Framed in Death (In Death, #61)

by J.D. Robb

“Why are they beds? The plants aren’t sleeping in them. I don’t think they’re having sex in them.” “I have no idea, unless it’s that some of them sleep in there through the winter, or wake up there in the spring. And I am not going to visualize tomatoes having an orgy with the green peppers and the squash.” “Bet you did. Anyway, how many of those raised things are you doing?”

And from her vantage point, watched the cat manage to open the closet just enough to squeeze his bulk through. “Roarke.” He glanced over where she nodded. “Well, fuck me.” He marched to the closet, came back out with a disappointed Galahad. “Banishment it is then.”