PxPixel
+612 9045 4394
 
CHECKOUT
$7.95 Delivery per order to Australia and New Zealand
100% Australian owned
Over a hundred thousand in-stock titles ready to ship
One for the Money : Stephanie Plum Series : Book 1 -  Janet Evanovich

One for the Money

Stephanie Plum Series : Book 1

Paperback Published: October 1997
ISBN: 9780140252927
Number Of Pages: 320

Share This Book:

Paperback

RRP $19.95
$16.75
16%
OFF
Ships in 7 to 10 business days

Earn 34 Qantas Points
on this Book

Welcome to Trenton, New Jersey, home to wiseguys, average Joes, and Stephanie Plum, who sports a big attitude and even bigger money problems (since losing her job as a lingerie buyer for a department store). Stephanie needs cash-fast-but times are tough, and soon she's forced to turn to the last resort of the truly desperate: family...

ONE FALSE MOVE Stephanie lands a gig at her sleazy cousin Vinnie's bail bonding company. She's got no experience. But that doesn't matter. As does the fact that the bail jumper in question is local vice cop Joe Morelli. From the time he first looked up her dress to the time he first got into her pants, to the time Steph hit him with her father's Buick, M-o-r-e-l-l-i has spelled t-r-o-u-b-l-e. And now the hot guy is in hot water-wanted for murder...

ONE FOR THE MONEY Abject poverty is a great motivator for learning new skills, but being trained in the school of hard knocks by people like psycho prizefighter Benito Ramirez isn't. Still, if Stephanie can nab Morelli in a week, she'll make a cool ten grand. All she has to do is become an expert bounty hunter overnight-and keep herself from getting killed before she gets her man...
"Evanovich is funny and ceaselessy inventive."
-Los Angeles Times Book Review

"Evanovich's writing is smooth, clever and laugh-aloud. Her plot is ingenious and fresh, her dialogue breezy, bright, witty, and gutsy." -Booklist p0(starred Review)

About the Author

Janet Evanovich lives in New Hampshire and has won major crime fiction awards for her Stephanie Plum novels: One for the Money received the Crime Writers Association John Creasey Award and the Dilys Award, Two for the Dough won the CWA Last Laugh Award and Three to Get Deadly was awarded the CWA Silver Dagger for 1997.

Industry Reviews

Back in high school, sexy Joe Morelli relieved Stephanie Plum (among many others) of her virginity; the next time she ran into him, it was with a Buick. Now that she's gone to work as a skiptracer for her scuzzball cousin, a bail bondsman, Stephanie's already counting the $10,000 she'll get for bringing in Trenton, NJ, vice cop Joe Morelli (who survived the Buick encounter), wanted for the murder of an unarmed man. Stephanie, who's new to this kind of work, starts by dropping around Joe's place, and there he is - in the first of half a dozen encounters that always end with her not shooting or cuffing him (though he does get to use her cuffs on her) and not getting that bounty. Joe insists that Ziggy Kulesza, the guy he shot, had first drawn on him and that witnesses will back up his story - naturally, he can't produce Ziggy's gun or those witnesses just yet. In the meantime, Stephanie's crossed swords with Ziggy's employer, testosterone-rich, morals-poor heavyweight champ Benito Ramirez, who's stalking her as she stalks Joe. Stephanie strikes a deal with Joe: She'll dig up the witness who'll exonerate him, then turn him in with his full cooperation and claim the reward. If only she can find the last missing witness before he's beyond subpoena. A smartly paced debut with an irresistible heroine who, despite trouble getting her man, will have readers hooked by page three. Trenton is about to become the comic mystery's most improbable hot spot. (Kirkus Reviews)

CHAPTER ONE

THERE ARE SOME MEN who enter a woman's life and screw it up forever. Joseph Morelli did this to me -- not forever, but periodically. Morelli and I were both born and raised in a blue-collar chunk of Trenton called the burg. Houses were attached and narrow. Yards were small. Cars were American. The people were mostly Italian descent, with enough Hungarians and Germans thrown into offset inbreeding. It was a good place to buy calzone or play the numbers. And. if you had to live in Trenton anyway, it was an okay place to raise a family.

When I was a kid I didn't ordinarily play with Joseph Morelli. He lived two blocks over and was two years older. "Stay away from those Morelli boys," my mother had warned me. "They're wild. I hear stories about the things they do to girls when they get them alone." "What kind of things?" I'd eagerly asked.

"You don't want to know," my mother had answered. "Terrible things. Things that aren't nice." From that point on, I viewed Joseph Morelli with a combination of terror and prurient curiosity that bordered on awe. Two weeks later, at the age of six, with quaking knees and a squishy stomach, I followed Morelli into his father's garage on the promise of learning a new game.

The Morelli garage hunkered detached and snubbed at the edge of their lot. It was a sorry affair, lit by a single shaft of light filtering through a grime-coated window. Its air was stagnant, smelling of corner must, discarded tires, and jugs of used motor oil. Never destined to house the Morelli cars, the garage served other purposes. Old man Morelli used the garage to take his belt to his sons, his sons used the garage to take their hands to themselves, and Joseph Morelli took me, Stephanie Plum, to the garage to play train. "What's the name of this game?" I'd asked Joseph Morelli.

"Choo-choo," he'd said, down on his hands and knees, crawling between my legs, his head trapped under my short pink skirt. "You're the tunnel, and I'm the train." I suppose this tells you something about my personality. That I'm not especially good at taking advice. Or that I was born with an overload of curiosity. Or maybe it's about rebellion or boredom or fate. At any rate, it was a one-shot deal and darn disappointing, since I'd only gotten to be the tunnel, and I'd really wanted to be the train. Ten years later, Joe Morelli was still living two blocks over. He'd grown up big and bad, with eyes like black fire one minute and melt-in-your-mouth chocolate the next. He had an eagle tattooed on his chest, a tight-assed, narrow-hipped swagger, and a reputation for having fast hands and clever fingers. My best friend, Mary Lou Molnar, said she heard Morelli had a tongue like a lizard.

"Holy cow," I'd answered, "what's that supposed to mean?" "Just don't let him get you alone or you'll find out. Once he gets you alone...that's it. You're done for." I hadn't seen much of Morelli since the train episode. I supposed he'd enlarged his repertoire of sexual exploitations. I opened my eyes wide and leaned closer to Mary Lou, hoping for the worst. "You aren't taking about rape, are you?"

"I'm talking about lust! If he wants you, you're doomed. The guy is irresistible." Aside from being fingered at the age of six by you-know-who, I was untouched. I was saving myself for marriage, or at least for college. "I'm a virgin," I said, as if this was news. "I'm sure he doesn't mess with virgins." "He specializes in virgins! The brush of his fingertips turns virgins into slobbering mush."

Two weeks later, Joe Morelli came into the bakery where I worked every day after school, Tasty Pastry, on Hamilton. He bought a chocolate-chip cannoli, told me he'd joined the navy, and charmed the pants off of me four minutes after closing, on the floor of Tasty Pastry, behind the case filled with chocolate eclairs. The next time I saw him, I was three years older. I was on my way to the mall, driving my father's Buick when I spotted Morelli standing in front of Giovichinni"s Meat Market. I gunned the big V-8 engine, jumped the curb, and clipped Morelli from behind, bouncing him off the front right fender. I stopped the car and got out to asses the damage. "Anything broken?" He was sprawled on the pavement, looking up my skirt. "My leg."

"Good," I said. Then I turned on my heel, got into the Buick, and drove to the mall. I attribute the incident to temporary insanity, and in my own defense, I'd like to say I haven't run over anyone since.

ISBN: 9780140252927
ISBN-10: 0140252924
Series: Stephanie Plum Ser.
Audience: General
Format: Paperback
Language: English
Number Of Pages: 320
Published: October 1997
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Country of Publication: GB
Dimensions (cm): 18.5 x 11.2  x 2.2
Weight (kg): 0.18
Edition Number: 1

Earn 34 Qantas Points
on this Book

Janet Evanovich

About the Author


No. 1 bestselling author Janet Evanovich is the recipient of the Crime Writers' Association's John Creasey Memorial, Last Laugh and Silver Dagger awards, as well as the Left Coast Crime's Lefty award, and is the two-time recipient of the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association's Dilys award. She lives in New Hampshire, where she is at work on her next Stephanie Plum adventure.

Visit Janet Evanovich's Booktopia Author Page


This product is categorised by