"Suppose you're Bernie Rhodenbarr. You've got a dream job, running your own cozy secondhand bookstore, complete with Raffles, your caudally challenged cat. It's in Greenwich Village, and your best friend's dog grooming salon is two doors away, and the two of you lunch together and meet for drinks after work. And you've got another way to make a buck. Every once in a while you put your conscience on the shelf and let yourself into someone else's residence,...