Three to Get Deadly (Stephanie Plum, #3)

by Janet Evanovich

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.

Good news travels fast in the burg. Bad news travels even faster. And if there’s scandal attached, life as we know it comes to a halt until every detail of the tawdry event has been retold, examined, exclaimed over and enhanced.

Ever since we put a man on the moon the whole planet’s gone to heck in a handbasket.

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.

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.

“We kill chickens,” Mr. Wexler said. “We kill cows. We kill trees. So big deal, we kill some drug dealers.” It was hard to argue with that kind of logic because I like cows and chickens and trees much better than drug dealers.