Invasion of Privacy

Steven.”
    “There’s a Mr. Cuddy here to see you?”
    “Oh, I’ll be right down.”
    Stepanian turned, motioning toward one of the plushy chairs. I sank deeply into it, the thing nearly swallowing me again.
    He perched on the matching sofa, much as his wife had done on my first visit. “What’s this all about?”
    “I’m talking to people in the complex about the Hendrix Management Company.”
    “Oh, yes. Lana mentioned that somebody had been doing a survey. You’re representing another condo association, right?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Well, I’m sure Lana told you everything Wednesday that I could now. She’s really the expert on Plymouth Willows.” Stepanian nearly smiled. A small beginning.
    “Actually, I was hoping you might be able to tell me if you’d seen Andrew Dees lately.”
    “Andrew?”
    “Yes. He’s the only neighbor in this cluster that I haven’t been able to interview, and I like to be thorough.” The brooding expression returned. “Well, I’m—”
    “Hello, Mr. Cuddy.” Lana Stepanian came down the steps in a light wool dress, wearing one-inch heels instead of flats tonight. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”
    I stood as her husband said, “Dear, Mr. Cuddy wants to see Andrew Dees about his survey.”
    Reaching the living room level, she looked from him to me. “You didn’t catch him the last time?”
    “Afraid not.”
    “Oh, that’s too bad. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”
    “Back?”
    “Yes.” She looked to her husband again. “Didn’t Steven tell you?”
    “Lana, do you really think it’s appropriate?”
    I said, “Is what appropriate?”
    “Oh.” She seemed to concentrate. “I think it’d be all right. We saw Andrew—actually, Steven you’re the one who really noticed him doing it.”
    I turned toward the sofa. “Noticed him doing what?” Stepanian shrugged. “I was here in the living room last night, just turning out the lights on my way to bed, when I saw Andrew down by the curb, loading some suitcases into a car.”
    “Suitcases? Plural?”
    “Well, some sort of luggage, but, yes, more than one
    piece.”
    “And you said a car, not his car?”
    “Yes. Andrew drives a Toyota . This was a Porsche. Yellow or orange, quite flashy.”
    Olga’s. “About what time was this?”
    “Time? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe eight, eight-fifteen?”
    “And you go to bed that early?”
    Lana Stepanian said, “We read to each other sometimes. It’s very soothing and helps us fall asleep.”
    She said it in the neutral way Pd picked up before, no double meaning or sarcasm in her voice.
    I looked to Steven. “Was Dees alone?”
    He cocked his head, just like Lana had done when Pd asked her odd questions from my “survey” form. “I didn’t see anyone else, but we did—”
    “Steven?”
    Stepanian stopped. His wife said, “Don’t you think that might be... gossiping?”
    “You’re right, dear.” He turned to me. “Let’s just say we heard some loud voices through the wall last night.”
    “Before you saw Dees at his car.”
    “Yes.”
    “Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?”
    “Andrew and a woman, I think.”
    “Mr. Cuddy,” said Lana Stepanian in her neutral voice, “what possible difference could this make to your client?” She had a point. “Probably none. It just seems a little strange, don’t you think?”
    “Well, perhaps. But it is Andrew’s business, after all.” Steven Stepanian checked his watch. “Mr. Cuddy, we really have to go.”
    “Sure. Sorry to have kept you.”
    “That’s all right. Good luck with the survey.”
    Still never smiling, he ushered me to the door.
    * * *

    From the old print couch, the gravelly voice said, “You’re surprised I’m downstairs, right?”
    “A little. Last time I was here—”
    “You had to climb up to my bedroom. Well, I may feel like dogshit afterwards, but,” Norman Elmendorf ticked the nail of an index finger off the aluminum braces leaning against his couch, “these things let me move around a little. Not great, but enough to get by while Kira’s out.”
    I’d had to shunt some magazines off the chair across from him. The bottle—or more likely, another bottle—of Jim Beam rested on the floor, next to the rubber feet of the braces. “Will she be gone long?”
    “Didn’t say.”
    “How are things going with the VA?”
    “You kidding? You were only here two, three days ago? The VA, it’s like a glacier. Hasn’t moved an inch in that