Invasion of Privacy

forms, she shook her head. “Sorry about that. Andrew was working at home this morning, and I was supposed to open up when the car blew some kind of belt on the way. I’m just part-time here, but I hate to let Andrew down.”
    “I didn’t see any competition to worry about.” Filomena looked up. “Do you mean here in town?”
    “Yes.”
    She went back to the count. “No, but that doesn’t mean you can take customers for granted, either. Andrew says that if you have a shop in the suburbs, you make your mark by giving ‘personalized service.’ ”
    I decided to nudge things a little. “Sounds like the voice of experience.”
    “Who, Andrew?”
    “Yes. He’s done this kind of thing before?”
    “Not that he ever said.”
    Best not to nudge too much. “Have you worked here long?”
    “Almost since the place opened. I’d been in the market for a part-time job. Cover when the kids are at school, you know? I was lucky to stop in just when Andrew needed somebody to help out.”
    I heard a faint click, and Filomena glanced again at the phone. The red light was off, but as she reached for the receiver, the light came back on again. “Sorry, I didn’t catch him in time.”
    “That’s okay.” I gave it a beat I hoped seemed natural. “Ever work in a photocopy shop before?”
    “No.”
    “How do you like it?”
    “What’s not to like? The work isn’t exactly challenging, but at least you don’t go home worrying about it afterwards. And the closest thing there is to danger on the job is a paper cut.”
    “Danger?”
    Filomena looked up from the telephone before going back to her forms. “Like an industrial accident, or getting robbed. Plymouth Mills is a pretty quiet town, but a liquor store or even a convenience mart can be a target. Who’s going to hold up a place that charges eight cents a copy?” I grinned, and she showed me the gracious smile as she finished her count. “Is there anything I can do for you while you’re waiting for Andrew?”
    I was about to risk another background question on Dees , when the faint click sounded again. Filomena grabbed the receiver immediately and pushed a button that made a buzzing noise. “There’s a gentleman here who’d like to... Good.” Hanging up, she said to me, “He’ll be right with you.”
    The door behind her opened, and the man I’d seen leaving unit 42 at Plymouth Willows came out. Up close, Andrew Dees was about six feet tall on a medium build, the thick, curly hair barely speckled with gray at the temples. His prominent eyebrows almost knit over a perfect nose, the strong chin jutting out nervously as he spoke.
    “Who are you?”
    I thought it was an odd reaction, given the little that Filomena had told him about me. “My name’s John Cuddy, Mr. Dees.” I offered him my ID holder. “I’d like to ask you some questions about the Plymouth Willows condominium.”
    He didn’t take the holder, hardly even looked at it. “Why?”
    “I represent another complex that’s thinking of changing management companies, and I’m talking with people about how they like Hendrix as—”
    “I don’t have time for that.”
    The voice was strained, and from over by the cash register Filomena shot Dees a concerned look.
    I reached into the portfolio to get one of my forms. “It would only take—”
    “I said I don’t have time.”
    His voice nearly cracked, and Filomena’s lips parted briefly, as though she’d never heard him speak to someone this way before.
    I withdrew my hand from the portfolio empty. “Maybe if I came back—”
    “The answer is no, Mr. Cuddy. I don’t have time for you or your questionnaire. Is that clear enough?”
    Dees turned and stalked back into the inner office, closing the door just this side of slamming it.
    Filomena’s eyes went from the door to me. “I’m really... sorry. Something... something must have...“
    “That’s okay, don’t worry about it. Probably just hit him at a bad moment.”
    She gave me a very weak version of the gracious smile, and I left the shop. Carrying the portfolio back to the Prelude, I wondered how Andrew Dees knew I had a questionnaire to work from before he’d ever seen me bring it out.

9

    I drove north, sailing along Route 3 until the merge at 128, then getting mired in afternoon traffic on the Southeast Expressway just before the Dorchester gas facility. In the early seventies, an artist had painted one of the giant tanks with bold slashes of red, blue, green, and