The staked Goat

and asked if I’d had breakfast. I said no. She told me to shower and shave while she made it, and pointed to the narrow vertical shutter on the wall that hid the towels.
    It was a simple, silly domestic scene. Maybe the best few minutes I’d had in a couple of years.
    When I came out of the bathroom, we had bacon, eggs, orange juice, and English muffins with choice of jam or marmalade. The bacon was a bit overdone for my taste, but I wasn’t shy about seconds.
    I insisted on clearing away and washing the dishes. I started getting itchy about the telephone book, but didn’t want Nancy to see it.
    As I dried the last of them and turned around, Nancy reached into her purse and put an envelope on the table. She nudged it toward me. I dried my hands and opened it. Mostly twenties and tens.
    I arched my eyebrows at her.
    ”There’s eight hundred dollars. In smaller bills, no higher than a twenty. And old ones. I told the teller I was going on a trip and didn’t want to risk giving away too new bills on some Caribbean island. She recommended travelers’ checks for safety, but I stood firm on cash and carry.”
    ”Just an old-fashioned girl, huh?”
    Nancy blinked a few times. ”In most ways,” she said, softly.
    I felt dangerously close. Close to saying something and close to her. ”Shouldn’t you be getting off to work?”
    She hid most of her disappointment with a good effort at a smile. She stood up and crossed to a cabinet drawer. ”Yes, I should. I called the office and told them I had a doctor’s appointment I’d forgotten and absolutely couldn’t break again. I just drew bail appeal this morning, anyway.”
    She turned and tossed something to me. ”Catch.”
    Two keys held together on a paper clip. ”Big key, downstairs door. Little key, upstairs door.”
    I hefted them in my palm. ”What do I say to Mrs. Lynch?”
    Nancy disappeared into her bedroom to change. ”Better tell her you’re my cousin.” She closed the door.
    No, Nance, I don’t think I’ll tell her that.
     
    Nancy had said she’d be home about six. I told her not to wait for me. She had asked if there was anything else she could do for me. I thanked her and said no.
    I watched her get into the Honda and drive off before grabbing the telephone book. I dialed Murphy’s special number as I traced down through the Bs to Ba, Be, Bea....
    ”Murphy here.”
    Bee, Beg. ”Hello, Lieutenant. Just reporting in.” Bek.
    ”Hold on a second.” I heard him yell at Cross to close the door.
    Bel! ”Listen, one of my people fouled up. You better hear about it.”
    I looked away from the telephone book. ”Fouled up? What do you mean?”
    ”A reporter was pressing Daley. Remember, the guy from the morgue?”
    ”I remember him.”
    ”Well, it was a woman reporter and the damn fool sort of confirmed that the corpse in the building was you.”
    ”So?”
    ”So you’re on page fucking four of the morning Globe. ”
    ”Photograph?”
    ”No, just a short three-inch follow-up, ID’ing you as the dead man. I’m gonna chew his ass good.”
    ”You know, Lieutenant, he may have helped rather than hurt. I’ve got no family in the area to be upset, and I should be through before any friends volunteer to shepherd my remains through the formalities.”
    ”I can hold that up anyway. Glad it’s no trouble for you.” Murphy grunted. ”Course, I’m still gonna chew his ass.”
    ”I’ll call you tonight.”
    ”You got anything?”
    ”Not yet. I’ll still call tonight.”
    ”Sooner if you get something.”
    ”I will.”He rang off.
    I went back to the Bels. Beldow, Belgrade, Bell, dozens of Bells, then Belson, then... wait a minute. K before L. I went back. No Belk’s. No Belker. I threw the white pages across the room.
    I went through the Yellow Pages. Nothing. They landed just to the left of the white pages. Some guest I was.
    Guest? Al was a guest in a hotel. Probably just Boston white and yellow pages in the rooms, but the lobby?
    I closed my eyes and could picture a bank of pay phones I’d used just outside the bar entrance at Al’s hotel. With a library of phone books below them. Al, just killing time, thumbing through them.
    I took Nancy’s money and hopped a Summer Street bus to South Station. I cabbed it from there to my rent-a-car place. Luck was with me. The guy behind the counter had dealt with me before and didn’t look like he read comic books much less newspapers. A ten persuaded him that I’d left my wallet in my