Three to Get Deadly (Stephanie Plum, #3)

by Janet Evanovich

Adaptation is one of the great advantages to being born and bred in Jersey. We’re simply not bested by bad air or tainted water. We’re like that catfish with lungs. Take us out of our environment and we can grow whatever body parts we need to survive. After Jersey the rest of the country’s a piece of cake. You want to send someone into a fallout zone? Get him from Jersey. He’ll be fine.

I didn’t want to burst his fantasy bubble, but the only time Ranger wouldn’t look out of place would be standing in a lineup between Rambo and Batman.

My father is an equal opportunity bigot. He wouldn’t deprive a man of his rights. And he’s not a hate-filled man. He simply knows in his heart that Italians are superior, that stereotypes were created by God, and if a person is worth anything at all he drives a Buick.

I’d decided at an early age to stop being embarrassed over my family. This is yet another advantage to living in Jersey. In Jersey everyone has the right to embarrass themselves with no reflection on anyone else. In fact, embarrassing yourself periodically is almost required.

All during my teens and early twenties I wanted to be a rock star. The fact that I can’t play a musical instrument or carry a tune did nothing to diminish the fantasy. During my more realistic moments I wanted to be a rock star’s girlfriend.

Stephanie Plum’s rule of thumb for mental health—always procrastinate the unpleasant. After all, I could get run over by a truck tomorrow and never have to come to terms with the attack at all.

“A woman’s never too old to make an idiot of herself. It goes along with equality of the sexes and potty parity.

I make lots of mistakes. I try hard not to make the same mistake more than three or four times.

“Secrets could mean lots of things. He could be wanted for murder in twelve states and have assumed a new identity. Even better…he could be gay.

Threatening my hamster brought out a whole new set of rules. Threatening my hamster made me Godzilla. I had no intention of saying good-bye to my hamster.

“I come in like the fog on little cat feet.” I looked at Ranger. “Very nice.” “Carl Sandburg,” Ranger said. “More or less.