Truth is, I'm a good Catholic girl. The faith has always been elusive, but the guilt is intractable.

You ever get any death threats? How about ex-husbands or ex-boyfriends? You run over anyone recently?” ~ Morelli

I ran three miles, staggered into the lobby, and took the elevator back to my apartment. No point to overdoing this exercise junk. --Stephanie Plum

That might work," I said. "I'm good at faking it." This led to a couple moments of uncomfortable silence from both of us. "You didn't mean... ?" Morelli asked. "No. Of course not." "Never?" "Maybe once." His eyes narrowed. "Once?" "It's all that comes to mind. It was the time we were late for your Uncle Spud's birthday party." "I remember that. That was great. You're telling me you faked it?" "We were late! I couldn't concentrate. It seemed like the best way to go.

I want to see your tailpipe fading off into the sunset." Good luck, I thought. My tailpipe was somewhere on Route 1, along with my muffler.

Go figure that. Joseph Morelli with a house, a dog, a steady job, and an SUV. And on odd days of the month he woke up wanting to marry me. It turns out want to marry him on even days of the month, so to date we've been spared commitment.

I paused for a light at Hamilton and TWlfth and noticed the Nissan was running rough at idle. Two blocks later it backfired and stalled. I coaxed it into the center of the city. Ffft, ffft, ffft, KAPOW! Ffft, ffft, ffft, KAPOW! A Trans Am pulled up next to me at a light. The Trans Am was filled with high school kids. One of them stuck his head out of the passenger-side window. "Hey lady," he said. "Sounds like you got a fartmobile." I flipped him an Italian goodwill gesture and pulled the ball cap low on my forehead. (Three to get Deadly)