By Amanda Matetsky
Crime reporter and secret novelist Paige Turner is asking into the homicide of a tender secretary whose bare physique was once present in critical Park—with the certainty among herself and the police that Paige retains her particular research off the list and out of the pages of bold Detective.
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Additional resources for Dial Me for Murder (Paige Turner Mysteries)
I soon reached Gramercy Park North and turned left, marching—like a tightly wound tin soldier—toward the Gramercy Park East address Sabrina Stanhope had given me. I was so mobilized and so driven (and so fixated on the hideous murder of Virginia Pratt) that I barely noticed the bright blue sky, or the colorful leaves on the trees and grounds of the private gated park, or the crisp, clean autumn air that was filling my lungs and lending a spring to my step (in spite of my torturous stilettos). Finally, as I turned the corner onto Gramercy Park East, walked down the block to number 36, and gazed up at Sabrina Stanhope’s building, I became more aware of—and thoroughly surprised by—the physical details of my surroundings.
What the hell is going on? I wondered, making a wobbly, high-heeled dash for the elevator. What on earth is Pomeroy up to? Why does he look so worn-out and worried? And why was he so eager to get rid of me? I couldn’t answer any of those questions, of course, and by the time the elevator arrived, I’d stopped trying. Pomeroy’s shady schemes and mysterious problems had faded—like a weak radio signal—from my mind. All I cared about now was Virginia Pratt and Sabrina Stanhope; they had taken complete control of my thoughts.
That is, after all, what I do. For a living, I mean. I tell stories. True stories. And unfortunately for me (and most of the other pitiful, or in some cases abominable, characters you’ll soon meet if you keep on reading), the tale I’m about to tell is as factual as it is frightful. But first, a few facts about me. . (Sorry, but I have to give you some background information, you know! I need to explain a few things about my peculiar life—and some of the peculiar people who populate my peculiar life—so that you can understand how I got caught up in the aforementioned nightmare, and why I’m compelled to tell you all about it now.