They just seemed worn out and as tired of dealing with Stephanie as I am. Worse, still, is the fact that Joe & Ranger have been reduced to shadows of their former selves and neither one bears much resemblance to the alpha-types I knew and loved. In 18, I spent a lot of time feeling like I was waiting for a punchline that never arrived. This book lacked the laugh-out-loud moments that, for me, partially redeemed a few of the books beyond #9. In the past, even when I've been frustrated by the refusal to choose between Ranger & Joe, I've been able to appreciate the screwball comedy. After teasing the reader (for ages!) with hints about what happened in Hawaii, we get a brief (and unsatisfying) few lines to explain why the stagnant love triangle is still in place and then it's on to the rest of the convoluted storyline that seemed to drag on forever. Explosive Eighteen was a massive disappointment. Spoiler Alert! After having given up on the series several books ago, I was persuaded to read #17 and thought that maybe things were back on track. To quote Lula 'I really expected a better story' And all Stephanie is willing to say about her Hawaiian vacation is. Ranger, the man of mystery, isn’t talking about Hawaii. Morelli, Trenton’s hottest cop, isn’t talking about Hawaii.
And everyone wants to know what happened in Hawaii. Lifetime arch nemesis Joyce Barnhardt moves into Stephanie’s apartment. Stephanie’s wheelman, Lula, falls in love with their largest skip yet. The bonds bus serving as Vinnie’s temporary HQ goes up in smoke. Over at the bail bonds agency, things are going from bad to worse. Until Stephanie can improve her descriptive skills, she’ll need to watch her back.
Unfortunately, the first sketch turns out to look like Tom Cruise, and the second sketch like Ashton Kutcher.
With the help of an FBI sketch artist, Stephanie re-creates the person in the photo. Now she’s the target, and she doesn’t intend to end up in a garbage can. Only one other person has seen the missing photo: Stephanie Plum. And a ragtag collection of thugs and psychos, not to mention the FBI, are all looking for a photograph the dead man was supposed to be carrying. Now he’s dead, in a garbage can, waiting for curbside pickup. Worse still, her seatmate never returned to the plane after the L.A. Her dream vacation turned into a nightmare, and she’s flying back to New Jersey solo. Before Stephanie can even step foot off Flight 127, Hawaii to Newark, she’s knee deep in trouble.
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