The Cake House by Latifah Salom

think that Mrs. Wilson had stood in the same spot.
    “Where were you when Mrs. Wilson fell?” I heard Deputy Mike ask.
    “We were both here, in the living room,” Claude answered. “She asked to speak to Rosie alone, so what could we do?”
    “I wanted to go with them,” my mother said. “She’s my daughter; I should have been there.”
    “Were you upset about the visit?” asked Deputy Mike, asking a question he knew the answer to.
    “Of course we were upset. Wouldn’t you be?” Claude’s tone hinted at laughter.
    Sounds of paper against paper. Deputy Mike read, “You said, ‘I heard her say goodbye and then she was screaming, next thing I knew she was on the floor.’ Did something scare her?”
    “I imagine falling down the stairs would do the trick.”
    Next to me, Alex huffed a short laugh. It was the first time I saw him show anything close to admiration for his father.
    “That’s convenient, isn’t it?” Deputy Mike’s voice was as calm and as gentle as ever.
    “Excuse me?”
    “She could have broken her neck. Problem solved.”
    Even without the benefit of seeing their expressions, I felt the tension in the cross fire between them. I slid down to the next step on the stairs, and then again, until I reached a point where I could see both men standing face-to-face, locked in a silent battle.
    Claude took a step back, facial and body muscles relaxing. He made a gesture with his hands. “Rosaura was the only one who witnessed the accident, and that’s exactly what it was, an accident. You want more details, you’ll have to talk to her.”
    I couldn’t tell if Claude believed what he said or if he was lying. Maybe he thought I was guilty; maybe he was trying to protect himself.
    But then something inside Claude shifted, and his face contracted with worry. “Look, you saw Rosaura; she’s making herself sick over this.”
    A soft twang of a guitar string caught my attention, and I looked back to see Alex shaking his head. He was always shaking his head at me now. Was he saying,
Don’t say anything
? Or was he saying,
No, it wasn’t your fault
? Or maybe it was a general,
No.
No to everything.
    In the living room, Deputy Mike considered Claude and then put his hat on his head. “Thank you for your time.” His tone had changed, suddenly sounding as if this was anormal social visit, a friendly neighborhood how-de-do. “This is a really nice house.”
    “I’ve worked hard on it.” Claude went along with the act and walked Deputy Mike to the front door. I stayed where I was, not caring if they knew I had been listening.
    “I’m curious about what you do for a living, Mr. Fisk.”
    Laughing, Claude waved a hand. “Hasn’t that been asked and answered already? That’s no mystery, Deputy. Financial advising. Investments. Wealth management.”
    “Oh, right. Of course. Good money in that?”
    Claude swelled with a slow, measured breath. “Sometimes.”
    “Where did you say your office was again?”
    “Burbank, but you knew that already,” said Claude. “Are you going to come down sometime? I’d be happy to have you.” He smiled, this time with his entire face, nothing but smoothness, open and inviting.
    Deputy Mike gave an answering smile. “Maybe. But I’m afraid I’m an under-the-mattress kind of guy.”
    “I know. I can tell,” said Claude. “But you’d be welcome anytime, Deputy.”
    I followed as they went into the front room. Claude opened the door.
    “What happens now?” asked Claude.
    Deputy Mike looked out to the street. The ambulance and the other officers had left already. There weren’t any spectators left; everyone had gotten bored and gone home. “We have to get Mrs. Wilson’s statement,” he said. “But once we have that, that’ll probably be the end of it. Of course, another Child Services caseworker will likely be assigned.”
    Claude relaxed and held out his hand for Deputy Mike to shake. “Of course.”
    Before Deputy Mike had turned away, I pushed