Free Murder is a Girl's Best Friend by Amanda Matetsky

really, really did! But that didn’t change the fact that I’d wanted to be both a true crime writer and a mystery novelist since I was a freshman (freshgirl?) in high school. And—though Dan’s deep concern for me was a continuing source of joyous, heart-soaring delight—it still wasn’t enough to make me relinquish the only real career goals I’d ever had. No matter how dangerous (or unwomanly) they happened to be.
    And now I had an even more compelling reason to pursue those goals. I had someone who was depending on me to exercise my sleuthing skills. How could I possibly turn my back on Terry Catcher? He had been Bob’s best friend in Korea, and one of the last people to see my husband alive. Bob had risked his own life to save Terry’s . Twice! So wasn’t it only natural that I should feel responsible for Terry, too? I couldn’t save his sister’s life, but I could try to find out who had caused her death. And I knew that’s what Bob would want me to do.
    “I had a rough day, too,” Dan said, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Two prostitutes slashed to ribbons in Bryant Park. No witnesses because of the storm. Luckily, a mailman decided to cut through the park and found the bodies. He notified the station immediately, and we got there pretty quick, but it was snowing so hard that whatever clues there may have been were already buried. No footprints except the mailman’s. By that time, even the corpses were covered. And the ambulance had a hell of a time getting down the snowbound street to the scene. I was there all afternoon and evening, digging through the bloody ice, freezing my castanets off.”
    “That’s awful!” I cried, glad the focus of our conversation had shifted from my day to his, and hoping I could keep it that way. “But how do you know the victims were prostitutes?” I asked. “Have the bodies been identified?”
    “Yes, that was the easy . . . ”
    “And what about the weapon? Did you find a knife or anything?”
    “Uh, no, we . . . ”
    “Did you check out the mailman? His story sounds kind of fishy to me. Why would he cut through the park in the middle of a snowstorm?”
    “Hold it right there, Paige!” Dan said, in his toughest law enforcement tone. “No more questions. I’ve told you too much as it is. And don’t think for one second you’re going to play detective again and write a big story about this case. I’ll stop you before you even sharpen your pencil.” He sounded so cute I wanted to kiss him on the neck. His lovable but insufferably stiff neck.
    “The thought never crossed my mind,” I said, telling the truth and nothing but the truth (if you don’t count the pouty inflection I put in my voice to give Dan the impression—just the slightest hint, I swear!—that he may have hurt my feelings). “I’m innocent of all charges!”
    “That’s my girl,” Dan said, relieved. “You know I hate to be a bear, but it’s only for your own good.”
    “I know . . . I know!” I said, heaving a huge (and totally honest) sigh. Then I quickly changed the subject. “I’m sorry you had to stay out in the cold so long. Have you thawed out yet? Where are you now?”
    “Back at Headquarters. Got a lot of paperwork.”
    “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” I asked, suddenly longing for his company. I wasn’t feeling tired anymore. Now I was just feeling lonely. Desperately lonely. (The specter of death often has that effect on me.) “Come on over for a nightcap,” I begged, neglecting to mention that all I had in the house to drink was Dr. Pepper.
    “I’d love to, Paige, but I really can’t. Too much work, and the driving’s impossible. I even canceled my regular Monday evening visit with Katy,” he said, referring to his much beloved fourteen-year-old daughter—his only child (and the only happy outcome of his very unhappy marriage to the vain, unfaithful wife he divorced some six years ago). “I’ve got at least an hour’s worth of forms to fill