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I don't know much about cars, Joyce said, but I think someone took my engine.

Janet Evanovich

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Janet Evanovich
Age: 81
Born: 1943
Born: April 22
Novelist
Writer
South River
New Jersey
Steffie Hall
Cars
Car
Took
Someone
Much
Think
Joyce
Thinking
Engine
Engines

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Ranger sent us to check on you, Hal said. We just got here, and we heard shots. Some moron ate my jelly doughnut, Lula said. So I shot him.
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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.
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I'd slept with Ranger! Not sexually, of course. But I'd been in his bed. And then there was the evil shower gel. It was all because of the shower gel, I said. Morelli's eyes narrowed. Shower gel? I made a major effort not to sigh. Long story. You probably don't want to hear it.
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Give me the gun. Ranger said. I extracted the gun from my pants and handed it over. Ranger held the gun in the pulm of his hand and smiled. It's warm, he said. He put the gun in the glove compartment and plugged the key into the ignition. Am I fired? No. Any women who can heat up a gun like that is worth keeping around.
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I went to the door, and Gary tried hard not to notice I was blue. He looked at his feet, and he looked above my head, and he cleared his throat. It's okay,' I said. 'I know I'm blue.' It caught me by surprise,' he said. 'I didn't want to seem rude.
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I really wouldn't classify the books as mysteries. I prefer to say that they're adventures.
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Happens to me all the time...People are always underestimating my dumbness.
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I want to see your tailpipe fading off into the sunset. Good luck, I thought. My tailpipe was somewhere on Route 1, along with my muffler.
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Either get out of bed or else take your clothes off, he said. I'm not in the mood to compromise.
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He's a good man, Ranger said. And you? I'm better.
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Concentrate on doing the job, not the fear.
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Sweetie, nothing that flies looks safe, including birds.
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Somewhere along the line, I realized that I liked telling stories, and I decided that I would try writing. Ten years later, I finally got a book published. It was hard. I had no skills. I knew nothing about the business of getting published. So I had to keep working at it.
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Looks like you're on a roll. This is the second car you've toasted this week. Carl Costanza - Hot Six
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You should see me work my magic in leather Ranger
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Opening my door to Dillon Ruddick, my bulding super. I handed him a cup of coffee. Sorry about the blood. What was it this time? No one reported gunfire. I hit a guy in the face with a hair dryer. Whoa. Dillon said. It wasn't my fault, I told him. Maybe we should lay down some linoleum here. It would make things easier for
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I'm telling you, it's fu**ing hard to be classy
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I got out of the elevator and confronted Mr. Wexler. “Killing is wrong.” “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.
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I stuck my tongue out at him because I was feeling exceptionall mature.
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Your life isn't out of control. It's expanded.
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