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kitchen island, accepting coffee with the grave politeness of men who had seen too much.
When my son sl:apped me for interrupting his video game, I just lowered my head and walked to the kitchen. I spent three hours baking his favorite triple-chocolate cake
Officer Grant, broad-shouldered and calm, looked through the printed report. Officer Lewis watched the hallway.
“He’s upstairs?” Grant asked.
“Yes.”
“And the girlfriend?”
“With him.”
I placed the cake under the glass dome. My hands were steady now.
