Amanda Matetsky - Murder Is A Girl’s Best Friend

“Providing,” Abby said, with a very skeptical look on her face, “they ever compare the bullets that killed Roscoe with the bullets that killed Judy. And from where I sit, that looks like a distinct impossibility.”

“Don’t worry,” I declared, letting my fist drop (okay, pound ) on the tabletop again. “I’m going to make sure those bullets are compared.”

Abby perked up and gave me a big wide smile. “ Now you’re talking! It’s time to take action! So what’s the plan, Fran?”

“Dan’s coming over this afternoon to spend Christmas with me, and I’m going to tell him everything. The whole truth and nothing but. And once Dan knows how Sweeny bungled the investigation, you can bet he’ll do something about it!”

“Dan? Dan who?” Terry wanted to know.

“ Homicide Detective Dan Street,” I told him. “ Daring Detective ’s esteemed police consultant, and my esteemed new boyfriend.”

Terry looked puzzled. “You mean…”

“That’s right,” I quickly broke in. “I have a new boyfriend. I still love Bob-and I always will-but now I’m in love with Dan Street, too.” I paused, watching to see how Terry would react to this information. Would he perceive my new romance as a betrayal of Bob?

A myriad of emotions flitted across Terry’s face-surprise, embarrassment, tension, distress. But not a hint of anger or disapproval. Mostly he just looked confused. “So you never told Detective Street about Judy’s murder like you said you would?”

“Uh, no. I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t. I knew he would never butt into another detective’s case, and I also knew, from previous experience, that he would forbid me to get involved.”

Terry’s penetrating gaze turned doubtful. “So what makes you think he’ll butt into the case now?”

“So much has happened, he’ll have to intervene,” I said. “First I was pushed onto the subway tracks, then my apartment was broken into, and now Judy’s landlord has been murdered. Dan’s no fool. He’ll see immediately that these events are connected and that Judy’s murder case has to be reopened. And he won’t be the least bit protective of Sweeny anymore. He’ll cause a huge interdepartmental stink at headquarters if he has to.

“Believe me. I know him,” I added, overcome with deep admiration for Dan and an even deeper dread of losing him. “He’s a man with a stout, dependable heart. He despises liars and pretenders and people who act without conscience. He may throw me over for good after this,” I said, “but he’ll never abandon Judy.”

Terry gave me a knowing smile. “He sounds a lot like Bob. I’ll be very happy to meet him.”

“Don’t count on it,” I said, “because he ain’t gonna be so happy to meet you.”

AFTER DOWNING A BAGEL WITH CREAM cheese and another cup of coffee, I announced that I was going home. I wanted to take a shower, get dressed, straighten up my apartment, update my story notes, plug in the lights on my little tree, wrap my presents, and have some quiet time alone before Dan arrived. I needed to organize my thoughts and recharge my batteries, prepare myself for the confessional ordeal ahead.

Abby and Terry weren’t too thrilled with the idea. They thought I should use Abby’s shower and wait for Dan in Abby’s apartment. They finally gave in, though, after I begged and pleaded till my face turned blue, and after they accompanied me next door to check out my entire apartment and strap another thick layer of masking tape over the cardboard patch on my back door.

“I don’t like this at all, Paige,” Terry said. “It would be so easy for somebody to bust through this flimsy Duz box. Why didn’t you have the glass replaced?”

“I couldn’t! All the glaziers were closed for the holidays. And what difference would it make anyway? It’s just as easy to bust through glass as it is cardboard. Whoever broke in the first time had no trouble at all!”

“Paige is right,” Abby said, taking my side for once. “And, today being Christmas, this is probably the safest time for her to be here on her own. I say we go next door and let her have some time to herself-and some time alone with Dan-as long as she promises to hook back up with us as soon as she can, and to spend the night at my place again.”

“I promise! I promise!” I said, so eager for them to leave I would have sworn to swallow a live bullfrog. “I’ll call you back over here as soon as I’ve broken the news to Dan and absorbed his initial rage. Trust me,” I said to Terry, “you don’t want to meet him until his righteous anger is spent-or at least partially subdued.” (I didn’t mention that this felicitous transformation was unlikely to occur during any of our lifetimes.)

“Oh, all right!” Terry grumbled, stomping to the door and heading out into the hall. “But if you see or hear anything fishy, you better come get us right away.”

“She will, she will!” Abby urged, moving in close behind him, pushing him along. “Catch ya later, Paige,” she said, turning to give me a quick wink before disappearing inside her apartment.

Not wanting to waste a second of my precious solitude, I slammed and locked my door, dashed upstairs, and tore off all my clothes. Then I luxuriated in the shower for a good ten minutes-letting the hot steamy water splash down on my head and pour over my body-until my brain turned soft, and my muscles relaxed, and the wounds on my shins looked rosy and clean. After drying myself off, I sprayed on so much perfume and slapped on so much bath powder the air in the bathroom became unbreathable.

Coughing, sneezing, and gasping for oxygen, I staggered into the bedroom and put on my silkiest, sexiest un derthings-black bra, panties, garter belt, slip, and a brand new pair of sheer, seamed stockings. I thought smelling sweet and feeling slinky might help me diffuse Dan’s anger somehow. Or maybe the perfume and silk would cloud his senses-turn his fury into a different kind of passion. (Ha! What a laughable notion that turned out to be! More about that later.)

Not wanting to put on my high heels yet, but also not wanting to get any runs in my stockings, I slipped my feet into my warm, furry horse slippers. (They were both supposed to look like Roy Rogers’s horse Trigger, but they actually looked like two fat, yellowish, narrow-faced groundhogs with oversized eyes and odd, pointy ears.) Then I trotted back into the bathroom to put on my makeup.

After that interminable primping process, I set my wet hair-in the enormous mesh rollers that were supposed to turn my natural curls into long, soft, billowing waves of velvet (another laughable notion!)-and pulled on the huge, puffy vinyl cap of my hairdryer. Plugging the long air hose into the dryer cap, and then plugging the wire for the whole contraption into the wall socket near my bed, I turned the dryer on full blast. And then I sat there like a dope, on the edge of my bed for a full fifteen minutes, while the hood over my curlers swelled with a deafening surge of air so hot my ears turned crispy.

It was at that point, I’m sure-while I was sitting senseless on my bed, clad in my sexiest underwear, with both feet encased in misshapen palomino horseshoes and my head and ears enclosed in a roaring hot air balloon-that the murderer entered my apartment.

WHEN I COULDN’T TAKE THE NOISE AND the heat anymore, I turned off the dryer and unhooked the air hose from the hood. Leaving the hot vinyl cap on my head so my still-damp hair would continue to dry, I scooted into the bathroom to retouch the spots where my makeup had melted.

That’s when I heard it-a noise from downstairs that sounded like a book dropping to the floor.