frying pan reached the proper temperature, he used the turkey baster to squirt batter into a large circle in the center of the pan. Then he added two smaller circles in the ten and two o’clock positions at the top of the large circle. The small batter circles ran together with the large one to form— voilà !-- Mickey Mouse. He used the two spatulas to flip the edible Disney character as Rowen stumbled into the kitchen.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
“Morning, Dad.” She wore a long flannel nightgown and slipper booties. Her light brown hair was rumpled. Rowen rubbed one of her eyes and crawled into a chair at the table. Kyle had already set two places.
“I poured you some OJ,” Kyle said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her reach for her glass. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m making us something new for breakfast. Mouse pancakes.”
Rowen swallowed a mouthful of juice and looked at her father.
“Nuh-uh,” she said, smiling, but her eyes revealed just a hint of uncertainty.
“Oh yeah. I was talking to Ruth the other day. She said that when she gets a mouse in one of her traps, she skins it and puts it in the freezer. When she has a few of them stored up, she chops them up and puts them in pancakes. Says it’s convenient because you get some meat for breakfast without having to fix sausage or bacon on the side. Pass me your plate, will you?”
“That’s really gross , Dad,” Rowen said as she handed Kyle her plate. She had apparently decided that he was kidding. “Besides,” she said, matter-of-factly, “I’m old enough to know Ruth wouldn’t cook something like that.”
Kyle put the Mickey Mouse pancake on her plate and handed it to her.
“Yeah, I guess you are,” he said. “But we really are having mouse pancakes.”
Rowen looked at her plate. “Oh, it’s Mickey Mouse! Cool!” She reached for the maple syrup.
“Seriously, Ruth did tell me how to make these. She thought you’d get a kick out of them. So be sure and tell her thanks when you see her, okay?”
“Okay,” Rowen said with her mouth full.
“By the way, the paper should be here. Why don’t you bring it in? We can read the funnies.”
Still chewing, Rowen slipped off her chair and skipped over to the front door. She opened it to retrieve the Rutland Herald lying outside in the hall.
“Hi, Fitz!” Kyle heard her say. He’d just flipped another Mickey likeness with the spatulas, but he took the frying pan off the hot burner and walked over to Rowen. Fitz was standing in the hall.
“Hey, kiddo! Morning, Kyle,” he said, pulling on his gloves. “So you guys didn’t sleep in?”
“Nah, we’re up,” Kyle replied. Rowen grabbed the Sunday paper and scampered back into the kitchen. “You want some pancakes?”
“No thanks. I’m kind of in a hurry. I just got a call from Father O’Brien. Apparently, Mary McAllister passed on last night, and he’s up at her house now. Wykowski’s on duty this morning, but he’s several miles out on patrol, so the dispatcher called me. Looks like a suicide, and the Father wants me to come by to make sure and get what we need for a report before the coroner comes to collect the body. It shouldn’t take long. All I really need to do is take a look around, enough to gather information for the report.”
Kyle glanced at the clock on the wall; it was almost nine o’ clock. He wasn’t keen on the idea of giving up a cozy Sunday morning with his daughter to deal with a suspected suicide, but Fitz was his boss. He felt obligated to offer assistance.
“Are you sure you don’t need a hand? If Ruth would be here in case Rowen needed anything, I could go with you.”
“Well,” Fitz said, “I suppose you could come along. It’d give you a chance to see how we handle something like this, and I’m sure we’d be done pretty quick. If not, Ruth could take Rowen to the church with her when she goes.” He backed out of the doorway. “I’ll go down and start the car. Just come down
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
“Morning, Dad.” She wore a long flannel nightgown and slipper booties. Her light brown hair was rumpled. Rowen rubbed one of her eyes and crawled into a chair at the table. Kyle had already set two places.
“I poured you some OJ,” Kyle said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her reach for her glass. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m making us something new for breakfast. Mouse pancakes.”
Rowen swallowed a mouthful of juice and looked at her father.
“Nuh-uh,” she said, smiling, but her eyes revealed just a hint of uncertainty.
“Oh yeah. I was talking to Ruth the other day. She said that when she gets a mouse in one of her traps, she skins it and puts it in the freezer. When she has a few of them stored up, she chops them up and puts them in pancakes. Says it’s convenient because you get some meat for breakfast without having to fix sausage or bacon on the side. Pass me your plate, will you?”
“That’s really gross , Dad,” Rowen said as she handed Kyle her plate. She had apparently decided that he was kidding. “Besides,” she said, matter-of-factly, “I’m old enough to know Ruth wouldn’t cook something like that.”
Kyle put the Mickey Mouse pancake on her plate and handed it to her.
“Yeah, I guess you are,” he said. “But we really are having mouse pancakes.”
Rowen looked at her plate. “Oh, it’s Mickey Mouse! Cool!” She reached for the maple syrup.
“Seriously, Ruth did tell me how to make these. She thought you’d get a kick out of them. So be sure and tell her thanks when you see her, okay?”
“Okay,” Rowen said with her mouth full.
“By the way, the paper should be here. Why don’t you bring it in? We can read the funnies.”
Still chewing, Rowen slipped off her chair and skipped over to the front door. She opened it to retrieve the Rutland Herald lying outside in the hall.
“Hi, Fitz!” Kyle heard her say. He’d just flipped another Mickey likeness with the spatulas, but he took the frying pan off the hot burner and walked over to Rowen. Fitz was standing in the hall.
“Hey, kiddo! Morning, Kyle,” he said, pulling on his gloves. “So you guys didn’t sleep in?”
“Nah, we’re up,” Kyle replied. Rowen grabbed the Sunday paper and scampered back into the kitchen. “You want some pancakes?”
“No thanks. I’m kind of in a hurry. I just got a call from Father O’Brien. Apparently, Mary McAllister passed on last night, and he’s up at her house now. Wykowski’s on duty this morning, but he’s several miles out on patrol, so the dispatcher called me. Looks like a suicide, and the Father wants me to come by to make sure and get what we need for a report before the coroner comes to collect the body. It shouldn’t take long. All I really need to do is take a look around, enough to gather information for the report.”
Kyle glanced at the clock on the wall; it was almost nine o’ clock. He wasn’t keen on the idea of giving up a cozy Sunday morning with his daughter to deal with a suspected suicide, but Fitz was his boss. He felt obligated to offer assistance.
“Are you sure you don’t need a hand? If Ruth would be here in case Rowen needed anything, I could go with you.”
“Well,” Fitz said, “I suppose you could come along. It’d give you a chance to see how we handle something like this, and I’m sure we’d be done pretty quick. If not, Ruth could take Rowen to the church with her when she goes.” He backed out of the doorway. “I’ll go down and start the car. Just come down
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