Where There's Smoke

by Roscommon

This is now a series of memories and adventures that Stephanie has, looking back from the vantage of a long, well-lived life. It's a series of short stories, following from the original 'Where There's Smoke' in loose chronological order. I'm setting it to 'In Progress' so I can add new stories over time.

1. Where There's Smoke

Where there's smoke, sometimes there really is a fire. This is something Stephanie Plum learned very well in her bounty hunting days.

Nov 2013: This chapter is the same as the the story published in October, but it is now the first chapter in a series, rather than just a one-shot. It's s not related to other stories I've written. Or maybe it is related if you squint just right.

Huge thanks to Potterwench, whose observations and encouragement helped me see how I could take this from a practice piece and make it into an actual story. You're the best!

I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes.

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Where There's Smoke...

I stood at the front door as I watched the fire engine racing down the street, headed my way. The sirens were blaring as it raced through the stop sign with an ambulance and another small truck in tow.

All in all, an unexpectedly lively start to an otherwise slow afternoon. I waved at the Gianni family across the street, who'd come outside to see what all the commotion was. And now, the young married couple on the other side of us was peeking out. Perhaps I could go over and meet them when this was over. Relatively new to this neighborhood, I didn't know everyone yet.

Well, nothing like a few sirens and speeding vehicles to make sure my new neighbors would get to know me.

Though I'd be surprised if they didn't already know who I was. You see, I was born Stephanie Michelle Plum at Saint Francis hospital, about a twenty minute drive away from here. For a several years I was famous (perhaps I should say "infamous") as the Bombshell Bounty Hunter here in Trenton. Decades later I found that those stories were still circulating. If anything, they were expanding and actively multiplying. In the 'Burg, gossip grows like a family of bunnies at a fertility retreat.

Even for people who didn't know me by reputation, I was still quite recognizable. The first reason was because, in a moment of questionable municipal judgement, my story and picture had become part of the Girl's Career Day packet at the public library.

But largely it was because I still looked a lot like how I did back then. Like my mother, my skin had aged and thinned but remained fairly smooth. A few age spots on my hands, but nothing to really change me. I still had rambunctiously curly hair, though it had lightened to a frosted gray, and I was proud to still have my figure. Thankfully, by the point when my Hungarian metabolism finally packed its bags and stormed out the door, I had developed a surprising exercise habit. Really it was due to my discovery of drumming and dance classes at the Y. Belly dancing for seniors, woohoo!

My musing was cut short by screeching of the various vehicles as they skidded to a stop at the curb. Sheesh, what was all the fuss about, anyway? Really, this wasn't that serious: Just a minor burning smell and only a little bit of smoke wafting out from the kitchen cabinets. I'd definitely seen worse.

Two men hopped out of the fire engine's cab. Another guy jumped out of the smaller truck and ran over to them, while an EMT popped out of the ambulance, awaiting word on whether first aid would be needed.

Ah, just like old times.

And, again like old times, I recognized the driver of the fire engine. At least this time it was because of a family resemblance and not because of a previous accident or mishap. Happily, it's been quite a while since I was a frequent customer of the various Trenton emergency services.

"Hi Tony," I called out. I almost felt like I was showing off by knowing his name since, jeez, all the Gazarras look alike. I used to tease Eddie that he must have a cloning lab in his garage since his sons all looked exactly like him. Then, when his grandsons also looked the same, I decided that there must be a master Gazarra gene. Probably somewhere back in Sicily there's an entire parish full of people who all look like Eddie.

Fortunately for me, Tony had the distinction of being the rebel Gazarra. He had thumbed his nose at fate and joined the Trenton Fire Department rather than the Trenton Police Department. As I heard it, there was still a 'Burg tizzy over having a Gazarra in the wrong station house, wearing an extinguisher instead of a gun, and playing for the TFD in the winter bowling and summer softball leagues. Hard to know which one of those was the most scandalous at family gatherings.

Possibly he was inclined toward a career in pyrotechnic emergencies due to some crazy throwback to my family, via my cousin Shirley who was his grandmother. I could totally understand. Hmm, let's see… driving around all day arresting winos or jumping into a large truck and racing to battle flames... Good choice, Tony.

"Hi Stephanie," Tony acknowledged me over his shoulder while helping the other two guys release some equipment from the fire engine. As the two younger fellows adjusted their jackets and extinguishers, Tony added, "Good to see you're out of the house. Any burns or other injuries the EMTs need to see?"

"No Tony, I'm fine. As soon as I saw a problem I called it in. Then I called my daughter who insisted I should come outside and wait for you to do your firefighting thing." I paused to roll my eyes. "She said you'd be pissed if I put out the fire for you and stole all the glory."

Ah, she knows me very well.

Because, yes, of course I had wanted to stay inside and battle the fire myself, with images of me heroically finding and smothering the flame running through my head. Knowing me as she did, she wouldn't get off the phone until I'd used it to take a picture of myself standing outside. She insisted I stay there, reminding me that she was only saying what her father would tell me to do. I knew she was right, so I stayed outside even though it seemed silly.

Tony chuckled and said, "Glad to hear it. Alena was always sensible." Then, he laughed a bit harder, and added ruefully, "For the record, she never let us boys have any fun, either, when she baby-sat our family."

In the meantime, the two young firemen had loped over to me. "Ma'am, where is the fire?" the stockier of the two men asked, one lightly tanned hand grasping a flashlight while he put down a duffle bag of some sort at the door.

"Call me Stephanie, please, and it's in the kitchen right down that hallway," I pointed. Though, as I watched them stride down the hall I wasn't really sure why he needed my help. By that point, the smoke was visibly puffing out of the kitchen door. Hmm, it looked like the smoke had gotten a bit thicker since I had stepped outside. Maybe my daughter knew what she was talking about, after all. Something to think about.

Still over by the truck, ready to connect the hose if needed, Tony smiled and said, "Grandpa Eddie says 'Hi.' Just a couple weeks ago at Sunday dinner he was telling us how much he's looking forward to seeing you at the awards dinner this weekend." He added with a grin, "He'll be totally envious that I got to ride to your rescue today."

"Thanks Tony, please say 'Hi' back, and tell him I miss him too." I made a face at Tony and added, "But, so you know, I don't miss having to be rescued all the time."

Tony chuckled, "I hear you." He checked something on the truck and then turned back to me, adding, slightly hesitantly, "I know Grandpa Eddie says he was really happy for you when you finally decided how you wanted to live your life. He told me once that it was like, after your dad had his first heart attack, you suddenly clicked onto the path you should follow, got your man, and single-handedly reduced the emergency call budget by about a quarter."

His suddenly bashful look indicated that he hoped he hadn't stepped over any boundaries with me. But I was fine with everything he said. In fact, I kinda agreed with Eddie. It's funny how time and experience give you perspective.

I nodded at Tony. "Your Grandpa Eddie is an observant man." I looked into the distance while I remembered. I'd known Eddie since childhood. He'd had front-row, first-responder seats to my exuberant career as an untrained bounty hunter and my volatile love life, which seemed to track up-and-down along with my bounty-hunting mayhem rate. Probably it wasn't easy being a bystander while I was trying to figure out how I fit in with the rest of the world.

Finally, circumstances in my life pushed me to complete my reluctant, knuckle-biting skid into adulthood. So yes, I eventually did decide what I wanted from my life. Along with that, I finally knew which man I should be with. It was suddenly obvious that I'd already wasted too much time yo-yo-ing back and forth between two men: Movie-star-handsome Joe Morelli and drop-dead-sexy-mercenary Carlos Mañoso. It was obvious who I should be with. And I was lucky and grateful that he had waited for me to figure myself out.

We got together and never looked back. Now, after a full and very eventful life together, and a lifestyle that included enough excitement to keep both of us on our toes, we'd just downsized into this new condo that's only about fifteen minutes from where I grew up.

A condo that, I sighed to myself, will probably soon become the latest big headline news in the 'Burg since I've apparently now set it on fire.

At that moment I noticed a familiar car turn the corner, headed our way. My daughter to the rescue.

My sister Valerie joked with me about my daughter. And, darn it all, Valerie had been right when she'd noted dryly a few years back that I must have secretly wanted a daughter to hover over me in my later years. Otherwise, she'd asked wryly, why would I have given her what was basically a variant on our mother's name? Of course, Val knew that that Alena was also our great-grandmother's name and that Grandma Mazur had suggested it.

But, still, Val had gotten it right. Alena had emphatically unfurled her super-mom cape large enough to include me. Sometimes she went into overdrive and it was hilarious, like when she insisted on traveling to accompany me to the doctor's office and then maintain line-of-sight on me the whole time so I didn't bolt from the waiting room. Or when she'd secretly swap out the steak knife at my place setting in restaurants, and then look smug like she'd really pulled one over on me.

Oh well, for my part, I loved my daughter dearly, so had mostly figured out how to make this new dynamic work. After all, she meant well. And she was way less pushy than my own mother had been with my grandma. Or with me, for that matter.

I watched as Alena got out of the car and started walking toward me. Visually, she was the perfect blend of me and my husband, which meant that she had my husband's good looks along with my long legs and boisterous hair. As often happened when I saw her, I remembered her as a toddler asking me when she could start wearing her super-hero pajamas to daycare so people would know her true identity. Yup, my daughter, all right.

As she walked by the fire engine she called out, "Hi Tony," still striding toward me. And then, reaching me, she asked, "Mom, are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine, really I am," I answered, knowing that this was what she truly cared about. "Seriously, though, I have no idea what happened. I put a pot on the stove to make turkey soup and then turned around to clean up." I saw her roll her eyes.

"What?" I threw my hands in the air. "Jeez, I cook sometimes!" I figured this wasn't a good time to belabor the point, since it could easily veer into a discussion of the increased risk factors known to be part of my cooking experience. But really, I'd cooked more-or-less successfully for decades. How hard is soup? Good grief!

"Mother," she sighed. "I just wish you'd be more careful. Fires don't just happen spontaneously. I wish you'd remember that you and everyone around you can really get hurt, or even killed, if a fire gets out of control. I read just last week how accidental fires are an increasing cause of injury for older people."

She took a deep breath and I sensed that she was about to launch into "safety first mom" mode. I figured it was a good time to redirect the conversation. She'd get upset if I pushed back, but I really didn't need a fire safety lecture. It was up there with "don't stick your fingers into electrical sockets" and "never shower with your toaster" in terms of things for which I needed reminders.

Before she had a chance to start a new sentence, I quickly asked, "Alena, I forgot to ask earlier, could I borrow a pair of sensible black pumps for the court date next week?"

Oops, that might not have been the best thing to ask at this moment...

She rolled her eyes again, and then looked around at the neighbors watching the hubbub. She lowered her voice and steered me to the front porch. "Ugh, Mom." She sighed. "Nobody gets escorted out of the funeral home by the police for disorderly conduct. I can't believe we were questioned for a half hour and then daddy had to go to the station to bail you out."

I knew she was annoyed but couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, that was a good wake, that's for sure. But, when one of us goes, it's an event."

She stopped and stared at me, with a look that said she didn't even know how to respond.

I thought to myself that, yes I really meant what I'd said. Every year there are fewer of my generation left around. Those who'd made it this far have some really classic stories to tell. We're legends. Our wakes should be the basis of tales for years to come. They should be like how a recent history program showed the Vikings toasting and shouting out their fallen comrades' stories over their burning pyres. They shouldn't just be a bunch of grumpy old retirees snarfing cookies, fighting over folding chairs, and pretending to pity the family left behind.

Not that free cookies weren't a draw, but we rocked the world in our day. Our wakes could rock the neighborhood a bit.

For my daughter's benefit, I added, "Let's face it, we've known each other for decades. A few fights are bound to happen." I thought for a moment about the challenges that funeral home owners faced, these days. With more people living long lives, getting joint replacements, and even going to the gym, probably there was an epidemic of pugilistic seniors. Probably Undertakers Monthly had entire issues devoted to it.

"Anyhow, the court date is next week. I'm going for an outfit that says: 'She's quiet and bakes cookies and doesn't belong in the pokey'." I paused, then added, "But, I'm really not too worried about it. Nobody in their right mind wants to put me in prison."

I actually was pretty sure that was true. Hearing it was me, the judge would likely do everything in his-or-her power to keep me out of the prison system so I wouldn't incite the rest of the criminal community while behind bars.

And of course, as Alena well knew, her father would be at my side in court, looking respectable with his cane and promoting my upstanding character – while hiding his laughter at the whole situation and also managing to look ready to make pointed calls if the judge tried any funny business.

My daughter had turned us briskly and started moving back to the porch, again. "Mom, I'm just relieved that you're not planning on wearing those shoes to court." She looked down briefly at my feet. "And, jeez, watch where you walk." She grabbed my elbow because, truth be told, I had started to teeter a bit as she turned and propelled me forward.

But it was worth it. My shoes today were an awesome pair of azure strap-on sandals with 3-inch heels that Connie gave me when she cleaned out her closet. I was really loving the shoes. And, I knew that Alena's father was going to also appreciate them when he returned home, along with the flattering pair of crop pants and the T-shirt that might reveal just a peek of midriff if I stretched just right.

Since I knew that Alena didn't want to hear anything about me and her father getting frisky, I kept the thought to myself. However, I think my smile must have gotten a bit goofy because she huffed out a sigh as she opened the gate to the porch. It was really more like an extra-wide section of paving stone wrapped around one corner of the condo, but I really liked it on these early autumn afternoons.

I sat down on the porch swing, but before my daughter had a chance to sit in the chair across from me, the two firefighters emerged from the front door. One headed directly back to the fire engine and started talking with Tony, and the other came over to us. He was the same fellow who had addressed me before. He glanced between me and my daughter, and then focused back on me. "Everything looks alright now, ma'am. I mean Stephanie."

He blushed a bit, though I wasn't sure why. Lots of older people go by their first names these days. He glanced at the fire engine, then back at me, as he continued, "So, it looks like you were cooking. We think a spark caught one of your potholders over at the stove, and when you put in the drawer it started to smolder and caught fire, so the other potholders in the drawer started to burn, too."

Well, that was a new one. I could see how I could have fun telling this story. Bonfire of the Potholders. Might as well enjoy it, since the tale would be whipping through the 'Burg probably within seconds. If not already.

He looked over at my daughter, who was standing with her hands on her hips. He turned back to me and added "Anyway, that's why there was smoke coming from the stove area. We were worried that the stove wall had caught on fire, but it was only that one drawer. I think you could just replace it and the cabinet will look good as new."

As the young, stocky fireman spoke, the ambulance pulled away and the other guys were battening up the fire engine to head back to the station.

Tony called out, "Hey Stephanie, Alena. We're heading out now since everything is okay." He smiled at us and then climbed into the cab. "I'll see you at the awards dinner." He glanced over to the young man standing across from me. "Bernie, we'll see you on first shift tomorrow. Have a good one." He waved at us all as they pulled away from the curb.

I'd forgotten about the other truck in front, but that must belong to Bernie. Another of life's little mysteries resolved. Looking around, I could see that our neighbors had gone back into their condos. Oh well, I'd have to meet that nice young couple later.

I looked back at my daughter. She was still watching Bernie with her hands on her hips. "Are you sure the fire's out?" She then glanced at her car, the front door, then back to me. Probably she was worried that, as soon as she left, I'd dash back into the kitchen whereupon the potholders would burst back into flame and engulf me like a marshmallow.

"Ma'am," Bernie said, this time looking at my daughter, "I was going off shift when this call came in, so I can stay here for around fifteen minutes to make sure there isn't a flare up. Then I'll head home from here." He pointed to a small pile of duffle bags they'd dropped by the front door when they first arrived, and added, "I'll just get that all sorted, and then we can sit together here for awhile."

My daughter gazed at me as Bernie wandered off. She took a calming breath and said, "Well, I'm really glad you're okay, mom."

"Thanks." I looked at her, seeing the frown lines still on her face. "You worry too much, though." She looked at me like I had no idea what I was talking about.

She sighed. "Just be careful the rest of today, okay?"

"Don't worry, I'll be busy and out of trouble. Cece will be here in about an hour to take me to the beauty salon for the afternoon."

She rolled her eyes again. "Just do me a favor and don't give her any trouble. I don't want to hear that my daughter's in jail with her grandmother because of a brawl at the hair salon."

I just laughed. What else could I do? The scenario was ridiculous enough to be plausible. If it had been me with my Grandma Mazur, it was even more than plausible. Fortunately Cece was more grounded than I was at her age.

She looked heavenward, so I stood up and patted her on the back and then nudged her in the direction of her car. "I'll be on my absolute best behavior. I promise." As she walked back to her car I called out, "Talk to you later. Love you." She waved back over her shoulder. "Love you too, mom" she called back as she got in the car. I sat back down and resumed swinging.

Watching as her car rounded the corner, I was thinking about how these things must skip generations. I could remember my mother rolling her eyes at my grandmother's wild antics, though I hoped my adventures weren't quite as harebrained as my Grandma Mazur's were. I sometimes worried that I'd make my daughter roll her eyes so much that they'd get stuck in some odd position and it would be my fault.

Of course she had gotten the habit from me, and my eyes had never gotten stuck. But still, sometimes you need to think about these things.

Thankfully, over the past few months she had eased back with help from her father. After all, he had plenty of practice dealing with the situations in which I often found myself. He had a finely developed sixth sense for knowing which ones actually mattered. Despite his help, though, she was still mortified that I had a court date next week. She still didn't understand that it was completely offset by the Senior Center award I was getting this weekend.

That made me smile every time I thought of it. How great was it that I was getting an award for walloping an intruder with my purse after he'd snuck through a kitchen window into Saint Anthony of Padua Assisted Living?

I'd gotten an ovation – as close to a standing ovation as you can get in an assisted living community – when I'd followed up the classic hefty-purse-in-the-head move with a swift kick to the balls. The intruder was unconscious for over a half hour and then threw up in the police car when he awoke. Young neighborhood hoodlum-in-training neglected to wear a cup to the crime at the old folks home? Well, whose fault was that?

My friend Marilyn, who I was visiting at the time, wheeled back to her room to pull out a bottle of Moët champagne, of all things. We were all in the common room in a loose semi-circle around blond-wannabe-from-the-hood, sipping happily from Solo bathroom cups when the cops arrived.

So, anyhow, I had a Senior Center awards dinner this weekend where I'd be applauded by most of the off-duty TPD and the mayor's Senior Outreach office. Then a few days later I'd go to a court date regarding a funeral home tussle where thank heavens the only remaining complaint was from Joyce Barnhardt. She swore that I stole her hearing aid. Like I'd want something with her earwax cooties on it. Jeez.

Yeah, I wasn't worried about going to prison on that one.

At that point in my musing, Bernie the Fireman walked back over to me and sat in the chair across from me. We shared some small talk. He showed me a picture of his daughter, who was entering first grade next year. She was cute, but I couldn't resist winking at him and mentioning that in about forty years she'd still be adorable while she was hovering over his golden years.

He laughed and switched topics. Smart man. "This is a nice place."

"Yeah, I like it here. It's close to our family and it's all one level, which is huge for us older folks." At his questioning look, I added, "I'm not kidding about that. Before I had my knee replacement a few years ago, going up and down the stairs in our old place was like climbing the Matterhorn."

I paused, remembering how I'd resisted the knee surgery for years, and then roundly hated my physical therapist. But then, the first time I went up those stairs without pain I danced on the landing in joy. I smiled at Bernie, remembering my happiness. "Now I'm all spry again."

"I'm glad," Bernie smiled. "So I saw the canes inside. Are you able to get around without them, now?"

"Oh, those are my husband's. He has a few. He pretty much needs a cane all the time, these days." Oh, I mused to myself, he was more than nimble enough for me – whether walking, driving, slow-dancing, or making love. Especially making love. Never any complaints in that department. But stairs seemed to be wearing on him more and more. Though he never mentioned it, I was glad we didn't have steps inside the house anymore.

I used to think that people's bodies just got weak as they got older. That your eyesight lost its luster and your knuckles swelled so you couldn't possibly remove and misplace your wedding ring anymore. But now I knew, also, that old injuries came back to visit more frequently. Eventually they decided to stay full-time as a reminder of our glory days.

Bernie and I chatted a bit more, and then somehow the topic of this weekend's Senior Center award came up. Okay, I'll admit, I brought it up myself out of the blue. How funny was this, that my big excitement was the Senior Center? But, I truly loved the whole story about the break-in. Only in the 'Burg would someone think it was brilliant to break into an old folks home, as though the codgers kept wads of money in their denture jars and stashed in with the Depends.

Bernie looked up, suddenly more attentive. "Oh wait, I've heard of that. That was you?"

"Yeah."

"Wow! I'm with a local celebrity." He smiled, which illuminated his whole face. "Well, the way I see it, I'd give you an award too. I know that kid and he's a dummy just a half-step away from being a juvie, along with half of those Morelli boys he hangs out with."

He noticed my expression, and asked, "You know the Morellis? I live down the block from that knucklehead Leo Morelli, have you heard of him?"

"Leo… is that Mooch Morelli's grandson?"

"Yeah, him and Gino."

"Yeah then I know him. I lived away from here the past few years, but I'm 'Burg born and bred." I actually knew Leo fairly well, but didn't want to go into that. "There are two things you can count on in the 'Burg: Wherever there's a cluster of old folks on the street you'll find someone selling Metamucil out of his trunk, and wherever there's a stupid crime you'll find Mooch Morelli's offspring nearby."

Bernie snorted. "Well ma'am, I mean Stephanie… I'm not from the 'Burg. My wife's family is here so she wanted to live near them, but I really don't get it." He gave me a considering look. "I mostly mind my own business, but those Morelli boys gather at his house all the time. It's more than just Leo's four sons. I can't even figure out how many there are, there are so many cousins and nephews. And I certainly can't figure out why they hang out at his place rather than at their own homes."

He looked into the distance before continuing. "If there were wild parties, or even proof of underage drinking, we could do something. But, unfortunately, all we have are cook-outs every night, a bunch of junky cars in the yard, and a string of petty break-ins all through our neighborhood." He paused and grimaced. "I won't tell you why, but we know for sure it's a few of the Morelli cousins, and that Leo is covering up for them. We just can't prove it."

I looked at Bernie's troubled expression and thought about it for a few moments. He seemed like a good man who cared about family. I made my decision.

"Listen," I reached forward and tapped lightly on Bernie's hand where it was resting on his knee. He looked back at me, so I continued. "Do you want to get Leo to toe the line?" Bernie looked at me and slowly nodded yes.

I sat back and continued. "Okay, here's your introduction to 'Burg 101." He gave me a bemused look. "Bernie, have you heard about the scandal at Sacred Heart Church, maybe twenty years ago, where all the Knights of Columbus stuff and a couple vestments went missing and someone barfed in the piscina in the sacristy?" He blinked a few times and looked at me blankly.

I continued, "It was a big deal – everyone talked about it for months – they had to get the whole place reconsecrated. It cost a bunch, and the Cardinal came in-person to scold the local congregation." He nodded, slowly. He had heard of this one, after all. I wasn't surprised. Scandalous stories live for generations in the 'Burg.

"Well, I won't tell you who, but I know someone with pictures of Leo's dad, Sal, in the middle of it all, along with Leo and a couple cousins. Sal apparently was drunk as a skunk, and if I remember correctly he and Leo were playing air guitar while wearing the priest tunics that went missing." Bernie was now staring at me, his mouth open. I continued, trying hard to temper my amusement, "I've also been told that there's more than one incriminating 'barfing' photo."

I stared straight into Bernie's eyes and continued, measuring my words slowly. "Sal was mean, and a big dummy, and drank himself to death not long after. But, Leo and the other guys were kids then, and nobody would actually want them to go to prison for something that stupid. Not me, and not even the person who took the pictures." I paused, not wanting to give him enough information to incriminate the person who'd taken them.

"But, here's the thing. Within the 'Burg the embarrassment potential is huge. It's enormous. People were outraged. If it became known that Leo was as involved as he was, the whole 'Burg would close ranks on him and his family. They'd never be able to shop at Giovichinnis or Italian Peoples Bakery. Vito over at Speedy Fast would stop repairing their cars. Daycare would disappear. Heck, all of Mooch's sons, their kids, and their families would probably have to leave town and change their names."

I looked at him closely to see if he was getting it. "So, Bernie, you understand that nobody wants that to happen, right? Not me, not Leo, and not even you because you're a nice guy."

I paused and Bernie slowly began to smile back at me. "But," he started slowly, "if I were to let Leo know that I had access to incriminating photos from Sacred Heart that I really didn't want anyone to see…." His smile broadened, "and then if I mentioned how I really need him to control the kids hanging out at his house and to maybe get rid of the crap cars…."

I nodded at him, "Your neighborhood would quickly become quieter." I paused, amused at Bernie's indoctrination into the 'Burg way, and then added, "You just can't ever tell anyone that story, not even your wife since she's from the 'Burg. And you absolutely can't tell anyone that I was the one who gave you the scoop."

Bernie nodded slowly at me, "It's a deal." He then looked at the time, slapped his hands on his legs and then launched up out of the chair. "Well, I'll just go check that drawer to make sure nothing has started to smolder again."

While he went to check, I had a moment's satisfaction at another perfect 'Burg moment. I could tell from the look in Bernie's eyes that he knew what to do, and that Leo's secret was safe. Leo would step up to keep the next generation of Morellis out of trouble. They were already hanging out at his house because he was more stable than their own dads.

And, Leo would have no idea that I was the one who'd clued in Bernie. I'd gotten it through the usual twists and turns of the 'Burg network, which meant that it was impossible to find the source. And, twenty years ago, everyone had been so drunk that nobody remembered who had been there taking pictures.

Like I've always said, it's the little things….

Bernie came back out and told me that everything was fine and I could go inside. He apologized for the singe marks around the stove, and for the potholders sitting charred and wet in the sink. I just waved it off. Clearly Bernie didn't know of my vast experience with explosions and general mayhem. Singe marks? Wet potholders? Puh-leeeze.

At that point, a car pulled up in front, stopping right behind Bernie's truck. I watched my husband get out of the car, coming back home from his regular volunteer stint at the VA center. He casually inspected and cataloged the unfamiliar truck and then started up the walkway toward us. I was happy to see that he was only using his cane lightly this afternoon.

"Babe." He looked over to where Bernie was finishing up, then looked archly back at me. "Getting lonely again while I was out?"

He flashed his 200-watt smile and I fell in love all over again, head-over-heels, as I've done at least once a day in the past 45 years that we've been married. He and Bernie shook hands and did the manly handoff thing. Then Bernie went to his truck and threw the duffles in the back, waved at me, and drove off.

Meanwhile, Carlos walked up to where I was sitting. I checked for drool, stunned again at how handsome he was. "See something you like, Babe?"

Oh yeah. I smiled up at him. His full head of silver hair, trim and well-dressed body, and carved black cane combined to make him the most dapper, swashbuckling senior ever seen on the planet. Oh, I'd seen pictures of Cary Grant and remembered James Garner (Duh: Rockford! Hello!) in their golden years. And now there was Johnny Depp since he'd let his hair turn gray, and of course Javier Bardem with his wide shoulders, soulful eyes, and glorious silver mane.

But none of them even came close to my Carlos. He was smoke. He was magic. My husband, my lover, my life.

He sat down next to me on the swing, picked up my hand, and kissed it. "Babe," he murmured over my fingers, "I hope you didn't give Alena too hard a time when she came over to help." The corner of his lips twitched up in an almost-smile.

I glared over at him, knowing he'd heard all about my fire incident already, had probably talked to Alena about it, and was laughing inside. The big rat-fink.

He continued, his dark eyes gleaming, "Les and Renée are having people over for the World Cup game this evening. I thought we could go, and see their newest granddaughter Mirabel at the same time. What do you say?"

Okay, so he wasn't really a big rat-fink. I pretended to think about it, but really I wanted to go. I just wanted Carlos to persuade me.

Knowing that about me, since apparently I'm still an open book, Carlos continued, "Babe, you'll enjoy yourself. Les promises there will be a tres leches cake from Green Street Bodega, which is your favorite." He looked at me, an appraising smile in his eyes. "Oh, and I forgot to mention: Raul will be there with his guys, so that's live music with rumba and maybe even bolero." He grinned at me, "He even learned that old Bon Jovi song you like."

Well, of course that clinched it. Raul was our youngest son – younger than both Alena and our other son Ricardo by quite a bit. And he was an outstanding musician who loved to play songs I could dance to.

I sometimes marveled at our lives. Back in the days when Carlos was saving me from exploding cars and knife-wielding maniacs every-other week, who would have guessed we'd someday be a retired couple with four children including Julie, seven grandchildren, and one great-grand on the way?

And yet, here we were. Ricardo had taken over the reins and had run Rangeman for over fifteen years and had taken it global. Raul was engaged to be married. Cece, who was Alena's eldest child, had just graduated college and gotten her very first apartment. And Julie's eldest, Ron Carlos, was weeks away from giving us our first great-grandchild.

Carlos raised his eyebrow, knowing my answer already as he looked into my eyes but still, as always, willing to wait and let me say it.

"Of course, Carlos. You know I'd go anywhere with you, especially since we can dance together."

Smiling at my answer, he winked at me mischievously. "Looking pretty good there, Mrs. Mañoso." His eyes, now a lovely molten chocolate brown, glanced slowly down my body, lingering a bit on my midriff, and then visually stroking down my legs all the way down to my feet, where they lingered for a moment. Then back up again to my face.

He continued, leaning in, his voice low and slow, caressing me with every word. "You know, I think you should give Cece the afternoon off." His breath blew warmly, softly on my cheek. "I think that she doesn't need to pick you up for your hair appointment, after all." He reached behind me to pull my hair out of its clasp. "In fact, I think you should let me see what I can do with your hair instead," he said, as he slowly ran his fingers through it, freeing the curls. I smiled, tilted my head back into his gently roaming fingers and let out a satisfied purr.

With a wolf grin, he shrugged his silver eyebrows playfully and added in a low murmur, "Actually, I think you'll be unavailable to go anywhere for awhile, at least until dinner." He glanced briefly over to the left of where we were sitting, which was the side of the condo where our bedroom was.

Then he leaned in even further, with a low husky whisper that tickled my ear, "Also, you can tell Connie she's free to give you more shoes just like those, anytime."

Oh boy.