Ranger declined the butterscotch pudding, not wanting to disrupt the consistency of his blood sugar level. I had two puddings and coffee, choosing to keep my pancreas at peak performance. Use it or lose it is my philosophy.

There is no such thing as a good call at 7 AM. It's been my experience that all calls between the hours of 11 PM and 9 AM are disaster calls.

I wasn’t a fabulous cook. I didn’t have a boyfriend, much less a husband. And I wasn’t a big financial success. I could live with all those failings as long as I knew that once in a while I looked really hot.

I took all of my rejection letters - there must have been thousands of them in a huge box - and I went out on the curb and burned them all, crying.

He reached out, opened the glove compartment, and took out a gun. It was a Smith & Wesson .38 five-shot special. It looked a lot like my gun. "I stopped by your apartment this morning and picked this up for you," Ranger said. "I found it in the cookie jar." "Tough guys always keep their gun in the cookie jar." "Name one." "Rockford." Ranger grinned. "I stand corrected.

You have the Super Soaker filled with holy water?” “Yeah. I sucked it out of the church. You know that bird-bath thing they got right up front?” “The baptismal font?” “That’s it. They got it filled with holy water, free for the taking.” “Brilliant,” I said to Lula. She tapped her head with her finger. “No grass growin’ here.

From the look on your face, I'd say you know him." I nodded. "Sold him a cannoli when I was in high school." Connie grunted. "Honey, half of all the women in New Jersey have sold him their cannoli