“Be careful with the cake!” Starsky opened the passenger’s
door. “I did my very best for Dobey’s 70th birthday.”
“And I made the number seventy out of almond paste,”
Hutch grumbled, fumbling for his glasses.
“Lemme hold it!” Starsky took the cake and swaggered
toward Dobey’s front door.
“Wait for me!” Hutch hurried after his partner. “Oops!”
He tripped over a step and pushed against Starsky. The cake landed on the floor, damaged. Only the number remained whole.
The door opened and Dobey looked at them, baffled. Then a big
smile crossed his face.
“What a wonderful cake! Come in!”
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