This is a right book at the right time thing for me, so yeah, I'm giving this sparkly little comedy mystery four stars because it took my mind off of things and it thoroughly entertained me. I'd almost like to give it five stars. I'd also like to buy Janet Evanovich flowers.
It's been a while since I read this silly, fun series about Stephanie Plum, a New Jersey bounty hunter with lots of pluck and questionable job skills. I had quit reading these books a while back because they were getting a little formulaic, but it was a pleasure to dive back into the fun house mirror version of Trenton where Stephanie lives. All of the elements we've come to love and expect are here: Stephanie's ride or die Lula (real talk: Is Lula getting compensated fairly for all of the help she gives Stephanie?), Stephanie's colorful, funeral loving grandmother, her long suffering parents, Bob the Dog, the 1953 Buick, a new car Stephanie will almost certainly total, Stephanie's arch-nemesis Joyce, and the eternal love/hormone triangle between Stephanie and her policeman boyfriend Joe Morelli (in this book, he's also her fiance-sort of) and Ranger, her enigmatic bounty hunter coworker.
In this seventh outing, as you can tell from the title, Stephanie takes the case of an elderly man who misses his court date, and what she thinks will be easy money turns into a book long chase involving the mob, kidnapping, and mud wrestling. Additionally, Stephanie's oft-mentioned perfect sister Valerie moves home from California with her daughters after her husband leaves her for the babysitter.
As usual, several passages made me laugh out loud (not that easy for a book):
Doughnut my foot. Bob was going to do a great big Chinese-food poop. And he was going to do it on Joyce's lawn. Maybe I could even get him to hurl.......I screeched to a stop in front of Joyce's house. I ran round to the passenger side, opened the door, and Bob flew out. He rocketed to Joyce's lawn, hunched over, and pooped what appeared to be twice his body weight. He paused for a second and horked up a mixture of cardboard box and shrimp chow mein.
"Good boy!" I whispered.
Bob gave himself a shake and bolted back to the car. I slammed the door after him, jumped in on my side, and we took off before the stench could catch up with us. Another job well done.
(You know it's been an eventful few weeks when getting your right knee replaced was one of the easier things you've done. One of my other problems was my beloved dog deciding this was a dope time to perform one of his favorite tricks: transforming into a walking shitpocalypse. Where's Joyce's yard when you need it?)
"It was all her fault. She started it," said Lula.
"I could have done better, but I was caught by surprise," I said.
"Yeah," Lula said, "I could tell that by the way you kept yelling help."
And he left, slamming the door behind him. I like to think I'm a pretty stable person, but this was too much. I cried until I was totally cried out and then ate three doughnuts and took a shower. I toweled off and still felt overwhelmed so I decided to bleach my hair blond.
Maybe people from New Jersey hate this series because it is a very bada boom how you dooin? version of the state capital. I'm originally from Kentucky, so maybe I'd be annoyed if someone wrote a series about a bounty hunter from Frankfort whose boyfriend was named Catfish McFarland and her meemaw played the banjo and ate grits with hogs feet.
(But hey, the banjo is one of the most difficult of the lute instruments. That's pretty impressive, really.)
Like a well-oiled Chuck Lorre sitcom, go in assuming everything will be exaggerated for your entertainment. I salute you, Janet and Stephanie, and I picked book 8 up from the library today.