I dropped Bob at my parents' house and asked them to dog-sit. I had coffee with my mother and Grandma, and by the time I rolled down Betty Beaner's street, it was a little past nine. I parked in her driveway and checked out her house. Average suburbia in every way. Two-story colonial. Landscaped front yard. Fenced back yard. Two-car garage. Freshly painted.

I rang the bell, and Betty answered on the second ring. She was shorter than me and pleasantly round. She had a round face with a nice mouth that looked like it smiled a lot, round wide-open eyes, rounded hips, and big round breasts. She was a Rubenesque woman. She looked to be around fifty.

I extended my hand. "Stephanie Plum."

"I've been expecting you," she said. "Diesel called."

"We thought you might be able to help us with Bernie."

"I can't believe he's running around giving out hives like a senile old fool. I swear, the man is an embarrassment." I followed her through the living room and dining room and into the kitchen. She'd been at the small kitchen table, reading the paper, drinking coffee. It was a charming room decorated in warm tones. Rusts and yellows mostly. Small-print wallpaper and matching curtains on the windows.

Betty poured a cup of coffee out for me, and we sat at the table. I looked down at the paper and realized she'd been looking at the want ads.

"Getting a job?" I asked her.

Betty had a red pen on the table by the paper, but none of the ads were circled. "I've been thinking about it. Prob-lem is, I can't do anything. I've been a housewife all these years."

"Two hundred?"

She smiled. "Yes. At least, it seems like that. Actually, Bernie and I have been married for thirty-five years. He was working in a garage, and I took my car in there to get fixed, and next thing we were married."

I sipped my coffee, and I looked at Betty Beaner. She didn't seem angry when she spoke of Bernie. If anything, there was affection. And tolerance. In fact, she reminded me of my mom. My parents didn't have the perfect marriage, but over the years they'd developed a plan to make things work. My mother made my dad feel like he was king of the castle, and my dad abdicated the kingdom over to my mom.

"I know I'm going to sound nosey," I said, "but I haven't got a lot of time, and I'm trying to help Diesel fix things. What went wrong?"

"Snoring."

"That's it? That's the whole thing?"

"Have you ever tried to sleep with a man who snores?"

"No. The men in my life don't snore."

"Bernie didn't used to snore and then one day there it was… he was a snorer."

"Aren't there things you can do about snoring?"

"He refuses to believe he snores. He says I'm making a big thing of it, but he wakes me up all night long. I'm always tired. And if I go sleep in the guest room, he gets mad. He says married people should sleep together. So, the hell with him, I'm filing for divorce."

"He thinks this is about talking and sex."

"Of course it's about talking. Talking about snoring! It's not like I wanted to have big touchy-feely discussions with Bernie. It's not like I asked him to join a book group or something. I just wanted him to listen to me. When I say I can't sleep, I mean I can't sleep]"

"And what about the sex?"

"I threw that in as a bonus. I figured, what the heck, if I was going to complain I might as well do it right."

Betty circled an ad in the paper with the red pen. "Here's one I bet I could do. They're looking for tollbooth money collectors on the Turnpike."

"Have you thought about counseling?"

"Are you kidding? Do you think a man who won't admit to snoring is going to sign up for counseling? I even tried recording him. He said it was a trick. He said it for sure wasn't him."

"If I could get Bernie to admit to snoring, would you take him back?"

"I don't know. I'm getting used to being alone. The house is nice and quiet. And I get to watch whatever I want on television. Of course, it was a real pain to have to shovel the walk when it snowed."

"This looks like a three-bedroom house. Suppose I could get you your own room with your own television for those nights when Bernie snores? And suppose I could throw in better sex? I don't know firsthand, but I suspect Diesel knows what he's doing. I could get him to talk to Bernie."

This got both of us smiling. Diesel and Bernie discussing sex. Worth the price of a ticket right there.

I decided to take the Pleasure Treasure bag to Jeanine while I was in sex-help mode, so I called and told her I was on my way over.

"Thank goodness," Jeanine said. "I have a date tonight. I was afraid I was going to have to fake an appendicitis at-tack."

Twenty minutes later, I was at her door.

"Here it is," I said, shoving the bag at her. "Everything you need to know about sex… I think."

Jeanine looked inside. "What is all this?"

"You've got a beginner's-guide-to-sex book. And a video that I've never actually seen but Diesel thought looked hot. And then there are some oils. Directions are included. Assorted condoms. And the salesclerk threw in a vibrating penis as a bonus."

Jeanine pulled the penis out of the bag. "Eeeuuw."

I agreed. It wasn't the most attractive penis I'd ever seen. But then maybe it wasn't a fair comparison because lately I'd seen some top-of-the-line equipment.

"It was free," I said by way of apology.

Jeanine paged through the book. "This looks helpful. I always wanted to buy a book like this but could never get up the nerve."

"I thought you could read the book, and then if you have questions you can call me, and I'll try to answer them."

"Maybe I should start with the movie," she said. "Do you want to watch it with me?"

"Think I'll pass. My experience with these movies is that they're made for men and mostly show a lot of boob."

"That would be disappointing," Jeanine said. "I can see that in the locker room at the gym." She peeled a sticky strip off the front cover and gasped. "Holy cow."

I looked over her shoulder. "Double holy cow."

"It's a man," Jeanine said. "And he's naked. I haven't seen a lot of men, so I'm no expert, but I didn't think they came this big."

I took a closer look. "They must have used Photoshop. This is a horse wanger."

"It says on the cover that it's all real and nothing's been retouched."

I took my jacket off. "I guess I could spare a few minutes to make sure everything's authentic. Wouldn't want you getting wrong information. Go ahead and pop that bad boy into the DVD player."

"It's eleven o'clock," Jeanine said. "Almost lunchtime. Maybe we need a glass of wine to get through this."

I agreed. This had all the earmarks of a movie that re-quired booze.

Twenty minutes later, we were sipping wine and leaning forward, eyes glued to the screen.

"This is a car crash," I said. "One of the worst movies ever made. And I can't tear myself away from it."

"Yeah," Jeanine said. "I might have to watch it again just to make sure I've got it all straight."

The doorbell rang, and we both jumped.

Jeanine squeezed her eyes shut. "Please God, don't let it be my mother.............