Janet Evanovich: Plum Lovin'

"Jeez," I said. "That was weird."

"Yeah, welcome to my world," Diesel said, returning to the bag of chips. "Would you get me another beer?"

I opened my eyes and looked up at Diesel. He was dressed but unshaven, holding a mug of coffee.

"What time is it?" I asked. "And why are you in my bedroom?"

"It's six o'clock. Rise and shine, cutie pie."

"Go away. I'm not ready to rise and shine." Diesel shoved me over a couple inches, sat on the edge of the bed, and sipped his coffee. "We need to wrap this up before Annie gets restless again."

"What on earth are we going to do at six in the morning?"

"I have plans."

I pushed myself up on my elbow. "You're a real pain in the behind."

"Yeah, people tell me that a lot. You look sexy with your hair all messed, and your eyes kind of sleepy. Maybe I should get under the covers with you."

"What about the early start?"

"This wouldn't take long."

"Easy for you to say. Get out of my bedroom and put an English Muffin in the toaster for me. I'll be out in a minute. And it would help if you'd feed Bob and take him out for a walk."

I took a fast shower, blasted my hair with the hair dryer and pulled it back into a ponytail. I got dressed in a T-shirt and jeans and topped it off with a fleece hoodie.

Diesel was going over Annie Hart's files when I got to the kitchen.

"I fed Bob, and I walked him," Diesel said.

"Did you remember to take a plastic bag for his poop?"

"Sweetheart, I don't do the poop-in-a-bag thing. It's impossible to look like a tough guy when you're carrying a bag of poop. And you might want to think about feeding him less, because apparently whatever goes into a dog comes out of a dog, and it isn't good."

I took my muffin out of the toaster and looked around Diesel's shoulder. He was reading about Charlene Klinger.

"I spoke to her," I told Diesel. "She thinks Annie is a nut, and she doesn't want to get fixed up."

Diesel flipped to Gary Martin.

"He wants our help bad," I said. "Unfortunately, the love of his life is all wrong for him, and I really don't want to stick him with her. He deserves better."

"We're not supposed to change the world," Diesel said. "We're just supposed to set things up for Valentine's Day."

"Valentine's Day isn't going to happen for Gary Martin and Loretta Flack. Flack has maxed out Martin's credit at Tiffany's and moved on to greener pastures."

"That's cold," Diesel said. He turned to Larry Burlew's file. "What about this one?"

"He's got a thing for the girl in the coffee shop across from his butcher shop. I arranged for them to get together, so with any luck he's off the list. I didn't get to the last two cases."

Diesel paged through the rest of the files. "The fourth case is someone named Jeanine Chan. And all it says is she has a problem. Doesn't look like Annie visited her yet. No picture. No case history. And the fifth guy needs help getting married. His name is Albert Kloughn."

I snatched the file out of Diesel's hand. "That's my sister's live-in boyfriend!"

"I remember now," Diesel said. "Last time I was here she found out she was pregnant."

"She had the baby and they had a big wedding planned, and Kloughn had a total panic attack. He broke out in a cold sweat and hyperventilated himself into oblivion. They bailed on the wedding and ran off to Disney World, but he's never been able to bring himself to marry Valerie."

"How about we stun-gun him, and when he wakes up he's married?"

"You're such a romantic."

"I have my moments," Diesel said.

"Now what?"

"Now you put your boots and mittens on, and we go out and do our lame-ass cupid thing."

I shoved my feet into my boots, gathered up my mittens and scarf, and took a moment to call Morelli. Lots of rings. No answer. His answering service came on-line. Morelli was underground, working a sting.

"It's me," I said. "Just wanted to let you know Bob is fine."

Charlene Klinger lived in a narrow single-family, two-story house in North Trenton. It had a postage-stamp yard and a driveway but no garage. A green soccer-mom van was parked in the driveway. A big orange cat sat hunkered down and slitty-eyed on the roof of the van.

Diesel parked my Escape at the curb, and we made our way to the front door. We rang the bell, and Charlene's youngest kid let us in and then instantly disappeared, no questions asked. It was Saturday morning, and the Klinger household was in full chaos mode. The television was on in the living room, a couple of dogs were barking toward the back of the house, rap was blaring from an upstairs bedroom, and Charlene's voice carried from the kitchen.

"You absolutely cannot have ice cream for breakfast," she said. "And don't you dare put it in your orange juice."

I knocked on the doorjamb and looked in at Charlene. "Hi," I said. "Remember me?"

Charlene looked at me open-mouthed. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"A little boy with red hair and a blue shirt let us in," I told her.

"I swear someday we're all gonna get killed in our sleep. He'll open the door to anyone."

"I was hoping I could have just a few minutes to talk to you."

"I've got nothing to say. I don't want a man in my life. I don't have time to talk to you. And-"

Charlene stopped midsentence, and her eyes widened a little when she saw Diesel.

"This is Diesel," I told Charlene. "He's part of the relationship team. He's our, um, man specialist. Are you sure you don't want a man in your life? They can come in handy sometimes… taking out the garbage, scaring away burglars, fixing the plumbing."

"I guess," Charlene said. "Is he available?"

"Are you?" I asked Diesel.

"Not even a little," Diesel said.

"You wouldn't want him anyway," I told Charlene. "He's got limitations. I mean, we wouldn't expect Diesel to put a new float in a toilet, right? Plus, 111 bet you'd like a man who could cook sometimes. And Diesel doesn't do that either."

Diesel slid a look at me… like maybe he could cook if there was incentive.

"Jeez," Charlene said.

Diesel crossed the kitchen, poured himself a mug of coffee, and slouched against a counter. "There were a bunch of rejected men in your file," he said to Charlene. "Why did you reject them?"

"They rejected me . Too many cats. Too many kids. Too old. Too boring."

"So we need to find someone who likes kids," Diesel said. His attention wandered to a cat sleeping on the counter in front of the toaster. "And animals."

"Beyond that, what kind of man do you want?" I asked Charlene.

"Rich?"

"Would you settle for mildly successful?"

"Here's the thing," Charlene said. "I don't want to settle at all. I was serious yesterday when I said I don't have the time or energy for a man right now. I have soup stock cooking on the stove and a week's worth of laundry sitting in the basement next to the washing machine. I have two kids upstairs, listening to rap and figuring out how they can bypass the parental controls on the television. I have a pregnant cat that I know is in the house somewhere but haven't been able to find for two days. My deadbeat ex-husband is learning to surf and living on the beach in Santa Barbara and hasn't sent child support in over a year, so I'm working at the DMV instead of staying home and keeping my kids from turning into juvenile delinquents. I don't need a man. I need a housewife."

"We're counting down to Valentine's Day," I told Char-lene. "Let's get the man taken care of first, and then maybe we can work on the housewife."

Charlene turned the flame up under the stockpot. "What would it take to make you go away?"

"A date," Diesel said. "We find you a man, you go out with him, and we leave."

"Is that a promise?" Charlene asked.