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It was Lily's eighth birthday, and the whole family was in the garden. The chocolate cake, with eight candles and a lot of pink frosting, was waiting on the kitchen table. "Nobody goes in the kitchen," said Lily's mother. "We're going to sing in ten minutes."
Ten minutes later, everybody went into the kitchen. The table was empty! There was no cake, only a few crumbs on the plate. "Somebody ate my cake!" cried Lily, and her eyes filled with tears. Her cousin Max put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll find the sneaky thief. I love detective stories."
Max and Lily looked for clues. First, they found crumbs on the floor, a line from the table to the door. Then they found small chocolate footprints next to the dishwasher, and they weren't shoe prints. "They look like paw prints," said Max. They both looked at Biscuit, the dog, who was sleeping under the table.
"Biscuit is innocent," said Max. "He's too small to reach the table." "Then somebody helped him," said Lily. They went back to the garden and looked at everybody. Aunt Sue had clean hands. Lily's father was holding a balloon. And Grandpa was standing very still, with his hands behind his back. On the sleeve of his jacket, there was a big brown mark.
"Grandpa," said Max slowly, "what's that on your sleeve?" Grandpa looked at his sleeve, then at the children. He sighed and admitted the truth. "I only wanted a tiny piece," he said. "But it was so good! Then Biscuit came in, and I gave him a little piece too. Then a bigger one. Then he jumped on the table, and I couldn't stop him."
Everybody laughed, even Lily. Her mother ran to the store and came back with a new cake, smaller but with eight candles. That evening, Biscuit was asleep under the table with pink frosting on his nose, and Grandpa had a little chocolate mustache. Nobody said a word, but everybody knew.
