Plum Lovin' (Stephanie Plum 12.50)

I cleaned up the toilet paper and put a new roll in the holder. By the time I was done, Bob was completely perked up, affectionately rubbing against Diesel, spreading dog slime the length of his leg.

“Probably I should change clothes before we go to your parents' house,” Diesel said.

For sure.

Diesel pulled a pair of jeans and a shirt out of his backpack. They were exact duplicates of what he was wearing, minus the slime and pizza sauce. No better, no worse. He peeled his shirt off, unlaced his boots, and stepped out of his boots and jeans.

“Good God,” I said and whirled around, so I wasn't facing him. Not that it mattered. The image of Diesel in briefs was burned into my brain. Ranger and Morelli, the two men in my life, were physically perfect in very different ways.

Ranger was Cuban American with dark skin and dark eyes and sometimes dark intentions. He had a kickboxer's body and Special Forces skills. Morelli was hard and angular, his temperament Italian, his muscle and skill acquired on the street. Diesel was put together on a larger scale. And while I couldn't see details, I suspected he was larger everywhere.

My grandmother was setting the table when we arrived. The extension was in, and the kitchen chairs and a kid's high chair had been brought out to seat ten. Valerie and Albert were already there. Albert was watching television with my dad. I could hear Valerie in the kitchen talking to my mom. Her oldest girl, Angie, was on the floor in the living room coloring in a coloring book. The middle kid, Mary Alice, was galloping around the dining room table, pretending she was a horse. The baby was on Albert's lap.

All action stopped when Diesel walked in.

“Oh jeez,” my father said.

“Nice to see you again, sir,” Diesel said.

“I remember you,” Mary Alice said. “You used to have a ponytail.”

“I did,” Diesel said, “but I thought it was time for a change.”

“Sometimes I'm a reindeer,” Mary Alice said.

“Is it different from being a horse?” Diesel asked her.

“Yeah, 'cause when I'm a reindeer I got antlers, and I can fly like Rudolph.”

“Can not,” Angie said.

“Can, too.”

“Can not.”

“I can fly a little,” Mary Alice said.

I cut my eyes to Diesel.

Diesel smiled and shrugged.

I let Bob off his leash, left Diesel in the living room to charm my father, and went to the kitchen to check in with my mother. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

“You can spoon the red sauce into the gravy boat, and you can try to talk some sense into your grandmother. She won't listen to me.”

“Now what?”

“Have you seen her?”

“She was setting the table.”

“Did you take a good look?”

Grandma Mazur shuffled into the kitchen. She was in her seventies, and gravity hadn't been kind. She was all slack skin and dimpled flesh draped on a wiry frame. Her hair was steel gray and permed. Her teeth were bought. Her eyes didn't miss much. Her lips were horribly swollen.

“We're oud a nakins,” she said. “There's no ore in da china canet.”

“Omigod,” I said. “What happened to your mouth?”