Good morning bloggers! Your Nigel Townsend here. I hope you had a very romantic Valentine’s Day. I’m quite over my love affair with one Miss DeLinda Deline. That’s right, I finally stopped saying DeLinda. Clearly I mistook heartburn for Cupid’s piercing arrow through my chest. But I will love again. If the late, great Britney Spears can find love again, so shall I.

It was a very tragic week in the morgue. I worked with Woody on an investigation involving a drug dealer. The initial report incorrectly accused our young decedent of being a drug addict, however, the tox results came back clean. Using segmental hair analysis we were able to determine that our victim quit marijuana six months earlier -- though he never should have started. It breaks my heart to see children in our crypt whose lives were cut short because of drugs.

Kate the Terrible has now taken to listening to classical music at decibels so loud, little mice all over Boston have been seen throwing themselves into the Charles River. I’m beginning to wonder if she might not be just a tad bit deaf.

She’s been in the morgue for months now and we are still no closer to learning anything more about her than the first day she arrived in her smart Calvin Klein suit and Manolos. Maybe her father is a spy. Maybe she has a husband and a house full of children adopted from third world countries. Maybe she performs in an underground heavy metal band!?

I imagine her going home every night, settling down with a TV dinner, watching the soaps she taped during the day, while her Dandie Dinmont Terrier, Binky, sits in her lap.

Now, to address some of your comments…

Sam Lover, thank you for your kind comments about me and DeLinda. But alas, as I mentioned above, there will be no trips to Vegas in my future. Nothing like Valentine’s Day to make the hopelessly single feel even more hopeless.

Thanks everyone for your brilliant music suggestions. However, Andrea, I must say…what’s wrong with the Spice Girls? I’m actually a long time fan. Sure, I know it’s been many years since they’ve had a hit (oh, Geri, why did you ever have to leave?)…but Spice World is always a good listen.

And to The Hangman - You’ve asked this question before, there is no such thing as the perfect murder, and if there was, I probably wouldn’t know about it, now would I?

That’s all for now. As I mentioned, Ivers is in the office breathing down our necks. Literally, breathing down our necks. Right now I’m alphabetizing tissue samples, and he keeps sneaking up behind me to make sure I’m not doing... well...this. How do you politely offer someone a breath mint? “Here, have a hint?”

Parting is such sweet sorrow, my bloggers.