Mrs. Zuppa was coming in from bingo just as I was leaving the building. "Looks like you're going to work," she said, leaning heavily on her cane. "What are you packin'?" "A thirty-eight." "I like a nine-millimeter myself." "A nine's good." "Easier to use a semiautomatic after you've had hip replacement and you walk with a cane," she said. One of those useful pieces of information to file away and resurrect when I turn eighty-three.

Mooner was walking around laying his hands on the cars, divining karma. "this is it", he said, standing by a small khaki-colored jeep."this car has protective qualities" You mean like a guardian angel?" I mean, like, it has seatbelts

When I was painting, I was painting stories I was telling myself. When I look back at it, moving to writing was a very natural progression for me.

I was on my back, looking up at Morelli through cobwebs, and my first thought was that the 7-Eleven victim had exacted revenge on me, and I’d been stun gunned. The cobwebs cleared, and I discounted stun gunning. “What happened?” I asked Morelli. “You fainted.” “That’s ridiculous.” “I agree, but if someone sent me a dead woman I might faint, too.” He was down on one knee, bending over me. “Are you ready to get up?” “I need a moment.” “Don’t take too long. People will think I’m proposing.

I have bad car juju." -Stephanie Plum

My mother had been slicing up the chicken. She took a drumstick and dropped it on the floor. She kicked it around a little, picked it up and put it on the edge of the plate. "There," she said, "we'll give him this drumstick." "Deal.

I felt my cell phone buzz, and I looked at the screen. Ranger. “Your GPS just went blank,” Ranger said when I answered. “The car exploded.” There was a beat of silence. “Rafael won the pool,” Ranger said. “Are you okay?” “Yes.” “I’ll send someone.