Connie Drove A Silver Camry With Rosary

I Wasn’t A Fabulous Cook. I Didn’t Have A Boyfriend, Much Less A Husband. And I Wasn’t A Big Financial Success. I Could Live With All Those Failings As Long As I Knew That Once In A While I Looked Really Hot.

We Were Discussing A Grisly Double Murder And Rodriguez Was Telling Us All This In The Same Sort Of Conversational Tone A Person Might Use To Pass On A Favorite Lasagna Recipe. And I Was Responding With The Same Enthusiasm A New Cook Might Show. I Was Simultaneously Horrified And Impressed With Myself.

In Spite Of All The Sparring That Went On Between Us, I Sort Of Liked Morelli. Good Judgment Told Me To Stand Clear Of Him, But Then I've Never Been A Slave To Good Judgment.

When You Get Ready To Write Your Novel, Outline It First. There's Nothing Worse Than Getting Halfway Through And Realizing You've Painted Yourself In A Plot Corner.

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.