The staked Goat

herself.
    As soon as we were in the living room, she turned on me, her crossed arms hugging herself against the cold.
    ”Where the hell have you been?”
    ”Could we sit—”
    She pigeoned her head forward. ”She’s been waiting up for you. She said she couldn’t go to bed without meeting you. The man who told her her husband was dead. On the phone. Like calling in a mail order...” I considered slapping her, but she wasn’t hysterical, just mad, and I was a convenient target.
    ”So where have you been?” she hissed.
    ”In airports and on a plane. With the cold body of an old friend.”
    She lost a little height and weight, sinking into herself. She walked over to the couch and sat, leaning forward to conserve her heat. I got my coat, put it around her shoulders. She tugged on the lapels to tighten it around her.
    ”What a stupid... lousy...”
    ”Look, I didn’t—”
    ”No, no,” she said, sighing. ”Not you. Al’s death. No reason for it. The papers here, and some cop from Boston on the phone—”
    ”Murphy?” I said.
    ”Huh?” She looked up.
    ”Murphy. Was the cop’s name Murphy?”
    ”Oh, I don’t know.” She released a lapel long enough to wipe her eyes. She had on heavy lid-liner and lipstick. The eye makeup smeared a little.
    ”I didn’t take the call,” she said. ”Dale did. Larry was too upset to help much. I was still at work. She reached me—” Carol broke off what she realized was irrelevant. ”It was the way they... the way it was done....”
    ”About Martha,” I said.
    Carol blew out through her lips, making them flutter without any accompanying noise. ”I don’t know. We’ve been friends, all of us for a long time. Like pioneers, you know. We sort of settled this block when, well, it was after my divorce, and things weren’t too fashionable here, despite all the renovations since.” She looked around the room.
    ”How hard up is Martha for money?” I said. ”Bottom line.”
    She shrugged. ”You’ve got eyes. Most of us on the street had to do a little bit at a time. You seen Dale and Larry’s place yet?”
    ”Just a walkthrough.”
    ”Well, Dale got a chunk of money from an aunt who died, so they did their place a little faster than most, but all of us were trying, including Martha and Al. But somewhere, I dunno, the steel glut, the recession, something must have happened. I didn’t know about the oil, when Kenny—he’s my son, he’s upstairs asleep with Al Junior—when Kenny and I walked in here, it was freezing cold. I hadn’t even worn a coat, just rushed over and... I don’t know how they... I mean this is Pittsburgh, you know, February?”
    ”What are you two doing in here?” said Martha, coming in, her coffee cup chattering a little against the saucer she carried under it. Dale followed.
    ”Just getting acquainted, Mart,” Carol replied.
    ”Good, good,” said Martha.
    I heard Larry padding down the stairs. He appeared with his coat over his arm. Dale, as if on cue, retrieved his from the chair and tugged it on.
    ”Oh, Dale, Larry,” said Martha in a hostess voice, ”do you have to go already?”
    Larry stifled a yawn. Dale gave his short laugh. ”Yes, yes. Larry has half the early shift at the bookstore, and my first lesson is at eight o’clock.” He turned to me with a smile. ”A lawyer who wants to learn how to play. To surprise his wife.” He winced as soon as he said it. Martha seemed to notice nothing, neither the gaffe nor the wince.
    ”Thanks for the ride in. Ah,” I said remembering my suitcase but not feeling I could leave yet.
    Dale, anticipating me, covered his faux pas by fumbling out a house key and pressing it into my palm as we shook. ”This’ll get you past the front door. No alarms. Just be sure to put on the deadbolt and leave on the front light.”
    ”Thanks. I’ll try not to—”
    Dale waved me off. Larry was already on the doorknob. Dale walked to the door, turned with a serious look ”We’ll see you here at one-thirty tomorrow.”
    We all nodded and they left.
    ”Well, now, John,” said Martha. ”How was your flight?”
    ”Fine,” I said, ”clear weather, no delays.”
    ”Al hated flying, you know. Ever since the war. He always preferred taking trains, so he could read, you know.”
    ”Al liked to read.”
    ”Were there trains in Vietnam?” Martha asked.
    I glanced at Carol, but she was focused on Martha.
    ”Yes,” I said. ”There were a few. Mostly Vietnamese used them. They would