boston . I tried Nancy’s number, anyway. Her answering machine clicked on immediately, giving me a chance to leave a message.
    “Just calling from Idaho to say I love you.”
    When she didn’t pick up, I hung up. After showering, I was trying to decide whether to postpone bed long enough to let my hair dry when I noticed the mustard-colored thing I’d laid on the night table.
    It was a WARM & FUZZY CARD, the management wanting me to share any