I don't own or make money from these characters.

(End of Chapter 3)

Oh my God, it's the cute-with-kids Ranger, who would have thought. Connie and Lula were smiling at Mary Alice for bravely taking on the mighty Manoso. Damn, I thought, Mary Alice just got him to say more in 30 seconds than he sometimes says in a whole day. Connie handed Ranger the files and he turned to leave, "Ladies, Miss Plum," he looked down at Mary Alice and they locked eyes for a second, and I couldn't tell from my angle, but I swear I saw him wink at her. Mary Alice saluted, then turned and galloped across the room.

Chapter 4

Steph's Point of View

It was 5:30 when the girls and I settled down at Pino's. There were some tables of guys leftover from the Friday afternoon bunch, mostly cops and blue-collar workers who had come straight from their jobs to get a head-start on their weekends. I recognized a few off-duty officers at a large table in the corner. My friend Carl Costanza was holding court and a familiar Italian profile sat across from him with his back to us.

We ordered a large half cheese, half sausage and black olive, breadsticks, extra sauce and lemon aids all around. Joe Morelli got up from his posse and sauntered up to our table. His long graceful fingers were tucked into his front pockets and a little smiled played on his face as he approached. His six-foot frame scooted its way into the bench beside me. He smelled faintly of Budweiser and Barbasol. He was sporting a sexy five o'clock shadow and his tousled brown hair gave him a boyish innocence I knew was long gone. His jeans were faded in all the right places and his tweed sport coat revealed a little of his gun holster.

"Hello Cupcake," he smiled, "what do we have here, a little girls night out?" He looked intently at Angie and Mary Alice, while his right had crept under the table and up my thigh.

I did a mental eye-roll and dug my fingernails into his wrist to stop his hand's pursuit.

I had finally called it quits with Joe a while ago. He had been telling me he was on a big case in Newark trying to find out who had been manufacturing fake credit cards. The stake out, he told me, would be taking several nights and he was close to finding the mastermind.

What Joe didn't know was that my friend Rhonda Tegler, who I had known from my days working in Newark, managed a hotel there. Rhonda had invited me to lunch at Piccola Italia, the hotel restaurant. While I was sipping a crisp Pinot Grigio picking the good stuff off the anti-pasta plate I saw Joe walk by with a tall black-haired vixen hanging all over him. I was well hidden from the array of plants surrounding the dining area, but he was out in the open making no attempt to ward off her hands. They were holding hands and kissing while they disappeared into the elevator.

Before the smart, sensible me could act, the impulsive, reckless me had Rhonda behind the counter making a key card for room 742. I remember opening the door and seeing Joe with his hand down the floozie's pants, other hand behind her head pulling her into a lip-lock.

"What the hell are you doing," I screamed at Joe from the open door. The pair jerked apart and looked at me wide-eyed, but a slow smile spread across the skank's face and she crossed her arms and settled in for the show. I was turning on my heels to leave, before I did something really stupid, when Joe ran over to me and pulled me into the bathroom.

"It's not what you think," he said in hushed tones, "I'm trying to extract information."

"With what, your tongue?"

I wanted to believe him, but I knew the situation wasn't right.

"Hey, c'mon, besides, you had your thing with Rambo, and I let it slide. When this case is over she's leaving town, she's history."

After that, it was all a blur. I remember clothes flying off the balcony and running to my car with my stun gun in my hand.

For days I avoided Joe's phone calls and didn't answer my door when I saw him through the peephole. I waited until he was at work one day, then went to his house and cleared out all of my possessions. One week later he cornered me at the Bonds Office.

"So, when are you gonna forgive me so we can move past this? I miss you," he said.

"I'll call you when I'm ready," I said. And that was it.

That night Connie, Lula, and I went out and got rip-roaring drunk. Miraculously, the next day I didn't feel too bad. When I saw Joe after that, I just said hello and kept walking. Despite all that had happened, I could tell Joe thought I would forgive him and we would get back together, or at least settle on a friends-with-benefits arrangement. So here we were sitting at Pino's with Joe's hand on my thigh.

Angie chirped up, "Aunt Steph's staying with us while our parents are out of town. And tonight, we're having a slumber party." At the mention of slumber party his hand squeezed my leg enthusiastically.

"Oh, that sounds like fun, so when do you want me there?"

The girls spoke in unison, "no boys allowed!"

"Well, that doesn't seem fair," he said, pretending to be offended. I just gave him an eye roll and moved his hand off my knee. Angie and Mary Alice giggled at his teasing.

"We are doing secret girl stuff you wouldn't like, Uncle Joe, like paint our toe nails and braid our hair," smiled Angie.

"Alright," he conceded loudly. "I know when I'm not wanted."

He tweaked Angie's nose, ruffled Mary Alice's hair and before he left he bent down and whispered in my ear, "What time do you think they will go to bed? I could come over and relieve the babysitter." Hmmm, I knew what kind of "relief" he was referring to. Just like high school, I thought.

Morelli had once been caught feeling up Constance Trivolli when she was babysitting for Louie "The Ratchet" LaRasso. Louie had taken his wife to a dinner party and had planned to leave his wife Carol at the party so he could return to his house and see if Constance was interested in providing other "services." But when he got home, little Joey Morelli had Constance horizontal on the sofa with his tongue probing her back molars.

"That reminds me," I said before he turned to leave, "whatever happened with you and Louie the Ratchet?" A look of fear crossed Joe's face, no doubt remembering the incident that had become Burg legend.

"Oh my God, I never ran so fast in my life. I forgot my bike was leaning against the back of the house. Next day, Louie had my bike in the display window of Dipalo's."

"Did you get it back?" I asked.

"Yea, I waited till Thursday, then went with Grandma Bella to Dipalo's to get her pot roast. She looked at the bike, she looked at Louie, then she told me to take the bike and go home. Three days later Louie turned states evidence and entered the Witness Protection Program." We both thought on that for a moment. "Gotta go Cupcake. I'm just on a dinner break, working a big case. See ya round," he hollered back at the girls "have fun, and don't stay up too late." He waved his hand over his head and left.

Our lemon-aide and breadsticks had arrived and I was about to dig in when Carl Costanza walked over to our table with a troubled look on his face. Carl and I had made First Communion together back in second grade. I often ran into him at the Police Department when I was dropping off an FTA or picking up a body receipt. If I needed information and Eddie wasn't around I went to Carl. I could afford the price of his services, coffee and Boston Cremes.

"Steph," uh oh, he was using his cop voice.

"What's up Carl?"

"A 911 call just came in from your house." Please not a fire, please not a fire.

"It's probably just Mr. Kleinschidt smoking in bed again," I assured.

"No Steph, your parent's house." Please not Grandma, please not Grandma.

"That's all I know, do you need a ride?"

I jumped up and threw some bills on the table. "Bernie, I need that pie to go!" I told the girls to grab their drinks and we headed for the door. I speed-dialed my mom's number and got no answer. We hustled into the car, buckled in and sped off. I tried calling again, but still no answer.