“Yes,” I said. “Let’s make ice cream!” I clapped my hands together. “Maisie, you’re on flavor duty. I’m making the usual—French Vanilla, chocolate, only mine is going to be chocolaty decadence.”

“Decadent chocolate? I don’t know how you’d do that.” Riya said, “But that sounds like it’s going to be my favorite.”

“I’m betting it’ll be everyone’s favorite,” I said.

“What about strawberry?” Maisie said. “That’s a usual one.”

“I’m doing it, only I’m mixing it up and making it a shortcake.” I turned and pointed to my mother. “Mom, I need you to bake the cake and,” I nodded toward the pantry, “I had ears of corn delivered this morning. They’re in a box. I pulled them in there, too. If you can cut the kernels off the cobb for me.”

“Popcorn?” she asked her eyebrows arching. “You’re making popcorn ice cream?” She didn’t seem to like the idea.

“We’re not doing popcorn, per se,” I said with a sly grin. “At least not what you’re thinking of. I’m making a caramel corn ice cream.”

“Oh! That sounds yummy,” she said and smacked her lips.

“Glad you like it,” I said and smiled. “So you take care of the corn and I’ll make the caramel.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Maisie asked.

“Split the vanilla bean and extract the seeds,” I said. “And I’ll need enough to make vanilla extract, too. I’ll give you the measurements. Then cut up the strawberries. I’ll make the puree.” I grabbed my knapsack and pulled out my notebook. “Oh,” I said after perusing it, “I’m also making cherry amaretto chocolate chunk.”

“Amaretto?” Maisie said. “As in the liqueur?”

“Yes,” I said. I looked at her sideways and batted my eyes. “As in the liqueur. So, I’ll need you to pit and half the cherries and break the chocolate into chunks.” I tore the page out of my notebook. “I wrote down how much I’ll need.” I pointed to the pantry where I’d told my mother she’d find the corn. “Everything’s in there.”

“And me?” Riya asked.

I walked over to the commercial refrigerator and pulled out a crate of eggs. “Here,” I said and nodded toward the aluminum mixing bowls, “Grab a couple of those. I need you to separate these eggs for me.”

“Oh.” She looked down at them, then back up at me. “I-I don’t know if I can do that,” she said, taking the tray from me, her eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t think I remember a thing from my surgery rotation.”

“It’s not like surgery,” my mother said laughing. “It’s easy. You’ll be fine.” My mother  headed to the pantry to get started on her assignment. “Crack open the shell and extract the yolk.”

“Sounds like surgery to me,” Riya muttered. Maisie and I chuckled.

Excerpt 2

Flashing red and blue lights lit up the dark, dreary corner where North  Main and Bell streets met. Yellow crime scene tape draped around trees cordoned off the perimeter of the wooden overlook. Floodlights invaded the stillness that surround the falls and voices bombarded my eardrums. I was numb, but not from the cold.

I had panicked once I realized I’d tripped over a body. Not a panic borne from fear, it was because I didn’t know how I could help. What to do. Blowing out a breath, I had to calm myself so I could figure it out.

It was dark and I hadn’t been able to see clearly enough to make a decision. Had the person still been alive? Should I try to start some life saving measures?

Not that I knew any . . .

Should I go get help?

The body hadn’t moved, even after me falling over it.

Not a grunt. Not a moan. Not a whimper.

Feeling with my hands in the dark, I found a face. I leaned in, my face close, to see if I could feel a breath.

Nothing.

I laid my head on its chest to listen for a heartbeat.

Still nothing.

I should call for help.

Crap. I’d left my cellphone in my knapsack, sitting on the prep table in the ice cream shop. All I had was my aluminum bowl and scoop, so I started banging them together.

“Help!” I yelled out and hit the scoop on the side of the bowl. “Hey! I need help! Anybody! Somebody help me!”

But all my noise making hadn’t gotten one response. I looked down at the silhouette of Dead Guy and back up to the street. No lights from passing cars. No footsteps crunching in the snow.

I needed to get up the hill to get help.

But the snow was thick and cumbersome, I trudged up at a slow crawl. My foot sinking into the snow with each step forward, my gloves wet and covered with the powder. It seemed to be deeper and heavier the more I tried to get up to the sidewalk. Bent over, hands clawing in the snow up the incline, I was out of breath with heavy legs by the time I made it to the top. Once my feet were planted on the sidewalk, I had to place my hands on my knees to catch my breath and slow my heart before I could go any further.

With what I knew lay at the bottom of the falls, it made the night more ominous. The streets more deserted. The lights more dim.

I looked one way down Bell Street then the other. Not quite sure where I should go to get help. I just knew that I wanted to tell what I knew. Get someone else there with me. Then my eye caught sight of the woven scarf I’d seen on the kid who’d been down the hill with me. With Dead Guy.

I started to grab the scarf but thought better of it. People always come back to where they’d lost their things to find them. The little boy might return. Maybe I’d report the lost item to the police.

The police . . .

I had to call the police. Or an ambulance.

I scurried around the block, past the front of the ice cream shop to the side door and unlocked it. I hastily dumped the contents of my knapsack and had to catch Grandma Kay’s tin recipe box as it tumbled out before it dropped onto the floor. Hands slightly shaky, still breathing hard, I found my phone and pushed in the three numbers.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

I had to make a restroom pit stop to try to collect myself.

I shook my head. There hadn’t been anything I could have done. He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t made a sound. He wasn’t breathing and I didn’t know how long it would be before someone came along to help.

I ran warm water over my hands at the sink, dried them off and started to head back into the kitchen to get my knapsack, and ran right into Felice.

“Hello there, Muffintop, I said and stooped down, running my fingers through her white coat. “How did you get down here?” She looked up at me, fluffed out the end of her tail, then eyes half-closed, she blinked slowly. I picked her up. “You want some kisses, Sweetie?” I said knowing it was me that needed comforting. She rubbed her cheek up against mine. “Thank you.”

Holding her, I walked around to the back area where the stairs led to Rivkah’s apartment, and called up. No answer. “She must still be at the restaurant.” I looked at Felice. “Did you just come down for me? To make me feel better?”

“Mrra,” she said.

I met her forehead with mine, but only for a moment, she didn’t have to be gracious. She jumped out of arms and ran up the steps. I watched as she strutted up, I didn’t know how she’d gotten out. Rivkah never left the door unlocked.

Tonight I was glad she had.

I went over to the prep table and stuffed everything back into my bag, grabbed the bowl and scooper and headed back outside. By the time I got out there, a police cruiser was pulling up in front of the store. The officer got out of the car and walked over to me.

“Are you the person who called 911?” he asked.

“I am,” I said.

“What’s going on?”

I pointed toward the falls. “There’s a guy down there. I think he’s dead.”