Amanda Matetsky: Murder Is A Girl’s Best Friend

After Dan left, Abby and Terry became antsy to leave, too. They said it was late (true), and they’d had too much to drink (true), and they were very, very tired (false). It was obvious from the frisky way they were eyeing each other they weren’t the least bit weary. If you ask me, they were just keen to be alone so Abby could try on the red lace-trimmed bra, panties, and garter belt set I’d gotten her for Christmas, but hadn’t been able to give to her till that night. (Actually, it turned out to be a present for both of them; I put Terry’s name on the gift tag, too. Under the circumstances-i.e., my shortage of money and shopping time, and their red-hot romance-it seemed the ideal thing to do. I knew Terry would get as much pleasure out of the garish getup as Abby.)

And Lenny liked his lunchbox a lot (Abby had very kindly trekked up to Henry’s Hardware to pick up another one for me). When he opened it, his cheeks turned bright pink, and his forehead got all steamy, and he thanked me so many times I thought his tongue was stuck, like a needle on a broken record. He said it was the best present anybody ever gave him.

And while we’re on the subject of Christmas gifts, I might as well tell you I was ecstatic over the present Abby and Terry gave me-something I had wanted since the age of fourteen, when I first decided I was going become a writer. It was a desk! An adorable, all wood, secondhand desk! And it was already there, inside my apartment-sitting next to the window in my little spare bedroom (excuse me, office)-when they brought me home from the hospital. Have you ever heard of anything so thoughtful in your life? I was so choked up I couldn’t breathe.

And the sterling silver pen and pencil set Dan bought for me at Tiffany’s (wouldn’t you know it?) had the same profound emotional effect. Not because it was such an intimate or passionate gift-which it wasn’t-but because it was so thunder ously meaningful to me. I mean, what better way could Dan have found to let me know that he endorses-well, at least accepts -my writing career? Even a Tiffany engagement ring couldn’t have conveyed that all-important message! (Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.)

The first thing I did with my peachy new pen was sit down at my nifty new desk and write out a reward check for twenty-five dollars to Elijah Peeps. My bashful hero. The man who had saved me in the subway. The man I would remember, and be grateful to, for the rest of my everloving life (which, but for him, would already be over).

The next thing I did was write Vicki Lee Bumstead a letter, thanking her for her help in my search for Judy’s killer, and telling her I would take her out for lunch-no, dinner!-as soon as I was on my feet again (which, according to my doctors, would be in a couple of months). I considered writing Jimmy Birmingham a note as well, but decided against it, knowing he would want to hear from Abby-not me-and that he would surely be having that pleasure soon. Just as soon as Terry packed up his duffel bag and headed back home to Pitts burg h.

I didn’t want Terry to go. I’d gotten used to having him around. And just seeing his handsome face every day made me feel closer to Bob. This’ll sound nutsy to you, but a couple of times I felt as though Bob were smiling out at me through Terry’s clear blue eyes. I didn’t tell Terry about these incidents, for fear he would think I was crazy as a loon, but I did tell him how much I admired him and respected him, and how glad I was that my husband had had such a loyal, courageous friend in Korea.

Terry protested, of course, saying once again what a spine

Amanda Matetsky has been an editor of many magazines in the entertainment field and a volunteer tutor and fund-raiser for Literacy Volunteers of America. Her first novel, The Perfect Body , won the NJRW Golden Leaf Award for Best First Book. Amanda lives in Middletown, New Jersey, with her husband, Harry, and their two cats, Homer and Phoebe, in a house full of old movie posters, original comic strip art, and books-lots of books. You can visit the author online at www.amandamatetsky.com.

[1] I have the best group of cheerleaders in the world, and I heartily thank them all: Harry Matetsky [1] , Molly Murrah, Liza, Tim, Tara and Kate Clancy, Ira Matetsky, Matthew Greitzer, Rae and Joel Frank, Sylvia Cohen, Mary Lou and Dick Clancy, Ann Waldron, Nelson DeMille, Dianne Francis, Art Scott, Betsy Thornton, Santa and Tom De Haven, Nikki and Bert Miller, Herta Puleo, Marte Cameron, Cameron Joy, Sandra Thompson and Chris Sherman, Donna and Michael Steinhorn, Gayle Rawlings and Debbie Marshall, Regina Grassia, Joan Unice, Judy Capriglione, Martha Cevasco, Betty Fitzsimmons, Nancy Francese, Jane Gudapati, Carleen Kierce, April Margolin, Margaret Ray, Doris Schweitzer, Carol Smith, Roberta Waugh and her saintly sidekick, Joseph. I send heaps of gratitude and good wishes to my dear friends at Literacy Volunteers of America-Nassau County, Inc., and my fellow mystery writers and readers at Sisters in Crime-Central Jersey. And to my wonderful co-agents, Annelise Robey and Meg Ruley of the Jane Rotrosen Agency, and my superlative editor at Penguin Group, Martha Bushko, I shout THANK YOU at the top of my lungs. A special nod and a wink to my husband, Harry, for writing the “far out” poems of Jimmy Birmingham. Allen Ginsberg would be green with envy.