Invasion of Privacy

perfect for Steven and me.”
    “Steven is your husband?”
    “Oh, yes.” She walked me around the plushy, khaki-colored furniture to an entertainment center that occupied one wall with television, VCR, CD-player, and so on. Pointing to a posed family portrait of her and a tall, slim man, she said, “We’ve been very happy here.”
    I made a show of admiring the photo in the stand-up frame. Mrs. Stepanian was smiling, and I realized that I hadn’t yet seen her teeth, because in the photo they were tiny, with little gaps between them. Steven Stepanian seemed a man who smiled reluctantly, only grinning with a slight strain noticeable around the corners of his mouth. He had the same dark, shiny hair and dainty chin as his wife. Whoever contended that opposites attract had never met the Stepanians.
    I said, “Have you lived here long?”
    “Nearly six years.”
    Which meant they would have bought at the top of the market, back before the crash in real estate prices. “In that case, you’ll be an ideal person for me to interview. If you have the time.”
    She seemed to consider that, almost solemnly. “Well, yes, I guess so. I’m also on the condominium board of trustees, so I deal with Boyce more than most.”
    “Terrific. I saw him this morning at the office in Marshfield .”
    Stepanian paused. “Boyce didn’t tell you who was on our board of trustees?”
    Uh-oh. “I told him I wanted to just visit the complexes he manages on my own, get kind of a random sampling. Once I was here, I would have asked about who was on your board, partly to see how well Hendrix keeps residents informed, but you happen to be my first stop.”
    “Oh.” Again the relaxation. “Well, you haven’t seen any of our units, then?”
    “Just from the street.”
    She glanced around, frowning. “I’m afraid our place is a mess, as usual.”
    I glanced around with her. Everything seemed to be in perfect order, and I wanted to be able to picture the intenor of Dees’ unit next door. “How about just a quick tour?”
    The frown relented. “All right. And then you can ask me your questions.”
    “That would be a real help.”
    Stepanian gestured. “All of the townhouses here at the Willows follow this same basic design, though the unit next door would be the mirror image of this one. That’s so the plumbing for the kitchens and the downstairs half-baths share a common wall. I guess you can tell this is the living room and dining area?”
    “Functional.”
    “Yes, it’s really easy to prepare and serve meals without being cut off from conversation with Steven in the living room.” She pointed to one door. “Closet.” And another.
    “Half-bath.”
    Then Stepanian led me farther back. “This is the rear deck. I was reading when you rang the bell.”
    Or bong. The deck was wood-planked, about fifteen feet square with a low railing around its perimeter. I could see two webbed lounge chairs, a white resin table between them and a kettle grill with barbecue utensils off to the side. On one of the chairs lay a hardcover Joyce Carol Oates, a bookmark stuck near the end of it.
    Stepanian gestured again. “Every unit has a deck like this, though where the kitchen is kind of dictates which side the sliding glass doors will be on.” My guide turned and took an extra step to pass well away from me. “The second floor is the master bedroom and the guest bedroom.”
    I followed her up the stairs. The catwalk was wider than it appeared from below, though the Stepanians had left it bare except for the carpeting. She opened the door closest to the top of the staircase.
    “Master bedroom.” Big and rectangular, a sloping ceiling toward the back wall. “That door’s the master bath, the other a walk-in closet.” Stepanian came out past me, taking that extra wide step again. At the indentation, she said, “Second bath, and”—beyond to the other door on the catwalk—“guest bedroom, though we use it as a study.” Smaller, square, filled with desktop computer stuff and some peripheral gadgetry. Like the first floor, there wasn’t so much as a knickknack out of place.
    I gave her the extra margin this time as she came out and went down the stairs and around to the kitchen. “This door leads to the basement. Just workspace for Steven and the utility closet.”
    “Washer-dryer?“
    “And the rest of the ‘guts,’ like heating, air-conditioning, and so on.”
    Stepanian brought me back to the living room. “Please, sit down