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The best part about cooking, besides making delicious things, was that it gave you time to think while your hands were busy.
“Catalina,” Grandma Frida called out behind me. “When you’re done cutting up the body, call me. I’ll help you hide it.” I turned and looked at her. Grandma flexed her arm. “Ride or die.”
“I just wanted some pie.” The despair in Leon’s voice was overwhelming. “That Italian bastard took it! I know he took it. It’s the kind of rat dick move he would do. I’m going to find him and . . .” “And what?” Bern demanded. “Shoot him over the pie?”