Who Ate the Cake?

Every Sunday, Grandma Rosa makes a cake for her family in New Jersey. This Sunday, she made a lemon cake and left it on the kitchen table. Then she went into the garden. When she came back, there was only an empty plate and a few crumbs.

"Who ate my cake?" she asked. Everybody came in: Dad, Aunt Linda, Uncle Mike, the twins, little Nora, who is seven, and Max, the dog. "Not me," said Dad. "I didn't eat it," said Aunt Linda. "Neither did we," said the twins.

Nora took a notebook. "I'm going to find out," she said. First she asked Dad, "Who did you see in the kitchen?" "I saw Uncle Mike," he said. "Did you go into the kitchen, Uncle Mike?" "Yes, I did." "Did you eat the cake?" "No, I didn't!"

Then she asked the twins, "Who saw the cake last?" "We did. It was on the table at three." "And who was in the kitchen at three?" "Aunt Linda was." Aunt Linda went red. "OK, I took one small piece. But the cake was still there!"

There were crumbs from the table to the back door. "Who opened the back door?" Nora asked. "I did," said Uncle Mike. "And who went out?" Nobody answered. Everybody looked at Max. Max looked at the garden.

Nora followed the crumbs outside. Behind the garage, Grandpa Joe was sitting with the plate on his knees. There was cream on his chin. Max sat next to him and waited. "Grandpa! Did you eat the cake?" "Not all of it," he said.

Everybody laughed, even Grandma. "Who taught you that?" asked Uncle Mike. "Nobody," said Nora. "I just asked the right questions." Next Sunday, Grandma made two cakes: one for the family and one for Grandpa.