You can bet one thing, though. We had waffles.Tuesday morning she was over at seven, still in pajamas, carrying Mizz Lee's waffle iron."We need two of...'em," she said. "Throughput. The waffle iron is the bottleneck." Huh?" Once you get the batter made, then you're at a waffle every two minutes. I want two. You want two. Gramma wants two. So I brought her iron."It was then a matter of her bumping into me in the kitchen as I whipped eggs, made batter, then we turned out a stack of the darned. And her pig eyes were blazing with hate, her mouth was twisted into an evil angry snarl, her snout moved in time as the nostrils opened and closed to her audible heavy breathing. The only pleasing part of her body was her golden hair that flowed down from her head like a gold mane.Stuck in her belt was a stiletto with a dark wooden handle decorated with blood red glass drops. In her right hand she clasped a wicked looking lock pick that she had used to make her entrance into my home.I was very. More

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