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for a long time.”
    “ Well, then, why don’t we get started? How much do you know about your birth parents?”
    “ Nothing. When I was twelve my parents told me I was adopted. I was a baby when they got me. I don’t have any memories of my biological parents.”
    “ This may sound silly, but do your parents know who your birth parents are?”
    She shook her head.
    “ You sure?”
    “ Positive.” She pushed her chin out slightly, challenging me to argue with her. “They got me through an agency. They don’t even know what state I came from.”
    I found a pen on my desk and pushed the cap off. “Why don’t you give me the name of the agency?”
    She looked at me blankly and said after a while, “My parents never told me it.”
    “ I’ll need to see your parents. Why don’t we set something up for tonight?”
    “ I don’t want them involved.” She let out a lungful of air through her mouth. “It will upset them. They think I’m rejecting them as it is. Frank and Julie are wonderful. I love them and think of them as my parents, and I’ll always think of them as my parents, whatever happens. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need to find out who I really am. They just can’t understand that.”
    “ I need to talk with them, Mary. Otherwise I’m stuck right now.”
    She struggled with the idea. “Could you maybe just give them a quick call?” she offered as a compromise.
    “ Sorry, no. I need to talk with them face to face. I’d just as soon find your birth parents for you as quickly as possible.”
    That settled it for her. She nodded slightly and asked if it would be okay if I came over at six thirty. “I have to be at work at eight,” she added.
    “ Six thirty’s fine.”
    She fidgeted some more with her bag. “How much should I pay you?”
    “ I’ll bill you later. Just write down your parent’s address for me. Also, I’m going to need a picture of you. If nothing else, it will look good on my desk.”
    “ I’d like to pay you a two week retainer,” she said. “It will make me feel like I’m really doing this.”
    I didn’t argue. I could see it was important to her. She wrote me a check and then gave me directions to her parent’s house. She held out her hand to me. It was a nice hand to hold. I felt sorry letting it go.
    After she left, I sat back and realized I was feeling better than I had felt in quite a while. There was no reason to worry about what I almost did to Craig Singer.
    Not much else happened that afternoon. Eddie Braggs called from the Examiner, asking whether my ‘Fast Lane’ feature would be ready on time and after that, I drove around Denver looking for Debra Singer without any luck.
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
    Mary’s parents lived in Golden, a small town fifteen miles west of Denver, in a cozy little house on a dead-end street. It had a picket fence, trimmed hedges and a small flower garden out front. Mary answered the door, and after introducing me to Lucy, the family golden retriever, she led me into the living room where her parents were waiting. Her mother popped up from the sofa and offered me coffee and pastries. After Mrs. Williams left the room, Mary handed me an envelope. Inside were a studio photograph and several wallet-sized shots of herself. She looked tired as she sat down on a loveseat that was to the right of sofa. Lucy followed her and plopped down by her feet. I took the green velvet armchair with the old-fashioned doilies.
    After Mary’s mother brought in the coffee, she joined her husband on the sofa. They were in their early forties, around my age, although they looked quite a bit older than me.
    Mrs. Williams took a sip of coffee before looking up. “I know Mary’s very excited about hiring you,” she said.
    Mary made a face. “Mother,” she muttered under her breath.
    “ She’s been cutting out your columns for as long as I can remember,” Mrs. Williams continued, her hands folded in her lap. “They’re saved in a scrap book.