Invasion of Privacy

at the bar, which wasn’t tended just now.
    I took a stool across from a booth that held the only teenagers in the place, a pair of girls wearing the kinds of outfits, hairdos, and jewelry you’d find on the cover of a science fiction magazine. The Tides was quiet enough that I could hear their conversation, even though they weren’t trying to project.
    One had purple hair, purple rouge, and purple lipstick, her yellow-and-green-striped sweatshirt torn at the shoulder, the matching athletic pants torn at the knee. “God, it is such a bummer about your dad.”
    The second girl—metallic platinum with dark roots but dressed in a long-sleeved black T-shirt, ankle-length black skirt, and black combat boots—pushed the remains of a garden salad around on her plate. “Hey, like tell me about it, awright?”
    “But it’s just so wicked unfair, Kira. I mean, you are seventeen years young, you know? This is supposed to be the most awesome time of your life.”
    “So. I’m gonna have to wait a while.”
    “But all the school you’re missing—”
    Putting down her fork, Kira said, “Look, Jude, I have to get back, and you got class in like ten minutes.”
    “Awright. Where’s our check?”
    A brunette waitress in a frilly white blouse and pink stirrup pants came out from what I guessed to be the kitchen, Jude paying cash for both meals. As the girls left, the waitress moved behind the bar. Oyster and clam shells were sticking up from a bed of crushed ice garnished with some lemon wedges and parsley sprigs. She smiled at me from the far side of thirty. “What’ll you have?”
    The nametag on the blouse read “Edie.” Glancing toward the booths, I said, “Double duty?”
    A shrug, but she kept the smile shining, maybe because it was her best feature. “Used to do it on the airplanes, I can do it here. Drink?”
    I nodded at the draft pulls. “Harpoon.”
    “You got it.”
    Edie sidled over to the freezer and pulled out a ten-ounce mug with frost coating its sides. Curling her lower lip under her front teeth, she concentrated on drawing the ale, reminding me of a kindergarten kid with finger paint. After topping the mug, then spilling some off and topping it again, she brought the drink over to me, first slapping a napkin down on the wood.
    “Menu, or would you like something from the raw bar?” I looked toward the bed of ice. “They fresh?”
    “Hey, they’re not just fresh, they’re still alive in there. That’s what makes it so hard to shuck them.” She picked up a short, sturdy knife. “When I stick this in, they’re still holding on to the insides of the shell. If they were dead, the shells’d be open, like you see on the beach by the tideline.”
    “And since they’re still alive in there . .
    “I’m really breaking their grip by cutting their heads off at the neck.”
    “Glad I asked.”
    Edie laughed. “So, the raw bar’s out?”
    “For today, anyway. How are your burgers?”
    “Dead. Definitely dead.”
    “Medium, then. No fries, green salad.”
    “Watching your weight?”
    I decided to establish a little more of my cover story. “Have a long afternoon ahead of me.”
    “This town, all the afternoons are long.”
    Given the inflection, I thought Edie might be floating an invitation. Liking the way she did it, I still didn’t want to mislead her. “I’m checking out how a management company runs one of the condos around here.”
    “Checking out?”
    “I’m a private investigator.”
    “No kidding?”
    “Here’s my identification.”
    Edie unfolded the little leather holder, her lip under the front teeth again, reading the laminated card before handing it back to me. “Which complex you interested in?”
    “ Plymouth Willows.”
    The remains of Edie’s smile froze. “Don’t know much about how that’s going.”
    “You don’t.”
    “No. I live the other way.”
    One of the retirees motioned for another round, and Edie moved stiffly to fill his glass before taking my food order to the kitchen. It was a while before she came back out, busying herself rearranging shells on the bed of ice that had looked fine as they were.
    I said, “How about just directions, then?”
    Edie kept her eyes on the ice. “Directions?”
    “To Plymouth Willows.”
    She spoke mechanically, toward the shells. “We’re on Main Street here. Take Main south to the little bridge over the river. About a mile after the bridge, just past the...” Something was giving her trouble.