Two for the Dough (Stephanie Plum, #2)

by Janet Evanovich

These things never happened in the burg because it was like a retirement village for the mob.

“Do you think he’ll call us if he hears from Kenny?” I asked when we were alone in the car. Morelli stopped for a light. “No. I think Leo will beat the crap out of Kenny with a tire iron.” “It’s the Morelli way.” “Something like that.”

Traffic was steady, with everyone around us rigidly obeying the speed limit. Nothing like an unmarked cop car to slow things down to a crawl.

“Is that your granny?” Ranger wanted to know. “Yup. She was checking to make sure Moogey was here.” “You’ve got a helluva gene pool, babe.”

My father paused with the tub of margarine in one hand and the butter knife in the other, and for an irrational moment I thought he might stab Grandma Mazur.

“Cross my heart and hope to die. I’m going shopping. I swear to you.” One corner of Morelli’s mouth hitched up a fraction of an inch. “You’d lie to the pope.”

“You have a terrific family, but they’ll have you on Valium in forty-eight hours.” “Plums don’t do Valium. We mainline cheesecake.”

Spiro Stiva, Demonic Mortician.