ROSEANNE KREINER WAS standing on her corner, in the rain, looking totally wet and p.i.s.sed off. If I was a guy I wouldn't let her within twenty feet of my w.a.n.ger. She was dressed in high-heeled boots and a black garbage bag. It was hard to tell what she was wearing under the bag. Maybe nothing. She was pacing and waving at pa.s.sing cars, and when the cars didn't stop she'd give them the finger. Her arrest sheet said she was fifty-two.

I pulled to the curb and rolled my window down. "Do you do women?"

"Honey, I do pigs, cows, ducks, and women. You got the dime I put in my time. Twenty for a hand thing. You go into overtime if you take all day."

I showed her a twenty, and she got into the car. I hit the auto door locks and took off for the police station.

"Any side street will do," she said.

"I have a confession."

"Oh s.h.i.t. Are you a cop? Tell me you're not a cop."

"I'm not a cop. I'm bond enforcement. You missed your court date and you have to reschedule."

"Do I get to keep the twenty?"

"Yeah, you can keep the twenty."

"Do you want a diddle for it?"

"No!"

"Jeez. No need to yell. I just didn't want you to feel cheated. I give people their money's worth."

"How about the guy you clocked?"

"He tried to stiff me. You think I'm out there on that corner for my health? I got a mother in a.s.sisted living. I don't make the monthly payment and she's living with me."

"Would that be so bad?"

"I'd rather f.u.c.k a rhino."

I parked in the police lot, reached over to cuff her, and she started waving her hands around.

"You're not gonna cuff me," she was saying. "No way."

And then somehow with all the hand waving and struggling the automatic door lock got popped and Roseanne jumped out of the car and ran for the street. She had a head start, but she was in heels and I was in cross-trainers, and I caught her after a two-block chase. Neither of us was in good shape. She was wheezing and I felt like I was breathing in fire. I clapped the bracelets on her and she sat down.

"No sitting," I said.

"Tough. I'm not going anywhere."

I'd left my bag in the car and the car looked a long way off. If I ran back to the car to get my cell phone Roseanne wouldn't be here when I returned. She was sitting, sulking, and I was standing, fuming.

Some days it didn't pay to get out of bed.

I had a really strong urge to give her a good kick in the kidney, but that'd probably leave a bruise and then she might sue Vinnie for bounty hunter brutality. Vinnie hated when that happened.

It was raining harder and we were both soaked. My hair was stuck to my face, and my Levi's were drenched. The two of us settled in for a standoff. The standoff ended when Eddie Gazarra drove by on his way to lunch. Eddie's a Trenton cop, and he's married to my cousin Shirley-the-Whiner.

Eddie rolled his window down, shook his head, and made tsch-tsch-tsch tsch-tsch-tsch sounds. sounds.

"I've got a situation with an FTA," I said to Eddie.

Eddie grinned. "No s.h.i.t."

"How about helping me get her into your car."

"It's raining! I'll get soaked."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"It'll cost you," Gazarra said.

"I'm not not baby-sitting." His kids were cute, but last time I stayed with them I fell asleep and they cut two inches off my hair. baby-sitting." His kids were cute, but last time I stayed with them I fell asleep and they cut two inches off my hair.

He did another tsch. tsch. "Hey, Roseanne," he yelled. "You want a ride?" "Hey, Roseanne," he yelled. "You want a ride?"

Roseanne got up and looked at him. Deciding.

"If you get into the car, Stephanie'll give you ten bucks," Gazarra said.

"No I won't," I yelled. "I already gave her twenty."

"Did you get a diddle for it?" Gazarra asked.

"No!"

He made another tsch. tsch.

"Well," Roseanne said, "what's it gonna be?"

I pushed the hair out of my face. "It's going to be a kick in the kidney if you don't get your b.u.t.t in that cop car." When up against it . . . try an empty threat.

I PARKED IN my lot and slogged up to my apartment, leaving puddles in my wake. Benny and Ziggy were waiting in the hall.

"We brought you some strawberry preserves," Benny said. "It's the good kind, too. It's Smucker's."

I took the jam and opened my door. "What's up?"

"We heard you caught Chooch having a snort with Father Carolli."

They were smiling, enjoying the moment.

"That Choochy, he's a pip," Ziggy said. "Did he really shoot Jesus?"

I smiled with them. Choochy was indeed a pip. "News travels fast," I said.

"We're what you call plugged in," Ziggy said. "Anyhow, we just want to get it straight from you. How did Choochy look? Was he okay? Was he, you know, crazy?"

"He took a couple shots at Mooner, but he missed. Carolli said Chooch has been excitable ever since his stroke."

"He don't hear so good, either," Benny said.

They exchanged glances on that one. No smiles.

Water was dripping from my Levi's, forming a pool on the kitchen floor. Ziggy and Benny were standing clear of it.

"Where's the little geeky guy?" Benny asked. "Isn't he hanging out with you anymore?"

"He had things to do."

I PEELED MY clothes off the minute Benny and Ziggy left. Rex was running on his wheel, occasionally pausing to watch me, not understanding the concept of rain. Sometimes he sat under his water bottle and it dripped on his head, but mostly his experience with weather was limited.

I slipped into a new T-shirt and clean Levi's and blasted my hair with the hair dryer. When I was done I had a lot of volume but not much shape, so I created a distraction by applying bright blue eyeliner.

I was pulling my boots on when the phone rang.

"Your sister's on her way over," my mother said. "She needs someone to talk to."

Valerie must really be desperate to choose me to talk to. We like each other okay, but we've never been close. Too many basic personality differences. And when she moved to California we drifted even further apart.

Funny how things turn out. We all thought Valerie had the perfect marriage.

The phone rang again and it was Morelli.

"He's humming," Morelli said. "When are you going to come get him?"

"Humming?"

"Bob and I are trying to watch the game and this yodel won't stop humming."

"Maybe he's nervous."

"f.u.c.kin' A. He should should be nervous. If he doesn't stop humming I'm going to strangle him." be nervous. If he doesn't stop humming I'm going to strangle him."

"Try feeding him."

And I hung up.

"I wish I knew what everyone is looking for," I said to Rex. "I know it's tied to Dougie's disappearance."

There was a rap on the door and my sister bounced in, looking Doris Day-Meg Ryan perky. Probably perfect for California, but we don't do perky perky in Jersey. in Jersey.

"You're awfully perky," I said. "I don't remember you as being this perky."

"I'm not perky . . . I'm cheerful. I am absolutely not crying anymore, ever again. No one likes a Gloomy Gus. I'm going to get on with my life and I'm going to be happy. I'm going to be so G.o.dd.a.m.n happy Mary Sunshine's going to look like a loser."

Yikes.

"And do you know why I can be happy? I can be happy because I'm well adjusted."

Good thing Valerie moved back to Jersey. We'd fix that.

"So this is your apartment," she said, looking around. "I've never been here."

I looked, too, and I wasn't impressed by what I saw. I have lots of good ideas for my apartment, but somehow I never get around to buying the gla.s.s candle holders at Illuminations or the bra.s.s fruit bowl at Pottery Barn. My windows have utilitarian shades and drapes. My furniture is relatively new but uninspired. I live in a cookie-cutter, inexpensive seventies apartment that looks exactly like a cookie-cutter, inexpensive seventies apartment. Martha Stewart would have a cow over my apartment.

"Jeez," I said, "I'm really sorry about Steve. I didn't know you two were having problems."

Valerie flopped onto the couch. "I didn't know, either. He broadsided me. I came home from the gym one day and realized Steve's clothes were gone. Then I found a note on the kitchen counter about how he felt trapped and had to get away. And the next day I got a foreclosure notice on the house."

"Wow."

"I'm thinking this could be a good thing. I mean, this could open up all sorts of new experiences for me. For instance, I have to get a job."

"Any ideas?"

"I want to be a bounty hunter."

I was speechless. Valerie. A bounty hunter.

"Did you tell Mom?"

"No. Do you think I should?"

"No!"

"The thing about being a bounty hunter is that you make your own hours, right? So I could be home when the girls get out of school. And bounty hunters are kind of tough, and that's what I want the new Valerie to be . . . cheerful but tough."

Valerie was wearing a red cardigan sweater from Talbots, designer jeans that had been ironed, and snakeskin loafers.

Tough seemed like a stretch.