It was still early, so we stopped at a supermarket on the way home.

"What about the shopping cart?" I asked Diesel. "Do you have to drive that, too?"

"I'd get my nuts repossessed if I didn't drive the shop-ping cart."

A half hour later, we loaded our food onto the checkout belt, and Diesel gave his credit card to the checker.

"Boy, you've got lots of food," the checker said.

"A man's gotta eat," Diesel told her.

I took a peek at the card. "There's no bank name on this card," I whispered to Diesel.

"It's an Unmentionable card," he said. "Good in three solar systems."

I was pretty sure he was kidding.

I crammed the last of the food into my kitchen… lunch meat, beer, cheese, peanut butter, pickles, bagels, ice cream, cereal, milk, orange juice, apples, bananas, bread, cream cheese, coffee, half-and-half, crackers, cookies, chips, salsa, carrots, mixed nuts, and God-knows-what-else.

Diesel took a bag of chips and a beer into the living room and remoted the television on. "This is great," he said. "I can catch the end of the hockey game."

I settled next to him and reached into the chip bag. Bob had been sleeping in the bedroom, but the rustle of a chip bag was a Bob alarm, and in a beat Bob was up and expec-tantly standing in front of me. I fed him a couple chips, and he flopped down on the floor with his head on my foot.

"Beaner isn't such a bad guy" I said. "He's just frus-trated. He's been married for a long time, and all of a sud-den his wife isn't satisfied with the status quo. I think Beaner would like to fix things, but he just doesn't know how to get up to speed. He doesn't know how to go about talking to his wife. And he says, according to his wife, he sucks in the sack."

"So give him a pill."

"It's not about that. Women don't care about that. That's a man problem."

"Yeah, I get it," Diesel said. "But a pill would have been easy. This is just plain embarrassing. Maybe I don't have to shut him down. Maybe we can reprogram him."

"We?"

"Unmentionables who've crossed the line aren't happy to see me. And bad things happen when Beaner isn't happy. So either you're going to have to convince him to chill and talk to me, or else you're going to have to get him alone somewhere. I can't seem to follow Beaner, but I can follow you."

"What about his listening-and-understanding problem?"

"I suck at that," Diesel said. "That's girl stuff. You're go-ing to have to explain that to him."

"Only if you help me with Annie Hart's cases. I've scored a big zero with two out of three, and I'm not sure the third one will fly."

Diesel's cell phone buzzed.

"Yeah," Diesel said into the phone. "Now what?"

He slouched deeper into the couch and listened with his mouth set tight. "Yeah," he said. "I hear you. I'm working on it. Send everyone a case of whatever the hell it is they need."

"And?" I said when he disconnected.

"Beaner can't find Annie, so he's visiting her friends and relatives, causing havoc."

The next call was from Annie.

"I'm working on it," Diesel said. "I can't approach him in public and have him contaminate a room filled with inno-cent people." He nodded and listened. "You have to be pa-tient," he said. "I have a partner. She's helping me with your cases, and she's helping me find Bernie Beaner." More talking on the other end. "No, I'm not bringing her to you. You have to trust me."

Diesel disconnected.

"How'd that go?" I asked him. "Does she trust you?"

"Not even a little. She's coming over here."

"What about Bernie? I thought it wasn't safe for Annie to go out because Bernie might get her."

"She'll get help," Diesel said. "She'll be okay."

I took another handful of chips, fed a couple to Bob, and turned my attention back to the game. A few minutes later, my doorbell rang. Diesel got the door and ushered Annie Hart into my living room. She was a little shorter than me, a little plumper, a little older. She had short, curly brown hair and lively brown eyes and a nice mouth. She smiled at Diesel and me, and the smile produced crinkle lines at the corners of her eyes. She was wearing a bright red hooded jacket, jeans, and boots, and she had her purse tucked into the crook of her arm.

Diesel introduced us. "Annie Hart, this is Stephanie Plum. Stephanie, meet Annie Hart."

I stood and extended my hand. "It's a pleasure."

"Have you seen the files?" she asked me.

"Yes."

"It's very important that you help these people have a good Valentine's Day. And it's so close. Today is Friday and Valentine's Day is Monday. Of course, the real goal is life-long love, but truthfully, that's icing on the cake." She flicked her eyes at Diesel. "We all love Diesel, but relation-ships aren't his strength. Diesel runs on pure testosterone, and relationships need a little estrogen."

"Pure testosterone… that would explain his wardrobe," I said.

Annie and I took a moment to assess the grungy thermal shirt, beat-up boots, and two-day beard.

"Exactly," Annie said. "Although, it seems to work for him."

"You have to go with what you've got," Diesel said.

"I have a good feeling about you," Annie said to me. "You have a lovely aura. I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but I had to see for myself. I really feel much better now. Call me if you have problems. Any time of the day or night. I've made promises to these people, and I hate not to keep a promise. I've really tried hard with Charlene Klinger, but I've been terribly off the mark. She says she doesn't want a man in her life, but I know that's not true. She's a good per-son, and she deserves to have a loving helpmate."

"Can I get you something?" I asked. "Coffee? A drink?"

"I'd love that, but I promised this would be short. Per-haps when everything is settled we can visit. I know you have some romance problems."

I shot a look at Diesel. "Blabbermouth."

"Oh dear, no," Annie said. "Diesel didn't say anything. I just have a sense of these things. What are you doing on Valentine's Day?"

"No plans so far. I guess Diesel and I will be finishing things up for you."

"My word, you're not going to spend Valentine's Day with Diesel, are you?"

"I hadn't actually thought about it."

"Not a good idea," Annie said. "He's a heartbreaker."

"We don't have that sort of relationship," I told her.

"If you spend enough time in his company, the pheromones will wear you down… and the dimples."

"Diesel has dimples?"

"Just ignore them," Annie said. "And don't worry about your issue with commitment. As soon as I get out of jail, we'll have a good sit-down, and I'll solve that problem for you. Goodness, the answer is obvious. Clearly you belong with—"

And Annie was gone.

"Did she just disappear?" I asked Diesel.

Diesel was sunk into the couch. "I don't know. I wasn't watching. I've got hockey on, and the Rangers scored a goal."

"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 bed-room?"

"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 morn-ing?"

"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 im-possible 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 get-ting married. His name is Albert Kloughn."

I snatched the file out of Diesel's hand. "That's my sis-ter'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 bed-room, 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 rela-tionship 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 bur-glars, 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 ei-ther."

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.

"Maybe," Diesel said.

"You have to give us some guidelines," I said to Char-lene. "Be honest. What are you really looking for in a man?"

Charlene took a moment. "A good man," she said. "Someone who fits with me. Someone comfortable."

The cat got up, stretched on the counter, turned, and at-tempted to settle itself next to the stove. Its tail flicked into the open flame under the soup stock and instantly caught fire. The cat let out a yowl and jumped from the stove to the table. The black Lab that had been sleeping under the table lunged to its feet and went after the flaming cat.

We were all jumping around, trying to catch the cat, trying to avoid the flaming tail. The Lab slid into a table leg and yelped, Diesel grabbed the cat and dumped a quart of orange juice on him, and I slapped out a burning placemat.

"Hard to believe someone would think you were bor-ing," Diesel said to Charlene.

"Somethings wrong with Blackie," the red-haired kid said, looking under the table at the Lab. "He's making whiny sounds and holding his leg funny."

We all looked at Blackie. He was for sure holding his leg funny.

"How bad is the cat?" I asked Diesel.

"Could be worse," Diesel said. "He barbecued the tip of his tail, but the rest of him looks okay. Hard to tell, being that he's soaked in orange juice."

Charlene wrapped a towel around the cat. "Poor kitty."

The twelve-year-old and ten-year-old ran into the kitchen.

"What's happening?" the twelve-year-old asked.

"Kitty set hisself on fire, and Blackie broke his leg," the red-haired kid said.

"Bummer," the twelve-year-old said. And he and his brother turned and went back upstairs. As if this happened every day.

"Where am I going to find a vet at this hour on a Satur-day?" Charlene said. "I'm going to have to go to the emer-gency clinic. It's going to cost me a fortune."

"I know someone who'll help us," I told her. "I have his number in my car."

Charlene cradled the cat close to her and grabbed her purse off the counter. "Get your coat and hat," she said to the red-haired kid. "And round up your brothers. Every-one out to the van."

Diesel scooped the Lab off the floor and carried him to the door. "Think Blackie could stand to lay off the chow," Diesel said. "This dog weighs a ton."

"He could use a bigger yard," Charlene said. "He never gets to run. He appeared on our front porch in the middle of a snowstorm two years ago and just never left."

The four kids trooped out and got into the van, and I ran to my car for Gary Martin's folder. Diesel locked the house and eased himself into the van with Blackie on his lap, front leg dangling loose. Charlene was in the passenger seat with Kitty still wrapped in the towel. I slid behind the wheel and called Gary Martin on my cell.

"I have an emergency," I told him. "A cat with a barbe-cued tail and a dog with a broken leg. And I talked to Loretta, but that's a whole other story."

"Is it a sad story?"

"Yeah. The story isn't good."

"My office doesn't open until ten today," Martin said, "but I can come in early. I'll be there in a half hour."

I transferred Bob from the Escape to the rear seat in the soccer-mom van, introduced him to everyone, and took my place behind the wheel.

"Who's the big guy holding Blackie?" the youngest kid asked at the first light.

"His name is Diesel," Charlene said. "Be polite."

"Diesel," the kid repeated. "I never heard of anyone named Diesel."

"Diesel's a train," one of the other kids said.

I adjusted the rearview mirror so I could check Diesel out. Our eyes met and caught for a moment. I couldn't see his mouth, but the little crinkle lines around his eyes told me he was smiling. The Klingers were amusing him.

Lights were on in the clinic when I pulled into the lot. Sary Martin had arrived just in front of us. He still had his coat and hat on when we all swooped in.

"This is Charlene Klinger," I said to Martin. "She's mom to Kitty and Blackie and the four kids."

Charlene introduced the kids. "Junior, Ralph, Ernie, Russell."

Martin looked at Diesel.

"He's with me," I said. "He's the dog-toter."

"I should probably run some film of Blackie's leg, but I don't have an assistant until ten," Martin said.

"I can help," Charlene said. "I've got four kids, three cats, two dogs, a rabbit, and twelve hamsters. I've taped up split lips, delivered kittens, breast-fed four boys, and once we raised chickens from eggs for Ernie's science project."

"The chickens pooped all over the house," Ralph said.

Martin unwrapped the cat enough to look at its tail. "The tail doesn't look too bad," he said. "Mostly he's lost hair, and he's singed the tip. Why is he so sticky?"

"Diesel put the fire out with orange juice," Ralph told him. "It was awesome."

"I need someone to take the cat to the big sink in the hack room and very gently wash the orange juice off him," Martin said. "And I need someone to hold Blackie while I run film."

"I can hold Blackie," Russell said. "This is pretty cool. I might want to be a vet someday. I bet you meet a lot of girls."

"I suppose," Martin said. "I'm not exactly the girl expert. I'm better with animals. Animals think I'm cute. Girls just think I'm bald."

"I think you're cute," Charlene said. "You're cuddly… like Fluffy."

"Who's Fluffy?" Martin asked.

"Our rabbit," Ralph said. "He weighs a thousand pounds."

"Everything in our house is overweight," Charlene said. "Except the kids."

Martin exchanged his jacket for a blue lab coat. "Maybe I could take a look at Fluffy someday and suggest a better diet."

"It's not just Fluffy," Ralph said. "We practically have a zoo. Mom takes all the rejects."

Gary Martin and Charlene Klinger were perfect for each other. He wanted kids, and she had a pack of them. They were the same age. They were both animal lovers. And he could doctor up Charlene's menagerie when they set them-selves on fire. Plus, Charlene Klinger and Gary Martin looked like they belonged together. They were a matched set. Far better than Gary Martin and Loretta What's-Her-Face.

"Do you make house calls?" I asked Martin. "I was thinking it might be better for you to go to Charlene's house to see her animals since she has so many. And since you'd be doing her a favor she could make dinner for you. I bet you hate to eat alone all the time… now that you're alone."

"Are you sure I'm alone?" Martin asked.

"Trust me, you're alone."

"I'd love to have you look at my animals," Charlene said, "but I don't know if you want to eat at my house. It gets real hectic at dinnertime."

"I had three sisters and two brothers," Martin said. "I'm good with hectic."

"Can you fix a toilet?" I asked him. "Can you cook?"

"Sure. You don't grow up in a house with three sisters and two brothers and one bathroom and not know some-thing about toilets." Martin took Blackie from Diesel and headed for x-ray. "And I make a killer pork tenderloin. And I can make brownies."

I took Charlene aside. "Did you hear that? He makes brownies."

"What the hell, I shave my legs anyway," Charlene said. "And he reminds me of Fluffy. I guess I could give it a shot. Do you think he's interested?"

"Of course he's interested," I said. "You're a domestic goddess. Just what he wants."

An hour later, Kitty had the end of his tail wrapped in white gauze, and Blackie had a cast on his front leg.

"It was really nice of you to come in early like this," Charlene said to Martin.

"Happy to be able to help," Martin said. "You have great kids. Russell was a terrific assistant."

"Maybe you could come over and check on Blackie and Kitty and Fluffy sometime," Charlene said.

"Sure," Martin said.

We all stood around, waiting. Gary Martin was slow picking up social cues.

After a long moment, Diesel slung an arm around Mar-tin's shoulders. "Maybe you want to check out Charlene's rabbit tonight."

The lightbulb went on in Martin's head. "Tonight would be wonderful! I see my last patient at five o'clock, so I could come over around six."

"We're having pot roast tonight if you'd like to take a chance on dinner with us," Charlene said.

"Boy that would be fantastic. I'll bring dessert. I won't have time to make my brownies, but I'll stop at the bak-ery."

We got Charlene and her kids and animals back to their house, waved good-bye, and angled ourselves into my car.

Diesel gave me a playful punch in the shoulder. "Are we good, or what?" he said. "Cross two names off our list."

I answered my cell phone.

"Your sister is coming over for dinner tonight," my mother said. "I'm making lasagna, and I've got an ice-cream cake for dessert. I thought you would want to come."

"I think I might be working tonight."

"What, you can't take time out to eat? Everybody has to eat."

"Yes, but I have a partner—"

"There's always extra. Bring your partner. Is it Lula?"

"No."

"Is it Ranger?"

"No."

"Who is it?"

"Diesel."

Silence.

"From that Christmas where our tree burned up?" my mother finally asked.

"Yeah."

I imagined her making the sign of the cross.

"What are you doing with Diesel?" she asked. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."