Murder is a Girl's Best Friend by Amanda Matetsky Read Free Book Online Page A

magazine look official; that even if he wanted to (which he most definitely wouldn’t!), the parameters of Dan’s real job—as a highly respected NYPD homicide detective in the Midtown South Precinct—would never allow him to join forces with a fledgling crime journalist (like me) to reopen a murder investigation that had already been shut down by a detective in another district.
    And that wasn’t all. There was another truth I wasn’t in the mood to divulge, a rather awkward and personally disturbing (okay, embarrassing ) truth: that in spite of the fact that he was my dearly beloved boyfriend, and had been for the past seven months, Dan would rather lock me up in jail than see me get entangled in another unsolved murder case.
    “Street’s a pretty busy man,” I said, waffling, finding myself unwilling to destroy all of Terry’s naïve expectations so early in the game, “and this case isn’t in his precinct. But I’ll tell him about it, see if he can help me out.”
    “Good,” Terry said, satisfied. He lifted his brown fedora, swiped his gloved hand over his silvery hair, then repositioned the hat lower on his forehead. “Look, I hate to leave you like this. I wish I could stay. But now I really have to go home.”
    “But what about Detective Sweeny? He’ll find you if you go home!” Okay, I admit it. I was trying to scare him into staying.
    The prospect of being arrested didn’t seem to disturb Terry at all. “Maybe he will, or maybe he won’t come looking, but I can’t worry about that now,” he said, eyes narrowing with resolve. “I have to go home. I can’t stay in Judy’s apartment anymore, and I’ve run out of money. But the main cause is my father. He’s having a really hard time over Judy’s death, and I’ve been away for the past three weeks. I simply can’t leave him alone over Christmas.”
    “Oh,” I said, unable to challenge Terry’s reasoning. Nobody, but nobody, should have to be alone over the holidays. Three years ago—right after Bob was killed—I’d suffered through a solo Christmas, and I wouldn’t wish the same on my worst enemy. Not even Brandon Pomeroy.
    “Actually, I have to go right now, ” Terry said, checking his watch, then giving me an apologetic smile. “My bags are in a locker at the station and my bus leaves in one hour. With all this snow, it’ll take me at least that long to get across town to the terminal.”
    “But it’s not safe to travel in this weather!” I whined, still trying—in spite of my own urgent need to get back to the office—to delay Terry’s departure. “I’ll bet the buses aren’t even running!”
    “That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”
    The fat lady was singing loud and clear. “Okay,” I said, heaving a huge, deflating sigh, “but promise you’ll call me when you get home? There’s so much more I need to know.”
    “Don’t worry. I’ll call you. I have your home number and your office number in my wallet. And you have mine. It’s in the shoebox.”
    “It’s better to call me at home.”
    “No problem. I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
    “Okay,” I said, forcing myself to stand up tall and straight, putting on a big show of self-confidence. I was a towering Eleanor Roosevelt on the outside, but a teetering Mamie Eisenhower within. As curious as I was about the case, as committed as I was to helping my late husband’s good friend, as determined as I was to find out everything I could about Judy Catcher’s horrible, untimely death, I still couldn’t help thinking what an idiot I’d been to let myself get so involved.
    Terry leaned over and gave me a quick hug. “Thanks for everything, Paige,” he said, pulling back and resting his forearms on my shoulders. “You’re the best. Bob was a very lucky man.” He stared into my eyes for one brief but meaningful second, then spun himself around, strode across the marble floor, pushed his way through the revolving glass door, and vanished in a frosty