Free 07 Seven Up by Janet Evanovich Page A

always been perfect. This sort of thing just doesn't happen to Valerie.
    Valerie's eyes got red and teary. “Could you pass the gravy?” she asked Grandma Mazur.
    My mother jumped out of her chair. “I'll get you some hot from the kitchen.”
    The kitchen door swung closed behind my mother. There was a shriek and the sound of a dish smashing against the wall. I automatically looked for Bob, but Bob was sleeping under the table. The kitchen door swung open and my mother calmly walked out with the gravy dish.
    “I'm sure this is just temporary,” my mother said. “I'm sure Steve will come to his senses.”
    “I thought we had a good marriage. I made nice meals. And I kept the house nice. I went to the gym so I'd be attractive. I even got my hair cut like Meg Ryan. I don't understand what went wrong.”
    Valerie has always been the articulate member of the family. Always in control. Her friends used to call her Saint Valerie because she always looked serene . . . like Ronald DeChooch's statue of the Virgin. So here she was with her world crumbling around her and she wasn't exactly serene, but she wasn't berserk, either. Mostly she seemed sad and confused.
    From my point of view it was a little weird since, when my marriage dissolved, people three miles away heard me yelling. And when Dickie and I went into court I was told there was a point when my head spun around like the kid in The Exorcist. Dickie and I didn't have such a great marriage, but we got our money's worth out of the divorce.
    I got caught up in the moment and sent Morelli a men-are-bastards look.
    Morelli's eyes darkened and the hint of a grin tugged at his mouth. He brushed a fingertip along the back of my neck, and heat rushed through my stomach clear to my doo-dah. “Jesus,” I said.
    The smile widened.
    “At least you should be okay financially,” I said. “Under California law don't you get half of everything?”
    “Half of nothing is nothing,” Valerie said. “The house is mortgaged beyond its value. And there's nothing in the bank account because Steve's been shipping our money out to the Caymans. He is such a good businessman. Everyone always says that. It's one of the things I found most attractive in him.” She took a deep breath and cut Angie's meat. And then she cut Mary Alice's meat.
    “Child support,” I said. “What about child support?”
    “In theory, I suppose he should be helping with the girls, but, well, Steve's disappeared. I think he might be in the Caymans with our money.”
    “That's awful!”
    “The truth is, Steve ran away with our baby-sitter.”
    We all gasped.
    “She turned eighteen last month,” Valerie said. “I gave her a Beanie Baby for her birthday.”
    Mary Alice whinnied. “I want some hay. Horses don't eat meat. Horses have to eat hay.”
    “Isn't that cute,” Grandma said. “Mary Alice still thinks she's a horse.”
    “I'm a man horse,” Mary Alice said.
    “Don't be a man horse, sweetheart,” Valerie said. “Men are scum.”
    “Some men are okay,” Grandma said.
    “All men are scum,” Valerie said. “Except for Daddy, of course.”
    No mention of Joe in the exclusion of scumminess.
    “Man horses can gallop faster than lady horses,” Mary Alice said, and she flicked a spoonful of mashed potatoes at her sister. The potatoes flew past Angie and landed on the floor. Bob lunged out from under the table and ate the potatoes.
    Valerie frowned at Mary Alice. “It's not polite to flick potatoes.”
    “Yeah,” Grandma said. “Little ladies don't flick potatoes at their sisters.”
    “I'm not a little lady,” Mary Alice said. “How many tinges do I have to tell you. I'm a horse!” And she lobbed a handful of potatoes at Grandma.
    Grandma narrowed her eyes and bounced a green bean off Mary Alice's head.
    “Grammy hit me with a bean!” Mary Alice yelled. “She hit me with a bean! Make her stop throwing beans at me.”
    So much for the perfect little ladies.
    Bob immediately ate the